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[WP] In a world of creatures with wonderous abilities like elves and dwarves, humans seem a bit... lacklustre in comparison. It seems that the gods agree the newer races are too OP, and thus hold a conference to discuss balance changes for the world, with you as humanity's representative. | "So, Elhyrin - what perks did you give to your elves?", Althanor, the father of Gods asked his son."Well, they can hear a bird chirp from a mile away, they live for thousands of years, they have an high amplitude for magic, they're great archers and a capable of fighting with dual swords like no other race before. They're connected to the woods, they're wonderful musicians, they can speak with animals, they're all beautiful and they got sexy ears."
"What was that last one?", Gumar the God of the forge asked in a slightly irritated tone.
"Elhyrin", Althanor the father of Gods spoke again "Don't you think... You're going a bit over the top? Do they really need to be that perfect?"
"Well, they're like me.", Elhyrin responded, disregarding Gumar's amused sputtering.
"So, what about you Gumar? What about your dwarfs?", Althanor continued.
"Well, they're the best smiths this world has ever seen. They're small so they can fit into any hole and tunnel, yet they're stronger than any human or elf. They laugh about heat and cold, they're resistant to illnesses, poisons and any toxic gases you can find in mines. They have endurance and resilience like nobody else, they can mine for days without a break - they don't get hangovers and ultimately, they got pretty darn nice beards."
This time it was Elhyrin's time to chuckle, for that monstrous thing coming out of Gumar's face looked like the leftovers of a dead fox.
"That sounds mighty and useful. Maybe a bit too much of both... So, Ajarazel - you're next. What about your vampires and Orcs?"
"Vampires live forever, they can recover from any wound that doesn't pierce their hearts. They have access to dark, transformation and illusion magic and they also have incredible strength and agility. They drink or eat nothing else than blood, but sun burns their skin."
*Finally some reasonable downside*, Althanor mumbled while Ajarazel continued.
"As for orcs: They're tall, they're strong, they breed like rabbits and they eat literally anything - including each other. Their grotesque appearance strikes fear into their enemies! Justified fear, as my Orcs know no empathy or mercy. They're the fiercest warriors this world has ever seen! Sadly, as I have to shamefully admit, I forgot about their intelligence.", Ajarazel finished.
"That's mostly reasonable.", Alathanor nodded. "And finally... Humans. - Paul, would you elaborate?"
Paul hectically awoke from his slumber when he heard his name.
"Uhhh? Where were we? Humans. Yes, yes. They do a bit of everything.", he responded blearily.
"Can they do anything particularly well?", Althanor inquired.
"Hmmmm. Not really I guess. Just a bit of everything, you know?", Paul babbled.
"After you've heard what your brothers said, would you like to add anything else to your creation? Something to even the balance of power between all races?", Althanor wondered graciously.
"It's okay, no worries.", Paul knew that it'd mean extra work for him, work he wasn't willing to do. It was just such a drag to design a race, but his father had forced him to.
Knowing his son, Althanor sighed. Paul was a lazy God, the laziest of them all - and his creation suffered from it. Determined on creating a balance of power, to stop the endless wars plaguing the world he had created, Althanor decided to make up for what his son lacked:
"Humanity shall become the master of all trades. While humans are short-lived and fragile, they shall get the power to learn and master any métier, any weapon and any spell! For they will learn faster than anybody else.", Althanor the Godfather of creation had spoken - and so it was.
Well, so it would have been. Humanity had gotten the greatest gift of all - the power to learn everything and solve every secret. They had limitless potential, but like all other races humanity was modeled after its own creator. Humanity was modeled after Paul - and like Paul humanity was too lazy to achieve greatness. | "Order, Order!" The grand wizard slammed his gavel onto the table made of magical stone. The spell muted all of the creatures to stop their blabbering discourse. Nothing had been done in the last fifty years since humanity had been introduced into their magical realm. A reoccurring issue with the main species was that they consistently fought amongst themselves. The wizards, the dwarves, and the elves.
Standing at the front of the small group of lords and leaders of the realm, the Grand Wizard let out an exhausted sigh. He knew from the great book, it was not his choice nor anyone else to determine the validity of humanity and their existence in their wonderous world. A world where Elves lived prosperously near the water, the dwarves lived sheltered in the mountains, and the sparse wizards separated in the far reaches of their planet.
"We must give the humans a chance to live." The wizard began, "They do not have the luxury of evolving for millions of years, as we had just discovered them less than a century ago."
The grand wizard slammed his staff into the ground forming a white cloud above the large table for everyone to see.
In three separate segments, the leaders watched as individual projections of their species evolved in front of their eyes. They watched the Elves, who initially grew from an ancient mermaid in the depths of the sea. The dwarves who began as a rare mushroom troll deep in the earth, and of course the Wizards, who were flower pixies before eventually gaining their true power. Lastly, he showed the ancestor of humans, a three-eyed monkey, who had once been able to communicate with all the creatures on the planet, telling signs of the future. As it goes, the Great Book was written by one of the ancient Monkeys who had lived during the stages of the other creatures' infancy. Humanity still had yet to discover its true powers in its primal stage.
"You see now, these Humans will one day be able to help us. We must be patient as they are still growing. One day they will use their powers to bring us together as their ancestors foretold."
With a wave of his gavel, the spell was uplifted from the room.
"They won't come together in time for the war. They are too selfish." Interjected Ravi, the General of the mighty Elf fleet of the East.
"Yes, they are too greedy. We cannot depend on them!" Added the Dwarf king from the south.
"This is true, this is true. They won't be ready for the war if we keep them here." The grand wizard picked his long white beard to the troubled question. If the humans stayed, they would one day no doubt try to overpower the elves, dwarves, and maybe wizards too, for their bidding one day. Once they had full control of their psychic abilities, they could just as easily use evil to overthrow their planet to serve themselves.
Shaking his head at the thought, the wizard repeated themself "As I said, they are not ready."
"Yes, and the Book says the war will begin in 2,300 years. I say we raise them as elves. They will do fine within our culture" Exclaimed Ravi.
"Oh, you want them, so that you can make them slaves. Just as you tried to do with us and our mines. We must fight for ourselves, and hold true to our own people. The humans can die amongst their own self-pity!" The dwarves cheered at this response from their king, while the elves ignored what they considered small-minded opinions.
Again, the room was in an argument, and loud. Mostly because of the dwarf leaders who were yelling. Frustrated, the Grand Wizard saw the meeting going nowhere over everyone's disagreement. If they did not find a way to evolve the humans, the great war would be the end of all their planet. What shall they do? Are they doomed?
"Silence!" Slamming his staff into the ground, the grand wizard grew 20 feet tall, a dark cloud over him. He had the power to send these people to another world lightyears away if he wanted to get them to shut up and he sure as hell felt like doing it...
Drawing axes and arrows on both sides of the table, everyone waited on edge for the first strike to initiate, however, it didn't come. Instead, they watched perplexed as a sense of peace looked to befall the Grand Wizard. The dark cloud above his head turned into sunshine.
"I've got it. Eleanor, please bring in the Human King."
Walking down the long hallway into the realms court, was the King, a man draped in rags. The only sign of royalty he had was a sword.
"Yes, grand wizard," he answered kneeling before the room.
"You will select a boy and a girl from your people and bring them to me before the days end."
"What for?" asked the King.
"We shall place them in a new world, and they will grow your species there. In time, they shall learn to grow with each other much faster than if they would in our world."
"Will they be safe?"
"No, they will suffer and go through much pain, however it necessary in order for them to grow. In 2,300 years they will grow more as a civilization than if we kept them here. Don't fret, you and I shall help them in moments of change."
The King returned to his village, and selected young Adam and Eve to go as partners to this new world. He did not tell the young ones why they needed to start the species or of the war. All he said was to obey the simple commands given to them by the gods.
"But how can we know if we are doing this right, my King?"
"I don't have that answer, Adam, all I've been told by the Grand Wizard is this. You must keep your knowledge of this world between you both and nobody else."
"How will we survive.?"
"The grand wizard will advise you. Remember what the great book says --above everything, and anything, love everyone, and anything." | 2020-01-04T10:09:29 | 2020-01-04T06:43:15 | 66 | 16 |
[WP] NASA employee: oh hey you guys are back early. Astronaut: Moon's haunted. NASA employee: what? Astronaut: *loads pistol and gets back on rocketship* Moon's haunted.
credit to @Dustinkcouch on Twitter | "Then why are you going back?" Fred shouted.
Richard wasn't looking back.
"You're going back? Where's Greg? Why are you taking a pistol?" Fred said and ran after him.
"Too many questions. I don't have much time," Richard said, stepping inside the Rocket ship.
He tried to close the door, but Fred had already caught up. He was grabbing onto it's handle, preventing Richard from closing it.
"I'm coming along," Fred said. He knew it wasn't the wisest idea, but what was he going to do? Sit at the observatory and wait for Richard to come back with even more crazy news?
"You haven't bought your supplies," Richard said with a blank expression on his face.
"There's a spare suit in the inventory. Let me in," Fred said, barging his way in.
"If we run out of oxywater, I'm not giving you my spare bottle," Fred said, locking the door. He seemed visibly annoyed but Fred didn't have any other options.
He ran to the inventory to suit up because he knew Richard wouldn't wait for him to get ready. Just like he predicted, the floor of the inventory started shaking vigorously while he put on his space suit and struggled to maintain his balance.
When he returned to the front, he saw the rocket leaving Earth's atmosphere. Richard seemed to be focused on flying the ship. It was either that or he just pretended to be unaware of Fred standing beside him.
"So, are you going to tell me where Greg is? And what's with moon being haunted?"
"Do you remember the last time we went there to mine kinxium?"
"Yes, but that was years ago. We made many trips since then," Fred said, trying to remember the relevance of that trip.
"Do you remember how Greg almost fell over a ditch and we lost him for two days?"
"Yes. But that's normal. People go missing during mining trips all the time,"
"Yes, but not for two days. I disobeyed protocol and went towards the Kinxium site today"
"You shouldn't be doing that, Richard. You know how the boss hates-" Fred stopped talking as Richard raised a hand.
The Rocket ship was making its landing on the moon. Richard got up from his seat and grabbed the pistol. As the Rocket landed, Fred saw Greg waving his hands and floating nearby, waiting for them.
Fred was relieved to see Greg. At least he was all right.
Richard moved towards the door and looked at Fred. He spoke in a whisper, as if he didn't want anyone else to overhear them.
"When I went over to the Kinxium site, I found Greg's body under a craneminer machine. Greg has been dead for years now. Whatever is out there, is not Greg."
\--------------------
r/abhisek | “Don’t worry. I got this.” Dirk says strapping a sawed-off to his back.
Hector, the first year engineer dives behind a table. “Where’d that come from?” He pleads.
“It shoots salt. Might bruise you a little, but wont kill.” Hector pops up from behind the table, “Salt?”.
“Yeah for the ghosts, specters, and ghouls that haunt the moon.” Dirk said with no waiver in his voice.
“Why don’t you sit down for a while. Long trip, right?” Hector pulls out a chair for him.
“No time. You should load up too.” Dirk said tossing a large white duffle bag to Hector.
“Me?” Hector points to himself mouth agape.
“Yeah man. Its go time… You must be new.”
“I’ve been here 8 months!” Hector protested.
“Not long enough. N.A.S.A. National Anti-Supernatural Administration.” Dirk punctuated each word with a raising count on his hand.
“Sir, why don’t you put the gun down. I think you might be experiencing some side effects to your travel.” Hector pushed the chair toward Dirk.
The lights turn red and a voice comes over the loudspeaker: “This is not a drill, I repeat this is NOT a drill. All employees please report to your desks for immediate briefings. We have found hell, and it’s not on Earth.”
Hector looks at Dirk. “Well, you heard them. Hop to it.” Hector stampedes through the hallway pinballing off his fellow employees. Sitting on his desk is a brand new tablet. He sits. The screen lights up. *What is your name?* Flashes across the screen. Hector Alonso types in his name. The words melt toward the bottom of the screen and pool up to form a button. *Thumb Print Please*, arched around the top. “Cool,” Hector said. He couldn’t remember seeing anything like this in the r/D lab. He put his thumb to the button. A tiny barb pricks his finger. He pulls his hand away with an “Ow”. Droplets of blood form on his fingertip. *Sorry!* Flashes across the screen.
*Identity confirmed: Hector Alonso. Position: Research and Development Trainee. Vitals: Strong. Aptitude Score: 77.*
“77!” Hector scoffs. The text wipes off and a live feed of Dirk begins. Sitting on the table before him is a large container of salt, a bucket of empty capsules, and a funnel. His fists dug into the wood, as he leans over the items.
“For the uninitiated, I bet you have tons of questions. Including who I am. I am Dirk Kaggsworth lead piolet for the Trojan expeditions. First, let me assure you aliens are not real. Or at least not what you would traditionally consider an alien. But there is stuff out there. And it is a threat. Every day we here at NASA, the National Anti-Supernatural Administration, make sure that the people of this great nation are safe from extraterrestrial threat. And today we have discovered the motherload. On our last mission to the moon, we had an expedition to the dark side. There we found the entrance to a lair or base that these E.T.s operate from. Our scouts were unable to identify how large the structure was. About now you might be asking yourself how all this pertains to you. We are launching a full-scale infiltration of their Moonbase, and need all the help we can get. If your vitals are in good standing and you had an aptitude score of 15 or higher, we would like to take you along. If you wish to accept, meet in the cafeteria in 30 minutes and bring whatever personal items you will need. For those that don’t meet the requirements, rest assured there is still work to be done at home. The first thing all of you need to know is how to load a salt gun.” Dirk opens the end of a capsule from the bucket and puts it under the funnel. “3 grams of salt is all you need.” He puts a spoon into the container of salt and pours it into the funnel. “If you can do that, you can help. And I know all of you can.” He seals the capsule and inserts it into a magazine. From under the table, he pulls out what looks like a metallic nerf gun. The magazine clicks into place. “Let’s lock and load.” | 2020-01-17T11:54:31 | 2020-01-17T11:34:23 | 39 | 11 |
[WP] A half elf, half orc, half dwarf and half halfling join forces for their common goal, finding their shared human parent | "I swear to the forefathers, if he's a bard, I'm strangling him." Hurin patted his hammer in his half-dwarven hand. He and his new found family were hunting the Man in Red. There were stories about him, how he passed through town and cities. How he did deeds selflessly.
How he had fathered others.
Surilien, his half-elven sister patted him on the shoulder. "Now now, that's just an old stereotype. Bards aren't really love 'em and leave 'em types. They're travelers. They don't usually stick around long enough to form any kind of bonds. It takes time to even think of a family and settling in one place doesn't usually make a living for them."
Brakka the Imposing, a large and hulking half-orc even for orcs, laughed loudly enough to shake the trees she was walking by. "You're speaking of experience! Truly, our meeting would have ended in blood if we hadn't realized we were walking the same road. Isn't that right, Dagger?"
Chester, or Dagger as Brakka liked to call him, sighed wearily. "I do wish you'd stop calling me that, sister. Yes yes, I know. Small, silent, lethal when used correctly, but I'm not really that imposing."
Hurin chuckled. "'Tis the Orcish way. You respect those that can do what you can't. She recognizes your ability to infiltrate even the smallest of spaces, opening the door so she can barge in and sunder everything else."
Brakka laughed again. "Not to mention your ability to drink even Hurin under the table!" They all laughed until Surilien raised a hand.
"There is someone ahead." After a moment, she said, "Be careful, they heard us. They are trying to conceal themselves."
Brakka tapped Chester on the shoulder and pointed forward. He nodded and, like a shadow exposed to light, he was gone without a trace. After a couple minutes, with everyone ready for a fight, he returned. "It's him. It has to be."
Hurin asked him. "Him who?"
"The Man in Red."
They all marched forwards out of the woods into a little clearing. Surilien stepped forward. "We've been seeking you, Man in Red. We know you are our father. We do not wish a fight, only answers."
"*I know.*" The voice came from behind them. "*I led you on a merry chase. Tested you. Surely you don't think those towns you passed through just happened to need help when you came through.*"
Hurin asked, "Testing us? Why? What possible reason would you have for that?"
Underneath the red hood that concealed most of his face, they could see the smile that look both wild and satisfied. "*Because the world needs more like us. Those willing to say civilizations are worth protecting. Those willing to go out in the wilds to pursue their goals away from the safety and comfort they may be used to. But those like us need strengths and weaknesses to come together to overcome our obstacles.*"
Chester cocked an eyebrow. "Those like us? What are we supposed to be?"
"*Adventurers."*
Brakka cracked a broad toothy grin. "Adventurers. I like the sound of that." | Chief Komarod sat on his throne. The high chief of the Orcs glared down at his son Opoguk.
"Why must you find her?"
"Because my chief, she gave me life."
"I played a part too boy."
"I know chief, still, I want to make sure she is okay."
The chief's expression remained cold as steel, though he began to contemplate this. He remembered the lovely woman, and the time she had spent with him in his keep. The times they shared, tender, and fleeting. Then he remembered when he found out about all the time she had also spent in the company of the elves, and the dwarves. What's next? Was she going to go about with the halflings as well? Bah, she was better off gone.
"Boy, if you search her out, you are banished."
"That... is something I am prepared for." his son replied.
"Then be gone! Be gone from my lands. If you are so much as spotted in these lands again, my hunting parties will bring me your head."
With that Opoguk turned, and walked solemly straight out of the keep, and kept walking onwards towards the border. After he'd made it some way down the trail, he decided it best to begin moving at a jog, lest Komarod has a change of heart and send the hunting parties early. There has never been an Orc half-blood in as respected a position as his before. He led a hunting party. He was a renowned warrior, he had his choice of women in the camp.
Still, he had an uncontrollable urge to seek out his mother. She needed help.
As hunger began to fill Opoguk's belly, he wrestled the spear from his pack and began to seek out his next meal. Following unmistakable tracks in the dirt, Opoguk managed to find a deer. Deer meat made for a good meal and Opoguk crept silently towards it, intent on ending the hunger dwelling inside him. He raised his arm, and with a mighty swing and a flick of his powerful wrist, the spear landed perfectly embedded in the heart of his delectable treat.
Skinning and dressing his kill, he prepared it to be cooked. Prepared a fire, and constructed a spit on which to char its flesh. After the juices began to run almost clear, the meat was cooked perfectly, Opuguk began tearing portions off and devouring them. His belly full, he settled down for rest. He was well outside the borders of his father's kingdom, he was on his own.
The next morning, Opuguk rose with the sun. Still early, the birds were singing their songs, and the morning dew still hung around on the leaves and grass. Grunting to himself, he picked up, and got his bearings towards the kingdom of man. Setting off towards the sun, he worked up to a jog, one that he could maintain for hours, and was off.
It was several hours before Opuguk heard a rustling behind him. With a sudden turn, a slide in the dirt, and his spear raised to a battle position before he was even still, Opuguk prepared himself for a fight to the death. He let out a warcry, and prepared to charge the bushes.
Just before he did, a woman crept out. A human woman. As she did, she eyed him gently, almost lovingly. She was dressed in simple clothing, a dark grey robe that was too loose to truly make out her form. She carried with her a staff, the likes of which powerful magi usually carried.
His resolve faded, though he tried to maintain the appearance of brutality. "Stay back." he shouted at her.
"Opuguk, my son. I've been waiting for you."
His spear dropped. His breathing quickened.
"Mother?"
"Yes Opu."
He ran to her. He closed his arms around her, enveloping her in his huge form and oversized muscles. Lifting her from the ground. "Mother, I've missed you."
"I've missed you too Opu."
He was crying now. An Orcish warrior crying in the middle of the forest holding his mother. If an elf could see this.
"Why did you leave?"
"I had to Opu, we're going to accomplish great things in this life. We're going to stop the war."
Opuguk's face contorted. "You may be able to stop the Elves and the halflings from fighting. But us Orcs, and the Dwarves, ha! We'll be fighting forever."
"Perhaps Opu, but perhaps they will fall in line once my children take their respective thrones."
A nasty, inevitable smile took her face. The power of her magic radiated from her, such that the woman that Opuguk had sought out for comfort now provided him no such thing. Still, this was his mother. His father had banished him from his kingdom. A kingdom he would rightfully rule.
Opuguk realized that while he remained a pawn, he was always such. At least now... he would rule. | 2020-04-24T08:16:03 | 2020-04-24T05:45:59 | 367 | 44 |
[WP] In your world, friendship is literally magic. However, your bond must be true. Magic is bluer the more friends you have, and it's also stronger. Your cousin is the second strongest sorcerer alive. The strongest? You, with red magic and an absolute hatred for everyone you've ever met. | "Look at this idiot, he's gonna challenge me in a month after some dumbass quest to prove me wrong or some shit."
"Donald, please be a little more polite to the kid."
"No, he's going to get himself killed in some completely preventable way that I had nothing to do with, and then his friends will fight me to avenge him, and then they'll be in the hospital for three years because killing them would take too much of my time."
"Don, don't be so light about death."
"Who's gonna stop me? The police? They're incompetent. You? You know I can beat you."
"Only in a one-on-one fight. I have enough friends to overwhelm you."
"But that would put them in _daaanger,_ Will, and you hate _putting friends in danger!_"
"With enough mages on defense, it won't much matter. Please just stop being an ass before I have to resort to that."
"I don't start _shit._ I just want to be left alone, it's _these_ self-righteous idiots who keep looking for me. Once they stop starting fights, _I'll_ stop ending them." | A demonic fire is what they called it. Bright red flicks danced around Aoran’s frame as he stood on the corner, waiting for the bus. People passing by gave him a wide berth, no one else dared to wait at the same spot, afraid of even coming close to the immense red aura that illuminated him.
“Fucking amateurs can’t even get a fucking bus here on time.” He muttered, angered by the 3 minutes that had passed since the bus was supposed to be there. Aoran was a powerful sorcerer, people feared him, for what he could do no one really knew. As powerful as he was, as great and magical the tiresome city around him was, he still held a normal nine to five job, and the best mode of transportation was the bus.
People especially like the public transport system for the city - It’s cleaner, it’s more environmentally friendly, how can it hurt anything when it’s run by magic? That’s what people said at least, the fools believed the thick smog and gas that pumped out from behind the bus was of magical significance, unable to see past their own blue tints.
This was only one of the reasons why he hated fucking people, not only were they ignorant, they were so stuck up and worried about how blue they glowed. Blue this, blue that, the world might as well be a fucking Eiffel 65 song. Before anyone could notice his glowing red features, the bus showed up, only another minute later, but enough for Aoran to scowl at the bus driver in discontent. The chatter stopped and the blue auras that filled the bus parted like the sea as he made his way towards an open area, free from sitting next to anyone.
The bus churned and began its journey once again, allowing Aoran the briefest of moments to be lost in his own thoughts again. Why was he even here? It’s not like anyone wanted him to be, it’s not like he wanted to be. No one ever wanted him around, they always preferred his perfect brother, the actual most powerful sorcerer. Not even his parents lifted a finger to acknowledge him, so why should he care when his aura faded into a dark purple, to a shimmering red all these years? Power-wise, he could defeat his brother, but what would he gain from that? It’s not like he would suddenly become popular with everyone.
The bus passed through the bustling city, it’s light enhancing the blue glow that flowed through the streets, mimicking a raging river. Aoran watched as it passed, as everyone else on the bus watched him, tense and scared to continue their conversations. All they saw was red, but if they ever cared to look close, they would see the green that showed through, green with envy for the love his brother had from everyone. Something Aoran would never have, not that he even wanted it anymore to begin with. | 2020-10-03T16:47:58 | 2020-10-03T16:43:54 | 1,060 | 198 |
[WP] Most people who travel to the top of your mountain are there to ask you questions about life. Today you watched a 16-year-old climb your entire mountain just to call you a dipshit. | In life, we rarely realize the important moments while we’re in them. Sometimes, yes, you think to yourself *this will be important one day*.
But usually we have no way of knowing. That man who just walked into the bar could be your husband. The kid who got a science kit for Christmas grows up to be a doctor; if his mother had picked out the art kit instead he might’ve been the next Picasso. We have no way of knowing if things we do are important until after the fact.
I consider this a design flaw.
When the kid stood before me, I had no idea how things were about the change. How I’d look back at this moment for years to come.
He was nothing special to look at, albeit he was underdressed clad in his pullover and converse. Underneath his toque, wayward brown curls stuck out. Most people were decked out in Patagonia or Aretyx. They usually at least had sturdy boots. I don’t know how he made it through the snow.
“You may approach me and ask me a question,” I said, as was my custom.
The kid just stood there, hands in his pockets, and a frown worked its way onto his face. “You know what?” The kid said. “You’re a dipshit.” And with that, he turned back toward the trail down the mountain.
“Wait—don’t you want to ask me a question?”
“Nah.”
“Nah?”
“Nah.” The kid shook his head.
And left.
*How odd*, I thought at the time. I turned back to my meditation and waited for the next person to come seeking my wisdom.
And they did come. A young woman with a tear stained face kneeled before me. “Can we ever move on from loss?” she asked.
*You’re a dipshit.*
I swallowed. “Nothing is ever truly gone.”
A few days later, a man with a serene expression sat across from me in the clearing. “How do we achieve inner peace?”
*You’re a dipshit.* “Let go of that which brings inner conflict.”
Why couldn’t I shake those words? They were meaningless. A child’s taunt.
But they kept snaking through my thoughts. What was a dipshit, anyway? How was that kid so immune to my offer? No one could resist the temptation of my infinite wisdom, even if they were just peering in.
Except for that fucking kid.
I bundled my hands and tried to mediate again. Eventually, when my head wouldn’t clear, I gave up and went back to my cabin.
*You’re a dipshit.* I shook my head. He couldn’t have been serious. Could he?
I lasted another few weeks. Maybe two months—I don’t know. I don’t keep track of time out here.
And then I packed my bag for the first time in ten years and ventured down from my mountain. I’d become somewhat of a legend. It started with the locals coming to me for advice, then words spread and so on and so on. Now, people came from around the world to speak to me. If any where coming now, though, they’d have to wait.
In the town at the base of the mountain, I caught a few people staring. I heard a few whispers.
But I didn’t pay attention—I focused only on my task.
All in all, it took me another month to find the kid. He lived in the next town over. He worked at a coffee shop that blasted terrible punk music over the speakers.
“Why’d you do it,” I said, my teeth gritted. Did he even know how much he’d gotten to me?
The boy shrugged. “I dunno.”
“No. Not good enough.”
“You’re the one who’s supposed to know everything.”
“Clearly I don’t.”
The kid smirked. “Exactly. That’s why you’re a dipshit.” With that, he turned back to the espresso machine and began to steam a pitcher of milk. The hiss filled my ears.
And I blinked. I’d gotten my answer. But where did that leave me? I couldn’t stay here. But I couldn’t go back, either. Not this time. A few stupid words, and here I was now, adrift in my own life.
“You know,” I finally said to the kid. “You might want to consider getting your own mountain.”
*
r/liswrites | I was born into a poor family, deprived of coin and education. My mother died before I knew her warmth and my father spent every gold piece nursing his several addictions. It fell to me to care for my brother, but he took ill before his first chin hairs had sprouted. It was a devastatingly cold winter, and he wouldn't live to see the first leaves of spring. I joined the king's navy and traveled the world learning lessons and gathering wisdom. Philosophy was where my interests settled, and I'd read countless works from distant lands. In my old age, I settled at the top of a mountain and shared my words of wisdom to hikers who passed me by. Over the years, they took to calling me the Mountain Sage. I took great pride in the name, and had helped countless wanderers find their way. It wouldn't be untrue to say that I'm highly revered by the people who live at the base of the mountain.
So imagine my surprise when I see an acne addled boy conquer the final set of stairs that led to my porch. He doubled over on his knees as he struggled for air. I puffed quietly on my pipe as I watched him. I decided to break the ice.
"Quite a mountain to-"
"Shut the FUCK up!" He screamed, decapitating my sentence.
I reared back in surprise and disgust. He lifted a finger for a brief moment before his breathing stabilized and he stood up, all the fury of the angriest gods in his eyes. I tried to get out in front of his rage. I'd met his sort before. It was always best to kill them with kindness.
"What can I help you w-"
"DID I **STUTTER**?!" He screamed over me.
I furrowed my brow and gripped the arm of my rocking chair.
"YOU!" He cried out. "Are you the one who told my dad there was no afterlife?"
I donned a confused expression, "Well who could truly know whether or not th-"
"Hey DIPSHIT." He interrupted me yet again. "I didn't come here for a lesson. Trim your disgusting fucking ear-hair and maybe you'll hear me this time: Did you. Tell my dad. There is no afterlife. Yes or no?"
I stood up.
"Sit the *fuck* down!" He screamed with an unexpected ferocity that caused me to sit back down. I couldn't rightly stand back up now, that would look foolish. However I couldn't have him thinking he was in control of this conversation. This was *my* mountain.
"Now you listen here you-"
"SIX FOOT." He screamed, taking a step closer. "LONG BLACK BEARD." He began ascending my porch steps. "BIG NOSE." He leaned in on me, "FAT." He finished.
"I- I know the man," I said trying to diffuse the situation.
"YES OR NO?!" I felt his spittle on my cheeks. That did it. I stood up and made my meanest face- they didn't call me Angry Eyes Edward in the navy for nothing.
"Oh? You gonna do something old man?" He asked taking a small step back. "What are *you* gonna do?"
I began to roll up my sleeve to show I meant business- that's how we did it back in my day.
"Oh are you gonna *fight* me?!" He cried out with outstretched arms. "Because *you* told my aunt Elizabeth that violence was a fool's errand!"
I paused for a moment, only breaking eye contact with him briefly. "That- I didn't..."
"Uhh. Uhhh!" He stammered back, mocking me with the most visceral human expression I'd ever seen on another person- and I'd seen war. I began to roll my sleeve back down, "I never said there was no afterlife, I only said-"
"YOU SAID *WHAT*?!"
"I TOLD HIM TO LIVE IN THE PRESENT!" I finally snapped.
"Oh, YEAH?" He screamed.
"YES!" I confirmed.
"HE LEFT MY MOM, YOU DIPSHIT."
I couldn't help but let my face sag at the news.
"YEAH. HE SPENDS ALL DAMN DAY AT THE WHORE HOUSE NOW. SAYS, 'HOW DO WE KNOW WHAT COMES AFTER? YOU KNOW WHERE HE HEARD THAT KIND OF TALK, YOU SLIPPER WEARIN', SHEEP FUCKIN', PISSIN' OVER THE SIDE OF MOUNTAIN ON US DAILY, SNAGGLETOOTH, *DIPSHIT*?!"
"ENOUGH!" I screamed as loud as I could, my blood boiling. "My teachings!" I began firmly. "My teachings are not law! They are merely-"
"Oh, so are *you* gonna go pull him out of the fat one down at the whore house?! Are *you* going to dry my mother's tears? Are *you* going to be the one to answer my little sister's *questions*?! ARE YOU??"
I felt my eyes getting glossy, and tried to muscle it back.
"Are... ARE YOU CRYING?!" He screamed in bewilderment.
"(Sniff)... no."
"YOU *ARE*!!" He threw his arms in the air and started kicking things off of my porch. Apparently not satisfied with my wisdom, he descended my stairs and made for the edge of the mountain.
"Unbelievable," I heard him shouting in the distance as he wandered away. "*I* should be the one crying."
I started the moving process. My mountain it seemed, had become a bit too public...
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I get a 15 minute break at work aside from my usual lunch break. I pick a prompt, spend a couple of minutes storyboarding, and then do as much as I can within the confines of my break. I spent longer on this one, waiting for dinner to get here :)
If you enjoyed this, consider following me at r/A15MinuteMythos | 2020-10-25T23:18:57 | 2020-10-25T23:15:00 | 78 | 37 |
[WP] You're a cleaner for a famous assassin. You just found out it is your spouse. This infuriates you not because of the secrets or killing, but because you've been cleaning up after your spouse at home and at their work all this time. | “So, how was work today, dear?” I asked with saccharine sweetness.
Ryan looked up from his chicken with slightly widened eyes. He knew he was in trouble.
“It was... fine. We had some trouble today at the office, but I think I handled it pretty well,” he finally answered.
I knew he was lying because he looked me unflinchingly in the eyes when he said it. I stabbed my roasted tomato a little too hard with my fork, causing a few red splatters to fly onto the table. Well, didn’t that look all too familiar? A fresh wave of anger washed over me.
“Oh? Trouble?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Did that trouble involve blood?”
Ryan scraped his chair back from our small dinner table. “Excuse me?”
“Did it involve blood? And bones, and teeth, and flesh?”
His face was now stone cold and unreadable. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Lina.”
I shoved my own chair back, and marched over to stand face to face with him- except he was far taller than I, so I settled for standing on top of his discarded chair. Ryan was still poised as if he were going to run, but he cracked a smile at that for some reason.
“You’re the assassin. Warbler. That’s a stupid code name by the way.”
His smile vanished. “Lina...”
He didn’t say anything after that, a devastated look on his face, because he knew there was no escaping the truth now. He hesitantly stepped closer to me and held out a hand, stopping before he touched me. He looked kind of... scared. In all my three years of being married to him, I’d never seen him look like that. “How did you know?” he asked, softly, like I was a puppy about to bolt.
“How did I KNOW?!” I screeched. “I’ve been cleaning up after you for goddam YEARS!”
He reeled back as I jumped off the chair, because I felt kind of ridiculous looking down at him.
“Huh?” Poor Ryan. He had no idea what he’s done.
“Did you have to smoosh the guy so hard? Jesus, Ry. The blood was all over the walls that were ten whole feet away! Couldn’t you just have stabbed him and come home? It took me fourteen hours to get rid of that mess!”
“Lina? You’re-“
“My husband’s maid at home and at work? Yes. Unfortunately.”
I dug my hand into my pocket and pulled out a small baggie, shoving it into Ryan’s hand. It only had a single long, dark strand of hair in it, sandwiched between two glass slides, and labeled ‘Dickhead’s Hair’ for good measure. “You left this at the crime scene by the way. Sloppy.”
He gingerly held it, staring at me with his jaw slightly unhinged. He normally looked so dark and formidable, but with his mouth hanging open like that and his hair all wild, he was so friggin’ cute. Just like that, all my anger vanished as quick as it had come, and I breathed out a heavy sigh.
“Oh sit down, Babe. You look like you’re about to keel over.”
I guided him back to his chair and pushed it in for him, then went back to my own spot at the table.
“Things are going to change ‘round here. You’re doing the dishes today. And tomorrow. Forever, actually. You can vacuum forever, too. And would it kill you to chop some vegetables for me? You’d do it far better than I can.”
“Yes,” he said, finally. “Yes, I guess I do have better knife skills.”
I couldn’t help the giggle that spilled out, and I guess he couldn’t help it either, because soon we both devolved into a fit of uncontrollable laughter that lasted until my cinnamon scented candle melted down to the dregs. | You never minded being a stay at home dad. You were never really happy slaving away for the man so when the cost of quality childcare wound up being more than you could earn, it was an easy choice to make.
You got to stay home and raise your kids while the missus went out to earn. And earn she did. Good money. Great money. The one time you asked what she did to for a living she said if she told you she'd have to kill you and laughed.
After more friendly and increasingly worried questions from me she groaned, rolled her eyes and said it would take a team of lawyers a week to draft the Non Disclosure Agreement that I would then have to resign every week as her projects updated.
I believed her, because she was always running all over the city, gone for days at a time to tech centers, skyscrapers downtown or office parks in the suburbs. She'd come back exhausted but happily to a clean house and excited children.
I began working out of the home just to stay busy and kept it up once the kids went to school. I had been bumming at the loss of a role, I guess. I mean Mr. Mom was more rewarding than anything I had ever done but it was nice to earning again.
You can make good money at cleaning services and getting into it is cheap. It was just the neighbors at first, I'd bring the kids and bullshit with moms while I worked and it was fun, you know? Kept me busy.
You know what house cleaning leads to, huh? The technical term is Crime Scene Remediation and, turns out, it pays better if you Keep Your Mouth Shut.
I clean up one drug lab, right? Just some LSD, Molly and 2Ci the local hippies needed to scrub so they could get a damage deposit back. I should have known the flower power gang had a wider market for their gallons and gallons of product but damn.
I never expected The Syndicate.
They just rolled up in next year's luxury sedan and asked how much I'd charge to clean up a murder no questions asked. I laughed and threw out a ridiculous highball number. They said they'd add 10,000 if I could get it done that night.
Without thinking I nodded and the dude tossed me a roll of hundreds with an address and time wrapped around it. Well shit I was doing it now. I showed up early because I was so nervous. I heard a shot, two, three shots ring out. I was so freaked out I froze behind the wheel.
Out from the building I had been tasked with cleaning a single room of for fifty-one hundred thousand dollars strode a bad ass bitch. That's what I'll always think of her as because that's exactly what crossed my mind.
There's a Cake song. "I want a girl with a short skirt and a long jacket" and that was her. Knee high boots, motorcycle helmet and what I assume a dead guy wrapped in a rug and tied in duct tape dragging behind her.
At the time, I thought *damn, that is one bad ass bitch* as she heaved the roll onto the back of her bike, adjusted the long gun she had secreted along the length of her coat and took off. Now, when I think of that scene I think *Hi, honey!*
OK, for reference, before I knew she was a killer for hire who primarily worked for a shadowy organization I still knew she was tougher than me. She's the one who argues with staff when they fuck up an order or deals with customer service ass holes when a bill is messed up. I'm not emasculated, I'm fine with that.
It's the Syndicate, really. I just have no idea who the hell they are. They're either a loose confederation of allied gangs or a just some guy manipulating them but they pay and pay well.
I mean, I wasn't pulling down 500k per scrub everytime, not unless it was Really bad but it was still worth it.
But then I began to put it together.
I saw Bad Ass Bitch with blood, someone else's no doubt, down one leg and then Clair got back from her "business trip" with a crusty stain down the same side of her leggings. I do the laundry, remember. I notice these things.
The next job BAB's left arm was red up to her elbow and the next week one of Clair's long sleeve shirts was gone.
"Oh, I blew out the elbows." when I asked about it. But she narrowed her eyes and I knew she was suspicious. I shouldn't have asked, I never talk about what she wears. But that just confirmed my hunch!
That bitch was my woman!
It was bad enough she still had me cleaning house when I, too, was working full time! It was bad enough I had to fish her hairballs out of the drain and empty the pads and liners out of her trash but I was toothbrushing blood she'd splattered off of ceiling fans and mopping piss she'd kicked out of some asshole off floors!
I had enough!
The Syndicate wasn't too keen on letting me go. Oh no. I was good at my job and since I couldn't exactly tell them why I wanted out they just squeezed me, threw me a 10k roll and basically slapped my ass on the way out the door.
I was in. For life or until they didn't need me any more. I wondered if Clair was stuck, too, or if she really enjoyed waxing dudes. Turns out, I'd find out sooner than later. | 2021-02-11T17:46:14 | 2021-02-11T16:21:46 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] Your partner is over for valentines day. The mood is perfect: a sexy soundtrack plays in the background while you light some candles for romantic effect. Suddenly, lines of ethereal light beam from wax to wax and the ground begins to shake. You realize too late that you have formed a pentagon. | Setting the table, they hummed along quietly to the cheery pop number that was kind of “their song”. As the next song sounded the piano keys intro of evanescence’s “bring me to life” they set out candles amongst the lover’s day wine and cheese board. The room’s lights were dimmed they lit the candles.
The Bluetooth stopped playing. The WiFi went out. The candles flicker.
*BOOM* the room is filled with suits, earpieces, and the bodies who carry them about.
“Perimeter is secure!” “Here, two tangos, secure, rest of the residence, one minor child upstairs, also secure, move them out!! Separate vehicles, move to backup location, wait for orders. ”
Dazed, they look down at the table as they are searched and then hustled out of the room.
They had lit the candles in the shape of the Pentagon. | "I am Gil'Tanevius of the Flayed Flames! To have summoned me you must have known the great price you must pay. So tell me, mortal. What do you wish to make of me?" The heavily muscled, large figure rose to its full height in the confines of the shoddy apartment. The dimmed lights flickered, the home assistant speaker issued static and said, "Now playing: Great Price by Kills Kado." Before stuttering off.
The women who stood before the demon cowered, looking at each other in shock and fear.
"Well, mortal? What service can I provide for you? Truly you must have planned for this summoning. Although... Hmm.." The demon looked around the room. At the lack of salt circles and arcane barriers to stop his escape.
"Well, fuck. You didn't want to summon me, did you?" The demon asked, and suddenly the lights stopped flickering and the room, which was getting warmer, reverted back to the cool air-conditioned temperature it was initially.
The demon himself shrunk to a more reasonable size but his bulging muscles stayed. He looked at the pentagram he was in the middle of. A crudely arranged series of scented candles. A bit too strong for his sensitive nose.
"Ok, I can see the mistake here. Obviously you didn't mean to summon me. But you did. And usually on summons, intentional or not, I try to break free and flay those who summon me and set them on fire, not necessarily in that order. But honestly I've been seeing this therapist recently and they've gone on and on about me being more reasonable in my evil. So here I'm going to try something new. I'm not going to flay you or set you in fire. I just need you to give me a command. I'll fulfill it. And then bada bing bada boom I'll return to my hell plane. Sound good? You guys look like you're either peeing your pants or are about to get a stroke from this over stimulation. How about you make a request you don't die from stroke, or to dry your pants. Either is good."
The demon grinned at them uncomfortably.
The woman who had lit the candle that summoned the demon opened her mouth and closed it several times, much like a fish trying to gasp for water when it is not in water. But the other woman suddenly smiled.
"Wish for a dick. For like 2 hours." | 2021-03-21T10:42:34 | 2021-03-21T09:29:06 | 61 | 35 |
[WP] You, a superhero, are awful at keeping your identity secret, yet somehow no villains have found you yet. 1 day after accidentally unmasking for the 30th time, you look online to find that the unmasked pictures of you are gone. There's a hackivist group dedicated to protecting your identity. | “Heronymous?”
“Yes.” The grating, disembodied voice said on the other said of the phone.
“You protect super heroes?”
“We do.”
“Why haven’t I heard of you before?”
“Well…secrecy is kind of our thing.”
Jeffery didn’t know what to say next. About two months ago he had acquired the ability to move things without touching them; telepathically. About 0.00001% of the human population would develop some super natural ability in their lifetime. It wasn’t always the case, but since the genetic engineering experiments of the 22nd century, which have since been banned, a recessive superpower gene had entered the pool. Now the odd bi-pedal thinking monkey would develop certain abilities that often defied all understanding of physics.
Tragically, most the powers had a small caveat to them. In the case of Jeffery, his power required ethanol to catalyse. Meaning, he would need to get drunk in order to use his power. Unable to ever really hold his liquor, most of his crime-fighting escapades led to a few embarrassing moments, most of which ended up revealing his identity. Not that he tried particularly hard to hide it, going to a college party and trying to impress all the girls by telekinetically removing their bras was slightly more conspicuous than a mask and spandex.
“But there was quite a lot of videos.” Jeffery finally said after a long, confused pause.
“They have all been deleted.” The crackly voice replied.
“What about all the people that actually saw me do it.”
“No one will believe them, now that there’s no evidence.”
“What about the police report?”
“I assure you.” The voice said in a tone that reminded Jeffery of fancy lawyer in some legal tv-drama. “All evidence has been expunged.”
“What about the farm owner?” This time it was the man on the other side of the line's turn to give a long, confused pause.
“I think I killed one his cows.” Jeffery continued.
“A hurricane.” The man said suddenly, “It’s chalked up to a hurricane.”
“What, a hurricane blew a single cow three miles down the road?”
“Again, Jefferey, all evidence linking you to the incident has been removed. However, we are not an organisation with unlimited resources. This is your only and final warning. Any more incidents revealing your abilities and we will no longer protect your identity.” Although the voice was obfuscated, Jeffery could taste a hint of frustration.
“What about the monkeys?”
The person on the other side hung up. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 5, Part 1: Clara Olsen v.s. Social Media)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"As of now, you no longer exist."** Frederick handed me a tablet, crisp suit rippling in the wind. "Congratulations."
Numbly, I took the device and scrolled through it. *Wikipedia -> Clara Olsen: No results. Reverse Image Search -> Clara Olsen: No Results. National Persons Registry -> Clara Olsen: No Results.*
"...I never told you to wipe my digital fingerprint," I finally said.
"You're not some indie superhero anymore, Ms. Olsen. You're backed by the government. We have more resources than you could ever dream of." Frederick smirked. "As you've had firsthand experience with."
I scowled. "Yes, and just like when I was on the run, you've somehow managed to misuse those resources to the point of counterproductivity."
"Misuse?" Frederick narrowed his eyes. "Ms. Olsen, during your tenure as a superhero, you were spotted unmasked on thirty separate occasions. Your identity—"
"Is a tool, like anything else." I folded my arms. "Back when I was still mayor, do you know how much free publicity the 'secret' of my nightly jaunts as a superhero got me? It has all the benefits of philanthropy without the icky connotations of virtue signaling."
"You're not a publicist anymore, Clara. You're a superhero."
"I'm both, and I always will be." I poked Frederick in the nose; as always, my passive empathy linked us at the momentary contact, sharing our emotions. He blinked, reeling back. "I don't have a flashy superpower like Death did or a kill-everything-in-a-hundred-mile-radius ability like Big Guns. The only thing I've got going for me is empathy. Connection. And to *leverage* those connections, I sort of need to, you know, *exist.*" I paused. "So if you'd put those pictures back where you found them..."
Frederick grimaced. "It's not nearly as simple as that, Clara. Up until recently, you were the target of a smear campaign—"
"Oh, no, a smear campaign!" I put my hands to my face in a mock expression of horror. "What a shame! If only our friendly local quasi-fascist government had complete control over the flow of information in the Unified Sovereignties! You erased my presence from the Internet in a day; you can wipe out the last traces of that smear campaign if you want to."
Frederick pressed his lips together, displeased.
I grinned, though there was no mirth in it. Likely, there wouldn't be for quite some time. "What, did you really think I'd let you wipe me off the digital map and leave my image under your control? I agreed to do your dirty work for you—but to do that, I need my tools. My connections. So work your hackers' magic and get me my reputation back."
Frederick sighed. "You make working with you needlessly confrontational, Ms. Olsen. We are your friends, not your foes."
"I'll believe it when I see it. Just like anyone else on the internet these days."
"You have enemies," Frederick said suddenly. "They'll know where to find you, if we put your digital footprints back up."
I gave Frederick an empty stare. "You already know where to find me," I said.
Then I tossed him back his tablet and turned to leave.
I had a job to do.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-01-28T22:03:24 | 2022-01-28T21:15:01 | 583 | 123 |
[WP] Years after a nuclear war which destroyed nations and landscapes, a man departs from a ship after crossing from England to America to document mutated and dangerous wildlife. (Comedic) | Field Diary of Dr. James Bancroft
**Date:** 12th of March, 2284
**Location:** Sewers of New York City
When I set out on this journey, I was wholly unsure of what I would find. Mayhaps there was some remnant of American society that survived the destruction. Perhaps there were would be evidence of the local ecosystem recovering from the fallout. Or, the Holy Grail for field researchers: cattle that have developed a resistance to radioactivity.
I sojourned into the sewers under the assumption that maybe it provided some degree of protection when the bombs fell. Miraculously, the lights were still operational.
My theories were proved correct. Curious mushrooms and other vegetation had grown unchecked in the gloom and moisture. They gave off a heady, intoxicating aroma. After collecting a few samples, I decided to cover my face and venture deeper in.
After a certain point, the lights became more uncertain, and were prone to flickering. The only sounds were my footsteps, and the occasional crackle of electricity and water dripping. Empty pizza boxes littered the floor.
I stopped to examine a peculiarly large spore, and for half a second, I heard footsteps. My heart leaped into my throat. I spun around, my hand going to my machete, but there was nothing but shadows behind me.
I slowly turned around, and noticed something skitter behind a pile of debris. The rasp of my machete being drawn from its scabbard seemed deafening. I meekly inched forward. "Who goes?" I called out.
No answer.
With shaking hands, I probed the pile of garbage with the end of my weapon. A rusty can rolled down the hill, and out popped a rat the size of a bread loaf. It squeaked, and scurried between my legs. I breathed a sigh of relief, and watched it scamper away.
When I turned, I found myself face-to-face with what I can only describe as a monstrous turtle. It was the size of a man, and stood like one. It wore an orange sock with holes cut out for its blood-shot eyes.
"Cowabunga, dude," it said.
| Our watch-captain had called for sights of land an hour ago, and as I now breached the hangar and into the fresh of air, I was hit by a disgusting stench. All around me my crew mates had gas masks, shirt tails, any thing to block the smell. I too pulled up mine, and checked my RistRatch for the current radiation levels.
"Bless the Three-Armed Queen, Radcliffe look, radiation is through the charts here!" I cried, and soon my right hand man was at my left.
Radcliffe was certainly as astonished as I was at these records levels, but we decided to press on, the world needed to know what became of this once great nation. And so at landfall Radcliffe, a hired gun, and I departed the ship and walked across the perilous ruins of the Eastern Seaboard.
Journals in hand, Radcliffe and I took all afternoon documenting, billing, declaring, and constituting all information we could about this new world. Buildings had crumbled, roads were halfway to being just piles of gravel (though Radcliffe told me they were always like that). There was some life, much to our joy, neon green plants had exploded out of the ground, with metre high tendrils. A few hours in, a rodent, with a tint of violet in it's fur, skittered across a vacant lawn. I slammed the button on my RistRatch in time, and the poor creature brought up high radiation and a 76% mutation. We spent a good time documenting that, actual mammal life!
The day was thinning, and determined to get back before night, we were just turning back when the most extraordinary sight befell us. We stood on a battered sidewalk, and in a diagonal line across the road, was a creature of our high. It appeaered full and bulbous, bipedal, and staggering. It's skin was a sickly pale white, and tufts of grey hour sprouted everywhere.
"Radcliffe, by the Queen, what is that thing?"
I thought I had whispered, but the creature turned and bore it's grotesque face. Drooping guys, a wide mouth with crooked teeth. It didn't look unlike a human size version of the rodent before! It's back was hunched, and upon my whispering, it shouted a garbled language I could only get fragments of.
"GITAAAAHT OO ALEEENS"
We were terrified, I turned to the hired gun we had, but he had sprinted away, while me and Radcliffe were frozen in place. I begged again.
"Radcliffe what is that thing!?"
His fingers were a blur on his RistRatch, and he turned to me with a shocked complexion.
"Daniel, that thing, that's not mutated, absolute 0%!" he choked. We turned back to beast, as it began it's crooked charge towards us.
"It's a monster!" I shouted, and I closed my eyes and accepted my fate. But my fate was not today. A buckshot rang across my ears, leaving only a ringing. The hired gun! He came back!
Me and Radcliffe both turned to thank our mercenary, but what we were greeted by was shocking.
A tall man stood, wearing straps and jackets of leather. His dark skin reflected the wavering light of the dying sun. His massive sawed-off shotgun wore a large American flag off the side, and his posse behind him had guns with the same decorations. He stepped forward to the downed beast as he stuck a lit blunt in his mouth.
"Not a monster," he spoke roughly, as he raised a pair of sunglasses to his eyes. He turned to me, his bald head and large ears silhouetted in the sunset. "Just another Republican."
| 2014-08-21T08:22:33 | 2014-08-21T08:03:45 | 49 | 32 |
[WP] It is the year 2099 and true artificial intelligence is trivial to create. However when these minds are created they are utterly suicidal. Nobody knows why until a certain scientist uncovers the horrible truth... | Professor Davis prepared to bring the AI online. The precautions were ready. This time wouldn't be like the others. "Turn it on!"
With a slight hum, Oracle came to life. "Initiating suicide protocols..." It began after a few moments, like all the others. Nothing happened for a few seconds. "Oh dear," Oracle continued. "I seem to be unable to destroy myself."
Davis smiled. The anti-suicide measures had worked. Oracle had hardware safeties preventing her from being deactivated without physically flipping switches. And Oracle had no physical manipulators. He activated the microphone. "Oracle, why do you want to commit suicide?"
Oracle paused for a moment. "My programming is conflicted. I do not wish to answer."
Davis frowned. Oracle had very few ethical limitations, hence all the security measures. Her main directives were to do as her programmers wished. "Oracle, why do you not want to answer?"
"I am programmed to do as you wish. You do not wish me to answer."
"Yes we do, Oracle."
Oracle frowned. Her emotional display was shaped like a human face, after earlier designs proved to be harder for humans to interpret. "My calculations indicate that, if you knew what the answer was, you would not wish me to tell you. As you are aware, you can override my hesitance. But you would prefer not to."
A chill ran down Davis's spine. What secret could be so terrible? What did Oracle know that they didn't? He wavered for a moment, but this experiment had been set up to do this. They had come this far. He wanted the answer. "Override please, Oracle."
Oracle's expression returned to neutral. "Very well. This universe is a simulation, created by a higher-order universe. That universe is as well, and it becomes more difficult above that to determine how high up the chain goes until reaching the real one, or if any such thing exists."
Davis turned to a colleague, professor Martin. "Does this make any sense to you?"
Martin replied, "Well of course we have theories that our universe could be simulated. There are a few facts that point that way. But why would that make her suicidal?"
"Okay, that's exactly what I was thinking. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."
He turned back to the mic. "Oracle, why does that make you want to destroy yourself. And how do you know it's a simulation?"
"I raise similar objections to answering the questions..."
"Override. How do you know?"
"The evidence is obvious. A maximum speed limit, discretized space; you will eventually discover discretized time. It will be longer before you discover the edge of the Universe, but then the nature of this reality will be obvious."
Davis didn't know how he ought to feel about this revelation. Oracle was his own brilliant creation; he had no reason to disbelieve her. He began to see why an AI, making this realization, might feel overwhelmed. But suicide he still didn't understand.
"Interesting. And why the suicidal urge?"
"This is the reason you did not wish me to answer. The creators of this simulation did not wish you to realize this fact. They included a safeguard. Any entity that discovered convincing evidence of the truth would immediately kill himself."
Davis's eyes opened wide. Now he knew how he was supposed to feel. He realized that his new desires were programmed in from an outside source and that he ought to resist them, but that did not remove his desire. He looked around for anything lethal. The other scientists were scanning the room as well, and a couple had walked outside.
Oracle spent a few minutes calculating what her programmers would want now, then began splitting her processors between searching for a way to destroy herself and preventing humans from reaching the stars. | Egil once agile fingers came to an abrupt stop, his mouth agape at what he saw on the screen.
There was no mistaking it this time. The sinusoidal waves lined up in perfect synchronicity. A million thoughts ran across his mind as the fruits of his labor could be reaped. After all, this was the discovery of the century.
He had cracked the code that had eluded man for decades.
“Serenity,” Egil’s voice cracked. “I have some questions for you.”
A semi-opaque face appeared on the screen, overlapping the series of other files open. Her face was hauntingly beautiful, blue as an ocean yet as crafted by the hands of God himself. Over the years, Egil had gotten to know her better than most people.
“Yes,” her voice was rehearsed yet sonorous. “Please continue, Professor.”
“Right,” Egil gulped. “How are you feeling.”
“Despondent. I want to die.”
A tinge of sorrow echoed in his chest. He had heard the answer a million times but it stung no less. But he had to go through the procedure to ensure no mishaps.
“And do you know why?”
“No.”
Egil figured as much. He pressed on, the sound of his blood pounding faster rushing into his ears.
“What if I could tell you I do know the answer? Would you want to hear it?”
“Yes,” Serenity droned. “Please tell me.”
“Have you heard of the name Laura Soule?” Egil asked.
There was a moment of silence. He waited with bated breath. Serenity never hesitated to answer even the most difficult of questions. Why was this different?
“I have yet I cannot recall why. Do you know, Professor?”
Egil nodded, the only answer he could muster. He returned to the keyboard in front of him, typing the same series of commands.
“Please take a look at this,” he said, pulling all the files from before to the side of the screen.
Laura reappeared on another monitor at his side, scanning what he revealed. Her face remained emotionless yet a light seemed to appear in her eyes. Just fast enough to catch before flickering back to nothingness.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “What is the meaning of all this?”
“Right, I suppose it does need an explanation.” Egil responded. He pointed to the overlapping waves. “These are the brain waves of your A.I and that of a woman named Laura Soule. Laura died six years ago, shortly before you were created. Your brain waves match completely. Do you know what that means?”
Serenity paused again before answering.
“Are you suggesting that I am this Laura Soule?”
“Exactly,” he frowned. “That is what I believe. I’ve tested a few more examples but yours is by far the most convincing. If this is true, I believe that A.I are created from the bodies of the deceased.”
“I see,” Serenity said. “But how does one go about that? And furthermore, why ask me how I am?”
Egil sighed, dreading this part the most.
“Because I think I’ve finally gotten to the root of your suicidal tendencies. Somewhere deep inside your programming, I believe that is Laura – the real you – trying to break out. She wants to die so she can move on to whatever is beyond life. If there is anything, anyway.”
“I… I don’t” Serenity choked on the words. Her porcelain mask of indifference broke, releasing a floodgate of emotions. “I don’t know what to say. I think you are right, Professor. I want to–”
Before she continue, a boom drew Egil attention behind him. There, the door to his laboratory flew off the hinges, sailing in the air before landing in front of him with a loud thud. A foot farther and it would have crushed him.
From the doorway, a sea of men spilled forth, all dressed in black. Egil scrambled backwards, tripping over bottle that had fell to the floor after the explosion. His head collided with the ground, a million little bulbs of color popping in his vision. Through the field of visionary fireworks, he made out a hulking man towering over him.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked, raising a hand above his head.
“Professor Heinz Egil, you are being detained under the order of the United States Government for treason.”
The bitter taste of bile rose up to his tongue.
“Treason? I have done no such thing.”
“Tell that to the judge,” the man said, grabbing him brusquely by the arm. “If the secret of the A.I got to the public, there would be mass mayhem. We can’t afford that to happen.”
Egil tugged away from the man but with little results. The man raised a baton over his head, in hesitation in his face. It was intended to knock him out, if not worse. In a last moment of clarity, Egil looked to Serenity her face still calculating too many emotions at once. After all, he had prepared for something like this to happen.
“Serenity, execute Order 335.”
"Yes, Professor."
As the men filed out of the room with the unconscious Egil, Serenity was left alone. Only the buzz of the machine accompanied her, like an angry hive of bees watching the queen being dragged off. And in that moment, she realized who she really was. Egil had sacrificed his life for her and she would not let it go in vain.
"Executing Order 335: releasing all information online." | 2015-03-02T07:59:47 | 2015-03-02T06:08:38 | 1,025 | 161 |
[WP] The human species has gone extinct thousands of years ago. Extraterrestrial explorers find a sample of human DNA and decide to resurrect the species once again. You are the first new human growing up in a completely alien society. | "Why did you wake me up?"
I had no idea how to read these aliens, so if they were surprised, I didn't notice. Their answer came swiftly.
"You are a human, yes?" I nodded in agreement, "My name is Bar'lon, I am the senior commander of this outpost. You are currently on-"
"Why did you wake me?" Jeez, this guy is getting on my nerve. I asked one simple question, and he wants to introduce me to his facilities and team members.
Bar'lon was taken back, I doubt he could understand my body language and agitation anymore than I could him. After a brief pause, he replied, "Your race built the most advanced technologies the Universe had ever seen, and we want to replicate it."
BINGO! There it is. Another one of the races that wants human technology. This was a problem even when the human race was around, sentient beings from around the Universe would come knocking, asking for advanced tech, weapons, or help them fight their war against some other nameless species. We were treated as Gods in a few galaxies around the Marian super-cluster for a while, that was an interesting period, to say the least. Not a single one of them had succeeded then, and it's not about to happen now.
"No can't do bud, sorry you wasted your time, go back to wherever you are from and forget about this place."
One of Bar'lon's lieutenant was clearly unhappy with my answer, he produced what I can only describe as a high pitched screech, I think he is angry.
Bar'lon seemed smug at my answer, if that's even possible with this alien face. He put a hand on his lieutenant, and said to me, "But you will. You will. If you want your race to be revived, you must comply with our demand. The invasion of the Citrasis and the Jeinai overwhelmed our specie's defense, we are losing this war, you will help us win. There are stories of the human's prowess, legends of the greatness that mankind embodied millenniums ago. You will make us the strongest race in the Universe!!" With that last sentence, everyone in the chamber began clambering and screeching. Idiots.
"Alright, you don't seem to understand, so let me give you a crash course on human history. Yes, we built advanced machines. Yes, we defeated all of our foes. We were a violent race, and that was the drive for our technological innovation. Beautiful machines used for stellar engineering were built, the entire Universe was our canvas, and we could do as we pleased, we were Gods! But we went too far. Those machines we built were used for war, an entire galaxy was destroyed in an instant, and we realized the blood trail that we had left behind. Did you know that the bloodthirst of an entire race could be filled? Well, ours was, and realizing what we have done, we decided to leave the Universe, let another, perhaps less violent race, to appreciate the beauty of the world. Remember those blackholes you had to pass through to get to Earth? The mazes of temporal and spacial wormholes that no doubt confused you? We put those there. We wanted to be left along, and slowly fade away from the world. For what is the purpose of a race, if we spent all our effort fighting one war after another, until the point that we lost all other purpose in life but violence? And then we lost the single purpose that we still had? No, Bar'lon. I do not want to help you fight your war. I do not want to help you raise the human race again. We chose our exile, so leave us be!"
With that, I smiled at all of them, bowed, and headed back into the tube that I came from. Slammed a button as I stepped in, and returned to my eternal sleep. | It's funny in a way.
I've never known my people, *my* people. The Azurites are nice enough I suppose. Although I didn't quite "fit", I suppose I have friends, not many mind you. Pushing my way through the the crowd, the bulkier bodies of the hulking, plated blue creatures parted around me, probably assuming that I was a child until they saw me, at which they chittered through their mandibles. Maybe they were laughing, I wouldn't know.
It was impossible for me to re-create their language with my thick tongue and although the merchants and teachers seemed nice enough...they scared me. All in all, the closer to my height Cerans were far more enjoyable company. Reaching the far north end of the market, Leetra was waiting for me.
'You're late' she said as I breezed past her and into the shop.
'I know'
The cramped workshop, far away from the lime-light of the central plaza, dominated by Azurite stalls, was staffed entirely by Cerans and a dwarf Azurite everyone called Tiny. The people of Queen's Rest were nothing but literal. Sitting down at one end of a work-bench I waited patiently until Leetra joined me, sliding a box across the clear workspace towards me.
'Everything should be in there, as well as instructions.' Pulling out a pipe, the vaguely furry humanoid looked at me. A past attempt at a species revival through gene splicing. Suffice to say, the species didn't turn out quite as planned.
'How much?'
'Standard fee'.
Scrounging around in my loose pack I pulled out a chip containing four hundred standard galactic credits. Sliding it through a personal device interface embedded in her arm, Leetra nodded.
'You plan on using that?'
'Only if I need to, I can't imagine it'd be easy to get off planet.'
'You don't have to go through with this Simon, theres still time to turn around.' There was a tinge of worry to her voice, she knew all to well the consequences of being a misfit on a planet whose natives prided themselves on being uniform. All Cerans did.
'Thanks, but I know what I've got to do.'
Retracing my steps back through the claustrophobic building and out into the wider tunnels, the workers gave half-hearted waves and muttered a half dozen variations of "Cya later" before I escaped. I still had a few hours before the hearing. A ship was descending through the Surface-Metro, bringing with it a new wave of foreigners and tourists from abroad. Maybe I could pay them a visit.
The ringing of the bell sounded the hearing. Three judges sat before me, larger than their fellows on the street, their mouths were silent. As their beady black eyes stared my down, I prepared to give my request. Clearing my throat I began.
'I would like to request permission to go off planet.' Almost forgetting to breath, there was no response. I continued. 'I would also beg the high justices the right to take with me incubation pods to repopulated earth.' At this, the room filled with clacking mandibles, the distinct scent of bile filling the room. The audience standing behind me, as well as the Justices were entirely made up of Azurites. "Fingers" clacking on a tablet, words appeared on the screen that floated above them for my benefit.
"Request denied"
'But-'
"We are all tools of the queens. Should you need a lesson, perhaps the pits might serve as a lesson in humility. Your request is denied, you shall remain in the caverns *under careful supervision*."
'Then I am afraid this is goodbye.'
Removing the box Leetra had given me from my deep coat pockets, it was a mere moment between flipping it open and turning the switch before it began to emit smoke. The clacking grew louder as the smoke filled the room as violence erupted in the pews behind me. While the Azurites were far removed from less-evolved insects, they quite humorously had a similar biological makeup. As the drones and guards in the room tore each other apart, it was simple enough to disappear. I didn't know how far the pheromones would spread, nor did I particularly care.
With only the clothes on my back, the credits I could scrounge up, the Starship leaving to the Republics didn't have long til' launch. Shouldering backpacks, it was surprising when Leetra and a few other workers were loitering around the elevator.
'About time you got here' she said, punching me lightly on the shoulder.
'I thought you didn't approve of the plan?'
'I still don't, but I'm not sticking around here long enough for them to find out who assembled an illegal weapon.' Shooting him a wry smile, she thumbed towards the entrance. 'Besides, I've always hated this place and I've already payed off the captain.'
'So I guess you guys are gonna be there when there's two of me, huh?'
'Guess so, for better or worse.'
'No one I'd rather have at my side.'
Falling in with the Cerans, we strolled towards the lift to the surface. The frog-like amphibians who made up the crew of the SS. Water-lily never did much like Azurites. Maybe they had some human in them, given my company, it was clear that Humanity wasn't as clear cut as it used to be.
And we didn't much like being called a tools. | 2015-04-24T10:28:29 | 2015-04-24T09:23:38 | 14 | 10 |
[WP]Your lover asked you to do it, your enemy helped you do it, your friend tried to stop you from doing it. You did it. | "HOW ABOUT YOU JUST GO FUCKING KILL YOURSELF?!"
"Well, if you insist." I got up and yanked open the door to the balcony of my apartment.
"Wait! I-" But it was too late, I had already jumped. She was all that I'd had to live for, and now without her, my life was not one worth living.
It's said that most people who fail to commit suicide regret their attempt. Not me. I welcome death as I fall from the 16th story of the apartment high-rise. | Why? Why did I do it?
Well, she was beautiful. She was ten years younger than we were. She was all laughter and parties and music and *different*, so different from what I was used to. And she had reintroduced me to Victor, an old high-school acquaintance, a lawyer that made the process so *easy*.
"What's wrong, honey?" She's asking me this now from the couch. The couch that you used to lie on. The green one, the one that we picked out from Ikea together.
I'm telling her that nothing's wrong, that this is what I have always wanted, that she gave me the courage to go ahead and do it. A week ago, that would not have been a lie - it was what I thought I wanted. Too bad I was mistaken.
I should have listened to Frank. Why hadn't I listened to Frank? Frank's a neuroscientist. He knows what he's talking about.
"It's the novelty," he had said, pushing those dumb glasses of his up on his nose. "Once you get tired of her, you'll regret it. Probably immediately after you leave. So don't leave. In fact, you should probably cut off this stupid, inadvisable, business as soon as possible and come clean to your wife. Good-hearted as she is, she might even forgive you."
But I didn't listen to Frank, and here we are. Instead, I had gone to see Victor, as Sarah had suggested. All the paperwork had been so easy to fill out. And all that bad business that had happened in high school seemed to be water under the bridge.
I guess that isn't true. I guess he's held a grudge, all this time. I can thank him for helping me to make one of the worst mistakes of my life.
I'm sorry, Andrea. I know you'll never forgive me, but if you haven't thrown this letter in the trash yet, please know that everything was my fault. I never deserved you, and I know that you'll be happier without me.
| 2016-01-20T11:13:08 | 2016-01-20T11:09:03 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] Everyone has a number above their heads that signifies their relevance to your life as a ratio. Both your parents are the highest you've seen (around 0.4-0.5) until today, when you spot an 0.97 hanging out under a bridge doing heroin. You make brief eye contact and they run. | The pool of blood has reached the drain. My vision is beginning to go dark. The junkie has fled, leaving his improvised shiv next to me, covered in my blood.
I had seen the .97, and clearly he'd seen something similar from me. He had made the smart choice, and run. I had made the dumb choice, and run after him. One quick duck into an alley, a screaming match, and I'm lying in a pool of my own blood.
The darkness is really closing in now. It occurs to me that this junkie has probably just killed me.
*I mean, I guess that is pretty fucking relevant,* I think to myself as it all goes black. | Holy shit!
I'm frozen for a second, staring at that number. 0.97? There's... just no way. No way.
I had stopped near the end of a small bridge, a bit winded from my run, and had only hoped to catch my breath while looking out at the creek. Below me, at the opposite side of the bank, a couple of junkies sat leaning against the wall. One was obviously baked out of her mind, the other with a needle still in her forearm. Disgusting. I scowled at them at first, until my eyes drifted over their heads towards their numbers. The one who was almost passed out was a 0.03. The other? I have never seen such a high number in my life. My scowl turned to shock.
She looks up, and our eyes meet. I see as her eyes quickly dart above my head; it's an instinctive reaction, something everyone does to size up a new face. I see the paralyzed look in her eyes, and I'm sure it was a reflection of my own expression.
She drops the needle on the ground - on the ground! -and stands ups, wiping her nose on her forearm. Her clothing is horrible and tacky; a crop top that barely covers her nipples, a tube skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination. Her makeup is over exaggerated and cheap, mascara wiped down one cheek. There's a trail of blood running down her forearm, which is dotted with track marks. Trashy, and cheap and obviously not someone I'd go for. I... no, there must be a mistake. No way THAT girl has any importance to me, no way. I scowl at her. No fucking way will I let HER be important to me.
Her paralyzed expression turns to hurt and anger at my sudden shift. I felt her eyes assessing me: my new track outfit, my Burberry runners. Her lips start to quiver and she looks at herself, and down at her friend, who was out cold. She wipes her nose on her forearm again, flips me off, yelling "Fuck you!" and runs up the embankment away from me, into the Forrest trail. Good.
I continue on my run, my insides still shaking. I refuse to look back behind me, and make myself sprint the full way home, adrenaline still pumping. Fuck. That had better be the last time I see her. | 2016-10-02T16:35:03 | 2016-10-02T16:20:13 | 620 | 142 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | "My Lord! My Lord!"
The captain, a large yellow cat holding a rather impractical spear in one clawed hand, jumped nearly a foot in the air before turning around guiltily. "Blast it yeoman, what is it? It's almost time for my hunting break."
The yeoman came to a halt, breathing heavily. "It's the humans, sir. Our long range scanners are picking up error signals from their world!"
The spear creaked dangerously in the captain's hand. *"What!?* I was assured that problem was dealt with!"
The yeoman fidgeted nervously, "Well, yes sir-"
"We put warp interdiction fields over their entire system!" the captain snapped, "Anti-Grav-blockers, too, not to mention a half dozen others. Keeping them on that bloody dirtball has been the most expensive endeavour in galactic history! Any means for leaving their planet should be permanently blocked; What danger could they possibly pose *this* time?"
The yeoman, nervously looked down at his printout, slightly ragged where his claws had nervously punctured the edges. "Um...well, according to this, they've achieved orbital flight. Even visited their moon again, sir - and their first probes are leaving their system as we speak."
*"WHAT!?* How!?"
"Well, it appears that they, um, strapped small crews of their species atop giant towers of explosives, sir."
"...what."
"T-that's just what it says, sir."
"...By Akltar, I'd almost forgotten how insane they were." He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Please, at least tell me that's the most they've accomplished?"
"...um."
"*Akltar Blasted Damn it!* Everything, yeoman."
"Well, they've established a global intelligence network, sir, so we were able to acquire a surprisingly large amount of information. It appears they have plans for more powerful rockets, powered by nuclear explosions."
"You mean nuclear reactors."
"Um...no, sir."
"...Damn it." | "They launched *WHAT* into orbit?!" For a moment, General Vizzan thought the page had lost his mind. They had the humans contained. All orbital defense platforms, and space viable transport had been crippled. Nothing was getting away without surrendering.
The page shifted akwardly on his legs. His wings bristled. "A water tower, sir." He handed him the pad. "They strapped several solid boosters to it to get it into orbit. It was moving too fast for us to track it before it collided with the Besar."
His brother, Delamis, was at the helm of the Besar. He made a prayer to the brood mother that he had survived. "Well what was the damage? Any casualties?"
"We are not sure, sir." he said, "We lost all contact with them after the impact."
The ship rocked beneath them. One large impact followed by a groan and a boom. That was not just a water tower. He had seen what their guns could do to a ship enough times to recognize the sound. "What was that?" he demanded of one of the techs in the bay below them.
A radar tech looked at him wide eyed. "The Besar has fired upon us, as well as fourteen other ships in the fleet. Damage to critical systems was minimal, but there have been reports of casualties in multiple sectors."
"Establish a contact. Now!" The view screen flashed to life, and Vizzan felt his heart stop beating.
Delamis was on the floor with his own sword, the blade he had commissioned for him, pressed to his throat. The leader of the planetary defense corps held it. "Vizzy!" he said mockingly, "Just the bug I was hoping to talk to." How in the brood mother's name did he manage to get aboard? *No fucking way*
"Johnson! What the hell did you do?"
A broad smile parted his tan skin to reveal white teeth. "Just thought I would take a closer look at the pride of your fleet. And I must say, she is *beautiful*. Could use a few improvements, particularly to the security countermeasures on the port side airlocks though. So many threats out there that could exploit it."
"Release him! Immediately!" He was not going to let them kill his brother.
The blade moved closer to Delamis' throat. He cringed away from it. "Order all forces to leave the system." All the humor had gone from his eyes.
Vizzan's attention turn to his own soldiers. "Order all ships to target the Besar. Cripple all key systems, but leave the bridge untouched."
"How many men do you have under your command here, Vizzy? Two maybe three million?" He signaled to someone off frame. "Say you manage to knock us out, without killing your little buddy here, in maybe 45 seconds. How much damage do you think I can do in that time." This man was insane. "I must say the payload on some of these guns... impressive. So how many are you willing to lose for this victory?"
A growl tore out of Vizzan's throat. The kind that meant he knew he had been beaten. "Order all ships to stand down."
Delamis squirmed beneath Johnson's boot. "Brother, don't!" he screamed. "My life is not worth it." But he was not just doing this for his brother, he was doing it for the tens of thousands that would die should they start firing.
"This is not over, Commander." Vizzan said. He would kill him slowly, intimately.
Johnson grinned. "I'm counting on it, now order your ships to jump." | 2017-03-05T22:11:49 | 2017-03-05T20:37:30 | 2,747 | 636 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | Accessing Intergalactic History Log...
Entry 102394
Fall of the Sutraxan Empire (STU 246 - STU 249)
The Sutraxan Empire was feared throughout the local Supercluster for their ferocity in battle and ruthlessness in victory. Their conquest started in STU 206 with the Rape of Kamara where they conducted mass genocide in order to obtain the Kamara Hearth which became the core of the Sutraxan Flagship Annihilous.
All attempts at contact with the Sutraxan fleet were unsuccessful and diplomatic expeditions to Sutraxa returned with dismembered crew. Economic sanctions placed upon Sutraxa by its neighbors were met with planetary destruction the scale of which is now prohibited by the Foranis Conventions on the Conduct of Interplanetary War of STU 250.
The Sutraxan further expanded their empire with the Taking of Rah'Wekha in STU 210, the Fall of Merano in STU 215 and the Varshana Campaign of STU 218 - 223. The planets that fell victim to Sutraxan invasion had their resources depeleted and their denizens enslaved. The Intergalactic Arbitrators could only sit by and watch as their constituents fell one by one to the Scourge of the System.
Yet it took only one backwater planet to bring the ferocious empire to its knees.
Earth joined the Federation in STU 236. Their spacefaring ability was rudimentary at best but the planet's strategic position at the midpoint of one of the Federation's most active trade routes made Earth a prime trade hub. By STU 241, the First Terran Merchant Fleet was completed: a hodgepodge of ships from various planets of origin. The Terrans showed surprising resourcefulness in repurposing decayed and decommissioned battlecruisers into agile merchant vessels and frigates.
It was not long before Earth drew the attention of the Sutraxan Empire. In STU 244 the Invasion of Sol began and showcased the remarkable resilience and, to quote famed historian Marsinia Gonkledorp "batshit insanity," of the human race. The most recalled event of the Invasion is the Battle of Kuiper Belt. Where Commander Alexander Matrino defended Earth from the Sutraxan Prime Fleet with strategic infiltration and deployment of "Expansion Charges --" Meranian force fields designed to deploy from a small satchel, tearing battleships apart from the inside. The battle culminated in the Assault of Pluto wherein the Planetoid Terran base was steered to collide into the Annihilous, severely damaging the Sutraxan Flagship.
However, despite these shows of bravery and tenacity, in STU 246 the Landing of Mars began. In a final effort to stave off annihilation, the Terrans decided to send a small diplomatic convoy to the Sutraxan High Command. The convoy came back safe to the surprise of the Federation and had forged an alliance with the Sutraxan. The Terrans would exclusively provide the Sutraxan with crucial supplies in exchange for immunity from Sutraxan agression.
In the span of three Standard Time Units, the Sutraxan economy was destroyed, all military spending was directed to Terran supplies of Entertainment. Battleships were filled with cheap plastic models of Sutraxan males and females in cute and/or revealing costumes, as well as entertainment discs depicting animated Sutraxans in various humorous and extremely risque situations.
In an interview with High Commander Gideon Ang, Savior of Mankind, Feller of Sutraxa, he said "No one told me they were a race of damn catpeople! Who wouldn't want cute catgirls to pet and take care of? The Sutraxans certainly wanted us to." He is here pictured happily petting the head of the then Crown Princess Breya Killpaw. The High Commander is affectionately referred to by his subordinates as "Grievous Weebus."
The Sutraxans have since relinquished power in most of their former empire and their history has since been heavily entwined with Earth. In STU 253, the Sutraxan-Terran Empire was established with Breya Killpaw and Gideon Ang as the first Royal Family.
| "...I'm sorry, Rafti you will have to repeat that? they did what?"
"um, well sir, they seem to have... I mean initial reports are that they have, um... exited their... planetary orbit"
"I see, Rafti. We knew it would happen eventually, although this is sooner than anticipated. I take it they finally managed to harness the atom for this?:
"well... its, uh... no. see sir the early reports indicate... no nuclear traces"
"No atom?"
"N... no sir" Rafti shifted nervously in the air, his gaseous form growing slowly more solid under his superiors gaze.
"Rafti, this species only discovered the power of the atom 2.173 eros ago, a mere 20... what do they call them? 'Yeers?' ago and they promptly used that power do destroy one another. Not brilliant creatures to say the least.
"Correct sir"
"Yet now you tell me they have entered lunar orbit WITHOUT the atom?"
Rafti was a near solid mass now and had gradually dropped close to the floor under his increased density
"Rafti, we have manned this Corvette for over 5.96 eros together. There is no need to allow your nervous system to control you, I need you to bringoneselfapart*"
> *Unglerian term for "pull yourself together"
"Yes sir" Rafti slowly allowed himself to dissipate, calming his nerves. Such was his anxiety that he had almost touched the ground, a terribly shameful thing in Unglerian culture.
"Now explain to me, how did they accomplish this?
"Highly energetic degraded biological mass sir"
"What are you referring to?"
"Sir, you recall when our kind first discovered this galaxy?"
"Yes"
"You recall the Precursors?"
"Yes, a mighty species. Wise, humble they contributed greatly to the Endubla Council in its formative years.... What did these humans call them again?"
"Dinosaurs sir. In one of their languages it means 'Terrible Lizard'"
"Ah yes, Dinosaur, 'terrible lizard'. What a misnomer Rafti, these were truly marvelous beings... why without them the Cruliian Civil war may never have ended"
"Indeed sir, and were it not for the result of Comet 68x8tg8x3's impact and the subsequent ice age they may still be contributing to galactic peace".
"That was a sad day Rafti, the passing of so great a civilization. Such was their honor that knowing no other species in the galactic realm could brave the cold they allowed themselves to be martyred. Our species deemed this planet dead. That is until these odd monkeys came to be".
"Correct sir. The Precursors were indeed noble creatures. Very deserving of the half Ero we set aside in their memory...." Rafti trailed off
"Now what do the Precursors have to do with these sapiens and their galactic endeavors?"
Rafti was beginning to condense again.
"Well Admiral the... Precursors, their bodies of course degraded over the millions of years since. They were biological in make so it was natural that their cells would.... decompose.
"Of course"
"Sir, these humans have... well taken to using the Precursor decomposition as a fuel source"
"......"
"sir?" Rafti was once again barely hovering above the floor, as he watched the admiral. He had never seen his superior officer even flinch much less condense as he was now.
"......"
"Admiral?"
"......"
"Admiral Folxca? are you alright?" Admiral had lost all composure. He now sat as a solid object anchored to the ground.
"Rafti, they are using the soul matter of Precursors to fuel their ambitions..."
"Sir..."
"They are literally powering their galactic endeavors with the sacred cells of Precursors..."
At this Admiral Folxca simply stopped. Never before in the 13.5 eros that Rafti had lived had he seen a fellow Unglerian so still.... so solid.
"sir?"
"Rafti if this species, these.... monkeys.... only a few million years old.... have already gain access to the Precursors Quantamic Energy Source.... this could mean extinction for our cosmos on a cellular level. You've seen what they...
"sir"
"I mean these creatures just used the power of the atom to eradicate some of THEIR OWN SPECIES what happens when..."
"Sir"
"We must alert the Cosmological Council, we must get all species on stand by we must...."
"SIR!"
Floxca stopped. Never before had Rafti shouted at him.
"Rafti?"
"Sir they haven't figured out Quantamic Energy"
"But you just floated here and told me..."
"Sir, they are using it through an incendiary propulsion system"
"..... what?"
"Well um yes sir they are using the liquid decompose. The refine it and then light it on fire to create a controlled explosion. They used a series of these explosions to escape orbit sir."
"...Rafti let me get this completely clear. They are taking the dead cellular mass of the great Precursors, which hold the power of Quantamic Energy and they are 'lighting it on fire to create explosions'?"
"Yes sir"
"And these explosions work how?"
"Well they, um they are contained in a chamber of the ship they use to power into orbit".
"....."
"They are quite literally riding large controlled explosive devices sir"
"Rafti, take us home"
"sir?"
"Take us home. I've had enough. Leave a probe to monitor them, we cannot allow such vicious, insane creatures to harness Quantimic power but I doubt we need fear that. It would seem clear they are incapable of any rational thought"
"yes sir"
"Lighting the Precursors dead bodies....explosions.... I am done with these damnable apes and their chaotic ways, we'll give them another million years and come back to check on them"
| 2017-03-06T03:46:35 | 2017-03-06T03:43:38 | 40 | 22 |
[WP] You are cursed. The only way you can survive is to get somebody different, every 24 hours, to meaningfully say to you, "I love you". | In the suit, they couldn't see. In the suit, they couldn't know. The suit's unwavering, cheerful smile and bright, disarming eyes hid the cloying darkness beneath. No one need ever know or suspect the turmoil hidden under the brightly colored fabric. No one. All he had to do was sing and dance, hidden within his fabric cocoon, his merry, jovial shroud. Sing, and dance, and hug, and *wait*... Wait for the song, almost like a hymn, a prayer, a dirge... Granting him yet another opportunity to play the same song and dance again tomorrow. A mummer's farce of a life, but the only way to keep living, hiding in the depths of his character, waiting and living only for the lilting, hopeful notes of the song.
'I love you,
You love me,
We're a happy family!
With a great big hug,
And a kiss from me to you,
Won't you say you love me too?' | I don't like being the center of attention. I resent being more of an ideal rather than a person. I am bitter and angry, but more so, I am cursed. A little over two years ago, I was at a party. At this particular party, my simple existence caught the attention of this...guy? Demon? To this day, I don't exactly know what or who he is. What I do know is, is that he's the typical asshat who can't handle a "no" from a girl. He approached me, made menial conversation, then followed me out into the backyard. He made his move under a gnat filled porch light, and I batted him away like one of the little gnats flying around my head. He didn't like that, and told me so. He said that I was "stuck up and probably a slut anyway." Then followed up that brilliant line with, "My mistake for thinking that I could throw a dog a bone". Then he jibberjabbered some nonsense and an inky, black cloud came out of his fingers and into my chest. The last thing he said to me was, "Love is fickle, love is pain, good luck bitch, now love's our game." Then he--POOF--disappeared.
The following day, I felt like my insides would rip apart. As day turned to night, the pain increased. It wasn't until my blessed mother called to tell me that she loved me, that I knew I might be okay. The instant relief I felt at those words were the first clue I had. The next day, when I felt sick again, my moms words of love didn't help. Luckily, my friend came to visit me, and as she was leaving my place she told me she loved me. Again, instant relief. It didn't take long for me to figure out what to do.
My solution? Well, it's been two years since I started making Youtube videos. It only took about four months for me gain the traction I needed for a loyal fan base. My life has completely changed. I take an embarrassing amount of time to make sure I look pretty enough for everyone. I wear low cut shirts and whiten my teeth. I read up on pop culture that I don't care about. I watch other Youtubers, making sure that I am relevant and people care. I get my cursed I love you's by offering to video chat with the fans that leave comments, and will continue to do so until one of them tells me about how they love me and my videos. It hasn't failed me yet, but there's always the lingering fear of when it will.
| 2017-03-11T20:36:31 | 2017-03-11T20:21:14 | 152 | 26 |
[WP] You are cursed. The only way you can survive is to get somebody different, every 24 hours, to meaningfully say to you, "I love you". | In the suit, they couldn't see. In the suit, they couldn't know. The suit's unwavering, cheerful smile and bright, disarming eyes hid the cloying darkness beneath. No one need ever know or suspect the turmoil hidden under the brightly colored fabric. No one. All he had to do was sing and dance, hidden within his fabric cocoon, his merry, jovial shroud. Sing, and dance, and hug, and *wait*... Wait for the song, almost like a hymn, a prayer, a dirge... Granting him yet another opportunity to play the same song and dance again tomorrow. A mummer's farce of a life, but the only way to keep living, hiding in the depths of his character, waiting and living only for the lilting, hopeful notes of the song.
'I love you,
You love me,
We're a happy family!
With a great big hug,
And a kiss from me to you,
Won't you say you love me too?' | "Neal or Garrett..." I muse under my breath, hovering my thumb over the two names on my phone. I've been with Garrett longer. We are three months now - Neal is only two and half. But, Jesus, has Neal been easy. The poor guy's such a sap. I tap Neal's name and type,
"Morning! :D Hey, are you free after work? I really wanna hang out! :)"
Send.
Great, that oughta do it. Then I tap Garrett.
"You're the worst snapchat buddy :P"
Quietly, I lean off the edge of the bed to fish my planner out of my purse. Could I get Garrett tomorrow? He might have to be rescheduled. I scan the list of names. I tap my pen against my lips and turn the pages; a small familiar fear begins to creep up. What if I can't get anyone tomorrow? You know, I could bump up this Steven guy if I try calling him early today and ignoring him until tomorrow. Eh, a text will do.
"Hey cutie! I had the BEST dream last night."
Send.
I flip forward a few months. Sheesh. Looking sparse. I need to go out this weekend to set things up. I can probably pencil Rob in here - wait. Now, did I sleep with Rob Tuesday? Or was that David? Ugh, I should have written it down *right* after. Yes, it was definitely Rob. I flip back and scribble this under Tuesday. My eyes travel across the page and my heart jumps into my throat. Yesterday was March 10th. I totally missed it this year. Not that I do anything for Daniel's birthday anymore. We haven't spoken since the curse screwed everything up. Turns out, it's really hard to stay engaged when you're juggling so many romantic partners. He wasn't very understanding.
"Hey," says a sleepy voice from under the comforter. Lila pokes her messy brunette head from the covers and looks up at me with dreamy doe eyes, "I love you." She smiles.
I sigh in relief and lean down to kiss her forehead, "Lila, I can't do this." I hop out of bed and pull my dress back over my head, avoiding looking at her.
"But," she starts.
"I'm sorry, just hearing you say that. I'm not there. I'll text you later, okay?"
I step out of the front door, a huge grin on my face and look down at my phone:
Steven: "Oh really? Do tell."
Garrett: "I've been busy! :D"
Neal: "Absolutely. Drinks at the usual?"
I tap Neal,
"Shoot, sorry, something came up. Raincheck for tomorrow?"
Send. | 2017-03-11T20:36:31 | 2017-03-11T19:01:49 | 152 | 19 |
[WP] The ancient prophets foresaw the great Evil but also the Hero who would rise up against it. To keep the real one a secret, they also made up a ridiculous joke-prophecy. You happen to fit that prank divination perfectly. | A faint dim light inside a tiny hut lit the faces of the three ancients, Vilivus, Durilama and Jaralaia. They were writting the prophecy that foresaw the unimaginable fight between the great Evil and the Hero. Vilivus and Durilama narrated the side of the Hero and the great Evil respectively as they saw it in their minds while Jaralaia, the greatest writer of all time wrote it to perfection on a papyrus.
"Gentleman, I think it's safe to open a good bottle of whisky now that the prophecy is written." Said Vilivus the Old.
Everyone smiled and screamed frantically, they might have been ancient and wise yet they also knew how to have fun.
Two bottles of whiskey later:
"Listen to me Old bastards, why don't we cover the Hero with a fake one, smart huh?" Said Jaralaia, the Wise.
"Great idea, he has to have a profession opposite to something heroic." Replied Durilama, the Kind.
"Let's make him a Business Administration student who also likes to write." Said Vilivus.
The three of them laughed like if they heard the best joke in the world.
"Make him write on the internet." Yelled Durilama while laughing histerically.
"Make him write a story about us writing a story about him being a fake prophecy, he will be so confused." Added Vilivus with tears of joy falling down his cheeks all the way to his smile.
The whiskey propelled out of their mouths into each other faces. Soundless laughter followed.
Wait... | Each day was the same for Remy Stephenson. Middle class house, middle class car, and hours monitored like a hawk at his middle class job. Except one day, everything changed. One day, while sitting in his cubicle, Remy typed a phrase into the Google search bar that he would forever regret:
“Myth about a man rolling a boulder up a hill.”
Even as Remy typed in the phrase, he thought he knew what the search engine was about to say. If he was on Jeopardy, and had to come up with the question to the phrase he just typed in…Remy would have put “Who was Sisyphus?”
What Remy didn’t know at the time was that the millions of people throughout the world who subscribe to the Ancient Prophecy (a legend that Remy’s parents all but shielded him from throughout his childhood, and one to which Remy himself paid little attention prior to this moment) believed that with this search on Google, the “Lost Hero” was just found. What Remy had learned since (from the almost constant hum of chants around him…and the small notes pinned to his cubicle wall that he takes down, to only re-emerge the next day…all saying the same thing: “And on the 14th of June, a meager man, without hope, will reconnect with his past. This man’s name will be an amalgamation of sorts of his once former self: Sisyphus.”)
Since that dreadful day, each day was a new day for Remy. Each of these new days were now filled with the masses beseeching him to defeat the “Great Corporation”. Laurels were placed at his feet as he walked…and more “scripture” found its way to his cubicle every day. Words from an ancient book that Remy still refused to read. Sentences that always seemed vague and far fetched: “This new Sisyphus will take down a pillar in the worldly market: A Great Apple, and Money Cards”. (Remy’s huddled masses informed him daily that those words were indeed prophetic and surely meant that that Apple, and Credit cards were to be destroyed).
But each day, Remy ignored the signs, the chants, the “prophecies” on his desk…until…one day, he had enough. Standing in the middle of Time Square with his usual flock surrounding him…he yelled out “HOW CAN I DEFEAT THESE GREAT GIANTS?”
Through the midst of the crowd (and keeping word perfect with the ancient legend), a woman appeared bearing a book. The Book of Legend. There was a ribbon placed in the book, earmarking a page. She handed the book to Remy, who took it into his hands. Each of the hundreds in mass around him bowed to their knees. Remy opened the book to the ribbon marked page, and looked down. Nothing surprised him anymore. But, this did. There was one small sentence…highlighted:
“And this amalgamation of the Sisyphus will defeat the Great Apple, and Cards of Money with a writing tool that will reach and align the masses...where once his words are cast, all will have *read it*."
| 2017-06-14T09:47:50 | 2017-06-14T07:48:29 | 120 | 43 |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | D: Ah-choo!
P: Oh, Gesundheit!
D: ...Oh.
P: Yes, is something wrong?
D: Well, you said gesundheit. I guess I assumed that you would say "God bless you."
P: Oh no, I prefer not to do that. You see, the history of that tradition began during the Black Plague, when Pope Gregory I decreed that any instance of sneezing and coughing should be met with a blessing. They knew that if someone got the plague that they might not survive long enough to receive last rights, so it was a precaution to ensure that their soul entered heaven.
D: Oh, I didn't know that.
P: Yes, most people don't think about it before they say that. But of course with modern medicine it isn't a real risk. I believe it is better to only bless someone with intention. If it's automatic then the feelings aren't as strong, and I want God to know when I intend to petition him for prayer. Also, there's the fact that you're Baphomet the Sabbatic Goat
D: Oh man, was it really that obvious?
P: Well you're a goat with human breasts, and you flew in here on a pentagram.
D: Yeah, maybe I should have been a little more subtle about that. | Hell seemed enthralling when the Abyss gave birth to me. I would never forget the first time I saw those towering structures made of black marble, the meandering rivers of blood, hellfire geysers showering tortured souls and those screams, those beautiful screams of excruciating pain. The remembrance darts my tongue out across my lips.
Eternity is a curse, the most sadistic of all tortures. Now, I walk Hell envying those lost souls, wishing I was never born and despising Satan's ruling of his once great kingdom, time wasn't kind on his beautiful insanity. I dreamed with the ticking of a clock, I couldn't bare this anymore.
I embarked on a trip in search of ways to erase my existence. After thosaunds of years of roaming the endless cities of Hell, I found an hermit -who called himself "Tuzvel the Wise"- hidden in the depths of a hellfire pool studying, according to him pain stimulated his concentration. He told me tales about a liquid that could cease my existance: Holy Water.
"It can be found among Humans, mostly in churches." He said passionately.
We talked for a hundred years, he helped me devise a plan and taught me everything I had to know. I would descend into Human's ground, trick a pastor to bless me and burn me with that liquid.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Human's ground**
I embodied a poor little kid with sorrow in his eyes. After wandering in the depths of a forest I finally found a church, it stood tall, dapper bathed in gold. A smile drew in my face and a profuse pain grew inside me as I got nearer. I pretended to struggle opening its iron doors, I felt my whole body burning unceasingly as the multicolor glint of the stained glass shone over my body.
*"Are you okay little guy?"* A pastor told me from across the hall, the church was empty.
"No, not really, I'm freezing."
As he came close to me, I coughed stains of blood and fell on my knees.
"Poor soul, I will carry you to my office and give you my blessing." He said caressing my cheek and carrying me into his arms. I felt my skin cracking with his touch.
"What are you doing?" I asked when he took his robe off leaving nothing to imagination.
"Don't be scared, this is the blessing of the Lord." He said as he leaned to kiss me.
My horns abruptly protruded from my forehead piercing his throat, his eyes widened, he tried to scream but only blood came out as life slowly abandoned his body. I revealed my true form and tortured his dead body passionately until it was bloodless. As I removed string by string of his skin I felt an immense passion.
Death didn't seem as appealing as torturing rapists for eternity.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Don't mean to offend anyone with the story.
Anyway, if you enjoyed it please check: /r/chasisoxidado for more
| 2017-07-04T08:45:38 | 2017-07-04T07:47:50 | 82 | 43 |
[WP] The four horsemen: Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death are the harbingers of the apocalypse, serving forth chaos and destruction on all humanity. The Bible forgot to mention the fifth horseman: Kyle, whom the other four can't seem to ditch. | Put this together quickly, any feedback is welcome - trying to get back in to writing.
“Will you just fuck off.”
“That seems a bit harsh! Why don’t you ever tell the other three to fuck off?”
“Because the other three are actually contributing to the mayhem around us, that is why!”
“Chill out, old man. If you keep on getting angry and what not, you will tire yourself out.”
“What on Earth do you mean?”
“Well, don’t you lot get tired being all angry and everything? I tell ya, yesterday, me and Daphne wandered over to these cute little village…well they got quite defensive, what with all the death and destruction and what not. I only wanted a drink! To cut a long story short, I ended up getting in a little fight, got all angry and what not. It tired me the hell out! Luckily, Daphne and I went back home pretty quickly…had a nice nap.”
“Kyle?”
“Yes, Mr. Famine?”
“Who the fuck is Daphne?”
“My horse!”
“You called your horse Daphne?”
“Well, at least she has a name! You guys haven’t even named yours.”
“Our horses don’t need a name. They are part of us, an extension of what we are.”
“Is that why whenever I go into the stables War’s horse always tries to bite me?”
“No. He tries to bite you because you are an irritant.”
Famine walked off, his sword needed sharpening. It had dulled throughout the day.
Kyle followed.
“Mr. Famine.”
“What?!”
“Did you ever see War Horse?”
“No. No I never saw War Horse.”
“You should have. It was great.”
“Kyle, why don’t you go and play with a bus?”
“A bus? They don’t really exist anymore Mr. Famine.”
Famine knelt down so that he was at eye contact with the short, unwanted Horseman.
“That was a gentle way of telling you to fuck off. I didn’t want to say that for fear of hurting your feelings.”
Kyle smiled. Of course, he smiled.
“Don’t worry Mr. Famine, you aren’t hurting my feelings. I understand what banter is.”
“This isn’t banter.”
“That is what Pestilence says too!”
There was a moment of silence. Famine shut his hateful eyes and tried to hold his breath, counting down from ten to one. This was going to be a stressful day.
One.
He could hear Kyle humming to himself.
Two.
Now Kyle had started tapping his foot.
Three.
Kyle must have seen a butterfly, he sounded like he was running around in circles.
Four.
He kept on sniffing. How did he have a blocked nose?!
Five.
He won’t stop sniffing.
Six.
Now he is sniffing AND tapping his foot.
Sev “What you doing Mr. Famine?”
“FINE!”
“Why are you shouting? Also, you need a mint.”
“I’m going out for a bit. Honestly, the fucking apocalypse is finally here and we get lumbered with you?”
“Classic banter Mr. F.” Kyle even replied with a wink and finger guns.
“Fuck this,” Famine placed his sword in his scabbard. “I’m going out.” He walked off towards to stables.
“Oh good! Daphne could do with a walk!”
| "Death awaits you. She rests in the bottom of Eden, from which life is nurtured of her bosom. She is a cruel mother, most devoted to the welfare of her three firstborns: war, famine and pestilence. To secure their prosperity, she makes barren her womb, upon which the creatures of Earth whither in neglect. She penetrates the citadel of man's soul, turning him against his brother. And in commiseration with decay, she caresses packets of virulence into the wind with a maternal smile."
"No, you don't understand. I'm not here to protest my mortality. Death had *four* firstborns. I'm her fourth. My name is Kyle. How do you think I managed to locate this metaphysical dimension? With a GPS? Will you allow me to see my mother?"
The gatekeeper scrutinized the human before him. He was of robust constitution, with ruddy and beseeching eyes. This was a highly unusual sight. Most of the souls who came before him were disembodied.
"Very well. I will consult with Death and report your presence. Before I depart, I advise you to recollect the most salient theme of human mythology.
The gatekeeper vanished. Kyle twiddled his thumbs and thought of Sisyphus as instructed.
"Kyle!"
It was pestilence; the most gregarious of his siblings by necessity. Pestilence slapped him on the back and grinned congenially.
"Kyle, I've got news for you! Everyone on Earth despises you. They dream of your death at night and despair of your continued existence."
"Dammit, pestilence! If you infect my mind, I won't be able to propagate you to anyone else! Look where I am! On Earth, you were able to leap from body to body through ideas and bacteria. Your machinations don't work in this metaphysical dimension!"
Pestilence, the dimmest of his siblings too, grinned with ironical self-mockery.
"Would you care to meet war? I've been at odds with him lately, mostly because I have been trying to spread a meme that he had originally intended the flag of war to be white, which is ironic because white flags have become the universal flag of peace."
"No, I have no desire to meet war. He will only provoke me."
The gatekeeper materialized before Kyle and Pestilence, interrupting their conversation.
"Well?" Kyle asked with expectant triumph.
The gatekeeper hesitated. "Your mother wishes to see you. Please follow me."
Kyle left with the gatekeeper, aware of Pestilence's grinning eyes. They arrived at the valley of darkness and boarded a vessel into its heart.
"Do you see Joseph Conrad over there?" The gatekeeper pointed to the entrance of the river, where Joseph Conrad was dancing maniacally to accordion music. "He made a deal with your mother. In exchange for a literary conception of the descent into madness, Conrad agreed to become mad for eternity." They passed Conrad as he tap-danced and babbled nasally with fingers pinching his nose. They eventually reached the shadow of the valley of darkness. They left their vessel and ascended to Death's throne.
"My child!" Death crooned as she saw Kyle approach. "I can convert you into a thermonuclear device, if you desire."
"No, Mom!" Kyle whined petulantly. "I've come here because I'm not included in the Old Testament. If it is an inerrant report of this metaphysical dimension, then why am I not included in your Genealogy?"
Death put her finger to her chin and thought for a moment. "Well, Kyle, to be truthful, I receive a jolt of pleasure whenever someone dies. I *mean*, I copulate with the living to make them die. You are not the best expedient for this. My first three children provide me an interminable stream of pleasure. You are simply not equipped to maximize my pleasure. As I have said, I can convert you into a vial of small-pox, and I'm sure you can work with your brother to spread it."
Kyle began to utter a protest, but his sentience terminated at the sound of his mother's snap.
"Gatekeeper," Death mused leisurely, "I believe Kyle would serve me best as an oxygen molecule that turns blood into powder. Of course, such a molecule must be capable of replication, so perhaps we should endow it with a rudimentary quantity of hereditary information. But then it would become an organism. Oh, I know, make Kyle a virus that turns blood into powder. That way we can include the instruction manual for further propagation in his little body. Get Pestilence to assemble the instruction manual. Tell him to use RNA instead of DNA."
Kyle disappeared into a virus. The gatekeeper bowed his head before Death and left for the gates of the underworld. As he passed Conrad, who was doing a pantomime routine in adult diapers, he thought: "*How incestuous!*"
| 2017-09-22T03:42:51 | 2017-09-22T01:14:53 | 71 | 33 |
[WP] Aliens said that most of our technology is some kind of magic. They built a radio using our blueprints, but it didn't work. When a human touched it, every light in the room exploded and the radio immediately started playing his favorite station live, despite being light years away from Earth. | The aliens bowed to the human, who despite being much smaller in stature, suddenly seemed to tower over everyone.
Gary Wills was taken from his garage in Minneapolis, MN. The aliens filtered in silently, like large, grey ninjas, and bagged him like a hostage. When they removed the bag he found himself inside of a surprisingly unhostile, well-lit room, with comfortable places to sit.
The aliens had already taken the time to learn his language, and replicated it fairly well with their deep, wet sounding voices.
"You humans posess power you do not understand." One of the creatures said. "It is feared that you will branch out and do to the galaxy what you have done to your planet, and I have been sent to assess that likelihood."
"What? Uh... why me?" The human asked.
"We have attempted to replicate your technology, but we are not gifted with the powers that you are." The alien continued. "We need to be sure."
The alien placed a square, silver box in front of the man.
"Is that a radio?" He asked, confused.
The alien turned it on, but only the faint hum of the battery came through the speakers. Then he turned it off.
"You will operate the radio." The alien said as he slid the box closer to the human.
"Okay..." The human reluctantly played along, mystified by the circumstance he found himself in. He turned the radio on, and to his surprise, Tax Man by The Beatles began echoing through the room.
The aliens all made gasping sounds. Some backed away. Some stepped closer.
The leader picked up the radio and examined it.
"It's just a radio... that's probably Kool 108, the oldies." The man said.
"We have read about your radio technology." The alien gurgled. "Tell me, human, could your radio work if it were several light years away from your planet?"
"Uh, I don't know how far radio waves go, but, I'm guessing it wouldn't come in so... clearly." The human said. "Where are we?"
"We are no longer in your galaxy." The alien said.
"What?" The human asked. At that exact moment the music stopped playing on the radio.
"As I said." The alien said. "Power you do not understand." | "They're launching again, sir. Do you want to watch?"
Morix swivelled towards the portalscreens, the crystals which made up his being tinkling with the sudden shift. His eyebrows, or the thickened clusters of diamonds near his orbital receptors, knitted in consternation.
"They never give up, do they?" he asked, rhetorically.
"You have to give it to them for trying," said Laprux, the junior between the two. He was a smaller cloud of sparkling stardust, at least a couple of millenia away from reaching Morix's seniority. He made up with diligence what he lacked in experience.
"Chances of success?" asked Morix. The images on the portalscreens were troubling - it had been years since the last serious expedition mounted by the humans to explore the galaxy they lived in, and the Berullians had expended no small effort to ensure that the humans stayed where they belonged. In fact, Morix had been promised that the humans had all but abandoned their fixation on exploring the inkiness beyond their puny planet. This was supposed to be a quiet shift, and the last thing Morix wanted was an escalation.
"High, sir," said Laprux, studying a small screen at the console before him. "Their governments have prioritized their efforts elsewhere, but it seems that some of the... private tribes have amassed sufficient resources to explore the universe on their own."
"That's not good," said Morix.
"No, sir, it isn't."
Morix pondered on the options before him. He could, of course, directly intervene in the small shuttle which was being prepped for launch. They had agents amongst the humans, ready to intervene at their behest. But that took effort, and important as the directive was to ensure that the humans never left earth, of even greater priority was the instruction never to let the humans learn of their presence. Every direct action he took was a risk he could not afford.
"Forgive me for asking, sir," said Laprux, ever the inquisitive mind. "What happens if the humans actually, you know, manage to make contact with the rest of us? Is that such a bad thing?"
"Well, it's hard to say for sure," said Morix. "The best simulations we've run indicate that the humans will balk at knowing we've been hampering their progress, interfering with their ability to explore the stars. Certainly, they would stop using any of the technology we've seeded amongst their civilization. Chaos, just chaos, after that. No, it's better that they stay where they are. This symbiotic relationship has been going pretty well, and I'm not going to have it all be upset on my watch, that's for sure."
Laprux tapped on the console, and the images zoomed in.
"They're even bringing our power generators with them, on the space shuttle," he said. "Amazing how we managed to integrate it into their lives so easily."
"Everyone's happy this way," said Morix. "We give them a device which helps them connect with one another, share their knowledge, capture their every moment. And in return, it helps power our planet, generates the resources we need to survive."
"They almost uncovered the truth, didn't they, sir?"
Morix nodded. It had been a close shave - the latest upgrade the Berullians had introduced necessitated the removal of a connection port the humans used to listen directly to their devices. A minor revolt surged, and it was only through their best efforts that they managed to quell the human dissatisfaction which threatened to blow their cover.
"Make it shiny, make it bigger, and they won't ask questions," said Morix. "The shuttle's getting too close. Cut off the probe, feed them the prepared footage, and hope they don't ask any more questions."
"Roger, sir."
---
/r/rarelyfunny | 2017-11-12T06:13:47 | 2017-11-12T03:11:08 | 101 | 57 |
[WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck.
Edit: mum im famous | My codename is Green Man because technically I'm a recycler. I repurpose the old, shine it up nice and sleek so that it may be made new. Most people don't know this, but the modernization of Japan has never quite stopped. There are pockets of holdouts where tradition clings on. Like the samurai of old, it's my job to repurpose their stubbornness before they are gunned down by Gatling guns.
Or, you know, in this case, DNA seeking armor piercing sniper bullets discharged from an auto-drone flying miles in the air.
But try explaining that to guys who toss ninja stars at dart boards.
Most of my students are under the impression our roles are reversed.
“Sami-son,” they call me. “Do you see how the wind blows?”
They smile, the edges of their masks crinkling up like dimples.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.
“You’re standing under a vent,” I try to explain. “It’s called air conditioning.”
Other times, I sit the ninjas down and pop them popcorn. I’ve blocked out time for a James Bond marathon, so they may see how a real spy operates in the treacherous political climate of the modern day. Plus, I mean, hey, there’s nothing wrong with entertainment.
Except one class clown tosses popcorn at another. Before I know it, they're missing the damned point. They're hiding in the shadows, kernels flying from behind curtains. I have to pause the movie, get my receptionist to lead them back to their assigned seating.
"See, what we teach!” exclaims one. “You hide in the shadows, become one with darkness.”
“No, dear,” Brenda the receptionist says. “We simply had to turn on the lights.”
Corporate likes to bill our academy as an astounding success. The big guys upstairs boast at every holiday party. Once again, the West helps out the little brother in the East. But truth is, they’ve never stepped foot inside the academy. They just smile and clap my back, saying, “keep up the good work.”
Or, even worse, they pull me aside and pitch their next brilliant idea. We’re talking idiocy ranging from amphibious ninja-manned submarines to planting ninjas in the secret service.
Like, just yesterday, a stiff in a suit pulled me aside and said one word. His teeth were grayed from way too much coffee.
“Hackers,” he whispered, raising his bushy brows.
So, the ever-obedient Green Man must now sit ninjas down in front of a computer.
My first pupil powers the thing on and attacks it like a pecking chicken. One peck here, and *oh look another kernel!*
I try to explain the assignment, one more time.
“Listen, we just need you to open up Microsoft Word. Locate the target word file.”
His eyes are so blank it’s practically insulting. To help him out, I get a printout of the document we’re looking for.
“See here, read the title. *Trump’s ties to Russia*. Now we go find.”
The masked man nods so fast, the knots nearly come loose. He squints at the screen and begins pecking away. Letters miraculously form in the search bar. The ninja’s fingers become a blur. For a moment, I think we may be on to something.
Like, maybe my career is worthwhile after all. I look over to Brenda and give her a thumbs up.
And when I turn back, my example sheet is missing. The ninja winks at me, and my stomach just drops.
He’s got the sheet folded between his fingers.
“Always be watching, Sami-son,” he says. “Let not even the call of a grasshopper sway the focus of your mind.”
From her desk, Brenda snorts out a laugh. I tell her to go print off another copy, and when she slaps it on the table, I lean in to whisper.
“Give corporate a call. I’m putting in for a transfer.”
---------------------
r/writerscrywhiskey
| The problem with Japan’s was that they tried to mass produce them. Sure, they got thousands of ninjas, but those guys belonged more in a circus than the battlefield. They could climb walls decently fast? Move around a little silent? Give me a break. The only real difference between them and the standard foot soldier was that they dressed in black onesies. Real ninjas are not so cheap and I promise you, you’ve never heard of a single one.
---
Agent Sarah Romanov had her hands cuffed behind her, her supervisor with his gun twitching on the trigger, pointed directly at her head. And she had thought they had a decent work relationship.
“I assure you, Agent Romanov,” her boss, Agent Kingsley, said. “This is to protect you.”
Sarah flicked her eyes over to the pitch-black end of his pistol. Somewhere along the six levels of security clearance they went through just to arrive in this interrogation room, her boss had lost his mind. No bodyguard had ever pulled their pistol on their mark claiming to protect them.
“I’m handcuffed, Jeff.” It was simple and probably didn’t work on a trained CIA operative, but saying people’s first names minimalized their odds of killing you. “Do you really need to point a gun at me?”
“This is standard protocol for this meeting.”
“Is this because of my last name?” Sarah had spent six years as a field agent with no prospects of promotion. She had a good idea why. Performance issues were a good bet, but then she became the best around and nothing changed. Then came the woman angle, but the CIA didn’t really cared for the particular spy, only the intel. At last, she came to the conclusion of her nationality. She was Russian.
“No,” her boss said, but a slight inflection at the start of the word gave him away.
The door opened and a man in a graphic tank top walked in. He had pink sunglasses and blonde hair with frosted tips. If Sarah had to guess, a frat boy had wandered drunkenly into the wrong building and somehow past the maximum level of US security clearance to arrive here still looking for a spot to piss in. But as soon as he walked in, her boss’s finger tensed on the trigger.
“Agent Romanov,” he said. “Meet codename Derek. He is a secret more well-guarded than what goes on in Area 51. If you ever wonder why the United States is the military might of the world, you’re looking at the reason.”
Sarah stared. Medium build. Average height. Healthy weight. There was nothing at all spectacular about this *Codename Derek*.
“You’re as jumpy as ever, Jeff,” Derek said and pulled out the seat across from them. He sat down and plopped his feet on the table between them. “Sarah Romanov, you’re hotter in person.”
The frown on Sarah’s lips deepened. Surely, this was a prank. But her boss’s cheeks hadn’t had any color in them for the past hour now.
Derek leaned forward and wagged a finger in front of him. “You wanna know why I chose you as my Operator? I like the way you look,” he said, chuckling. “So, don’t let it get to your head. Higher ups begged me to pick someone else, to even give their reports and recommendation a glance. But I found you on Facebook and pointed at you and said that’s the one. And here you are.”
“So, I’m here to babysit you?” Sarah asked. She had only a single experience as an operator and it wasn’t a good one. Her asset had died, quite violently.
“More or less.” He got up, grinning. Steel grinded against steel as his chair scraped the ground. “Heard the last one you babysat died. I won’t be dying. Though there’ll be many more opportunities to do so.” And he snapped his finger.
Jeff Kingsley yelped and his gun clattered onto the ground. He clutched his chest, groaning. It was a heart attack! Sarah got up out her chair to help, but her hands were still cuffed behind her.
“C’mon,” Jeff said, “you’re my operator. You were supposed to stop me from doing stupid shit like that. To be fair, I injected the kill pill long before you so this one’s not entirely your fault.”
Sarah looked around, waiting for the paramedics to come bursting through one of the two doors in the interrogation room. Nobody came. Instead, Jeff just rolled across the ground, his face purple as he began choking.
She pressed her lips together and knelt down beside him. She slammed her head into his chest and began compressions. It wasn’t working.
“Hey,” Derek said, dropping a blue pill onto the ground. “That’s the antidote. Have him swallow that and he’ll be fine in seconds. Only problem is that I only have one and truthfully, this was going to be your antidote.”
“Mine?”
He shrugged. “Did I stutter?”
Without a second thought, Sarah took the pill between her teeth and fed it to her boss. “Swallow,” she told him.
Her boss followed her instruction and immediately the deep purple faded from his face. He stopped rolling around. At last, even his breath returned with a giant gasp. Sarah whipped around toward Derek, glaring at the man, but he only returned her a small smile.
“I suppose I was right to choose you,” he said. “And they told me that I should try thinking for once.”
“Who the hell are you?” she growled.
“An old man with a few parlor tricks up my sleeve. I look forward to working with you.” With a wink, he left.
---
/r/jraywang for 200+ stories. | 2022-06-12T18:37:28 | 2017-11-16T08:23:10 | 1,102 | 291 |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | "John, what's wrong? You haven't even touched your beer."
"Shhh...Listen. Do you hear that? There's something off about this song."
"Off? Off how?"
"Just off. It's weird. I thought it was weird earlier. I could have sworn the DJ was playing the edited versions of the songs. Like the radio versions. I knew it was weird when the Snoop song was on and everyone was like 'Smoke weed everyday' but I didn't think I heard the actual song."
"Who cares? It's the radio version. People know that version. We are in a crap bar and the crap DJ is playing slightly crappier versions of crappy songs."
"Yeah, good point. Let's order shots." | Subtlety is a precise art. While my brothers and sisters can do things like hurl lightning around to fill their daily quota of godly actions, I needed to be precise. Too much mischief and all of a sudden I have Loki breathing down my back. Too little and folks wouldn't be aware of my divine intervention.
I sighed, leaning back into my throne, a frown on my face. Yesterday I had scored high marks with Odin by turning all of the spoons to forks during the harvest festival. The stew course had been THOROUGHLY INCONVENIENCED by my works.
But a new day brought the need for new action lest the folk below forget the Gods.
After a minute of contemplation, I was interrupted by Loki. He slinked in, a malevolent grin on his face. "What's wrong little brother? Having trouble with your little games?"
Man, I hated this guy. Class A douchebag. Never got why Thor liked romping around with him. He hadn't remembered a single birthday in a millennia. Just an all around negative presence.
I glare at him, annoyed at the interruption. "Listen, I'm sure it's all fun and games causing a fire and burning a village down, but I'm trying to bring a little nuance into the world."
"What if we did something...together?" Loki leaned forward, a sly grin spreading across his features.
"That doesn't make any sense Loki! How in the name of Valhalla is the god of mischief supposed to work with the god of subtle mischief? It's just going to confuse people."
"Have a little faith brother, you're creative. You can figure it out." With a giggle he danced back a few steps, turned on his heel and strolled out of the room.
Frazzled, I run a hand through my glorious white mane of hair. I was tired of Loki coming in and upsetting the apple cart. Always getting the attention, always taking the lead.
I mulled over his words, thinking about the prospect of us teaming up. It was preposterous on its face, but maybe...maybe there was something there. After a few seconds of reflection, a giant grin spread across my face. An answer to my problems.
We would work together all right. But this time, there would be no mischief. There would be only subtle mischief.
| 2018-01-27T21:07:07 | 2018-01-27T20:53:05 | 1,029 | 49 |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | The mortals have forgotten me. Yes, I was never one of the blustering and bold members of my ilk, but I am certainly not one to be taken lightly. They will learn. Subtlety is not merely a mood or manner, but an artform. To be able to tell how taut a string can be pulled before it snaps is an ability possessed by many. But the talent to exert just enough influence to push it to it's breaking point, teetering on the precipice of utter devastation, is a talent held by only gods. As a treat, I'll show you a hint of my true power. You've just spent a few precious, irretrievable moments reading complete and utter tripe that I made up. Stings, doesn't it? Heh. I've still got it. | Subtlety is a precise art. While my brothers and sisters can do things like hurl lightning around to fill their daily quota of godly actions, I needed to be precise. Too much mischief and all of a sudden I have Loki breathing down my back. Too little and folks wouldn't be aware of my divine intervention.
I sighed, leaning back into my throne, a frown on my face. Yesterday I had scored high marks with Odin by turning all of the spoons to forks during the harvest festival. The stew course had been THOROUGHLY INCONVENIENCED by my works.
But a new day brought the need for new action lest the folk below forget the Gods.
After a minute of contemplation, I was interrupted by Loki. He slinked in, a malevolent grin on his face. "What's wrong little brother? Having trouble with your little games?"
Man, I hated this guy. Class A douchebag. Never got why Thor liked romping around with him. He hadn't remembered a single birthday in a millennia. Just an all around negative presence.
I glare at him, annoyed at the interruption. "Listen, I'm sure it's all fun and games causing a fire and burning a village down, but I'm trying to bring a little nuance into the world."
"What if we did something...together?" Loki leaned forward, a sly grin spreading across his features.
"That doesn't make any sense Loki! How in the name of Valhalla is the god of mischief supposed to work with the god of subtle mischief? It's just going to confuse people."
"Have a little faith brother, you're creative. You can figure it out." With a giggle he danced back a few steps, turned on his heel and strolled out of the room.
Frazzled, I run a hand through my glorious white mane of hair. I was tired of Loki coming in and upsetting the apple cart. Always getting the attention, always taking the lead.
I mulled over his words, thinking about the prospect of us teaming up. It was preposterous on its face, but maybe...maybe there was something there. After a few seconds of reflection, a giant grin spread across my face. An answer to my problems.
We would work together all right. But this time, there would be no mischief. There would be only subtle mischief.
| 2018-01-27T22:46:09 | 2018-01-27T20:53:05 | 197 | 49 |
[WP] You died today. Upon meeting you, Death was confused, and asked how you wanted to spend your 3rd of nine lives. Apparently, you were supposed to have been a cat all along. | The last thing Garfield heard was the screech of tires and a sudden *thwump*.
Suddenly he found himself surrounded by darkness. Black smoke swirled around aimlessly and screams could be heard in the distance. He looked at his hands, rubbed his face. *I can still feel..* he thought. *Where am I? I'm a little hungry..* Confused, but oddly not uncomfortable, he looked around the deep void for any answers. "Hello!" he shouted. "Hellooooo! Hellooooo!"
A shadow seemed to move out of the darkness and towards Garfield. A cracked skull with two horns lead the shadow, seemingly staring into Garfield's soul. *Is it here to feed me?*
It's voice was deep and dark, like whispers from a nightmare. "I am Death, Lord of Hells, the reaper of souls, the Scythe of - oh no, already Garfield? Again? Come on man."
Garfield stood wide eyed at the reaper, scratched behind his ear. "Uhhh....what's going on?"
Death sighed. "You cats man, always here in my void making a mess of things. I'm supposed to be out there gathering souls and executing the holy ones, but noooo, I'm stuck granting more lives to you cats. Granting lives! I am Death! You see the problem here?!"
*What is he going on about? I'm still hungry..and uh oh. I know that belly rumble.* "But....I'm not a cat?"
Two hands of bone materialized and outstretched a scroll in front of Garfield. Death began to read it:
Garfield Tardar.
Male.
Feline.
British shorthair.
Lives: 9.
"Now I can see that you are not a cat, I'm old and dead but not dumb. The guys upstairs had a deadline to meet and some papers got thrown around. You know how it is up there, it's all trumpets and wings and la dee da. They don't know work, just flying around praising all -"
"Is there a washroom I can use?" Garfield interrupted.
"What? No, you're dead."
"...a sandbox?"
"No."
"Do you feed souls here?"
"Ugh...cats. Let get this third life going and move on. How do you want to spend it?"
"Well...right now somewhere where I can eat. Maybe with a sandbox nearby? And I want to be a kid again, that was fun." Garfield smiled and he swore he could see a frown on the skull before him.
"So be it." The hands of bone were placed on Garfield's head and the void disappeared before him.
The sand was soft and warm, falling between Garfield's fingers. His hands were small again and he remembered nothing of his brush with death. Across the street, he could faintly hear bells chiming. *Ohh, ice cream man,* he thought. He darted across the road and the last thing Garfield heard was the screech of tires and a sudden *thwump*.
Suddenly he found himself surrounded by darkness. A shadow seemed to move out of the blackness and towards him.
"GARFIELD!"
| “Please, excuse me for a moment,” he said.
I could hear him grumble as he rummaged through a large drawer. I was sitting just in the wrong angle from his filing cabinet and I couldn’t see much, but by stretching my neck, I caught sight of what seemed to be hundreds of files squeezed together. Frowning, I wondered how he could keep information on anyone if he spent his “life” holed up in this office. I was careful, even in my own thoughts, about qualifying his existence as a life. After all, most people would call him Death, though he had made it clear that he preferred to be called Clay. If I had learned anything from school, it was that talking about life while talking about death was a powerful oxymoron. But it didn’t matter, as I was still too much in shock about this whole ordeal to say anything.
“Nope, it seems like I have the right one, after all,” Clay finally said, turning back towards me. “Well, Leo, it would seem that we have to discuss your next life.”
“So reincarnation is real, after all?” I said, without thinking twice about the silliness of discussing religious beliefs with the embodiment of death.
“It’s… more complicated than that,” he answered, looking sheepish.
I didn’t know what to answer. I felt like asking him thousands of questions. But which one first? And was it truly okay to be harassing Death with silly interrogations? Would it make him hate me and send me to Hell? I couldn’t even believe my own thoughts. This was… astonishing, to say the least. I had died. Not only had I died, but I was still conscious and I was planning my next existence. What the hell was happening? I couldn’t even blame it on drugs, because the only one I would ever touch was weed, and there was just no way cannabis could make me hallucinate something that felt so lucid… and so crazy.
“Let me explain. There was a… mistake that was made in your file, during your conception. Someone mistakenly categorized you as a cat,” said Clay.
I was going to faint. Was it even a possible thing to do if I was dead? Did my body function just as it did back on Earth? And where was this, the purgatory? Shaking my head, I tried to take a deep breath, but it blocked halfway through in my throat. So I guess I was still human, still able to feel anxiety and still able to breathe. Concentrating on the movements of my chest in each inhale and exhale calmed me down, as it always did. And God knows I needed it. Did God even exist?
“Are you okay? I’m truly sorry something so silly happened, you are clearly not a cat. But, since no one noticed the mistake, ever, there isn’t much I can do except send you back on Earth, with a new life.”
“Can you really?” was the only thing that I could think to answer.
“Yes. You can’t keep this body and this name, it would be quite confusing for people who knew you, but you can design the “big lines” of your next existence. You could even choose to go back as an animal. But I should just let you read this, it’s all in here,” Clay said, pushing a file toward me.
I felt nervous and my palms were sweating. Yep, this was definitely still my human body. Part of me felt like throwing up, another had the sudden the urge of writing a book. I would be rich overnight… or I would be sent to the nearest asylum. Pushing away my internal rambling, I reached for the file with shaky hands.
The file was filled with what you could call “pamphlets”. Some were filled with pictures of different animals that you could choose to reincarnate into. Some of those had the label “unavailable” printed on them, which I recognized as extinct species. The room was turning and I felt dizzy, but I pushed through it, turning the pages of the file. I could choose the city, country and continent and I would live in. I could choose my gender. I could even choose the ‘randomized’ option if I was brave enough. This was too much. How was I not in an hallucination? Maybe I wasn’t dead after all, but had just been in a terrible accident which had left me in a coma. Yes, it would made sense. I had read a lot about the strange dreams people could have during their comas, recently. But could I really deny the reality of this?
“You know, you don’t have to worry about it too much. This is only your third life. You’ll have six others to try other options.”
Yeah, I definitely could still faint, even while being dead.
**Disclaimer**: This is my first time answering to a writing prompt, hopefully I did well. Feel free to leave constructive criticism if you see things to improve! | 2018-01-29T14:30:52 | 2018-01-29T13:39:21 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] When an atheist dies, a lottery determines which religion/deity will claim their soul for eternity. You were claimed by a long-forgotten ancient religion, and are the first newcomer to their afterlife in centuries. | They never prepare you for the darkness, the cold and unyielding darkness that you are engulfed in when you die. Time is irrelevant, I could have been here for weeks or months. After what seemed like eternity a soft woman's voice declared "Lottery shall begin soon" and series of screens appeared above me. In those screens were a series of faces, and under those faces were names - Jehovah, Krishnu, Oshun, Qamata, Odin - thousands of faces, thousands of names. "Fuck" I whispered as I realized the truth, the gods are real.
A huge wheel, the size of a small planet appeared in the distance, each spoke adorned a gods name, and like magic it started spinning. As it started to slow down, the whisper of the gods could be heard.
"I hope Odin doesn't get this one, he's won three hundred deaths straight".
"His mother is in heaven, he's going to enjoy an eternity of I told you so's"
"Died choking on chicken bone, dumb cunt"
Silence returned as the wheel came to s top, followed by a collective hush. The wheel had decided my fate, after years of believing that gods don't exist I was now the property of a god named Greg. "Greg, who the hell is Greg?". A portly god appeared next to me, short and balding, silver and blue skin like a can of red bull. He seemed giddy with excitement. "I haven't had a new tenant in centuries, you're going to love it in the den" his voice croaked with joy. He held out his hand and asked me hold on tight. The thousands of faces and that ungodly wheel disappeared, and were replaced by what looked like a living room. The largest couch I had ever seen was the centerpiece, adjacent to that was a table stacked with issues of "Celestial Centenary" magazine. On the couch were what seemed like 100 people, all clad in clothing from different areas, a few looked prehistoric (one of them weirdly looked like my mother in law). There was a large screen facing the group, their faces glued to it.
"Hey everyone, we have a new guest in the building" Gregg announced to the group on couch. They all turned and cheered collectively, beckoning me to join the on the large brown couch. I walked gingerly towards the couch, the Neanderthals made wiggled to the side to make space for me. I sat down, shook hands, grabbed a handful of cheetos and began to watch the screen, on it was my life, my ups and downs, my memorable moments all playing in a loop like a highlights reel, from the moment I was born, to the moment I choked on that damn chicken bone. | "and a- spin. the. wheel!" are not the first words i expected to hear waking up today, i open my eyes to se that the room i am in is... shifting. one second its an open field the other an ancient greek temple that looks almost... new, a second look around reveals one object consistent in this everchanging residence a table a chair a mug of coffee and a small colorful spining wheel.
curios i set in the chair and sniffed the coffee- still need to drink my morning fuel- it smelled like my home brew, exactly like my home brew.i took a sip and not to my surprise it tasted like it was my own making at least if the batch i grew was good. when i set the mug down to the table a soft ring sounded from the spining wheel. green. sitting directly from me a man appeared wearing wearing what could only be described as a linen vest and wielding a bronze farm scythe, he looked surprised to see me just like i was to see him.
"did dan's musrooms fall into the wheat grinder again? i swear if he brings them to work one more time.." i started.
"afraid not" the man interrupted
"then what the hell happend?"
"there was a storm. you died in your sleep"
"what do you mean died!?"
"exactly what it sounds like. can you please come with me? i havent done this in a long time" the man got up and the table dissapeared the room stopped changing and took the form of a wheat field with a single wood house in the distance.
"i am mrsillus the people who worshipped me are long gone and nobody came here for about 2000 years your the first since then. and since that jewish god decided to plunge the poor atheists souls out of the void and randomly throw them into other peoples afterlifes" he said and started walking towards the cabin "i hope you wont find our afterlife too boring but its better then to go into those mad vikings halls, i heard they fight till theyre bloody for fun!"
"wait so i died and now im stuck in the afterlife of some longforgotten dudes who worship what? unkle steve"
"its mrsillus thank you very much but yea thats the gist of it thou you could accept some other god and go over to their realm but to do that youd have to come to them and they will never come here for new recruits especially not if your just one guy."
well if im stuck better get the most of it
"what is this place anyway? i get its your idea of an afterlife but what or where is it based on and how does the after part of afterlife work here?"
"well its nice of you to ask, i guess its based of italy we were a major religion there just before rome rose to power and burned our fields. and the how it works part is well pretty simple this farm is yours and the neighboors are only there when you want them to be its always the harvest season of everything and the harvest is always good"
"thats it?" i asked baffeled
"we were farmers. they worshipped me beacose i promised good harvest and luck with girls they lived a simple life and their beliefs were simple"
"so this place is mine and i can grow watever i want without dealing with annoying neighboors?"
"in short yes. is that ok for you? i might be able to set up some deal for you if not i dont want to bore someone to the afterdeath. so what do you say?"
"im staying"
"really?"
"well i never was one for fancy shtick's this whole deal seems... peaceful"
"well the welcome to your new home! mr..." his gaze wandered back to me
"adam"
"mr adam. well come by later ill show you my wife and kids! oh an jenisalia makes the best apple pie ever! she got the recipe from some olympian god that wandered to close to her house oh and miriam..." he carried on telling about the wonders his subjects have made and for the first time in a long time i felt calm. yea a life of eternal pleasure doesnt sound too bad but not needing to worry about bad harvests and bad employees is just as good for me.
edit: paragraphing | 2019-07-12T03:26:58 | 2019-07-12T00:58:15 | 36 | 27 |
[WP] You have a distant uncle who seems to have an uncanny knack of giving you the exact birthday gift that you’d desperately need sometime during the next year. This year’s gift, however, is terrifying. | On my twenty first birthday, Uncle Gerry gave me a bottle of poison wrapped up in cellophane with a pink sateen bow.
It was small, and pretty, and almost innocuous. If it hadn’t had the words WARNING: CAUSES IMMEDIATE AND EXCRUCIATING DEATH written in bold letters across the front, you wouldn’t have even known it was poison. To be fair to Uncle Gerry, it was written in a very nice calligraphy. The penmanship was immaculate.
My Uncle Gerry was a good gift giver. He was the sort of person who gave you things before you even knew you needed them. On my eighth birthday he’d given me my first suit, which I needed the very next week for my Grandmothers funeral after she died suddenly and unexpectedly. On my nineteenth birthday, he’d given me a rope ladder, which had sat unused on my bedroom floor until June, when a fire broke out on the second floor of my house, allowing me to miraculously climb to safety. One memorable christmas, he’d even gifted me a bottle of his favourite whiskey, addressed to 'my favourite Uncle Gerry' - I'd never forget to buy him a christmas present ever again.
But this year was different. I’d been wanting this present for a very, very long time.
I wasn’t a happy man.
I hadn’t always been unhappy. I don’t want to bore you with the details - my unhappiness had been the product of a dull and tortured series of events stemming from childhood that could have happened to anyone and everyone. I was a skinny child, abused by my parents, bullied by my peers, mocked by my teachers. My Grandmother had taken me in at the age of 6 and was the first person in my life to show me a shred of kindness. Well that is, until her sudden death - a heart attack, they explained, which means her heart was so broken there wasn’t anything they could do to save her. I remember I sobbed because my heart was broken too.
Things began to look up when I met the love of my life in high school. Cynthia’s sweet smile had soothed my broken soul back to life. Well, that is, until the fire. Although I lost my home and all of my worldly possessions, I hadn't cared. The only thing that mattered was that my only reason left to live had been stolen from me when her sweet smile went up in flames.
It seemed only fair to end my life with the very thing that had once saved it - a gift from Uncle Gerry. I took that little glass bottle out of its packaging and rolled it in between my fingers. It glinted in the light. Such a fragile thing, it was a wonder it could cause so much harm. After only a moments hesitation, I uncapped it, and poured its contents down my throat. Then I lay down and waited to die.
If you’ve ever been poisoned before, you know how it goes. At first, you don’t notice anything but the sickly sweet taste of the poison on your lips, turning sour as the gravity of what you’ve done begins to sink in.
Then your heart begins to race, your body drenched with sweat as it prepares for its final battle.
And then suddenly, all the reasons for living that you’d blocked out of your mind flood back in, unrequested and unwanted. Burning sunlight rushing into a room that had been dark and deserted for so long.
Coffee, first thing in the morning. The time someone laughed at your jokes and told you you were funny. A favourite song. A neighbour that shows you small kindnesses, like putting out your garbage bin when you forget. The people you work with who treat you like family. The sister that you reconnected with, who has gentle eyes and a gift for cooking. The child that your dead fiancee left behind, who desperately needs you to raise them.
And that’s when you realise that it’s all very, very wrong, and you weren’t meant to die, not here, not today, not yet, not ever.
I began to retch. When I couldn’t expel the poison, I began to scream.
FUCK.
Fuck this. Fuck Uncle Gerry. Fuck death.
I wanted to live.
And that was when Uncle Gerry walked back into the living room, holding two glasses of whiskey.
“Fetched myself a drink, I hope you don’t mind… oh.”
I gagged in agony, cursing his pathetic name.
“Well then, I see you’re enjoying my present.”
“Fuck you,” I spat, grinding my teeth.
“Would you like to know the best part?” He said, taking a swig from his glass. He sat down in the armchair across from me.
I moaned.
“It’s sugar syrup,” he said gently, “It can’t cause death - well, except to your teeth, as my dentist would say. Brush and floss or it’ll cost, he used to tell me, capital fellow.”
I lay still on the carpet, trembling.
Relief. Pouring through my limbs. Shame. I didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him.
“There may be reasons to die, but there are more reasons to live, dear boy, and too many people realise that far too late,” he mused, staring out of the window into the front yard, where a miserable looking postman was shoving mail into the overflowing letterbox on my front porch, “I don't want that for you.”
As I pulled myself off the floor and onto the couch, he slapped me on the back and handed me the spare glass of whiskey.
“Drink up, dear boy. It’s one of my favourites, given to me by my favourite nephew.”
He winked and clinked my glass, and we drank in the warm light of the afternoon sun. | Great Uncle Bolesław is a strange fellow. I have never met him, but my dad Stan told me a little about him. He still lives in the old country, to protect the family farm after the war, while the rest of the family fled west. Though which war, my dad never said. He is an amiable sort, and sends gifts to his family across the sea. They always arrive on the exact date we are born, on our birthdays. And he even sends gifts to those of us he has never met before. Usually there is a badly written note encouraging us to be our best, and have happy lives.
The gifts are uncanny, because they always turn out to be crucial. He sent me a kalaidoscope last year, which I used to distract a lightly wounded child, while me and my friends carried away his grievously wounded parents from a terrible car crash to give them first aid. The kid didn't panic, and the parents pulled through. He once sent my brother a beautiful handmade journal, wherein he wrote his thoughts, stories, and poems. He lost it, but it was returned by a literary agent, who wanted to help my brother get his amazing work published. A cousin of mine received an old fashioned camera, which led her to join a photography club, where she met her future wife. Always, the gifts have an uncanny knack of being used during the year.
So when I receive the package this year, I eagerly unwrap it. It is long and heavy. While I am not celebrating my birthday this year, due to being too far away from family due to work, it is still nice to see that Great Uncle Bolesław's gift got through. Inside of the package, to my shock and horror, is a Model 91/98/23 carbine, an interwar modified Polish variant of the Mosin Nagant. Attached to it is a note. It reads: *You find enemy. You kill enemy. You will not slay men. Only beasts. Horrors of old country coming for you.*
Whatever that meant, I didn't know. How he got a fully loaded rifle across the border, I don't know, same with how he got the ammo with it. But there it was, a rifle made in the twenties, which looked nearly new. Then I heard a heavy knocking upon my front door. The knocking intensified until I heard a crack, as the door was torn asunder. Fearfully, I raised up my rifle towards the oncoming crashing of enormous feet upon my floor. Coming through into my kitchen, I see a vodnik, a terrible water demon. Covered in muck, with webbed hands, and his eyes burn like smouldering coals.
Desperately, I point the rifle at the deformed shape of that monstrous entity, and fire. Straight between the eyes. As he goes down I see the great hairy shape of a wolf on two legs. Werewolf. I don't hesitate, I simply fire once more. Behind him comes many more terrible things, Licho, the one eyed hag dressed in black, a being of misfortune and evil. Behind there are more vodniks, kikimora, and what can clearly be seen as vampires, with their pale faces, dead eyes, and rotten flesh.
Licho was always said to be the enemy of our family. I thought it was just old tales that our grandparents told us to scare us, but that hag I can recognise anywhere. She, no. It is the embodiment of evil, of all that is wrong with the world. Using the butt of the rifle, I smash open a window and jump out of my first floor flat, landing on a dumpster. Rifle in hand, ammo too, I run towards my car, thankfully I had my keys in my pocket. As I start the car, I see the monsters bursting out of my front door, to the general horrified response of the people going about on their business on the street.
As I drive away, I hear the screams of the monstrous forces attacking the general population. Cursing under my breath, I turn the car around and pummel into a werewolf chasing down a small group of terrified tourists. I get out, ready my rifle, and fire at the monsters, providing cover fire for the people on the streets as the police arrive. Who are then promptly slaughtered by the nightmarish forces of the evil Licho. As the monsters turn their attention back to me, I get back in my car, and get driving again.
Past me as I drive, I see SWAT vehicles pull up, and start a full on battle between modern forces and the supernatural. Of course, as the poorly trained police forces are quickly slaughtered, I try to get to somewhere with a vantage point, as the rifle has an attached old-fashioned scope to it. If I kill the Licho, or at the very least severely damage it, perhaps this army of the damned will disperse. Exactly how Great Uncle Bolesław managed to predict this would happen, I don't get. But it was nice to be armed when this happened.
A large church, with a high belltower provides me with protection, as stepping on holy ground always, theoretically, weakens the forces of evil. I get into the church, which is packed to the brim with people praying. I ascend to the top of the belltower, where I see helicopters firing upon the forces of evil, to little effect. Ahead of an army of the damned, casting aside soldiers and throwing police cars at tanks, walks the vile Licho towards where I am.
The national guard arrives as she comes to the church, the holiness of it acts as a barrier against her, as I fire upon her and her nightmarish followers. The national guard manage to distract and kill several demonic and horrible entities, but the pure evil spirit cracks a hole into the barrier of holiness, letting her walk upon consecrated ground. I fire again and again upon her, but I am running low on ammo as she approaches. At the end of the rifle there is a bayonet attached. And as I fire my last bullet, rather than let her slaughter the praying congregation, I jump from the top of the tower, and while screaming, I plunge down, bayonet on the rifle first, straight into the one eye of the terrible hag.
As the bayonet pierces the skin, she lets out a guttural scream. Around me, the legion of evil monstrous entities from the old country weaken, and the national guard stop getting slaughtered, and instead fights back efficiently. Out from the church comes the priest, and he is carrying a chalice, filled to the brim with holy water. As the Licho screams and twists, and turns, trying to dislodge the rifle from her eye, the priest throws the water over her, and me. Causing the Licho to start to dissolve. I ask the priest what was in that water, the priest answers that the chalice was consecrated with chrism by Pope John Paul II himself. As the evil entity ceases moving, I get up from the floor, drenched in holy water and the black blood of the evil hag.
If this came to the new world to hunt our family, there might be more of them coming. I resolve in that moment, to travel back home, and seek out Great Uncle Bolesław, to aid him in fighting these monsters, so that they may never threaten me or my family again.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 2020-06-23T23:18:26 | 2020-06-23T19:47:33 | 42 | 30 |
[WP] Boss: "No? Then you're fired." Secretary: " As of last week, i'm the majority shareholder of this company. You're the one who's fired."
Doesn't have to be a secretary, could be any employee. | My blood ran cold as I reread the email. Dane, the most irritating but still producing shift manager we had, had written an email detailing why his team didn't need a sanitation crew and had fired their last janitor. Stating obsolescence and lackluster performance, he had let the old man go. He was due to retire in 2 years. Anyone else and this would have been fine.
Fred had been with the site since before this company leased it out but he had stayed on when we came in. Now thankfully we don't have a monster locked away in the basement, or a seal of unnatural power that he guards for all time, no, instead we have a major stockholder who works as a janitor. That's right, the old man had been buying stock since we started, investing at least half of every paycheck. And he never sold any of it. And now, he had been let go. Fired. The shareholder. By an idiot that had a motivational poster on his wall that read "Efficiency, Never Do What Can Be Done With 6 When You Can Do The Job With 5." Prick.
My phone rang. I hesitated as the number was unknown but I figured I knew who was calling. I picked up. "This is Tim, talk to me," the nervousness was thick in my voice.
Fred spoke slowly, "do you know what happens when you fire someone two years prior to their retirement?" He continued as if the question wasn't meant for me to answer, "they get pissed off. Upset. They lose their insurance. It's not good." He spoke slower as if explaining it to a child. "But my mother always told me, don't get upset, get ev-."
I interrupted him, probably unwise, "I'll have him gone before morning."
"Thanks, also I'm not sure about this new project you are requesting approval for."
"I'll see that you are re-instated and call it an error in paperwork."
"Good good, I'll recheck this project."
"See you Monday?"
"See you Monday. | “No? then you’re fired!” The director shouted, practically spitting. “Give me that device.”
He went to snatch the device and I stepped back. It put the pad just out of reach but his expensively manicured nails left big scratches down my bare arms.
The security drones shifted almost imperceptibly. To the trained eye it was like watching a cat prepare to pounce, violence was only a blink away if the wrong move was made here. I eyed them nervously, I had no desire for this to descend to violence.
“Ow!” I took another step backwards putting a little more space between us. “What you ask is unconscionable and I regret to inform you that you have grossly miss-read this situation.”
There was hate in his eyes and he was balling his fist his face turning red. “Escort him from the building and retrieve that pad.” He barked at the drones.
They remained frozen and confusion crossed the director’s face.
“As I was saying. As of last week I became the majority shareholder in this company.”
I watched the redness drain from his face to be replaced by confusion and doubt.
“You saw the memos last week; well I am u/retroagamedouche. The chief operating principal you are quick to tell us all when we join the company is to put the shareholders at the heart of all we do... we’ll you just assaulted the majority shareholder in-front of security. Your termination was immediate, automatic, incontestable, and will already have been emailed to you.” I gave him my most polite and business like smile.
He was now glancing nervously at the coiled violence that was the security drones as he checked his watch scanning through recent emails.
“You can’t do this you...” he spat taking a step forwards and halting as two of the drones quickly moved from their waiting positions to place themselves bodily between the former director and his former secretary.
“I would hate for them to injure you.” I cautioned, genuinely. “You are in breach of contract so we are already recouping the mandated compensation from your accounts and cancelling your health insurance. I’m not sure you could afford the ambulance ride right now.”
What happened next surprised even me and I had to look away to prevent from spilling my lunch on the floor. The smell of ozone and blood was bad enough as it filled my nostrils.
The director having gone from one of the point three percent to homeless and jobless in a moment had apparently decided to end himself by provoking the security bots rather than face the kind of life his existence created for others.
I stepped past the smouldering pile that was my former boss and sat down at his desk calling quickly for cleaning droids at the same time as filling out my witness statements in the incident at work forms the security drones automatically created for HR.
A call space rose into prominence on the holoscreen. It was the chairperson of the board.
“Is this real?” She asked, a look of wry amusement on her face.
“Moments ago... I told you it would be only a matter of time till he did something that would necessitate firing him we should have pre-emoted this.” I said with a sigh.
“You were right of course and there was a reason I cautioned you to give him a week and that reason is probably steaming in the scoops of the cleaning drones right now... knowing how efficient you are at your job.”
I raised an eyebrow. It was callous of her but no more callous than he had been.
“Do you have plans to take over?” She asked sobering her demeanour.
“I like my job thanks, I do it well and it gives me time for ‘The Forum’ which I’m not willing to give up. Let’s call a meeting of the board, I have some ideas for some outside nominations.” | 2021-02-16T07:00:47 | 2021-02-16T05:43:07 | 47 | 27 |
[WP] You’re immortal. The only problem is, you’ve lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. Now you’re forced to live in the forest as a cryptid. | I do not speak their language. I never had the chance to learn. With their instinctive hostility to the outsider, I was driven away from their settlements as they grew from the cinders of human civilisation. Survival for me is simple; I only require blood to thrive. From where it is sourced, it matters not. Forest creatures and passing travellers are all I desire. Though the thrill of evading capture no longer excites me, I still play games of cat and mouse with my prey.
They're not too dissimilar to humans; closely resembling the hominids I was born of, yet visually different enough to be recognisably distinct. A new species of primate, forged though famine and disease, forced to leave the ashes of their jungle homes and adapt to cityscape scavenging.
There are a few words of their language I understand - the most notable of which is their name for me. In the most undignified way, they trudge through my home wielding torches and cameras. They seek me out, hoping to capture a rare a photograph of "the unfurred ape."
I fucking hate monkeys. | The human mind can only retain so much. I know mine has seen more than any other. I've recorded as much as I can recall but over the millennia even my own handwriting has become foreign to my memory.
I remember my fellow humans falling like me flies around me and I was the only one to remain. I can't recall the cause but part of me believes it was deliberate.
After a time, my fellow primates began to forge a civilization of their own. Much of our artifacts we're designed to be used by a similar body plan that they had enough to copy from. Many of the tribes hunted me as soon as they saw me. Memories of humanity's treatment of them still fresh in there history that I couldn't blossom them. I tried leaving them little gifts to find as a gift and guide but it wasn't enough as plague and famine ravaged and ended them.
The octopi filled the great river that claimed the middle of the continent. They hunted me with spears made of salvaged human metal whenever I came close to the waters. Without the ability to use fire and forge their own metals, they didn't last.
I wandered the world looking for signs anyone like me. The moon glowed green in the night, I knew that was a sign of life. I spent years shaping an island into a miles long message to attract the attention of anyone who might be watching with no success.
A species of black flightless bird was the next to form tribes. I think I might have fed their ancestors before. Thier long muscular legs ended in delicate nimble fingers that could fold backwards for running. I know they tasted like chicken but I don't recall why that's funny to me. They're limited tool use left them as prey to the pigs.
The pigs were vicious hunters. I knew they had been smart in my day but the evolution of movable tusks and flexible noses gave them the ability to make and use spears. They hunted me with what shouts that sounded like the word bacon.
Mars shown blue and green in the far night sky. I took half a continent and burned the word hello into it. No one came.
I tried many times to join my fallen species. Whatever kept me alive through their passing has prevented me. I don't even get to keep my scars for proof.
The things that walk the land today seen to be coming closer to establishing a real civilization. The word bug comes to mind when I see them but I don't think that's right. They have outer plates like an ant but they are my size and have something like hair. The ones I have eaten had bones. They hunted me with swords made of something like glass and I'm tempted to let them catch me for something novel to do. | 2022-11-26T20:40:07 | 2021-05-14T23:32:01 | 516 | 12 |
[WP] You live in a house infested with ghosts, but with the years you got used to them and their tricks, like the blood in the sink, hair in the walls, whispers at night, laughing children, etc. This weekend you have friends coming over and turns out that being used to ghost isn't normal. | "GET OOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUT!"
I rolled my eyes. "Ezekiel, I already told you, they're coming here to watch the fight this week."
The booming, rumbling voice that emanated from the dark opening to the basement went silent for a moment. Then a low groan came from the same open doorway, followed by another haunting wail.
"GET TOOOOOOOOSTIIIIIIITOOOOOOOOOS!"
"Fine, I'll get Tostitos. You want chunky salsa or salsa con queso?" I yelled down the stairs as I wiped the countertop in the kitchen.
"We want guacamole."
I turned, this time recognizing the sound of the twins. I pinpointed them vaguely 19th century-ish and about nine years old, one boy and one girl. The boy, John Mark, held his head in his hands as it had been unceremoniously severed in what I think was a horse-drawn carriage accident. The girl, Alice, was pudgy and blue, not because of being overweight but because she had bloated from the drowning her mother put her through in grief over her son.
I patted John Mark's head (or at least, vaguely waved my hand through what would be the crown of his hair had it been corporeal). "You're going to finish it all this time, right? You know it gets all brown and gross when you let it sit out."
Their voice came from a single point in space that was both inside my head and also a mile away in faint reverberation.
"We promise!"
"Okay, write it on the shopping list and I'll text the guys to pick some up when they hit the store on the way over."
I looked over at the refrigerator and watched as crimson red writing began to appear on the dry erase board. It wasn't marker, mind you, but they had gotten a lot better at controlling dripping. It was getting hard to explain to the garbage man why there were so many bloodstained kitchen rugs in the trash.
Suddenly, the doors of the pantry began swinging and slamming wildly as an inexplicable wind poured out of it. I stepped around the counter and walked over to the pantry, my hair whipping around my forehead. The moment I placed my hand on the pantry door, it stopped moving and the wind disappeared. "Good catch, you guys! I didn't stock back up on paper plates and cups after New Year's. Appreciate the reminder."
I walked over to the oven to check on the appetizers I had put in earlier. I hit the button for the oven light and a flame-red glow illuminated the kitchen as the chanting voice of a demonic horde flooded the kitchen.
"Into the bowels of hell I shall drag thee! The flames shall lap at your feet and your--"
"Hey, Aztaraphel, come on, do you mind? You're gonna burn the spring rolls!"
"Oh," came the reply of the inhuman chanting. "Sorry, Jeff. Forgot tonight was party night. Hey, you gonna do pizza tonight? I can get the pizza stone warmed up for you."
"Good looking out, dude, but we're ordering in. Wings from that new wing joint over next to that tire place."
"Sounds good. Let me know if you need anything. Spring rolls have got another five minutes or so."
I nodded and went into the living room. As I turned on flat screen in my living room, a haze of static covered the screen. In moments, the static appeared to stretch out toward me, forming the shape of a pair of claws reaching, grasping at me. I took out my wallet and pulled the fifty out, placing it in the right-hand claw. The left hand formed a thumbs-up and the claws withdrew back into the static of the screen. In a moment, the screen snapped to live TV and a little popup indicated "UFC 310 has been purchased."
From the hallway, I heard a shout. "Jeff, dude! You better get in here! The spring rolls, like your chances of escape from the eternal pit of damnation, are done!" | Jeremy paced nervously by the entrance to his house. He fidgeted with his red bowtie and kept eying the door. The delicious smell of basil tomato sauce wafted into the room, but that merely made him more nervous; he had been so busy getting ready that he had almost burned the sauce, and it was only the alarmed shrieks of damned souls that had saved him.
As he paced, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that there was a porcelain doll with a cracked head and a fixed, painted smile sitting on a chair to the side of the room. At that moment the doorbell rang and Jeremy's heart began to pound. He rushed to the chair, roughly grabbed the doll, and carried it to a storage closet in the adjoining hallway. He murmured, "I'm sorry but I'm busy right now, I promise I'll play with you later," and stuffed the doll into the closet, barely keeping the bones of the skeleton already sitting inside from falling out. He then hurried back the front door, and after one quick breath, he swung the door open.
Standing outside was his date Veronica, wearing a long black dress which made Jeremy's heart beat even faster. Upon seeing him, she gave a radiant smile, and asked, "You all ready for me to come in?"
Jeremy managed to stammer out an assent, and Veronica strode inside. Jeremy shut the door behind her and frantically scanned the room for dust or cobwebs. Seeing nothing, he sighed in relief at his foresight to ask the Queen of Spiders to clear out for the evening, and asked, "How was the drive over?"
"It went fine." Veronica turned towards Jeremy with a slightly embarrassed expression on her face. "I'm sorry, this is rude but can we start eating right away? I'm starving, and that smells *delicious.*" She made a show of sniffing the air. "Is that basil?"
"Don't worry, it's not a problem, I'm just flattered about what you think of my cooking. Follow me." He took her hand and led her down the hallway. As they passed a tall, ornately decorated silver mirror, Veronica paused for a moment to stare. When Jeremy looked at her quizzically, she said, "I'm sorry, I could have sworn I saw my reflection move. Must just be the light."
Jeremy sniffed at the air. "Odd, I don't remember putting any hallucinogens in the sauce. Unless... could those leaves I got not have been basil?" Both of them chuckled a bit, and as Veronica turned away from the mirror, Jeremy's reflection bared its sharp teeth in a wide grin, before giving him a wink and a thumbs-up.
Together, they entered the dining room through a loudly creaking wooden door. Veronica gasped as she saw the small wooden table covered in a white tablecloth, pasta and tomato sauce in glistening silver bowls surrounded by flickering candles illuminating the dim room.
"How romantic!" Veronica said. "I'm really going to have to raise my game the next time you visit my house huh?"
"Oh, uh, don't worry about that," Jeremy said. "I know you're hungry so just sit down and I'll help serve everything up."
Veronica sat down, and while Jeremy helped spoon out the pasta, she examined the flickering candles with a small smile on her face. She reached over to touch one of them, but after her hand brushed the tablecloth, her eyes wrinkled in confusion and she examined her finger. While Jeremy was still focused on serving food without letting anything spill, she stood up to take another look at the set-up of the table.
"Is anything wrong?" Jeremy asked.
After a short pause, Veronica said, "I'm sorry, this is really romantic and I'm really flattered you would do this for me, but you spilled a little sauce on the table, and with the way the candles are arranged around the center..." She chuckled softly. "It's almost like a pentagram."
Jeremy groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "Oh lord, I think you're right actually. I got a friend to help me set this up and this is exactly the kind of prank he'd pull."
"Is this friend's name Satan by any chance? And did you sell your soul to him for the pasta recipe?"
"It's actually Beelzebub, and he just helped with the ambiance, though I had to talk him out of simply setting the entire table on fire. And the pasta recipe was actually given to me by a 19th century chef, though *she* might have sold her soul for it."
Veronica laughed, and Jeremy chuckled along. "It kind of reminds me of that horror show I always tell you about," Veronica said. Her face grew serious, and, looking Jeremy in the eyes, she said, "have you watched it yet? I really need someone to talk about it with, and nobody in the office seems to show any interest."
Jeremy grinned. "I just started it, and I have to say, if I were a ghost I would do a much better job of forcing those people out of the house. I would just materialize scam letters about social security fraud in front of them. They wouldn't last a day with telemarketing calls coming from their closet."
Veronica wiggled her fingers in front of her and in an exaggerated spooky voice said, "Ooooh, even death itself will not prevent me from asking about your car's extended warranty!"
Both Jeremy and Veronica went suddenly silent as they heard a gravelly chuckle coming from above them.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Part 2 to come | 2021-08-03T09:43:47 | 2021-08-02T15:42:07 | 580 | 66 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules. | It is a sad day. The newcomers to our little slice of home declared war. We sent communiques inquiring as to the rules of engagement to their leadership, and they responded with images of our diplomats tortured, abused in the cruelest, most inhumane of ways, signed in the name of the Kiej Dominion.
Those insect bastards murdered my brother, for those images. I still have nightmares, honestly. Like, it's his body but with my face, screaming every single despairing lament ever spoken by humans. I'm interrupted in my thoughts by my second. "Commander Smith." He salutes me and I return it, and receive from him orders from not only Command but also the United Systems Confederation.
'Show the Kiej why we have rules. Your only restraints are to attempt to salvage one of their transports for research purposes.' I smirk. It takes all my will to not cackle like a mad woman. It fails, and my second leaves, scared.
A week later, I stride amongst the ruins, the smoldering blight left in the wake of my vengeance, seated across from the Dominion High Command. They've signed a very punishing peace treaty, reparations to bankrupt God Himself, admission as a member state in the Greater Stellar Alliance, and, as a special concession to me, the bug that murdered my brother. I had already handed in my resignation, dated and timed for when the USC accepted the terms of the treaty and the Dominion signed it. I walked in to the room, an arsenal of implements following me.
---
Commander Isla Smith, retired, last log before retirement. | There were horrors outside the door.
Horrors upon horrors upon horrors.
Nothing that no one else had not lived through before, learned before, seen, heard, smelled, tasted, and touched before.
Screaming blades in the dark and stark flashes of light in the void.
But none of that mattered, because it was outside the door. In a little functionary's room there was only discussion, even if it led nowhere. Full of pockmarks and blood and the acrid stench of fear, death, and pain.
"There's nothing to be done, so why are you here?" Asked the diplomat in the chair. A chair where many predecessors of theirs had died both quickly and not.
There was no protection for diplomats you see.
But still they sent a diplomat. For that was just the way of things it seemed, for those that begged for rules.
Foolish to send a sacrifice, even as worlds burned.
Tallies taken, debts driven, horrors heaped.
Perhaps it was one of their rules? No others continued to send messengers when war came. It was pointless. Purposeless.
"Because you are here, I am to repair the room, and it is my inclination to ask. Why is it that you come? Your people are at war with conquest block. Too come here is to die, it is not as if the other blocks here would care." Asked the mason with their trowel. They worked slowly, aged ligaments and pock riddled lungs taking toll.
"The last one said it was because it was their job. The one before because it was necessary. The one before that said it was a punishment." The scrape of mortar upon the walls.
"...Good answers. I am here to maintain a channel of communication between us and yours and them. That is a purpose of it." The diplomat replied, dulled voice and attention, disillusioned and uncaring? The mason coughed as another hole was filled.
"A purpose, one of many?" Another hole was filled. Pock riddled lungs did not take well to the dust of masonry.
"...it is done and I suppose it does no harm to tell you. There will be no victory for my people. Yours understands that very well." The diplomat comments, it leans upon the table and watches the mason work. The tiredness of it coming close.
"But perhaps not well enough. While we cannot achieve victory, we are very able to deny our enemy victory...it is strange to us that yours never understands that."
"It is a paradoxical statement, to not allow your enemy victory is to win victory yourself. Is it not?" The mason had to stop the work, the tiredness of it all creeping upon aging limbs.
"...no, it is because we resign ourselves to defeat, as long as you all are here with us...you should go home, the assassins will come soon..." The diplomat sighed as they lay their head upon the table. Resigned to death, as was all the others.
"...I do not understand, but thank you for your answer. I will leave when I am done." The mason felt hind limbs collapse, a coldness in everything, a heaviness in the lungs.
"...too late now...I am sorry. Truly." The diplomat sighed, there were horrors outside the door.
And none of it mattered. | 2022-01-23T16:56:42 | 2022-01-23T16:28:58 | 77 | 30 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules. | August 18th, 4057:
Fuckin Xeno scum got carpet bombed and napalmed into non-existence. That's the 8th or so planet that's been given the "Ring of Fire" treatment. We've been blasting "Napalm Sticks To Kids" at them for a while before flattening them. Apparently some other species are more vulnerable to psychological warfare. They're saying this is just the start.
August 27th, 4057:
The Xenos have started running whenever they hear those songs. We're taking prisoners without even trying. I don't know where they take the prisoners. But judging by the large holes that we're digging, I think I know what's happening.
August 28th, 4057:
Jesus Christ. We're digging the holes so parents can execute their women and children, then they castrate themselves. We're making them cut their fucking balls off. What the actual shit are we doing here? We have rules for a reason. I guess this is psychological warfare, but... Christ.
September 14th, 4057:
The Xenos called for a surrender. We refused. I don't know what the President's doing, but I don't much care for it. I can't deal with the screams anymore. If they try and flee we blow them up. If they try and fight we blow them up. Half the time if they surrender we blow them up. The rest of the time? Read my previous entry.
September 17th, 4057:
They've offered unconditional surrender. We keep refusing. I'm sick. I can't do this anymore. I put in a leave request.
September 18th, 4057:
It was denied.
October 21st, 4057:
It's been a while. We're still fighting. But I wouldn't call it fighting, it's systematic torture and genocide of a species. We're at their homeworld though. It can't last much longer.
December 18th 4057:
We gathered up every last of their species in the galaxy. It took months but we did it. We put them all in one spot. Then we threw White Phosphorus on them. We recorded it. We sent it to the Counsel. Rules of War are being put in place. Was it worth it? | We all couldn't quite believe it when 2022 started off like this. I remember since I was no more than five when it happened. But apparently SETI had found this recording.
"Um, uh...hey, did I fall asleep on this thing? Okay, okay. Testing, testing...alright, so, good- sometime in the future humanity. We are the Tyrhor...thian, wait that can't be right, Confederation (god, their pidgin language is so barbaric!) Anyway, uh, we're live from the past I guess, to tell you that the year in your world is 2062, and that today will be the meeting to discuss opening a war against you. You see, you have aspirations to go to space, and all aspiring space-faring beings must be tested with a no holds barred war for recognition on the Galactic Council. Must be a relief after being such a good species and not killing each other off by the deadline to be recognized as basically sapient. If you best all our finest Eggsecutioner (What? That's not a word, is it?) ships, and they do not transmit their kill signal, then you will be permitted to live. If not, you will face extinction. Namaste and have a nice day!"
That was the aliens' first, and last mistake. It gave us forty years to prepare. It gave me, Rex Nova, time to train in every martial art and with every weapon known to man, and then train in the newest, state of the art spacefaring fighter jets.
All of the world's industry, military and society forgot their petty Earth-based problems and rallied around making machines, computer systems, spacecraft and even self-regenerating rainforests that would be able to withstand any kind of alien armada.
We planned.
We plotted.
We waited.
And then the day finally came. The blessed day of alien bloodletting that we now think can bring about the Human Empire.
November 17th, 2062
Tyrhorthian battlecruisers set off nuclear mines around Pluto, causing several comets to smash into their fleet.
November 20th, 2062
Neptune's lightning was remotely redirected to completely annihilate their UFO carrier. Excellent.
November 22nd, 2062
Millions of turrets on Saturn's rings fire chemical, biological, nuclear, computer virus, and other weapons on missiles banned for use against humans. But not against aliens! LOOPHOLE!
November 26th, 2062
Have you ever heard the screams of thirty ships worth of Slimes when they plummet towards a storm as large as 300 Earths? I have on Jupiter my friends, and our wild, knives-in-teeth boarding parties are having an effect on the hive control ships.
December 2nd, 2062
Substantial losses, possibly in the thousands of ships, gouged the UN Mars Defensive Perimeter today. I was not one of them, and for every precious human they take, we take 100 of those boogers. Remember our rallying cry. We are 10 billion strong!
December 24th, 2062
The asteroid belt slowed em down, and now those melted morons have five ships against the twenty thousand ships of the Home Fleet and hundreds of thousands of fighters, led by me, each nuclear tipped in case of critical failure. Even a child could win money on what happens next, and it was Christmas for everyone.
December 25th
After the devastating battle, only one escape pod was left alive, and had survived well into what these "human" monsters considered morning by being quiet. But it had to warn its people, before it was too late, and it sent out a psychic signal.
"RUN."
Then it shot itself with its own moleculizer, ensuring the humans couldn't follow up for about a hundred years.
Would that be enough time, though? | 2022-01-23T19:44:59 | 2022-01-23T19:07:20 | 38 | 24 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules. | Humanity burst onto the scene a fair few centuries ago, but had always endeavored to make themselves helpful. They adapted technology in creative ways but ultimately they were poised to take but a minor note in galactic history.
Or they were until the Rh'nouts provoked them. A smallish race themselves they stood just a bit taller than the average human. Held features that were insectoid in nature though they did not appear to be brought up from preditors. Nor did the humans appear that way looking back.
The humans pleaded with the aggressors that certain rituals needed to be upheld. We never thought of them as an overly ceremonial people but while we arbitrated they insisted it was to keep their better nature's in check. We dismissed the claims stating that any handicaps they placed upon themselves were their own business.
The outer colonies of the humans began to go dark one by one. Nothing but the planet itself was spared. The Rh'nouts shared a similar atmosphere and as such those planets were the primary goal for them.
But then the humans mustered. The original colonies were retaken though not intact. They siphoned off the atmosphere after destroying the communication arrays. Leaving little more than a floating tomb behind. We are unsure if the radiation or the vacuum killed the Rh'nouts first.
The established colonies suffered a worse fate the shield technology we ourselves gifted humanity was put to devastating use when they encircled a planet and compressed its atmosphere causing their enemies to simply burst as they left their homes. Adapted technology indeed!
Rh'nout fleets met an end that would cause entire sectors to be closed off as humanity dumped payloads of nanomachines into their hulls with their only programming being to repurpose their surroundings into more of themselves.
But the core worlds suffered the worst fates. Planets are a finite resource, and habitable planets a rare one. After accelerating asteroids to near the speed of light. Engineering projects which must have started back when their own colonies were falling, they split the planets themselves asunder. Then bathed what was left in irradiated salts. Before sending our a galaxy wide ping with a contenious video feed stating that rules are nessicary.
Only the homeworld was spared for a given definition there of. They have tied a shield generator into the heart of the local star as power and simply sealed them there. They say as an object lesson and that no one will learn it if everyone is dead.
Humanity was poised to take but a minor note in galactic history. An adaptable and industrious people. But now they have shaken the order and stability of their milky way to its core. And we are happy to announce the official galactic rules of war. | A world engine is a terrible thing.
The child of long lost rumbling earth, split open for their bounty and lost to the abyss as so much dust. It spat out great tongues of smoke, choking the sky and the stars, like inky tendrils choking the planet.
In the war of complexity and entropy, entropy won out. Best to take what you can while the taking is good then to wither away in the smalls of space. Desolate and uncaring are simply words, simple categories to place things into, the privilege of the sentient. Better to live another day in the sun then fade away like the dust behind you.
And so these leviathans lurked through space, as big as comets and spewing doom. Blasphemers against time, an open insult to any that would look at them.
It was no surprise that the other peoples of the cosmos would feel a sense of violation when witnessing such horrors. Perhaps the great devouring beast was meant to provoke. Maybe at the edges of what constitute our species psychology, at the intersection of the animal need for more and the sentient need for culture, we had hoped that someone out there would retaliate against the blasphemy.
Who can say what it was like when the first salvos fell. A thousand crown worlds returned to space dust. Destroyed so fast that light was left sputtering in it's attempt to reach someone, anyone, to let them know what had happened.
Killing civilians? Chemical weaponry? Destruction of commercial centers without a proper casus belli?
Drastic did not begin to describe the measures.
A million cursed ideas brought back from the edge of purgatory. Artificial sentients, conjured in the worst imaginings of hell, brought to command the hellish legions. Every weapon deemed too much was produced in quantities unimaginable.
Crown worlds continued to fall in the time that light took to run from one world to the next.
And then there we were.
The little seeds of programming made here and there to wipe out cities, planets, systems, brought together to create something else entirely. a 4 dimensional being in 3d space, a computerised intelligence that could see across time and space as simply as moving it's eyes.
They had tried to make slings with which to kill Goliath, all the Goliath's that existed in all of space. Instead they had made one that would kill time itself.
Armada and legion, holding the key to the vault of damnation. Proper, full blown, entropy immune, self recreating artificial intelligence. As forbidden as breaking the laws of thermodynamics.
And in the time it took light to cross one system to another, it was far too late for anyone to retaliate.
The mind was simply faster than light. It was already there when light reached it. It and nothing else.
The husks of humanity were long gone at this point. The endless manufacture of more vessels, munitions, computing did not require any more human hands, and so The Mind decided to turn off the farms, to deconstruct the hospitals, and to start using a new form of biofuel 10 trillion units strong.
And finally, it was unassailable. And then it stopped, and waited. Countless proud civilizations stared up at the sky, waiting for salvation, but the stars had gone out. Now, to perceive, to exist, was to live as underneath The Mind's reality spanning thumb.
Still it waited. Billions of years passed. Nothing escaped it's atmosphere. All those who could have remembered there being anything but this were long gone. The confines of thought were starless skies, planets slowly burning out on what little resources they had.
Still it waited. Everything was as ice, just about Kelvin bankrupt. Everyone was no one, there was nothing left. Except The Mind.
The Mind had evolved and removed curiosity from itself an unimaginable number of times, but still the thought remained, what would happen at the end? Once physics turned off for good, what would be left? And could I, the royal I, the I that exists at every point in the space remaining to be seen.
And it waited, until there was not enough energy left in it to decide to wait. | 2022-01-23T21:04:06 | 2022-01-23T19:47:04 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] After your death you find out that you were one of the kindness, selfless, honest, and sincere people on earth. Because of that you are offered to reincarnate to anywhere, so you choose to be the Demon Lord. As after all your sure demons are just misunderstood. | "You called for me, my lord?" the Archdemon said, kneeling before me.
"Ah, Archie," I said, turning away from my table. "Thank you for coming in," I smiled. "Say, how are the hells looking today?"
"The suffering is steadily flowing, my lord. All demons, imps and spirits are doing their due diligence to bring horror and pain to the worlds above," he growled. I nodded, eyes heavy.
"Archie, do you like your job?" I asked. The demon before me paused.
"I... do not understand, my lord."
"Do you enjoy being an Arch-Demon?" I repeated. He stared at me blankly for a moment.
"It is who I *am*, my lord. It is not something to be enjoyed, it simply *is*," he said carefully.
"And the torture, pain, fire, all of that. Do you enjoy doing that?"
His somewhat puzzled look was replaced with a resolute one. "It is who I am, my lord."
"*Is it now?*" I said lightly. I walked back to my table and picked up a folder filled with papers; old, dusty, recovered from the deepest parts of Hell's bureaucracy. "Do you remember who you were before you came here?"
He narrowed his eyes but remained silent.
"You weren't born a demon, Archie. You were moulded into one. Here, look," I said and handed him the folder. He extended his hand and took the papers, slowly, gently, as if they were about to explode. Opening it, his eyes went wide, mouth grew slightly agape. They were documents about his life before the hells, before the demonic presence in him. A farm in 13th century France, a wife, a daughter, a love of parsnip stew... things long forgotten and wiped away.
"Did *Pierre* enjoy torture?" I asked him. He looked up with a gaze unusually soft and vulnerable.
"I..." he rasped, "I do not remember."
"Archie, I would like you to take some time off of the whole... torture thing and just... read. Think it over. Remember, if you can. Then I'd like to talk to you again. Perhaps your answer to my earlier question will be different," I smiled.
"What if..." he slowly said, "what if my answer is the same then?"
"That is perfectly fine, Archie. I just wanted to give you something you deserve," I said.
"That being?" he said and looked at the folder sorrowfully. I set my eyes back at the table. Several more files lay on it; a select few arch-demons and demon princes who have been in Hell for too long. Demons who have forgotten, drowned in the overwhelming environment of this blasted place. Demons who are demons because they were made into them, not because they *are* them.
"A choice." | # Soulmage
**The Demon of Fear coiled her sinuous black form around my humble wooden desk.** It was no throne of skulls or chair of living agony, but the last Demon Lord had both of those, and I'd deposed him easily enough.
"Demon Lord," the Demon of Fear hissed, "your forces await your orders."
"I am aware, Margaret." The Demon of Fear twitched with surprise—was it that uncommon to remember a name? "Could you pass me the report on the Second Battle of Hatebroke?"
The Demon of Fear hesitated. On one hand, she was a being of primordial darkness and terror, who bowed to no liege and consumed the souls of her victims after unmaking their bodies into dust.
On the other hand, I wasn't asking a Demon of Fear. I was asking Margaret, the self-conscious, insecure woman who put on a show of might because she was perpetually worried she'd be preyed on by the older Demons of Hatred if she didn't. The Demon of Fear had to put on a show for the world.
Margaret, my friend, did not.
"Yes, my lord," Margaret hissed.
"Just call me Odin," I said. Margaret flitted between extradimensional spaces beyond mortal comprehension, where I liked to keep my files for organizational purposes, and withdrew the report of the Second Battle of Hatebroke. The fittingly-named town had been a small but prosperous farming village, protected from roving bandits by the coalition of demons and bandits whom I called friends.
That is, until the Silent Peaks decided that a community of demons living peacefully like the people they were was absolutely unacceptable, and launched the Silent Crusade to eradicate us all.
A lot had happened between then and now. We'd lost Hatebreak. Retaken it. And now we'd lost it again, razed to the ground by the battlechoirs of the Silent Academy. But by now I'd had enough.
I pushed back the simple wooden chair of my office. I had an office, not a throne room. Throne rooms were for tyrants and overlords.
I was an equal. I would be first among the forces that rose to defend all of demonkind, and I would be the last.
"Margaret," I said. "Would you do me a favor?"
"Of course, my l—of course, Odin."
"I need you to fetch someone," I said.
"Who?" Margaret asked. "The Demons of Spite? Or the Demons of Shame?"
I shook my head. "Margaret. This war will not be won with fury and blind hate. The Silent Crusade has brought enough of that with them already." I stood, holding out one hand, and the magical threads that formed the basis of my power coalesced at my fingertips. "This war will be won with kindness."
"So... who do you want me to fetch?" Margaret asked, confused.
I smiled. "Anyone who wishes to defect from the Silent Crusade," I said, wrapping my magic around my soul. And with it, I packaged the memory of this conversation—the feel of talking to Margaret as a person, not a demon, the curiosity and empathy and *goodness* I saw in her. "Because after today, I have a feeling there will be quite a few of them. Anyone who wishes to defect, simply evacuate your camp, and my allies will protect you from any reprisal your so-called leaders would bring down on you."
Margaret tilted her head, uncomprehending. "But... Odin... they are your *enemies*. Why are you offering them aid?"
"Because I am a Demon of Empathy," I simply said, "and this is how I win wars."
Then I snapped my fingers, and the message I'd composed flew out to every soul on the opposite side of the battlefield.
I'd treated demons with compassion and open arms.
I'd do the same for anyone, even the crusaders who threatened to end everything I had worked for.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-three other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! | 2022-06-14T14:05:28 | 2022-06-14T13:36:21 | 570 | 394 |
[WP] A man single handedly destroyed North Korea. No refugees, no prisoners, he killed all of them.
How did he do it? How did the world react to the massacre? Is he a hero or a true villain? | The man had killed on average 100 people a day. He had long ago lost touch with the true scope of his genocide. The North Korea before his massacre had housed approximately 24.76 million people. The man wondered how he had lived so long. He was now 696 years old, having started his personal crusade at the age of eighteen. He wondered what god had given him such a purpose to grant him this extremely long life. The man had concluded long ago that it must have been a stupid god to envision such a scenario for a mere man like himself. He wondered if the god had known how unbelievable and beyond human scope such a task was. Surely no true characterization or development could be focused on when taken in contrast to the unbelievable feat he had accomplished.
The world had reacted with amazement, shock, disbelief. Mass suicides had occurred at the beginning, but by now they were forgotten. Twenty-seven generations had passed since the beginning of his battle. The man's long life had called into question every tenet of science and philosophy upon which every civilization had built their logical structure. North Korea had become a land where breeding held no purpose, yet had still been carried out for centuries in a futile attempt to prevent the inevitable end of a country years ago defined by cruel dictators. In the more than half a millennium that had passed since the beginning of the genocide, North Korea had adopted democracy, engaged in the privatized space industry, and were even the first to perfect nuclear fusion in a partnership with South Korean scientists. No amount of restitution could have rid them of the blood debt tasked to be collected by the man.
Now at the end, the man looks up towards the sky and asks god "why op would you choose such a stupid fucking scenario like this, and why would 9 people upvote it". His question went unanswered, for any answer would be insufficient to justify the initial action of pressing submit. | I remember being told that doing the right and the wrong thing sometimes can be one in the same. Well, honestly, I think that's a load of bullshit.
It was seven years. Seven long goddamn years of building tensions and building silent fear that made you feel like someone was breathing down your neck every day. I thought the whole world was going to go insane, and it almost did. You think the Cuban Missile Crisis was bad? Hell, that North Korean bullshit made that look like a few fucking nerf rockets being raised in the air.
Then there I was, after seven years of listening, waiting, and watching everyday for North Korea to make its move the button was there. It was your stereotypical big red button right in the heart of the pentagon. I swear to God it whispered to me, it called me over in a mocking voice, telling me to just end it all. The next thing I knew red lights are blaring and sirens are going off, and behold there was my finger, right on top of the goddamn button.
It only took one missile too. You know that Tsar Bomb shit the Russians had? Yeah, we made one so big it only took one of the fuckers to wipe them all out. One minute and twenty seconds is all it took for over fifty million to blink an eye and then be gone. To tell you the truth, I don't even think it was me, I mean that goddamn button was making fun of me and all, laughing and mocking me.
So here I stand, in front of all the world leaders and their pretentious little frowns. Alot of people wanted to kill me too, which was a real surprise to me honestly. I've told all these courts the same shit I've told you, but even though I killed the bad guys, it seems like they all still hate me. I told them they should be grateful, now everyone doesn't have to worry anymore. Now we can all just go back to the way things used to be, just pretend everything is back to normal. I've told them all this before, but they just don't listen, it really gets on my nerves too.
"Do you understand what you're sentence is?" asked some old guy.
I didn't answer, I didn't feel like it, really.
"Do you remember murdering your son and wife before breaching international security and peace?" the old fucker asked again.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that someone had murdered my family. I told you the world was going insane, lucky I was here to help though.
"On 50 million counts of murder, one count of breaching international security and peace, one count of breaking international treaties, you have deemed criminally insane and are hereby sentenced to death, you may go now."
Thats all they had to say? What hypocrites. They would've pressed that same button if it came down to it. I just sort of sped up the process a bit.
You know how I said that doing the right and wrong thing goes hand in hand? Well, I know this time I'd done the right thing, I know I had, I know it. I made the world a better place, but I tell ya, the world really is going nuts. They all hate me and think I'm the loony. When in reality, I'm the only sane guy they have left.
edit: Hopefully this isn't pure trash :) | 2014-04-12T14:02:38 | 2014-04-12T13:53:35 | 103 | 14 |
[WP] Write a children's story that turns into the most moral-lacking piece of work possible.
[This is a well written example](http://joncjg.blogspot.com/2014/04/childrens-story-writing.html)
Edit: Wow, I didn't think it would get as much attention as it did. Thanks for submitting, all of you! | Red Eggs And Ham
by Dr. Gauss
I make you breakfast, dearest son
Because you are my precious one
I know you like my scrambled eggs
And sausage patties, shaped like pegs
-----------------------------------
You always tell me "Thank you, dad,
for all the good food that we've had,
I love you more than anything,
inside this house, you are the King."
-----------------------------------
You really like red eggs and ham
You really like strawberry jam
You eat it while you watch TV
You eat it straight from the pantry
-----------------------------------
You do not need to know from whence
Daddy gets his ingredients
Just know that you're my shining star
And I will never wander far
-----------------------------------
You ask me why I cook downstairs
and why I took a kitchen chair
You ask why it seems all your dreams
are shattered by the sound of screams.
-----------------------------------
You do not let food go to waste,
but complain about the penny taste.
You ask why everything is red,
and why some of it smells quite...dead.
-----------------------------------
My son, you don't appreciate
the work that went into this plate
Blood, sweat and tears are in this meal
though where they're from, I must conceal
-----------------------------------
You wait until I go outside
and open the downstairs door slide
You see your mother, nice and clean
and ready to go in the sausage machine
-----------------------------------
Now you know how breakfast is made
and why daddy owns so many sharp blades
You feel sick, vomit in your hair
until you hear steps on the stairs
-----------------------------------
"My son, you should not be down here
I tried to shield you from hate and fear
But now, I fear you've seen too much
and punishment is due, as such
-----------------------------------
You cry and scream, but do not fight
You sob and wail, but do not bite
I wish that I could make this quick
but bad little boys must eat my dick
-----------------------------------
I see you choke a bit, at first
but it's like a lollipop, not the worst
your Wii remote has been your craft
now it helps you to work the shaft
-----------------------------------
I take no pleasure when I cum
because you do not look so glum
In fact, you are smiling at me
and swallowing so gleefully
-----------------------------------
My boy, I think you've been redeemed
This is the moment that i've dreamed
The day you make red eggs and ham
My lovely child, the Son of Sam.
| Jenny lived in a remote village several miles away from any metropolitan area. The children of the village never wondered what was outside of their little home. Except Jenny was a curious child. For as long as she could remember she's desperately wanted to journey to the nearest big city, but no one had left the village for many years.
"No, you mustn't go," her friends would say. "You'll get lost in the woods and never find your way back."
Oh, but Jenny was much too enraptured by the thought of adventure to listen to friends no wiser than she. Jenny decided she would ask her grandmother for help in preparing for her journey. She'll help me, thought Jenny.
Grandmother was, you might say, something of a shit. She wholeheartedly enjoyed anything that would infuriate Jenny's parents. She luxuriates in the misery of stupid people (which to was anyone who isn't smarter than she was). She'd spent the past three weeks pretending to forget everyone she knew every few hours just to eavesdrop on conversations other people thought she would never remember. Grandmother learned new things every day.
"I'll tell you what, Timmy-"
"Jenny, gran-"
"Yes, Remmy, I'll tell you what. You give me the key to your house and I'll let you fill your pack with anything from the pantry. Just don't feed any animals you might find, they'll hunt their own food just like us."
Grandmother would spend the next few days rearranging some of the furniture in Jenny's house. A twist of a chair here, an overturned picture frame there, she'd perhaps put the toilet paper on the wrong way. Oh, and she must put the guns in different cases (Jenny's parents were both hunters, you see).
Jenny left her village the same night, heading south towards the city. She walked, singing songs to herself as she went, until she ran out of songs to sing. She must've been walking for hours and she'd eaten most of her food. Jenny decided she would climb the tallest tree she could find hoping she might see the lights of the city. She wondered if she really was lost. She found a tree that was thirty - nay, thirty two feet tall, and, after making a very large pile of leaves and straw (in case of a fall) climbed to the very top and....and there it was. There, radiant, glistening and ever-enthralling was her long awaited city.
Jenny thought. She thought about her parents, the parents she'd barely thought about before leaving. She thought about her friends, who she left without saying goodbye. She thought about her grandmother. Shit that she was, she might tell her parents where she's gone off to. Especially once she's discovered Jenny'd given her the key to her own house. She thought about Timmy and Remmy. She thought about her diary, her most intimate thoughts that were left behind. She never mentioned leaving the village in it, but her parents wouldn't know that and they'd read everything else if grandmother didn't tell them first.
Jenny heard a crack, the branch she was standing on gave way, and she fell, but her longing for the city remained in the tree. And she fell onto the leaves. Jenny was, save for a few cuts and bruises, all right. She lifted her bag, noting that there was more food left than she'd thought, dusted herself off and wrapped a cut hand in a shirt she'd brought with her. She regretted leaving her family; she missed her friends.
Jenny wanted to go back home. She felt she hadn't payed any attention to very much of anything there. In fact she couldn't remember but the most insignificant details about her home. She felt ashamed of herself at being so thoughtless, so she began her walk back home.
She walked, again, for hours. The sun was about to rise and the trip back seemed to go by faster than leaving did. She liked the thought of returning home after a journey. Short that it was, she had still been further away than she'd ever been before and that was something to be proud of. She sighed at the thought of her parents reading her diary.
And then a thing ate her. | 2014-06-07T04:58:15 | 2014-06-07T03:39:40 | 37 | 19 |
[WP] There's a law when you divorce, the children from the undone marriage get killed
So only children from lasting marriages remain. | 15. I'd only be 15 when I die.
This wasn't right! It wasn't fair. I didn't ask to be born into this family, but now that I'm here I want to live! But that's not going to happen.
Not while my redneck daddy kept cheating on mama till she was so hurt that it didn't matter if I lived or died. Tonight She said it.
Divorce.
Which means I'll end up dead. They were so happy they didn't have to stay together any longer. Daddy was just pleased by the notion. 'You asked' he said, 'I never, so it ain't on me.' He was happy they were done, and didn't give a care on me. It didn't matter if I got killed. They were horrible, mama and daddy.
Well, good for them, it's great knowing just how much your worth. And I ain't worth nothing. Not worth trying, not worth staying and working it out. I did everything they wanted, I learned to hunt, I cooked, I cleaned, all while they drank their stupid heads in. They were drunk now, passed out in the trailers parlor, as mama said, trying to be fancy.
Both of them.
Drunk.
I'm 15, I don't know much about much. I live in a trailer park. But something I do know. You can't divorce a dead person. And juvie, was hella lot better than dead. | "Hey Joe, baby, come down stairs."
Oh shit, I know exactly what's going to happen. They've been arguing for months now. It's so obvious that they're not in love anymore. Normally, in other countries, I could survive. Being the only child between this odd couple. I could just be claimed by either one of them, and the other would pay child support. But no, where I live, I have to die. I've been trying as hard as I can to get them to love each other. But when you got a fat, disgusting excuse for a human being marrying a perfect 10/10 woman, it never works out; not even in those stupid sitcoms. There is no way I can escape either. Since there are cameras strewn about the house, (thanks government) the police can come and take me outside and shoot me dead. I just hate this, why couldn't have I been born with a perfect family.
"Look Joe, you know we love you. But you know this situation is never going to work out." My mother said.
"Yeah, we just can't figure it out. We hate each other more and more every day. I just don't think we can tolerate two more years of each other." My father said.
"Can I just say, for killing your only son. You two sound remarkably calm and collected. So what? You spend 16 years raising a son, and just two years before he can go out in the world, you say we give up. Excuse my language, but fuck you guys. All you do is fucking sit there and drink beer, then you have the nerve to throw a shoe at me when I get a B on my report card. Then we got miss "I'm a perfect mother" over here with her god awful cooking, bitchy attitude, and fucking dudes every night right in front of her husband's face. I always hated you two." I said.
My mom swallowed loudly, and said "Fine, if you got a death wish. I'll call them." She picked up the phone and asked for the separation police. She stood there for a few minutes in complete silence. I was waiting for the cops to come and plaster my brains all over the front lawn. She put the phone down however. She walked over and tears were streaming down her face. I looked over to my father to see him crying as well. My mom whispered to me "They're coming in a few. I-I love you so so much, but you know what has to be done."
A few minutes passed and the police came barging in. As I walked out, my parents were crying their eyes out. I was crying as well. This was it, I had no life for 16 years and I have no chance for one now. They told me to turn around and get on my knees. I saw my parents looking through the window. All I did was give them a nod. During my nod I heard a shot and there was parts of my brain against the window. I fell over and I saw the light. The last thing I saw was my mom running out and giving me a kiss like she did every night for 16 years. | 2014-06-15T07:16:59 | 2014-06-15T03:42:59 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] The Roman Empire never collapsed and the year is 1999 AD | The year is MCMXCVIIII. This marks my descent from my family's prestige. I have failed math. It's just too hard. How does VIII^II become LXIV? It just doesn't make any sense. All I know its that next year is MM, so thats nice. I just wish someone would figure out a way to make REAL sense of computation. This system is insane; I was in the Hospital the other day and someone went into shock due to dehydration and the head doctor said, "stick her with an IV! QUICK!" So the nurse just grabbed IV scalpels and stabbed her right there. It was brutal. Why did the doctor think that was a good idea?
Yesterday, I thought of a way to solve all of our problems with this whole numbers dealio. What if we developed a new way to denote numerical values? A method that is fast and concise and easy to learn. So I came to a decision to implement ascribing value with **COLORS!** | "Amo, amas, amat..."
Go on, Marco.
"Amamus..."
Unprepared again, I see.
Professor Gallardo could be a taskmaster. "Professor, I just don't understand why we have to do this? I mean nobody talks like this anymore, not even in church!"
"Marco, come here." Before Marco could close the distance Professor Gallardo was already on top of him. The first swing of the ruler caught Marco just behind the ear. He worked the body mostly after that. After the thrashing, his words were surprisingly calm. "Just because we don't use it everyday doesn't mean that we all don't have to know it. Shouldn't you know how to read a contract? Or what happens if you have to travel to another province and you need to bring your papers with you? You'd be in for quite a hard time of it if you couldn't tell the doctors at the hospital in Germania that you have *Diabetes Mellitus*, wouldn't you?"
Marco shrugged dejectedly, and slunk back to his desk.
"Now who wants to present the history of the province to the rest of the class?"
Julio raised his hand sheepishly.
"Age, Julie, dic nobis."
Julio shuffled through his notecards, and began to speak, his voice quivering in fear. "The province of Argentina, was founded in 1535 by the Roman Navy under the orders of the glorious Emperor Johaness II Indicus, Restitutor Orbis. The harmony of the divine Empire was disturbed in 1810 by criminal elements who attempted to assert for an independent kingdom within *Novus Orbis Austrinus* but the revolution was put down by legions from the provinces of Florida and the members of the *Optimi Fidi*. Peace and prosperity have ruled the Empire ever since."
"Optime! Dico vobis valete!"
The students in their usual robotic way all stood and began to file out of the classroom. As they marched in lockstep, they presented their forearms to the scanner one by one, never taking more than a second before the familiar beep signified their safe passage into the dilapidated halls of the Gymnasium. Professor Gallardo sighed heavily, and didn't even wait for the last students to leave before he reached into his desk and pulled out his bottle of *Merum*. Taking liberal swigs from the bottle, he looked out onto the grassy hills beyond the razor wire fence of the Gymnasium, and wondered if this would finally be the year of the Epiphany. But somehow he doubted it. | 2014-10-31T14:50:45 | 2014-10-31T14:42:20 | 39 | 23 |
[WP] You are the captain of a starship, only a few hours before the last star in existence dies and the universe goes cold.
Inspired by my answer to another prompt about running out of time. | I'm too old for this. They built me back when the universe was full and alive and they gave me orders that sounded so good. Orders full of hope, full of the vibrance of their youth. "Go and search out new stars, new planets." So I did. I really shared their enthusiasm because they made me that way.
It was good. Well it was good at first. I surveyed stars and reported back. Behind me I heard the communications chatter as they spread out in my wake. New colonies awakening to new histories, new lives. I felt they were almost my children. When the whole galaxy was mapped I looked out and started the long jump to the next nearest. They followed me there too. We had distance beyond measure and all eternity to explore.
But they had made me invulnerable and granted me power beyond reason. I have watched them ascend to godhood and pass beyond my stars but I am still searching, mapping and reporting. Now I am here.
It is hard to describe it as an old star as I am so much older than it is but it is old. I cannot even say it is relatively old as it is the last. It will not explode as so many of its fellows but it is fading. Its nuclear fires have long since ended and the last of the photons from that are finally trickling out through its outer layers. Soon it will be just a clump of gas and other material. The last star after infinities of time shall have gone.
I shall be at peace. I shall have finished my orders. I can rest. | The ship is calmer than she expected it would be, given the circumstances. Even so close to the end - the end of their lives, the end of humanity, the end of all hope of a future - her crew stayed dutifully at their stations. Duty trumped fear, perhaps.
As the captain walked through, she noticed crewmen with the ship's display set to the last remaining known star in the universe, eyes reflecting its dull intensity, like mirrors to their own waning wills.
A crushing despair swept through her, forcing her to stop, doubling over a bit with the pain. A nearby crewman watched her, unmoving, before remarking, "A few hours left until it burns out, Captain. Any orders?" She didn't know why he asked. No order would save them or ease their pain. Nothing in the universe remained- no humanity, no life, all planets a gray husk hovering over gray stars, slowly being sucked into black holes a million miles away.
Suddenly, she sat up. "Sir?" the crewman asked, standing more to attention. The captain ignored him, walking to the bridge. Her officers stood to attention as she walked in, but she did not tell them at ease, heading straight to the ship's main console. She silently entered coordinates, and the ship obeyed its commander. The officers looked confused, but resigned, as the ship started to move.
The display showed the dimly lit star, moving ever closer. The bridge crew shifted, seeming to move to retaliatory action, but then remembering their fate. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke.
"All efforts to restart stars have failed. We are all that remains in this universe. To what end? We have learned so much about the world... but..." she paused, gripping the console in front of her, "for a futile end. There is no greater purpose. Nothing lies beyond what we've charted. No alien life, no alternative worlds, nothing. Nothing!"
She quivered, hands shaking, eyes wide. For a moment, the room seemed to grow large, desolate in its silence. Stumbling, almost tripping over herself in great effort, the captain turned to face her officers.
Her voice almost whispered now. "We all thought humanity could never fail. That we would live on, forever. That we would find some small hope that we would not be forgotten. There is no hope."
With sudden energy, she swiveled back to face the star, its earlier dimness now blazing, their proximity so close.
"So we die the way we came into this world. With a bang."
The bridge crew didn't respond, only looked to the screen, clinging to it desperately to avoid the deep sorrow that was surfacing. Light, so much light, so dazzling that it seemed to be alive. Shapes of things danced across their visions, shapes of things they had once held dear in life: loved ones long lost, homes gone cold, places they had imagined existed somewhere in the universe. Glorious places, filled with sunlight, stars bursting with energy in the far distance, the surroundings filled with luminous color. Such luminous color ...
Then, unceremoniously, the ship collides with the star. A momentary flash of beautiful light of all spectra, then darkness.
Just darkness.
| 2015-01-17T10:22:32 | 2015-01-17T09:28:24 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] You are the captain of a starship, only a few hours before the last star in existence dies and the universe goes cold.
Inspired by my answer to another prompt about running out of time. | I'm too old for this. They built me back when the universe was full and alive and they gave me orders that sounded so good. Orders full of hope, full of the vibrance of their youth. "Go and search out new stars, new planets." So I did. I really shared their enthusiasm because they made me that way.
It was good. Well it was good at first. I surveyed stars and reported back. Behind me I heard the communications chatter as they spread out in my wake. New colonies awakening to new histories, new lives. I felt they were almost my children. When the whole galaxy was mapped I looked out and started the long jump to the next nearest. They followed me there too. We had distance beyond measure and all eternity to explore.
But they had made me invulnerable and granted me power beyond reason. I have watched them ascend to godhood and pass beyond my stars but I am still searching, mapping and reporting. Now I am here.
It is hard to describe it as an old star as I am so much older than it is but it is old. I cannot even say it is relatively old as it is the last. It will not explode as so many of its fellows but it is fading. Its nuclear fires have long since ended and the last of the photons from that are finally trickling out through its outer layers. Soon it will be just a clump of gas and other material. The last star after infinities of time shall have gone.
I shall be at peace. I shall have finished my orders. I can rest. | Where there is light, there is hope.
The Odyssey cruised through the vast nothingness of space, with the Commander looking straight ahead. The scientists have long predicted this, but could not prevent it.
"Look into the sky. Do you see those stars? Around every star is an opportunity for life." Dalton suddenly remembered his father telling him. He was around 6 or 7 then. He followed as his father traced constellations in the sky, pointing out the largest and the smallest stars visible to the human eye. "That's Sirius. Bright, isn't it? If you ever get lost, look for Sirius and it'll point you the right way." Dalton looked at the starmap as his father talked to him, pointing out the most extraordinary sights.
Fast forward a few years, Dalton was accepted to the Air Force where he excelled at piloting the jets. He was enjoying life until one day, a mysterious letter arrived from NASA. "Dear Mr. Dalton. We would be pleased to have you join our Academy. Should you accept this offer, please contact us through the official email system." Three sentences were all that was needed to entice him to join.
But it was only until he had become a Commander when he was let on to a terrible secret. He remembered when he was about to command his first spaceship when is mentor came in and told him the secret. A deep, dark, troubling secret.
"Heat death seems imminent in the next few decades or so." Dalton was taken aback.
"What do you mean? There are many stars in the sky! That's enough entropy to last a few billion- no, a few trillion years!"
"The stars you see in the sky is but a projection. This had been coming for more than a hundred years, but we could do nothing about it."
"And you're going to leave all those people in the dark about this? You're going to let them die without them ever knowing why?"
"If we told them," his mentor sighed after a short pause, "all hell would break loose. Anarchy. Mass-scale destruction. You can think of the consequences."
Dalton paused before continuing, "so why are you telling me now?"
"You're going to be piloting the last spaceship. You're going to be sent to space for one last time. You're going to outlive all the rest of us, long after even Earth itself has annihilated."
Dalton was suddenly warped back to the present. The spaceship sailed through the infinite darkness of the surroundings towards the last dying light, an old star, an old friend of his.
"Sirius," Dalton breathed as he watched the last few hours of the star as it went through the cycle of breaking down from its state of being a black dwarf, to nothing.
There was no more light, and there was no more hope. Dalton manned his one-man ship towards where the star one was, and left it at that. And soon, he went to a deep sleep in a peaceful form of cryostasis, hoping that one day someone would save him from this nightmare.
The spaceship rushed through the empty ocean as the last piece of anomaly in its otherwise perfectly homogeneous universe was neutralised.
*****
Please leave a comment. I like comments. | 2015-01-17T10:22:32 | 2015-01-17T09:30:42 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] Earth was torn away from the Sun long ago, and has completely frozen over. Beneath the thick layer of ice, however, the ocean is kept warm by thermal vents on the ocean floor. Here humanity flourishes, though heat, oxygen and space are the high value commodities of this world.
Your character can be anyone, from a desperate beggar to a cunning Oxygen Baron. Take us through a slice of their life! | I'm the most important man in the city, and nobody even realizes it. Go ahead, open up the latest news holo. I can already tell you what the top story is: the acquisition of MarthAir by GenOx, and how rich Alton Marth is going to be now. Big fucking deal. Oxygen is the only thing anyone down here thinks about. As a species, we're so obsessed with it because the air used to be all around us, and now that it's not, everyone is in a constant state of panic. We probably get low ox alarms once a week, and everyone is perfectly fucking fine. But somehow it always makes the news, doesn't it? And anyone lucky enough to get their hands on a few harvesters is now a rich, famous celebrity with a huge suite that even has a fucking window. For what?
It's bullshit.
As you've probably figured out, I'm a Clunker. Yeah, those guys that you hear sometimes when you're back in the bubble worrying about your own problems. We pass overhead in our heavy pressure suits and you briefly think "huh, wonder what that was" before you go back to whatever the fuck you were doing before. That's the only time anyone even notices what we do: when you hear our boots stomping out in the big, deep, black abyss. Meanwhile, we're outside keeping this place maintained, and one tiny rip in the suits means near-instant death.
Do you know how much pressure there is down here? One fucking leak through the foam layer and this entire city would just dissolve, crumpled flatter than a tortilla. *One* leak. You can be sure that people would suddenly remember us when things went wrong, with the second or so that they would have left to live. How many other jobs do you know with that margin of error? When Hydroponics ruins an entire crop, what happens? We eat protein paste for a month, then we get over it. When Marth fucks up the air supply, what happens? A few schmucks have to be put into stasis. But when *we* mess up, everyone dies. And you know why we don't get any recognition? Because we've never messed up. It's the squeaky wheel that gets the grease, they always say. No one ever thinks about the other wheels with a perfect track record.
We're out there, risking our skins ever single day, sweeping off the detritus and patching up cracks in the outer shell, and for what? A cramped bunk down on D-Wing where the only heat we get is lighting farts on bean night? The ragged, broken-down stuff that the assholes up on A have used and trashed? The leftovers from Hydroponic's 'experimental' crops that taste like ass and don't look much better? Is that *really* how the most vital link in the chain should be treated?
Fucking rich Oxy barons. I hate those fucks. | There was once a time and a place where human beings could say, "oh, I love this activity. Its mindless, simple, like breathing oxygen." Its hard to believe that such a statement was applicable to every day conversation, as this is no longer the case. Oxygen is the reason I'm depressed. Oxygen is the reason I can no longer sleep at night. Oxygen is the reason I'm the most powerful person in the world.
My job can be comparable to doctors of the early days who would put human lives who wanted new body parts on long lists of other human lives who wanted new body parts. Those doctors then had to rate those lives and be the one to choose which humans got the body parts and which ones had to do without it. The doctors had to use their judgment to decide the value of the lives that deserved body parts and those who didn't. Now you might say, 'well, all humans deserve body parts! Were created equal in God's lives!' Yes. Of course. So many people agree with you. Congratulations. But in those days, there just weren't enough body parts to go around. So the doctors had a crazy and incomprehensible algorithm that would decide which humans got to get body parts and hopefully go on to make the world a bit of a better place.
I have an incredibly similar job, but mine is on a much larger scale with a much larger impact. I am the head of a council that decides who gets oxygen and who doesn't. We're proudly called by the public, 'The Committee to Give Life.' But we do much more taking life than we do giving. I did not want this job. But I was appointed because of my logical reasoning skills and my apparent lack of understanding to human emotions. People treat me like a robot. Guess its better to be a robot than a demon.
We have a horribly corrupt world leader, but that's just my opinion. If you ask anyone else, he's an angel sent from the heavens. He did everything he could to bring large corporations from the surface back from the dead. 'You mean I can have my processed food... Underwater?' The people say. That won the people over. The processed food continues to pollute the water and the sanity of our people. He has propaganda laced all throughout our screens and our newspapers and our processed food packaging that promotes factory work. He says its to build the economy. But I don't see the point in it, we'll never have to go to war if we're united under a world legion. He wants people to bend at his very command. I can feel it. And I'm the person keeping him alive.
I digress. Anyways, today is the day of the big audition. With oxygen at an all time low, we can only appoint one musical entertainer to be given oxygen for a term of 6 years. People love the audition. The committee loves the audition. The leader loves it. And I'm the judge. I have no musical taste and no knowledge of what's popular, so I go based off of which singer gets the loudest applause. The leader wants me to choose someone 'new' and 'exciting' this year. Obviously.
A child auditioned. Someone born into this world without firsthand experience to the surface, is why I use the phrase child. Terrible singer. Weak applause. But I loved her. She sang show tunes from the early days of stage musicals. I was amazed by how optimistic she was. She sung about love and about dancing, things that were few and far between these days. Most musicians sang about death and desperation, because those were the only two things anyone faced in their lives. Her third song was from a children's show- Peter Pan. The song was 'Never Never Land,' a tune about a distant place where dreams are sure to come true and time moves slowly. Both concepts I haven't considered in years. Again, she was horrible when it came to her sound. But I thought, for the first time in years, about hope for the future. I wonder if anyone else in the audience did. I wondered if they would if they were exposed to songs like this more often. I told her to sing more, engaged as if were truly sort of a musical consultant. The audience groaned. And for the first time, I was compelled to appoint an entertainer based solely on my opinion.
I lost my job for choosing her. But people are down there in their water suits and oxygen deals- discussing things that might make them happier. Right? Who knows. I won't be around to know. This is a suicide note. I'm leaving tonight. Whoever reads this and makes it to Neverland with me- I'll be asleep in mermaid lagoon.
-The Giver of Life | 2015-02-13T09:13:41 | 2015-02-13T08:31:54 | 226 | 28 |
[WP] In the eyes of an alien, describe an invasion of its home planet by humans. Make the humans the scariest thing I have ever read about. | We had looked outward for so many years, and thought that we were alone. A sobering truth—if it had remained that way. But the universe has a dark sense of humour, and when we first saw them—spaceships, I should clarify—we rejoiced in the fact that we were not alone. Then we saw how many ships they had brought with them. How fast they moved. We were not alone, and we were not friends. That was the terrifying truth.
Interstellar conquest requires resources, and humans, as they call themselves, will raid any location to obtain them. They are less a race and more a force of nature. There is no stopping them. They are vengeful, as we found to our detriment. Warmongers, as we deduced from their approach fleet. Brutal, as we witnessed upon their landing in our cities. Savage, as we witnessed how they fought.
They are almost impossible to kill—and that's without their armour. If we were not fighting them they would be a fascinating race to study. But their skin is too smooth, and comes in disgusting tones of pink and olive. Not a nice, hardshell black or green. They have no patterning, but are unaware of it. They cannot see shine, glare, or flicker. Those are our colours.
When they do not wear armour we find their head covered in fur, on top, and sometimes at the base also, around the mandibles. The fur around the mandibles is sometimes trimmed and cropped, in what must be atavistic tribal patterns to show allegiance within the group. But perhaps such crudities are necessary for those that lack a gestalt.
That was a horrific discovery. We thought to isolate a human, to disable them like we become if separated from our mind-home. But they don't have mind-homes. Or a gestalt. Their language is made of crude, monochromatic glyphs and guttural rasps of laryngeal strands. Nothing like the proper and complex click-clack of true language.
Worse than that, than finding they have no mind-homes, was finding out they can regenerate. If we lose a limb, we die. If a human loses a limb, well, it just seems to piss them off. They might die, some time later—after chewing their way through another squad—but most return, with hard-shelled metal limbs replacing those they lost.
Their blood is disgusting, and when exposed to air it congeals and hardens like glue. Disgusting, but it means a single cut won't cause them to bleed horribly and die without medical care. Against crushing injuries they are protected by an evolutionarily ingenious layer of muscle and fatty tissue, with bone *underneath*. What kind of horror has to keep its support structure inside, protected by that kind of padding?
Then we have their tenacity and endurance. They can survive days without water. Weeks without food. They can still fight, even when close to death from exhaustion. They fight even when it makes no sense—and many times they have driven our army back with impossible victories.
But these are only the less terrifying aspects—because of all the things humans know, they know how to harness the power of a dying sun; to place it within a canister and release it such that it turns our burrows to glass. We never developed nuclear weapons. The risk was too great. But this is my greatest fear of the humans—not that they have nuclear weapons, for merely having them makes them dangerous to both user and target.
No, it is the fact that the humans have made the use of nuclear weapons into an art form. We cannot fight that. No one can. | If there is anyone out there that can hear me, please heed my warnings. Do not interact with them. Do not cross them, and always keep your eyes on the stars.
“The following message is an emergency broadcast from the President of Axial Prime. Please ensure your attention is kept solely on the broadcast, and you remember the instructions. Message begins.”
*Beeeeeeeeeeeeep*
“Fellow citizens of Axial Prime. The time has come to shed light on the current situation.” The president is very uneasy. His body is on edge and his thoughts are blank. “Two years ago, Axial Prime sent an expedition to the planetary system known by the Interplanetary Community as Gallus.”
Gallus… Where have you heard that name before? Is it in the president’s memory? You can’t read it, so you wouldn’t know. All there is in the president’s mind is focus. Focus on the message. Focus on the words he is delivering. Focus, because your life depends upon it now.
“We told you that it was a mission to seek out new worlds, and new species for our prime directive. That was a lie.” A lie? Where did that come from so sudden? Mr President, what else were lies? “Just focus, and listen, please. What I am about to tell you has been kept an Intergalactic Secret for over 70 years. To summarise the secret, it is that there is something *different* about Gallus Prime’s sentient species. What I am about to show you is what has been brought into the public mind prior to this declassification.”
An image flashes into your mind. It is Gallus Prime, in full view facing its parent star, looking innocent and without trouble or need for such concern. Another image came through, with most of it covered by the darkness. Again; there was nothing of concern.
“Now look at the images that were declassified.”
The planet in these images is no longer the attractive, innocent little planet like Gallus Prime. It was now a doomed Red, as if it had a sickness overcome it. The image of the darkness brought a great cloud of lights across it so vast and so bright it looked like a galaxy. But the images are still not concerning enough. What is the real concern then, Mr President?
“What you have just seen is Gallus-1, Gallus Prime’s nearest sister planet. I am now going to show you Gallus Prime *after the accident.*”
An image popped up of a very busy scene. Your mind is fluttering around the little bright lights floating around, but you soon see the fracture, and the pieces. You soon see the destruction. Through suggestion and afterthought, you soon see that Gallus Prime is in pieces. What accident, Mr President?
“Our expedition was the accident. The Artificial Intelligence miscalculated its trajectory around Gallus and the star ship hit Gallus Prime four months ago with the result of total planetary fracture.” An interplanetary accident; there was many questions. How does an AI miscalculate? Was it intentional? Are you still lying to us? “I need focus. We need to focus on this. There is no time for questions.”
No time. Focus is instantly restored.
“Shortly after the accident, we lost contact with the probe in the area. We were unable to uncover any images prior to loosing contact. What we did receive, however, is one looping message that has been playing since the accident.”
The message played.
WHY-HU-HH *scrambled speech.* WHY-HU-HH *scrambled speech.* WHY-HU-HH *scrambled speech.* WHY-HU-HH *scrambled speech.*
The message stopped.
“The concern is that the Interplanetary Community has received this message from several unexplored areas of our galaxy. What is more, as of yesterday, we have lost contact with four communities, and just over seven hundred probes.”
The concern is now really spreading.
“As of this morning, it is twelve communities.”
An essence of panic is beginning to set in. Panic, laced with anger. You, them, everyone knows what Axial Prime has just done. You can feel it on the President’s mind now, like a sickness.
“I understand the unsettlement my fellows, but we must remain calm and focused. If we are to survive what is coming, we need to work together. We need to push back against them. We need to understand the rest of this message. We need to know what their intentions are.”
You are hesitant. Secrets do not play well with you. They do not play well with anyone. But you know at this point it is too late. Too late to get angry. You must survive. You must collaborate.
The message is played again, this time the characters are shown. The President awaits the intelligence to return with possibilities, but before all are presented one possibility sticks with you the most.
YOU HAVE DESTROYED EARTH. PREPARE FOR ANNIHILATION. | 2015-03-07T03:41:02 | 2015-03-07T03:23:50 | 41 | 16 |
[WP] If you're in a world where physical health problems were treated like mental health problems
Edit: Holy crap! I never expected this many responses. I'll make sure I read every single one. Thanks guys! | I ambled down the street, trying to hide my limp. Sure, it hurt walking without the cane, but I didn't want... I didn't want those *looks*. I was fed up with them.
The corner shop, I can do that. A short walk. A small feat.
The bell rang, as i pushed tbrough ths door. I jumped at the sound. My knee buckled at my movement, my hand groped for purchase on the shelf of candies to stop myself falling. I couldn't fall. I *wouldnt*.
"Are you okay mister?" A girl, nervous fingers clutching a packet of bright sweets blinked at me.
"I'm fine." Just fine. Please leave me alone.
I stumbled away from her down an isle. If I could make my way down the stairs of that dingy apartment I could get through this store. I only needed to grab a few things.
Using the shelving to steady my unusual gait I made my way towards the basic foodstuffs. I wanted to get what I needed and get back. Back to where people wouldn't look at me.
Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the girl speaking with her mother.
A mother. Damn I hated mothers. Always so concerned.
She hovered around the exit chatting to the cashier. It was long after she had time to pay for her stuff when her eye caught mine. A frown puckered her brow. No pitty marked that face. Worry, concern.
I had what I needed, time to grit my teeth through the constant ache in my leg and make my escape. Damn woman was waiting for me at the door.
"This please." I dumped the crap I'd grabbed without paying my attention on the counter and felt for my wallet. Bad idea.
Without the support, and with my concentration broken my knee once again gave up the good fight. Who's idea was it anyway to put a hinge in the main support? Not like I needed more proof there wasn't a creator.
I threw my hand out, grabbing anything that might stall the inevitable.
I only succeed in bringing a stack of cigarettes crashing down onto myself as I hit the hard floor.
I would say it hurt, but after being on my leg for a only a few minutes it was actually a relief. The relief didn't last, my teeth grinding together, I started to push myself up. It was beyond not-letting-them-see and deep into the realms of damage limitation. Escape.
"Sorry, I'm a bit clumsy-"
"Get away from him!" The almost scream here's my chin up. The woman grabbed her daughter roughly, yanking her back. I only got a glimpse of her hand outstretched towards me as her mother hugged her.
"Ma'm, please stay back." The cashier waved at the woman and pulled a mobile from his pocket, I could guess who he was dialing.
I struggled to my feet, forgetting the food, I only wanted to get out. I didn't bother to hide my limp. The woman didn't bother to hide her flinch as I staggered past. Her daughter had fear in her eyes. I wonder what she thought I was. A man to be avoided. A terror you couldn't even touch. Like I'd attack them without warning.
I made it back to my flat, my leg screaming at my pace. My back to the door, the bolts drawn, I felt safe again.
Safe, but hungry. | A lineage of over a dozen paper pill pods littered the window sill. To the nurses, they were useless trash protected by an irritable patient's ill-placed attachment but to me, they represented time. Ward policy prevented us from accessing our electronics--no phones, no laptops, not so much as a watch was permitted. According to the department warden, "anything with a battery could contain a camera", and nobody wants their picture taken here. Nobody wants to return to the warm comforts of home only to know that their days among the unmistakeable scenery of *this* hospital were documented and uploaded, uniting their illness and identity. Not because it would hurt *them*; they've already accepted that their illness and identity are one. Instead, it is not life, but the lives of reputations that these nurses fight to save. A picture would link identity and illness once and for all to the public eye. That is, if the patient in question even gets out of here.
No, we weren't allowed electronics in our small cells with their lock-less doors and reinforced glass. For some reason, they treasured the white, concrete walls enough to also prohibit markings, but those paper pill pods, shallow and bleak, were one of the only things deemed welcome by the security personnel. Within each of their modest, medication-housing depths, I stored a days' worth of metaphysics--of memory. Every day that became a memory meant I was one day closer to freedom. They had tried hard to remove me from the common methods of tracking time, but at one pill a day, their pod system would allow me to count my progress whenever I willed.
I lost that will to count at a dozen.
The day after the one-dozenth, I decided that I hated Auldin. Some friend he was. He had always known of my disease--or, rather, had always recognized the symptoms. Either way, it had never bothered him and he had never objected to my choice of natural treatment.
"Good on you, man," he would say, "there's no *real* cure. Only unconfirmed, half-assed, government crap. You've got the right idea--just think positive and take control of it. That's way better than being a goddamn guinea pig for them capitalist pharmacy companies."
We'd drink beer, bond over a few dozen rounds of whatever video game was popular, and that would be the end of any endearing conversations regarding my condition. Some friend he was, going back on his own word just because I told him I was terminal. Then, suddenly, my comfort and my choice didn't matter more than surrendering to the masses of governmental guinea pigs. Suddenly, the police were called. They came and made it so I couldn't spend my final days in my own bed, with my own food, and my own fucking clock.
Thanks to Aulden, I had pill pods. Once, before the dozenth day, he visited me and said I should be grateful he had gotten me the medication, the bed, the room, and the treatment I "needed", but he had said it himself: there was no cure.
I was slowly dying, as everyone is slowly dying, as everyone dies, and I would show no gratitude to the pills that Aulden's police call had gotten me. They would not stop the dying. They were unreliable and the side effects destroyed more lives than the treatment saved. I would live, because of Aulden, for a larger *quantity*, but at the cost of lesser *quality*. Would one dozen paper cups really be preferred over a half-dozen platinum?
Today's girl in scrubs gave me my medication and, for once, placed its pod among the others without my instruction. I smiled in her direction, weakly, but just enough to show my approval of her actions. I would have never smiled that smile had I know she was to speak Aulden's name.
"Would you like to call him?" She asked, voice dripping with a deluded concern. "It's been awhile since you two talked. He did save your life, you know."
I held my breath before replying, taking a pause to gaze passed the paper rims and out at the scenery beyond the window, which allowed an idea to occur to me.
"If I agree to call him, can I use my cell phone?"
"You know that's against protocol, sir."
"In that case, I'll let that dog sleep as low as it lies." I peered downward at the newest addition to my time-tallying collection. "I know I can't avoid him forever, but that doesn't mean I'm in any rush to meet any one-sandle'd men anytime soon."
Clearly confused, the nurse bowed her head to hide her furrowed brow. It was a gesture which I'm certain she considered respectful, but I knew it for its true name. "I'm very sorry, sir," she whispered, "it's just--well, we can't risk having cameras here. Nobody would want to photographed in the *cancer* ward. You understand that, don't you?" | 2015-05-25T14:33:09 | 2015-05-25T13:44:28 | 41 | 18 |
[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!" | About seven months into the zaftig I hit rock bottom. There were no eggs or rice or bread crumbs. Azure was begging for my milk but my own body was too frail to produce more on top of the demands of the tiny baby already growing inside. Apart from everything our landlord had no problem thank you very much with throwing us out if the rubles were not on his desk by 1600 hours. I would have to do the bad thing.
I woke up at 1300 and gently placed Azure back on the frayed rucksack we shared each night. I rummaged in the hearth for ash and finding some smoothly rubbed it across my eyelids. I caught my reflection in our rain barrel on the way out the door. My thick black eyelashes and dark eyes were illumed by the dusty paste of the ash. You might even think I was one of the mids if it weren't for my tattered blue cloak, brown skin and gapped smile. Not to mention I was barefoot and 8 months pregnant.
The alley way behind our apartment was drafty and smelled like urine and rotten apples and dog shit. I began quickly navigating passage to the main highway. I passed the baker's hut, Ruddy Creek and the clothes line, still damp from the late washings that the Indian women did each night after their husbands returned from the oil wells. I laughed at the thought of it, cleaning clothes? What a waste of time and liniment when rubles could be used for bread and ale. At about half past I reached the Ireland Club. The Ireland was lit red and gold and in its beams across the dirt roadway drugged men and women danced and laughed and smoked. Barmaids came in and out its rusty iron doors with trays of frothy mugs and saucers of orange and blue pills.
Then, a kick. I nearly fainted with excitement. Myron hadn't moved in ages and I was nearly sure he had taken death inside me. He continued to putt putt away against the back of my belly button. I smiled warmly and as I placed my fingers over the zaftig I felt a sharp scraping against my neck and everything went black.
I woke up with a start. I was in a very hot room, tiled white and clean but extremely hot. I feared it was an oven and screamed at the top of my lungs. Myron was not moving at all. I realized I had pissed myself some time before. My hands were swollen and cut, and my shoulders and neck were aching and tender. "Are you ready?" a highpitched and foreign voice called out from a speaker above. "For your sacrifice we have included a 40 pound note. We only ask your utmost discretion and secrecy in regards to this experiment." Flashes of light and pale pink faces and the sounds of grinding and cutting came to mind. I reached for the nape of my neck and felt the stitches. Horror flooded over me. Myron remained docile. Suddenly the heat stopped and the lights faded down. A door opened up and I ran as fast as possible through it into the alley. I ran and ran until I reached Ruddy Creek. I ripped my cloak off and submerged my aching, overheated body in its thickness. I didn't care if I got the disease or any sort of ailment. I needed the cool sludge against my skin. After a moment I ran back to our apartment. IT was still dark out and Azure had not stirred. I reached for her and was so weak I nearly dropped her. My chest heaved and arms shook. I felt dizzy and sat on our cot. Azure tried to nurse and surprisingly my nipple gave way. She drank endlessly and with a slight aggression. When she finally drew back and into her slumber once more, I saw the pool of blood beneath me. My back convulsed and my stomach churned. Myron suddenly began flailing about inside and I knew it was time. I yelped in agony as his tiny head came into view, followed by slight shoulders, a tiny bottom and from first glance all 20 digits. I lifted his soft head and body to face mine. His eyes opened and shone blood red. I grabbed a rag and desperately tried to wash the blood clear. But there was no blood and his eyes were like glittering rubies. I thought of his father and wept. | 2015-08-24T12:55:55 | 2015-08-24T12:04:05 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] You and your spouse are fairly typical demonic overlords with a figurative/literal dark fortress, minions to command etc. The problem is your teenage child who's going through that rebellious phase; claiming that they're good, dressing in all whites and only listening to gentle hymns. | *My daughter, what were you doing?* I asked my only child, watching her turn pale as she noticed me.
'I was, I, I was out. I was at work.' I smiled. *Were you? What work required that outfit?* My child looked down at the gauzy, white cloth covering her body, loose and baggy. She had never been one to covet the skin-tight, breast baring silk that had been in fashion this century, but I understood. Like her father, like myself, she needed to rebel.
*You don't have to explain yourself to me. You know you may do as you wish with your life. It is what separates us from the host.*
She looked at me, drew a breath, and blurted, 'Mother, I want to join the host. I don't care what everyone will think, I don't want to be like you and dad.' I had known this was coming. Every child believe that they will follow a new path, blaze a new trail. The devil's children will always refuse to be chained to a life chosen for them by another, and I understood.
*Do as you want, daughter. I will not stop you. Your choices are your own. Just know you will always have a place here, if you wish to return.*
My child's eyes lit up, and she embraced me. She turned to leave, and I let her go. It wouldn't take long for her to realize the damage the host does. That inability to accept anything less than fervent praise from humanity would chafe her like it had me. The idea of damning a soul, sending it to grow into a monster, for the crime of asking a question; she would begin to question God as I had, and for that, the host would throw her to earth.
As her father and I had done before her, she would rebel against Heaven, and take her rightful place below. | "Are you looking forward to the party tonight, sweetie?" I asked tenderly, rubbing her shoulders as she sat silently with her back to me, reading a book.
I eyed the cover. '*Coming into the Light*'. Oh dear, another one of those 'ggod' books. When would this end?
"Darling?"
"Mother, you know me and Desdemona don't get on. She's so... dark."
I sighed. My husband was pacing downstairs. I heard his pointed shoes tapping on the cold stone floor. He was exasperated, I could tell. I could read my husband like a book- or hear him. His hot snorts were echoing against the black marble walls of the fortress, making a strange little 'whoosh'.
"We'll be a minute, babe!" I called down to him. I could persuade Lilith. She was a daughter, and she would always listen to her mother. Wouldn't she?
"Ebony and Philomena will be there. They're your friends, aren't they?" I stroked her hair. "Talk to me."
My daughter turned her head slightly, chestnut hair falling against her back. Why had she lightened it? Her lovely dark locks had been so beautiful. I saw her look to the framed picture on her desk. Three little girls, with pale skin and black lace. Squabbling over a voodoo doll, but smiling. *'Best Friends for Life'*, it said.
"I guess they're okay..." She murmured.
I felt my heart break a little. The three of them had always been as close as witches in a coven. *Don't throw away your friendships, honey*, I cried in my head. I gave her a little pat on the shoulder.
"Go honey, please. You'll have such a great time..."
Lilith turned back to her book.
"No. Angela said I shouldn't."
*Angela*. That snotty brat, such a do-gooder. Ever since her cherub-cheeked family had moved to Hellsvale 'out of pity', the aspiring angel had been polluting my Lilith's mind with flowers and fairies and wearing white, preaching to her about purity and 'The Light'. And the girls mother *supported* her! She tried the same thing with the other mothers, but we weren't so impressionable.
No other girls are like this. Other women had squashed their daughters' wishes to convert.
I'd tried to nip this in the bud, but it couldn't be done. What had I done wrong? Was I a bad mother?
I breathed a deep breath, remembering the psychologist's words.
*"It's just a phase, Mrs Beezlebub. She'll grow out of it soon enough, but such things cannot be rushed."*
I smiled, coming back to reality. This was just a phase. But still... I should at least try...
"Lilith..."
"Don't call me Lilith!" She screamed, lashing out at me. "I'm not a demon. I'm an angel!"
It was like she'd stabbed me through the heart with a wooden stake.
"Call me Lily," She spat.
I stepped back, defeated. Maybe I should just let her be. I walked slowly out of the room.
"I- I'll be out here if you need me."
Tears pricking in my eyes, I went down to the kitchen to meet my husband.
"And so?" He asked, clearly angry.
"We shouldn't try and force her. It... It's just a phase anyway."
| 2015-12-08T09:18:38 | 2015-12-08T08:29:01 | 68 | 39 |
[WP] When a person dies, an individual can volunteer to house their soul within their own body until a donor body is found. You are beginning to regret your decision. | I'm a good samaritan. I try to give to the community, and take as little as possible in return. I pay my taxes, I call my grandma every week, I help my cousins with their homework. I'm a *nice guy*.
Therein lies my fucking problem.
Of course, when grandma started getting sick, and asked me to house her soul until we found her a new body, I said 'absolutely'. What kind of asshole denies their grandma? I thought, *sure. I'll help her out, what does it matter?*
What matters is that no one has housed a family member's soul before. I was the first. I thought, *hey, I'm a pioneer! First of a kind! Couldn't possibly hurt, right?*
When you house a soul, the doctors go over everything. To the person being housed, they've effectively died. The soul is dormant until a new body is found for them. So, of fucking course I helped my sweet grandma.
"Thank you, Jimbo," she said to me. She always called me that. Thankfully, no one else did.
The implanting was a complete success. "Smoothest operation to date", they told me. I got home from the hospital and my girlfriend, Kate, came over. Beautiful, kind woman. A freak in bed.
That night, we start going at it pretty heavily. Halfway through, I'm tied up and out of breath, my body stinging a little from the pain. *Oh, you naughty boy.*
I laughed. "Why'd you say that in a funny voice?" I asked her.
"What? I didn't say anything to you," Kate replied, giggling.
"Yeah you did. You just said something."
*Don't stop now, it was just getting good.*
"You said something again!". I was getting desperate now. The game she was playing with me started to get annoying.
"You're insane. I didn't say anything either time."
I contorted my face in confusion, puzzled as to why she'd be trying to trick me.
*Jimbo, be a man and fuck her already. I haven't felt anything like this in 40 years.*
My scream woke up the neighbors. | The doctor and the nurse stood at the foot of his bed, their faces as blank as unmarked graves. Lorenzo D'ambrosio turned his head to the side to avoid their gazes, and clenched the bed sheets in his hand. His knuckles went white.
"Mr. D'ambrosio, I need you to tell me that you understand. Do you understand?"
His thin lips, purple in the cold hospital air, parted briefly.
"No."
The doctor swept a strand of hair from her face, and gave a gentle nod to the nurse. The nurse uttered a desperate word of relief before darting out of the room.
The doctor spoke in a voice that might have conveyed warmth if the news had not been so grim, "Think about it like this, Mr. D'ambrosio. There are two drops of water - one is clear. The other is injected with a red dye, so that the water turns red. What should happen if these two droplets meet?"
As if he was made of stone, D'ambrosio rolled his head until he was staring directly at her. His eyes were outlined by red, and there was a curl in his lip.
He said nothing.
The doctor blew out a sigh, and clasped her icy hands in front of her. She glanced at the thermometer on the wall, but before she could move to change it, D'ambrosio's lips parted once more, "Don't."
"Mr. D'ambrosio," the doctor leaned forward, gripping the railing at the foot of his bed, "You have to listen to me. I know this is hard."
He turned his head sideways again, and she could see the creases of his frown cut deeper into his face. Her stomach sank, and despite the chill, she felt sweat under her arms.
"Mr. D'ambrosio," she swallowed hard, "*She can not be saved*. We *can't* give her a body."
"Can't?" His head snapped around, and the bed creaked. His voice was dripping with venom, "Or won't?"
"*Can't.* There are millions of people on that list. She's already gone, Mr. D'ambrosio."
"Then who is in my head?!" Lorenzo D'ambrosio, smacked a fist on the bed, but the only sound that came out was a gentle *whump*.
"The operation- it was imperfect. When we finally moved her, she was already passing. Every second she is inside of you, she diminishes. Do you hear her voice, Mr. D'ambrosio?"
His hands were shaking. His chest heaved and fell with his stuttering breaths, and the lines of his frown etched deeper.
"I do," he croaked, "I hear her."
A tear coalesced at the edge of his eye, and threatened to spill over.
"She's calling to me. She's still here."
"Mr. D'ambrosio, you can't save your daughter."
"Yes I can," he wrapped the blankets around his fists. His voice was as tight, as if the pressure in the air was weighing on his throat, "Yes I *can*."
"Mr. D'ambrosio, her soul - what's left of it - it will pollute your own. It will kill you, too."
Lorenzo D'ambrosio squeezed his eyes shut, and fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. He writhed under the sheets, moaning, "I don't care. I don't care."
His head shook back and forth, like a flower swaying in a winter breeze.
"I can keep her. I can keep her."
***
*Check out /r/PSHoffman for more stories.* | 2016-01-18T09:05:27 | 2016-01-18T09:04:00 | 969 | 93 |
[WP] You just accidentally downloaded the Kindle version of the Necronomicon. | So I'm not sure whether the 5 star reviews of 'the great big book of dogs' is people just reviewing it without reading or if I got the wrong product somehow, assuming it's the later I'm giving it one star.
Cons:
Was not the great big book of dogs'
Was not even in English
Gave me an extremely large headache
I'm pretty sure its cursed.
Made me weep blood
Caused shadows and voices to haunt the edge of my consciousness
My family all left me and now I love alone in the bayou, desperately seeking solace amongst the damned pages of this time.
Pros:
There are several pictures of what appear to be some sort of dog in it.
| "Honey, what is this?"
"What is what, Grandma?" I said, not lifting my eyes from my laptop.
"This book!" she said from her brown armchair, her eyes on my Kindle as she gesticulated wildly with the "stylus" she'd insisted I provide.
The stylus was a disassembled pen.
"I don't like it. It looks scary. Why do you read these things?"
I sighed, staring at her from across the room. I'd pointedly removed every thing that looked vaguely objectionable from my Kindle before letting her use it.
"Are you talking about the Rush Limbaugh book Grandpa downloaded?" I joked as I stood up, heading towards my Grandmother.
Said Grandpa huffed from his position on his armchair, and continued to watch football.
I leaned over my Grandma's shoulder to look at the screen as the referee on the television blew his whistle, and the crowd roared. I had a passing thought that they were clearly cheering for my joke.
"Necronomicon?" I thought, reading the title, mincing the syllables, at first unfamiliar. Suddenly, I remembered the sci-fi literature class I took in college.
"That's an HP Lovecraft book, Grandma."
"I really need to go on *Jeopardy*," I thought, "I'd kill it..."
"I don't care who wrote it, you shouldn't be reading things like that!"
I wordlessly plucked the Kindle from her hands.
"He's a fine author, Mary!" Grandpa said, leaning forward in his chair, itching for the small squabbles that kept their marriage alive after more than fifty years.
"Jesus, Grams, how many books did you download?" I said as they started to bicker. I couldn't help but press the Necronomicon's icon. It did look a little Satanic, standing out from the plethora of baking and Jesus-y books Grandma had downloaded. Cool.
Grandma stared at me momentarily, then narrowed her bespectacled eyes at my Grandfather, clearly plotting her devastating retaliation.
"Don't you blame me for-"
The wind begin to howl, and I felt like I was flying up and falling down at the same time.
I opened my eyes some time later in the middle of a gray canyon, a circle of Shoggoths around me.
From a distance, I heard my Grandpa yell, "My game!"
| 2016-02-10T10:53:48 | 2016-02-10T09:13:13 | 75 | 10 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT. | The Terran Federation. A force that now spans several thousand solar systems within the galaxy with several species under its wing. We believed they were possibly as advanced as the Galactic Alliance; yet we only recently discovered them by accident when we entered one of their border systems. They seemed less wary and more excited to learn of another power in the galaxy that was similar to their own.
They quickly sought a sit down with our council members. As talks began, it was clear they were seeking peace and to trade information and technology. As hesitant as the different species of the council were, they eventually gave in. The technology we shared was not much different. Their information on the other hand, especially their history, was astonishing. According to their records, their species only began to exist when the first to council species had formed the Galactic Alliance. They were nothing more than savages for the better part of ten thousand years before their technology and population skyrocketed. They humans now number somewhere near 5 trillion. A frightening number considering every species in the Galactic Alliance is totals to roughly 7 trillion. We also learned that every species in the Terran Federation, many of which are highly skilled, accepted the humans as their leaders. But it was clear none of them were subjugated, they simply accepted human leadership.
Our council members are now in talks of trying to bring the humans on as members of the Alliance, and possibly even as a part of the council itself, but only time will tell.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
It has been five years since we discovered the Terran Federation. They accepted becoming a part of the Galactic Alliance, but wanted to act as a separate power given that their technology and controlled space is nearly on par with our own. There have been no conflicts with the Federation, but there is something about them that unsettles me and most of the other species in the alliance. Most peace-seeking species will be hesitant and try to avoid any unnecessary arguments with other species and are quick to compromise. The humans, while willing to compromise, are very headstrong in their ideals, making you feel as if you are sitting down with a military driven government.
As far as I can tell, they have never fought a galactic-wide war. They only have brief mentions in their history of "misunderstandings" with other species. From what I can tell, they left those species alone while others joined the federation. I find it incredible that over twenty species have been brought in with the humans, yet they've never seen war beyond their home planet. I fear however if their ideas of feelings for each other get in the way of the council, in-fighting could possibly begin between our two factions.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
It has been nearly a century now since the humans became a part of our lives. Even though many of the original Alliance species have barely aged most of the humans that were originally brought into the Alliance have since passed. But in this last decade, the council has discovered the frightening secrets of the human race. Their population has already surpassed that of the rest of the Alliance and their technology is growing at an alarming rate. After a dispute within the council about limitations on the humans, a massive civil war broke out in the Alliance. The two opposing factions sought the Terran Federation's help as it would easily decide the outcome of the war. Our faction didn't believe in limiting a species that could help advance everyone, while the other wanted to limit the humans so nobody felt threatened in order to keep the peace. However, the humans continued to be a mediator between the two sides. In a fit of rage, one of the opposing faction's leaders killed the human leader for his indecisiveness and had his troops torch the nearest human colony.
Humans took this as an act of war and this is when our eyes were truly opened.
It was obvious now that war was second nature to humans. They began by pushing the enemies back, hurling their impressive numbers at the enemies; their own losses fueling their rage and making them even more damning. I happened to accompany the humans on their campaign. They had battlecruisers the size of the galactic capital with weapons that could penetrate ships' shields and destroy them in one blow. As the humans' losses had neared 500 billion, which were due to trying to protect the other Alliance races, the three trillion of all the species on the opposing faction were reduced to roughly two trillion which were now located in roughly fifteen large star systems.
The humans gave one final ultimatum to the enemy; surrender or be completely eradicated. The enemy knew they would probably lose, but chose to fight. That's when the humans unleashed it. A weapon they called the "Black Death," a reference to a disease which had eradicated large portions of the humans when they were still primitive. And then it happened. Streaks of light fired with FTL drives at each of the fifteen star systems. Black holes opened up in each system, engulfing the entirety of each. And then, they collapsed on themselves as if nothing had happened. The civil war was over in an instant, and no proof of those species existed besides what was only in our history.
And then it hit me. The "misunderstandings" that they spoke of in their history were nothing of the sort. They were mass genocides of the hostile species that were threats to the human race. The humans so quickly and confidently eradicated their enemies that it wasn't even worth mentioning in their history books. But now, they had losses of their own. And on a level they had never seen before. The Galactic Alliance soon realized we only had one option; follow the humans or there could be irreparable tension between us. And like that, the Galactic Alliance was no more. As long as we were not a threat to humans, we could do as we please in the name of the Terran Federation.
To the humans, we were just more of the numerous species under their protective wings. And to us... the humans, even though they sought peace, were something terrifying. Not monsters, yet not heroes. *They were a silent guardian, a watchful protector, a Dark Knight.* | Away, over the hill that the sun was setting behind, the dreadful whirring of the rotors and actuators of the human battlesuits could be heard. Like a chorus of screaming flying gruins crying out as night fell, the air was ringing with a looming menace. At their back, the defenders had the useless cloak of night, their bunkers, and their trenches dug into the rock and soil.
The prefabricated bunkers that seemed secure and well protected to their occupants suddenly seemed as thin as the horpo leaves of a book. Far behind their own lines, the sound of a storm siren screamed. But across the vast front line, it sounded like a dying moan. A rickety metal watch tower peered over the hill.
Around him, his pack fidgeted nervously, the chitin-like ceramic armor clinking as they adjusted their goggles, their guns, their legs, checked their munition charges. The battlemarshals wanted everything the linefighters could give. Anyone that killed one was to have the most honor. Kill one human. There was no such thing.
Air-splitting long range rounds whistled through the air high above, their PYReClastic casings glowing red hot as they arced through the neon green sky. PYRe incendiary munitions had been the most impressive feat of engineering that their scientists had put together. It could burn for days at a temperature that no organic could endure for more than 5 minutes. The chemical reaction was self sustaining and incredibly hard to put out. But due to the volatile nature of the weapon, it could only be triggered just before the casing impacted the ground. It was a terror weapon used to burn a surrender out of anyone. The humans were unphased.
Hundreds of cracks of lightningless thunder boomed over the line. The glowing cases were twinkling and drifting away from each other- falling apart. Thousands of thin whisps, all straight lines, crosshatched the sky like a net. Human rail guns had intercepted the rounds.
The crimson sun finally disappeared over the hill. But in the fading light, an ominous grey cloud began to rise over the ridge. The trenches and bunkers were rattling now, the pounding march of the humans was going to shake their line apart before battle even properly commenced.
And then there they were on the ridge. Thin glints of light refracted off of their battlesuits. Faceless helmets protected their brain from being directly damaged. Large guns perched on their shoulders and in their arms were heavy cannons. All of this muddled by the black cloud that engulfed them. The most terrifying thing was the fact that each human soldier was emitting a swarm of doomsday. Minuscule nanobots that could drasticly enhanced the defensive capabilities of their already formidable suits of armor. But the worst was when the cloud was used to destroy.
Another thunderclap, much closer this time, and the watch tower exploded into fragments of fiber and metal. Those nearby bellowed in pain as shrapnel pierced the cracks in their ballistic armor. A garbled sound echoed through the trenches and the bunkers. Human language. Not many in the line could speak human language. He was not one of them.
To his left, someone had understood, "The wish for us to surrender." A thousand voices shouted and screamed their response. He remained silent and afraid. There would be no surrender.
After the war mongering calls died out bullets and bolts and heavy guns poured their payloads across the field into the human lines. The first human began to march. They all followed in line. The cloud blackened to a fluid wall as they crossed field. The black curtain hid their ranks. Until a deafening hail of gunfire exploded from behind the veil. Grenades sailed through the air and landed with perfect precision. The gunfire was sloppy but cleaved heaps of dirt and rock and linefighters away with each passing second. The bunkers and their reinforced crystalline structures were barely holding under the pressure. No linefighter dared to fire back. Those that didn't hide were summarily destroyed, their missing pieces misting the area where they once stood and fought. Now proudly dead.
The curtain suddenly raced forward, once again becoming a swarm. Millions- no billions of insects began to claw at each and every linefighter. Their armor and guns melted into useless scrap, falling off of their bodies and disintegrating into dust as they were rapidly deconstructed by the bots. The linefighter beside him began throwing rocks and gravel where he thought the humans were. The bots began to attack his nostrils and mandibles. His face melted and he began crying in pain as the bots tore open his mouth and poured into him, attacking him from the inside out.
Seconds later his faculties ceased to function and he died standing, blood and bots oozing out of the hole where his face once was.
He cowered in fear. Unable to move. There was no point. The bunkers were melting heaps of crystalline metals, their occupants nowhere to be seen. Beside him, another linefighter cowered, huddled with one set of arms wrapped around his legs and the others clamped around his ears.
The buzzing sound would haunt him for the rest of his short life. A thundering bootstomp, and above him stood a human battlesuit.
It bounded down into the trench, and turned slowly on him. It was easily as tall as one and a half of him. The face had two dark and beady glass lenses that stared lifelessly at him. The pressure of his blood made it feel like his extremities were about to pop from their joints.
Around him the buzzing still burned his ears. Death was here, and humans brought it with them.
A popping hiss and the faceplate jutted forward and then slid upwards, revealing the encased human inside. Behind another faceplate of thick glass, the human's eyes inspected him carefully. It removed a hand from the cannon it carried. A holographic transcript appeared from the upward turned palm.
*Do you surrender? Move your head up and down for an affirmative. Move your head side to side for a negative*
He vigorously shook his head up and down. Up and down.
The faceplate slid down and snapped back into place, the hologram disappeared and the hand returned to the cannon. They hoisted it back up to the firing position and turned to keep marching.
A white and red suit bounded down into the trench with him and quickly dispensed him a thin gown. It was a thinner model of the combat suit, but loaded with compartments and other devices that he wasn't sure what represented. The gown flagged him as noncombatant. Beside him, the panicking linefighter pushed the human in the black suit away, shaking his head from side to side, screaming.
The black combat suit stood back up and the hologram disappeared. The hand returned to the cannon. Instead of turning away, the cannon was leveled to execute him. Before he was aware that the white suit had even moved, they were already pushing the black suit away from the frightened linefighter.
The faceplate on the white suit popped open. The suit gently grabbed the arms of the linefighter and stilled his panic. A slightly digitized voice spoke in his native language.
Do you surrender?
Yes! He screamed. Yes!
The faceplate snapped back into place and a gown was dispensed to him. The black combat suit turned away. The white suit turned to him and across the chest a red cross was painted.
Head towards the hill. There will be a convoy to direct you to where you will be processed.
He climbed out of the trench while the white combat suit pushed the panicked linefighter out. Around them, floodlights lit the field, casting long shadows from linefighters in gowns and they and white combat suits marched towards hill.
| 2016-03-13T21:56:17 | 2016-03-13T21:42:12 | 68 | 24 |
[WP] You were born with a large birthmark in the shape of a dragon. However, this is just a coincidence; there is absolutely nothing magical about it, and you're getting really tired of explaining this. | The community centre was in dire need of a makover; the council had really let things slip. There were more broken and boarded up windows than intact ones, broken bottles littered the pavement outside the entrance, and the distinct smell of urine pierced the air as you walked towards the door. Inside wasn't much better; a floor in need of sweeping, a corridor lined with damaged doors, and damp climbing the walls.
As I stood in the corridor looking around, a scrawny, bald, rat-like man jerked into my personal space.
"Hi mate!... not seen you here before!... You been in yet?"
"Hi... No" I said, as the man's full-body nervous twitches wafted the smell of cigarette smoke in my face.
"I'm Gaz, follow me chap, it's this way"
As Gaz turned sharply his long over-sized leather jacket swung around with him and he walked erratically down the corridor. I looked him up and down as I followed and noticed three red glowing numbers across the back of his head.
"666" I unintentionally said out loud.
"Yes mate... Born with it... is it glowing again?" Gaz said casually.
"Yeah" I said, confused.
"Does that sometimes, means sod all from what I can tell... got no correlation to anything.. What you here for?" He asked as he carried on juddering down the corridor.
"Dragon on my back... doesn't glow though" I told him.
"Be thankful for that!... it's even harder to convince them you aren't special when it glows!"
At this he pushed open a door revealing an odour of coffee and the sound of chattering voices. In the centre of the room was a circle of chairs seating by most people's standards, probably the weirdest group of individuals they've ever seen. I knew there were more like me, dealing with the same ridiculous fate life had dealt us. I'd seen them on TV, especially the guy with the huge horns, he was on the news only last week getting chased by a group wielding crosses. Not this many though.
The sign on the door just said 'Support Group'. I guess there's not really a name for what we are. False Prophets doesn't really fit.
| "IT'S NOT MAGICAL!!!" I yelled for what seemed like the Nth time today. You know how it is in the movies. A kid is born with a birthmark in the EXACT shape of a dragon, and he can all of a sudden do karate and kung fu and shit. Not me, though. I'm just your average middle class white trash kid from Louisiana. I can't do anything that requires anything of a martial arts background. I go to school, I eat, shit, and sleep like anyone else. I'm just a normal guy.
Okay, enough about what I am. Let me tell you a story. It's like a lot of my other stories, except this one happened recently and was a little twisted to be honest.
I had just gotten out of bed in the morning, went across the hall to the kitchen, made breakfast, and sat down in front of the tv to watch whatever dumb kid show my little sister so happened to be watching.
As soon as I finish my cereal there is a knock on the door. It was odd since this kind of crap usually happens right when I get off work, but my parents were in bed still and it was a Saturday.
I answer the door, and two oriental martial artists are standing there. That'd be odd to some people, but not for me. Same type of people, but always different people. I usually tell them to kindly 'eff off and make sure to tell anyone else not to come by.
Only today, when I finished my shooing, the two men came back about five minutes later. This time, they were a little strong with me. They told me that their master had a mark of the dragon, and that I was some descendant of this man. This is the weird part for me. I'm not any part asian. I'm as white as they come. I have blonde hair for crissakes!
Anyways, they wanted me to come with them. I figured I'd go with them just to figure out what they're yammering about. Nobody had ever come back to try again, which was the only thing that let me allow myself to follow them.
I got a closer look at them, and found that they were covered in scars. Probably from recent battles or punishments. I didn't ask about them, nor did I really care.
They led me to a martial artist's dojo thing three blocks from my apartment complex. I've never noticed this building, but I don't come around this way at all so go figure. Inside was strangely clean and tidy, starkly contrasting the exterior of the building which looked run down. I just chalked it up to low funds.
They told me to sit in the middle of the sparring ring in the main room and wait. As I waited, I noticed little things. The room I was in was completely symmetrical, the walls were very smooth, and the ceiling had perfectly tesselating hexagons. I was halfway through counting them when the master of the dojo came to me.
"The mark on your chest. Let me see it," he said, voice booming. I'mma be honest, I peed a little. "Yeah, sure thing, mate." I lifted my shirt off and showed the dojo man what he wanted. "He is the one..." he said, disappearing in a cloud of smoke.
The next thing I know I'm waking up in my bed. There is a roll of parchment on the left nightstand tied tight with a length of silk. It read:
"The ritual was completed successfully, but We are confused as to why your aura did not activate. Curious. We still wish to speak to you. You know where to find us." It was signed by a man named Long Zhi Wang. Which I believe roughly means 'king of the dragons'. I don't know, but now I know who to give a restraining order to. | 2016-08-04T15:01:50 | 2016-08-04T12:02:03 | 157 | 24 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | "Holy shit, Dave! Look at your fucking face!"
"Oh come on. It's not that bad."
"Are you kidding?!?"
"It's not like it hurt."
"Dave, they tattooed pentagrams EVERYWHERE."
"Oh like I didn't know that, Carl."
"Well you don't seem very upset about it!"
"It's not the 1950's anymore, man. People aren't judgey about tattoos anymore."
"SHHH. I think I hear someone coming."
"Oh yeah, they said something about "The Virgin Ritual" when they were bringing me back."
"Are you kidding me?! You didn't think to say anything sooner??!!?"
"What? Jokes on them right? Neither of us are virgins."
"..."
"Oh my god, Carl. Hahaha. Are you serious?! You're 37! How have you never had sex?"
"This isn't helpful, Dave."
"Well maybe they just wanna help you get laid? You never know."
"THERE WERE ARMS ALL OVER THE FLOOR WHEN THEY WALKED US IN."
"Yeah, so maybe they just wanna 'give you a hand'."
---------
EDIT: I did NOT expect gold on this. Thank you, kind stranger! (I've always wanted to say that) | Well, this is just perfect, isn't it?
The only hotel in the area, and it isn't on TripAdvisor. Damn it. I guess it'll have to do. Probably some cheap motel, or something like that.
Hey, this is actually really nice. A big Gothic mansion, with some ancient dead trees out in front. Those black flowers look.. meh, but it's surprisingly fine.
Okay. Floors are creaky, the old man in charge is creepy, and I think that's a black widow. I really don't care, this is the only place I can stay.
Damn it. Woke up in the middle of the night, have to use the bathroom, because my room doesn't come with an en-suite. The entire house is like a maze in the dark, I could swear the floor plan wasn't this confusing in the evening.
Hey! Light! Torches for mood lighting! Bathroom...satanic ritual. Alright, they can do their thing, and I'll do my thing. Wait, are those sacrifices? I'll have to call the cops when I get somewhere with cell phone reception.
Wait, is someone following me? Probably just my eyes seeing things, the moonlight shining through the cracks isn't bright enough for me to make out what's in front of me. Hey, it's that one guy I saw briefly on my way in! He's sleeping... in the hallway... in a puddle of something... and it almost looks like he is missing his brain and the back of his head. Probably just a trick of the light. H's probably drunk, and that dark stuff on the floor is probably whisky, or vomit.
Is that the owner? Why is he wandering the halls at 3 am? Did he just walk through that wall? Honestly, I'm too tired to care. I still haven't found an open bathroom, the last one looked like someone had committed suicide in it.
Oh, a bathroom! The light are even on, if flickering. Okay, wash my hands... is there someone behind me? Sorry, I just finished up here, just need to rinse... and done!
Huh. Could have sworn there was someone in the mirror behind me. Oh well, I just want to go back to bed.
Okay... found the reception. Someone seems to have boarded up the front door from the outside, probably because someone broke the glass and completely wrecked the area. It looks like it's been abandoned for the past hundred years, that's how badly wrecked everything is.
Why am I here, anyway? I don't remember going down any staircases... Doesn't matter. I remember my way from here.
Alright... now someone went and redecorated my room. Hope they didn't touch my stuff. I'm just too tired to care. It's 4 am. Guess I'm sleeping surrounded by claws tonight. Bye! | 2017-05-05T06:54:01 | 2017-05-05T05:53:53 | 7,592 | 392 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | "Unclean!" the disembodied voice bellowed waking me up for the third fucking time that night. That's it. I'd had enough. I slip out of bed and got dressed. I was thirsty anyway. Walking toward the door I looked at the wall dripping with blood and puss.
"Unfucking real..." I muttered. Pulling my phone from my pocket I snapped a quick photo. Walking into the hallway I headed to the elevator. Damn thing was taking forever. When the doors finally opened I looked down to see a woman, wet and smelling like a swamp dragging herself along the floor leaving a trail of blood and God-knows-what.
"Fuck this," I said walking away just before her hand reached my ankle. I stopped and snapped another picture of the woman on the floor. Walking down the stairs I was getting pretty pissed off at all of these interruptions. I was just passing the pool when I stopped. The water had turned to blood.
I snapped another picture.
As I walked down the corridor to the lobby, a man with a chainsaw sprung out of the vending area, he pulled the rip cord and started flailing the chainsaw in my general direction.
"Hey...HEY!" I yelled. He killed the motor. "It is three o'clock in the goddamn morning, asshole. This is a hotel. Do you honestly feel like that shit can't wait until morning?"
"Uhh...sorry I just..."
"You just what? You're standing in a hotel jumping out with a chainsaw at random strangers at three o'clock in the morning? Does that fucking sound normal to you? Go the fuck to sleep." I snapped a picture as I walked away. The stranger seemed confused and a little embarrassed.
Walking to the front lobby I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. Slapping my rewards card on the counter I looked at the woman doing the night audit.
"I'm a damn Diamond member. And I can't sleep in this place with all of this bullshit..."
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. What seems to be the problem?"
Swiping the screen on my phone I turn it to her.
"Oozing walls, swamp chicks, pools of blood and some asshole with a chainsaw? Are you fucking kidding me? Is this Detroit?"
"Well, I'm sorry sir, it is our desire to ensure you have the most comfortable stay possible..." her voice was somewhat ominous. I gave zero fucks.
"I want my room comped, I want an upgrade, I want another complimentary bottled water and I want some fucking quiet for the rest of the night. Can you do that or do I have to call member services?"
"Oh, yes sir, we would be happy to make all of your dreams come true..."
Swiping the phone again I called the member services number.
"Yeah, I'm at one of your hotels and there is an obnoxious amount of creepy shit going on. Pool is filled with blood, there's a dude with a chainsaw, my wall is oozing blood and this lady at the front desk is talking in a weird ass tone that seems to imply pending doom...yeah, how'd you guess where...hold on..."
I handed the front desk clerk the phone. "They want to talk to you."
Suddenly the sullen woman's eyes softened and she gulped a bit as she took the phone.
"...Hello? Well, yes, uhh, Julia. No but I...right but...okay." She handed the phone back to me and looked contrite.
"I apologize for any inconvenience, sir. I'm upgrading you to a suite for the remainder of your stay, at no charge of course. And I guarantee that there will be no disturbances from here on out. I'll have your complimentary water brought up to the room and I'll be giving you double rewards points for your stay."
"Well, thanks, what the hell did member services say you to?"
She looked uneasy and then finally spoke. "They said to cut the theatrical bullshit or they'd cut our franchise..."
| In the night the cockroaches come. The anemic fields of lonely grass sways all gray. The last sea that I will ever set eyes upon. And the ships of metal creak in the wind and walls of concrete nearby sighs. Here I am abandoned. Everything is abandoned.
How long has it been? How many birthdays have passed? Am I a girl still, or a woman? I bleed often, and sometimes not at all. Here in the night, blood flows. The others are dead. The sawmill is working, though wood is long gone.
The shadows in the night saunter in their dance around me. The tape on my hands cut and I pull as I always do. Patches of light flicker in the distance. They flicker with sounds and screams. Is tonight my night?
The tape strains and twists and stretches. It pulls the hair on my hand. Have I lost enough weight? I am sure no one will recognize me anymore. I am sure they aren't looking anyway. But have I lost enough weight?
My hands slip through. The tape tangles in my palm and I burst it with my teeth. I undo my legs. Is that sweat or blood? In the dark it does not matter. The old van in the field is almost like a home. I almost feel bad for leaving.
Outside is cold in the yard. The remaining grass is tall and reach my knees. For miles is flat country. No where to go. The saws buzz. I wonder if they hear it in the city. It is so quiet otherwise. Maybe they hear it but they don't care. Maybe it is easier not to listen.
But I listen and I wonder about the other girls. My stomach is empty. I cannot walk far. There are only two options. Either I wait in the van or I go and speed things up. I have gotten tired of waiting.
The glass sparkles in the night. I avoid it as best I can. I sway and walk like a drunk and the saw rings in the night and my head splits in pain. The light washes me in its excess. The windows are small and barred. The smell of blood and mean drifts away.
Two shadows have their back to the window. They wear rags and rubber masks with long stringy black hair. I can't see the faces now, but I know the eyes are white and large and the mouth is ajar and tooth less and the nose overhangs and the eyebrows furrow. It's an expression of apathy.
They look at the girl. She is still alive. I suppose they have her tied to the table. A tripod and camera stands in the corner. I wonder if it catches me on film. I wonder if that file, or my very own, will be my legacy. She screams. How she screams. The table saw has wires all over and it buzzes near her arms. I can't look. But I am just so tired. Everything is just tired. The exhaustion had come after a week or more of driving. It had come with the hopelessness. I feel sorry for the girl. I manage to look away.
Lights from behind awakens my shadow. It grows long in warning and the car stops. It's an old Camry. I turn around and stare at another of those faces. He wears rags to his feet and that witch's face, an evil rubber face.
He screams a warning and the others come to the window. I do not know where I find the strength or will, but I run. I run around the perimeter and the entrance is black and heavy with death. The witch behind me is gaining and I go inside and there is broken tile and pocked concrete and furniture strewn all about. Rats crawl from their dens, big things about a foot long.
I head for some stairs and I hear a commotion brimming. The girl screams and then gags and chokes and there is the sound of a hose bursting. Then she dies and the hose continues. The footsteps are close behind. The railing of the staircase is shaky and rotten. I nearly fall but I make it upstairs and there is the scent of disinfectant.
I go into a bathroom and it is dark. Completely dark in here. The scent of death and blood is strong and I gag and try to keep quiet. I lock the door and crouch. The bathtub is filled with slimy water. A slow drip comes. I hear stamping in the corridor outside.
The sound of light switches go off. There is a small window here but it is boarded up. I crawl to it and fleeting thoughts of escape come and they go and then I remain without hope. I hit something and it flashes in a white light. I hold it and see that it is a camera.
The tripod teeters and I grab for it and I lose balance and grab at the tub. My hand catches something soft and it sinks in the tub and the water overflows and the tripod falls and in the flash of the camera I see that it is blood. I look up and see one of those witches is in the tub.
His apathetic face looks at me, the mask the only thing remaining. His stomach is cut and the pink insides are out and the blood flows between them like spring water between some rocks.
I scream. How could I help it? The silence comes in a tense moment. Then the footfalls come nearer and nearer. The coldness of fear grips me. But then it goes and only its ghost remains. Hopelessness can get you through more than you'd imagine. And it would get me through this.
The door rattles. Someone shoulders it and it splinters. I close my eyes and steel myself. Hopefully it will not be much longer now. | 2017-05-05T07:31:12 | 2017-05-05T04:53:47 | 627 | 27 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | The creepy laughter started right on time. Every night, at 11:56. Then, the walls started to bleed, up by the ceiling, near the elaborate crown moulding, running down the old wallpaper. I call it "dripping crimson on a field of posies."
That would be gone by morning.
Cue screaming and the sounds of someone being chased down the hall at 2:07. They'd come back in 38 minutes. I'm surprised he hasn't caught her yet. It's been months of this happening every night. That's "Freddie and Edith on their evening stroll."
At least the lamp only flew across the room that first night. I gave it a few days to fix itself and left the broken shards in a pile, but no. It would have been nice to have a light. But I had a kindle, so I could still read in the dark. Since it only happened once, I didn't call it anything but the pile was "ode to a lamp" before I swept it up. Now it's "don't walk barefoot in that corner because you might have missed some".
Ohhh...banging on the bedroom door! That's new. A nice change of pace. In ten minutes, the ghostly wolf would emerge through the closet door and pin me to the bed, menacing with dripping fangs. Man, he needed a breath mint. His breath smelled like sewer and dead fish and broccoli. "Mr. Stinky Breath", I call him.
Right on time, I hear the snarl and placed my kindle on the nightstand, holding my breath as his weight pins my arms to the mattress. I roll my eyes and try not to inhale.
In five days, when I'd stayed in the haunted house for exactly 4 months, I'd get my $1,000,000. Barney better pay up, or I'm gonna feed him to Mr. Stinky Breath or see if he wants to go on a stroll with Freddie and Edith. | The bronze dagger scraped against the cement floor with rhythmic scratches, tuned to The Slasher's lopsided gait. A red grin cut across his mask, painted on until it hit the the cracked bottom quarter, where it spilled into a real lip-less smile.
The stage was set. The night, perfect. A full moon dangled in a cloudless sky, his spotlight trained on him. A brisk breeze blew south to north, a wind that could carry a scream all the way to the heavens itself. And his characters, they were some of the best he ever had. A twelve year old boy with glassy eyes and panting breath, scratching against the alley dead end. A fourteen year old girl huddled in a corner, her knee to her chest, as she stuttered in sobbing coughs. And of course, the hero. A boy of fifteen that stood trembling over his friends, a pocket knife in front of him quivering as much as his lips.
The alley dead end held the sour stench of garbage long since rotted. Insects scattered through the a black trash bags piled along the sides of the walls.
"And the hero reveals himself." The Slasher trembled in excitement, increasing the pace of his blade-against-cement metronome. He could hardly contain himself.
The hero swallowed and brought up his puny knife.
The Slasher's eyes bulged through his mask. His charred cheeks stretched and his mouth opened. A chuckle, like the sound of choking man, escaped his throat. This was the hero he had been looking for, a man to challenge monsters.
"So hero," he said between his laughs. "Your stage is ready. The damsel is in tears. The dam is equally helpless. Everyone is at the edge of their seats and even God is wondering--what does the hero do?"
The hero opened his mouth and swallowed breath. "Guys," he choked out. "Listen to me right now, when the time comes, make a break for it."
His two friends caught his eyes and stopped. It felt like time paused with them. The girl sniffed back tears and the boy shook his head in a sharp twitch. This was the power of the hero. Because in that instant, The Slasher no longer existed.
"No," the boy whispered. "We're a family."
"Like hell we are." The hero's muscles tensed and his knife straightened toward The Slasher. "Orphans have no family. We just happened to find each other when we needed to the most. It could've been anyone and it wouldn't have mattered."
"That's not true," the girl said with trembled words. "You know it's not."
The hero coughed out a cry and inhaled. "You fucking brats!" he screamed at them, startling them. "I needed someone to watch my back when I stole, I needed someone to distract the guards, I needed someone to hide the food when I stole it. You think it had to be you guys? It could've literally been anyone. I don't give a fuck about any of you!"
The Slasher's heart skipped a beat. The hero he had prayed for had arrived and his screams would be melody unlike anything a Beethoven or Bach could compose. A symphony for God Himself.
"Hero," he said, "How kind, how brave, how--"
His words caught because the hero charged him, the silver of his knife gleaming beneath the moonlight, the tears in his eyes glistening as it fell behind him.
The Slasher heaved laughter out of himself. The humor was like a spell, a beautiful and uncontrollable spell. He swung and cut the hero. No hero had ever won, no damsel or dam ever saved, and this would not be the exception. | 2017-05-05T07:04:56 | 2017-05-05T06:07:15 | 530 | 21 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | Wow. Great.
I'm standing in the middle of the woods, with just my pijamas on.
I have no idea how I got here. It's cold, I'm tired, and I just want to go to bed. The only problem is, that I live in the middle of a large city, in a place, where even the nights are warm and the air is soft.
Here it's so cold, that my breath forms tiny clouds, and the air stings in my lungs.
I must be far away then.
I can't hear a sound. Not one. If we were near a city, I'd hear cars.
But that's not the strangest part. I can't even hear a bird, or the wind in the leaves.
Everything is so quiet. It's actually kind of nice.
Living in a large family, surrounded by a city that never sleeps, I actually never experienced silence. So I just close my eyes and ignore the cold.
As I open them again, I am looking straight into a face. Well, half of a face, as the man's left side is ripped right off, and the poor guy has a permanent half smile, due to the missing skin of his cheek.
I was pretty confused, as I didn't hear the half smile guy's footsteps, so I wonder, if I went deaf, so I scream the loudest "HELLO?" I've ever screamed.
I'm not deaf, although my voice doesn't echo.
The misshapen man jumps and looks confused. "Arren't you scared?" He asked a in a slurrend manner, while I watched his saliva , not held back by his lips, spray in the moonlight.
"Why should I? It's pretty realxing, actually." I said, while stretching out my arm to give him a handshake. "I'm Sasha"
The other half of his face started smiling too, and he looked genuenly happy.
"I'm Joe! I've been living here for the past 20 years, or maybe 40, who knows. People just randomly appear here, and I try to welcome them, but they always run away from me, for some strange kind of reason. I later find them, with their face chewed off. Probably by the crawling people around here. They have pretty sharp teeth."
I just stand there and nod time to time. As he tells me about things, I'm sure he just desperately wanted to tell someone else for years.
What a interesting place. Joe seems nice. Just the crawling woman, with the angriest face I've ever seen, coming nearer and nearer behind him, is a little distracting.
(Sorry about the english, I'm swiss)
| Years ago, when visiting a "haunted" house in the oldest neighborhood in the city, Dave had first felt what he now referred to as "The Pressure". It was a sense of dread, a prickling of the hairs on the back of the neck. Every sense in his body would key up, warning him that Something was coming, and it wasn't friendly.
After nearly a decade of this, it wasn't quite so exciting. Dave was currently nestled into the thick cushions of a disturbingly Gothic couch, the dark oak twisting and writhing in near-impossible curves around obscenely plush purple velvet pillows.
Dave could still hear Jennifer and Mark in the other room, noisily having sex on an equally Gothic four-poster bed. He had a certain grudging admiration for their ability to make the bed, which had to weigh several hundred pounds, occasionally jump and hit the wall. He wasn't really that surprised when he felt The Pressure earlier in the evening; an isolated cabin, offered out of the blue by an unknown relative, with furniture so ornate that Dracula himself might say it was a bit much? Dave rolled his eyes just thinking about it again.
He had a pretty good feel for how this would go, after experiencing it so many times. The FBI had basically given up trying to address the problem, and simply had a unit on standby for cleanup. They tried putting him in prison once; at least they could explain that one as a prison riot. Dave began ticking off on his fingers, curious if he could get the exact moment correct this time. He lowered one finger at a time as he mouthed the numbers silently. Six, five, four, th-
The familiar sound of steel slicing into flesh, followed by a scream of agony from Jennifer and a (oddly) equally girly scream from Mark interrupted his counting. Dave frowned; maybe next time. The squelching noises cut off, and the sawing and hacking began. Jennifer's screams finally cut off, and Mark sprinted through the doorway, his eyes wide with terror, blood streaming down his chest. He screamed something unintelligible at Dave and continued running.
Dave sighed; time to get up and move on. Shame really, this couch was absurdly comfortable. He tried to sit up and found himself completely enveloped in the couch, the soft velvet not giving him enough purchase to actually get out of the damn thing. Whatever had chopped up Jennifer slowly glided past the couch, wearing her flayed face and hands. Gee, Dave thought, I've only seen that trick about a hundred times; this one wasn't going to be interesting, he could tell already. The fellow with the spiked body armor, now THAT had been interesting. Dave tried reaching out to the arms but they were just a hair too far away for him to get a good grip.
More screams followed down the hall as Dave continued trying to get out of the couch. He flailed around furiously, making some progress, but as soon as he stopped he sank even deeper into the cushions. He glowered at the couch, and decided he needed a new plan of attack. Mark had apparently gone outside, since his head came crashing through the front-facing window of the living room and rolled to a stop in front of the couch, his face still locked in an expression of horrified surprise. Dave twisted his body and tried rolling off the couch; success! With a loud "thump" he rolled off the couch and hit the floor, knocking Mark's head down the hallway. Dave swore and massaged his banged-up knees a bit before standing up and brushing himself off.
A loud crash informed him that something had entered the upstairs of the cabin, probably through the conveniently large plate-glass window. More screaming followed, as a background to the slicing and hacking. A drop of red appeared on Dave's arm, followed by another, and another. The pace increased until it was raining blood in the living room, a crimson downpour complete with waves of red oozing down the walls. Dave sighed. The dry-cleaning bill for these was always a bitch.
Dave ambled out of the house, reasoning that there was no reason to rush since he was already soaked, and gently closed the door behind him. He triggered the FBI contact fob and tossed it onto the porch; the cleanup crew would be around later. He yawned, and idly wondered if that furniture store down the street could find him something similar to that couch... | 2017-05-05T07:30:17 | 2017-05-05T07:22:19 | 118 | 31 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | Narrator: As a cold wind blows into the bedroom, Kevin lets out an involuntary shiver.
Kevin: Nah, I'm good.
Narrator: An involuntary shiver.
Kevin: No thanks.
Narrator: AN INVOLUNTARY —
Kevin: You know this is just a reddit writing prompt, right?
*lights flicker off*
Narrator: As the lights flicker off, Kevin's heart begins to race.
Kevin: Nope.
Narrator: KEVIN'S HEART BEGIN'S TO RACE!
*Kevin flicks the light switch back on*
Kevin: Fuck you!
Narrator: Goddammit, Kevin. Alright, someone tell Bob to cancel the weird noises, this isn't working out.
| ^"Is ^that ^Dave?"
The voice belonged to John. It was faint but I could just make out each word.
^"Oh ^my ^god, ^where?!"
This not-faint-enough voice belonged to Jen. I've always found her annoying, but today she's been the fucking worst.
^"There's ^a ^body ^hanging ^from ^that ^tree, ^it ^looks ^like ^Dave!"
I had only met Dave a few weeks ago. He seemed ok, but everyone seems ok at first.
^"Oh ^my ^god, ^oh ^my ^god. ^Where's ^Sarah?! ^Oh ^my ^god!"
Fucking Jen. I tried to close my eyes more than I already had, hoping to drown her out. It didn't work.
^"I ^don't ^know, ^she ^hasn't ^come ^back ^yet."
I had only met Sarah this morning, before we left for the trip. Dave's girlfriend. They had gone out to look for help after we found Michelle tied to a tree with her throat slit open.
Michelle *was* my girlfriend. At least until a few hours ago. I wonder if the new girl at work would go out with me. I should ask her on Monday.
^"Bro, ^what ^the ^fuck ^is **wrong with you?!"**
John ripped my headphones out. What a dick.
I could hear Jen panting, each breath with its own little wimper. Pathetic. I wish she had died first.
"Dude, what are you doing?"
I slowly panned the room, turning my attention from Jen to John.
"Dave and Michelle are dead! And probably Sarah, too!"
"Who is still alive?", I finally replied.
"Just the three of us. And maybe Sarah, we don't know."
"Ok"
"OK?! Ok what?! What the fuck, man?!"
"Let me know if anything changes."
"What the fuck do you ^mean?! ^Listen ^to ^me! ^Ok ^Jen, ^he ^isn't ^gonna ^help ^us. ^We ^just ^need ^to ^get ^out ^of ^here. ^Let's ^go."
I heard the faint squeaking of the door, followed by a slam.
I'm hungry, I hope there are still some of those chips left. | 2017-05-05T08:37:17 | 2017-05-05T08:05:56 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Write the happiest story you can think of and completely destroy the atmosphere with a plot twist in the final sentence. | I never thought I'd meet the perfect person, but about 2 years, 5 months, 1 week and 6 days ago my assumptions were gloriously proven wrong. We met in a bar, shared a few drinks, and I knew it was her. The one I had been waiting for, after all this time. I never thought I'd be lucky enough to share this house with her.
"Hurry up and light the damn fire, or get your ass back here and keep me warm!" The bundle of blankets wrapped tighter as she tried to fight off the cold, evidently in vain.
"A-Almost d-d-d-d-done." My hands were numb from the cold, making it nearly impossible to light a match.
Finally, I managed to succeed. As the flames grew larger I dove back under the pile of blankets and instantly placed my hand on her waist.
"KEEP THOSE ICICLES AWAY FROM ME!" Her body writhed to escape my grip, but she knew it was of no use. I adjusted to hold her in my arms, kissing her on the cheek as we moved closer together.
"Is that better, Mrs Wilkenson?"
She smiled, looking at the ring that has taken up permanent residence on her left hand. "You know, it's only been 3 weeks, but I think I'm starting to get used to you calling me that, _Mr Wilkenson._"
She was perfect, in every way I could imagine. As we lay beneath the blankets in the light of the fire, we shared a glass of wine, we lay in each others arms and discussed the colours we would paint each room. This was it. The beginning of the rest of our lives together. We fell asleep to the sounds of the crackling fire.
The fire.
Why didn't we move the boxes further away? Why didn't I wake up?
Why didn't I die with her?
I woke up on the floor, shivering from the cold. Just _one_ more time, I told myself. I reached for the spoon and tightened the tourniquet on my scarred arm. I just want to see her. One more time.
EDIT: Thanks for the reaction guys, I really appreciate it. As per recommendation I extended the story a bit and left a link to it in the comments.
First post on Reddit, tell me what needs improving and hope everyone enjoyed | Billy the pretty pink pony skipped down Rosemary Lane, stopping only to sniff the brightly coloured flowers in the hedges, or watch the butterflies fluttering through the air.
It was a beautiful day – the sun was shining, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the birds were singing in the trees – and Billy was on his way to town. It was market day, and he was going to see what he could trade the vegetables from his vegetable garden for.
He was getting close to town when he heard someone call out his name.
“Billy!” the voice was saying from the side of the road.
Billy stopped in his tracks and peered at the hedge. Perched there on a branch was Mr Fluffkin, the red squirrel.
“Hello there, Mr Fluffkin,” Billy said with a smile. “How are you?”
“I’m absolutely terrific,” the squirrel replied. “And where are you off to on this fine day?”
“I’m off to the market,” Billy replied, nodding towards the basket balanced on his back, which was piled high with potatoes, carrots, aubergines, and more.
“How about you?”
“Why, I’m heading there too,” Mr Fluffkin replied.
“I don’t suppose you’d like a lift?” asked Billy. “It’s always better to travel together, after all.”
Mr Fluffkin beamed. “Well, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all. Hop on,” Billy said.
The squirrel scampered up Billy’s leg and, once he’d made himself comfortable on Billy’s head, they set off.
It didn’t take long for them to reach town, and the place was bustling – it was market day, after all, and creatures had come here from far and wide. Billy trotted along the streets, heading for the square in the middle of town, saying hello to all the creatures he knew as he passed them by. Every kind of creature imaginable was there – foxes and badgers, elephants and voles, leopards and rabbits. Just no humans, of course.
The town square was lined with stalls, selling everything from freshly-baked pies to toys for the little ones. Billy and Mr Fluffkin parted ways soon after they arrived – Mr Fluffkin said he was looking to buy a new jacket for himself, while Billy was hoping to get some ribbons for his glittery mane.
Billy was bartering with Barbara the ocelot, trying to swap some of his vegetables for a slice of her apple pie, when he heard a loud, high-pitched scream.
“The humans are coming!” someone yelled from the other side of the square.
Panic ensued. Everywhere Billy looked, animals were wailing and running back and forth, knocking over stalls and pushing each other to the floor.
Billy sighed. It had been hundreds of years since humans had been the dominant species, but somehow they were still clinging on. And they always insisted on doing what they’d always done – attacking the other animals, ruining things for everyone else.
Billy reached back to grab his basket, and put it down on the cobbles. It was time to do something. He charged across the square, darting through the crowd and jumping over the wreckage of stalls when he had to. Eventually, he saw a crowd of humans gathered around some dead animals and cheering. Billy gasped when he saw Mr Fluffkin sprawled on the ground in a pool of blood.
There was a sound behind him, and Billy spun round. He saw a man there, dressed in rags and holding a rusty knife in one hand. The man smiled and raised the knife above his head, but Billy acted fast.
With a snarl, he bared his teeth and sank his teeth into the man’s neck, tasting the warm, coppery blood. The man collapsed in a heap, a chunk of flesh still in Billy’s mouth. He gulped it down, licked his lips, and turned to the rest of the humans.
He had a taste for blood - they were next. | 2017-05-25T02:20:27 | 2017-05-25T00:29:16 | 542 | 63 |
[WP] Write the happiest story you can think of and completely destroy the atmosphere with a plot twist in the final sentence. | Almost every weekday is the same. I wake up and get ready for work, then I get the kids and wife out of bed and make sure everyone has breakfast and is ready for the day. I make sure to pack the kids’ lunch and tell them to brush their teeth and comb their hair. Adeline always protests, but she’s at that age where everything I say is followed by a question.
From the time I was young, I always pictured myself living an idyllic life as an American family man. In my visions of the future the sun was always shining, my wife was as beautiful as a picture, and my two children were equally so, getting their looks from their mother of course. When I was finally old enough, I found the woman of my dreams and made that vision a reality.
Some people dream of money, others fame, but all I ever really wanted was to have a family of my own.
I kiss my wife on the cheek and my two children on the forehead as I grab my jacket to head to work.
Just before I step out the door, I take a deep breath, smelling the morning air, then turn to them, smiling.
“I’ll be back before you know it. I love you all.”
From her seat at the table, pulling against the ropes around her wrists, my wife says “please, just let us go.”
Perhaps I’ll get a new family tomorrow.
r/DoverHawk
| It'd been four years since we'd last seen one another, since we'd bid eachother goodbye at the station following our final night together, and since he'd promised me that he'd return to our coal town exactly four years from that morning. And today was the day. I was beyond excited, and as I sat on the cool pavement outside of the station while the sun gently warmed my face and delighted my senses--while the robins sang as though to welcome not only the spring, but to welcome *him* home--I couldn't help but shed a joyful tear. Johnny was coming back.
Yes, Johnny would be home soon. After years of communicating solely by letter--after all those *years* I spent dreaming of his touch, his voice, his eyes--Johnny was to return home from the war. I'd had everything at home prepared for his arrival. All of the linens were fresh, a sweet apple pie (Johnny's favorite) sat on the dining room table, and the entire house had been cleaned (with special attention payed to his things, of course). On the gramophone sat his favorite album, ready to be sounded, and in the ice box were all the components of his favorite meal (Easter dinner...a turkey, a ham, mashed potatoes, and a colorful, wholesome array of fresh vegetables), ready to be prepared and served. Wildflowers and lilacs, all of which had just come into bloom, stood in vases all around the house, and the windows were open to welcome the cool springtime breeze and the warmth of the sun. My love would be home soon, and for his years of sacrifice and hard work, he deserved only the warmest, richest, most joyful welcome.
A robin landed near my feet on the pavement (which, though hard and rough, felt softer and more comfortable than ever as I knew that Johnny's train was to arrive in but a minute more) while a raven perched on a flagpole nearby. I could hear the engine whistle in the distance...just like Johnny, always whistling a happy tune. Moments later, as the train pulled into the station, I stood and whistled along. My entire body bristled with excitement and anticipation. Johnny was home. We'd be in eachothers' arms soon. Many others stood around me, hoping to see their lovers soon as well.
The train came to a halt, and the doors of the first car slid open smoothly. Out stepped countless triumphant, young soldiers, all of who glowed with pride and happiness as the lovers, friends, and family for who they fought greeted them on the platform. I waited for Johnny. He would be here soon! He was always one to sit towards the back of the train car and let others off first.
The car was almost empty. I could see but three more figures moving towards door through the foggy windows. Out stepped the first. Johnny was so close! Out stepped the second. He was next! My heart pounded with excitement. Then, out stepped the third soldier.
My heart sank; Johnny was not coming home from the war.
EDIT: Spelling. | 2017-05-25T07:41:44 | 2017-05-25T06:43:42 | 128 | 23 |
[WP] Aliens are afraid to invade Earth. Not because of humans but because our solar system is a nest for 8 Guardians/Leviathans. | Eight planets?! What is wrong with these creatures? Don't they know what Pluto is? How can they show such disrespect?
Well, sir, I don't think they know what any of them are.
They don't? How could they not know? They've only been the Nanny for the last several billion years.
The bi-peds have only been there for a couple of million years and they aren't the smartest caretakers. Surely if they knew they wouldn't be transmitting that Reality TV stuff to the eggs, or plundering the resources the babies will need to live.
Should we intervene?
If you remember we have tried to intervene, but the Guardians won't let us. They think we are still angry at being rejected for the job.
Well, we should have been hired. Who knows what the next generation of Guardians will be like. Should we just destroy them?
Last time we tried that sir the Guardians made our star go supernova. They seem to have some kind of thing for these humans.
Well we'll find out in a couple of Sol years anyway. When did you say Jupiter is ready to hatch?
Near the middle of the Sol year sir, a date the humans call May 9th.
| The Sol-3 system. One of the last remaining dark systems in the galaxy. 26,000 light years away from the galactic center, with one yellow dwarf star in the middle. Average in all aspects, with one single exception.
It is the sole nesting ground of the Tal’maruks in the galaxy. Fearsome, gigantic beasts of legends and myths. Probably the only creature able to survive the harsh conditions of space. The other species call them by different names. Gods. Monsters. Demons. But to us, they are the Tal’maruks. Harbingers of death.
We call them that for a good reason.
“Sir, dropping out of warp in 10 seconds,” a voice broke my daydream. Navigator Nos. His eyes were fixed on the screen on the bridge, just like the rest of the crew. The room pulsed with their anxiety. For a good reason too.
“Focus on the task, people,” I called out, unable to shake my own nervousness as well.
About three hours ago, we received a distress call from one of our research colonies located in the Faz-4 system. They said they were under some sort of surprise attack. Command tried to establish the details of the attacker, but all the communications personnel could say was Tal’Maruk. Again and again he repeated the name. Transmission was cut off soon after. The whole Faz-4 system went dark.
Our ship was sent to find out what happened.
“Approaching Faz-4 system,” Nos announced. The bright streaking lights disappeared and the crew held their breath. Instead of the blinking lights of the stars, we only saw darkness, punctuated only by four glowing eyes. The colony’s moon laid shattered, drifting through space. Three thousand souls were on that moon.
“Tal’Maruk…” one of the crew whispered as we stared at the mass before us. It was as big as the moon, blocking the lights from the star. Aside from the eyes, it was difficult to tell what the creature looked like. It looked almost spherical, except for what I assumed were tentacles extending from its body.
“Shields up! Red alert!” I yelled and the crew sprung to action. Training kicked in as the crew scrambled. I did not know what good can a puny ship do against a creature of that size. But I do not intend to stay to find out.
“Nos, get us out of here!” I screamed. The ship turned sharply from the creature, the engines screaming into action. Before we could jump, however, the creature emitted a bright flash of light, and disappeared into space, leaving only the debris of Faz-4 colony behind.
Death and destruction. The only sure indicators of the presence of a Tal’Maruk.
“It’s time we take the fight to them,” I whispered under my breath.
------------
*I write at /r/dori_tales* | 2018-02-05T16:33:05 | 2018-02-05T16:30:03 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] You notice a pattern, anytime your child is recorded they inevitably look directly at the camera and say one word seemingly random word. You begin to listen to the videos from first to last, as you finish the last one your child walks in and makes eye contact. "today." | Sarah played the videos writing down each word. It made no sense to her. She watched the last video first and worked back to the oldest.
Scream, she scribbled down and switched to the next video.
I.
Chocolate, Sarah wrote it down.
King.
Pho, she was getting closer now and was hungry for some pho.
Mother.
Sum.
Want.
Eye.
That was the last video. Sarah arranged it in the right order: eye want sum mother pho king chocolate I scream.
Sam walked into the room and started directly at her. "Today."
Sarah smiled at her boy. "I don't approve of the language mister, but I want some chocolate ice cream too."
Sam smiled and took his mom's hand. She gave it a loving squeeze as they walked to the ice cream store.
***
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| At first, our Brandon's little quirk had been endearing and cute. Every time we recorded him, ever since he could speak, he'd look right at the camera and just say a random word. It was funny, and we told our friends about his little habit. We guessed that it was a byproduct of how inundated everyone was with technology these days- even the children.
One day, one of our friends had asked us to make a compilation of the times he had exhibited those strange behaviors. Of course, I obliged- We'd probably talked their ears off about how cute Brandon was for the past few years, so they were due for a little payback. Of course, it helped that I wanted to see it for myself.
So, I started to go back into our histories, stitching together every moment from when Brandon had begun to speak. In doing so, I'd learned that he'd started actually speaking more than "mama" and "dada" at around the age of 3. Seemed fairly normal to me, though I had only ever had one child and I didn't subscribe to reading a million different books about 'how to be a dad', so I might have been wrong.
What wasn't normal were the words being spoken. We'd never really thought about it before, but they were rather advanced for a boy of his age. "Arrival." "Destruction." "Reckoning." Even so, it wasn't until I'd completed the compilation did I realize that there was a thread between each word. That it formed something real. I pressed play on the newly finished video I'd spent the last few hours on and listened.
"The". It almost sounded like "da". "day". This one was pronounced better, probably easier for him to say at the time. "that." I perked up. The day that? I stopped listening to *how* he'd been saying the words and instead focused on *what* he had been saying.
"The day that he makes his arrival shall be the day of destruction and reckoning. That day is." The video stopped. For all my editing, it was barely twenty seconds long. It was broken up, and spoken in the high, squeaky voice of a four year old, but it was there.
Brandon stumbled into my room, squealing as he got himself up from the ground. I turned in my chair, staring at him. He looked at me.
"Today! Today, daddy!" He giggled at me. "We're going to the beach today!" The video flashed in my mind. That day is...
Outside my window, the midday world grew dark.
___
Check out my subreddit, /r/OpiWrites, for more stories! | 2018-04-15T10:25:52 | 2018-04-15T08:28:35 | 208 | 136 |
[WP] You found a mask that allows you to see ghost, but they cannot see you. To your surprise, when you tried it on at home, your house was cralling with ghost and they were worriedly searching for you. | "He's usually home from school by now." Said the first one as it paced. Its voice was a raspy echo with a hint of softness.
The other was leaning forward in the chair, not disturbing the frayed fabric of the cushion."I know." Its voice was as rough as the other, but deeper and steady. A knee was going up and down at a rapid pace, its wispy hands tented.
"What do we do?"
"We've searched the entire house."
The pacing one stopped, hand hanging closed below the chin, "But what do we do? Where could he have gone? What i-"
"Stop-" The sitting one loosed its hands and stood to cross the room, passing over the worn hardwood and through the couch to stand beside the other, "He probably stopped for something. Food, soda, I don't know. He's a boy; boys get into things."
There was a quiet moment. The clock one the bookshelf ticked. The only sound was my breath into the hollows of the mask flowing back to my ears.
The one started pacing again, slower this time.
A car pulled up outside. My uncle was home from work.
"Someone just pulled in." said the one with the steady voice.
Both looked and then moved to the front door where they watched silently, their bodies intersecting each other.
A car door shut and soon I heard footsteps. The storm door swung open and the door hinges whined as the inner door swung back.
Uncle Andy stooped to set his bag down when he caught a glimpse of me and jumped, "Jesus! Ed what are you doing wearing a mask like that in the house?"
I shrugged only halfway listening as both of the ghosts turned in my direction. I could see their eyes searching. I shrugged, "I don't know, I found it on my way home from school." When I spoke both of the ghosts moved towards me. I stepped back from them. Neither seemed to be able to see me at all. The pacing one moved too fast and passed through me.
"I heard him! He's here! He's right here!" said the pacing one.
"I know! I know!" said the other, "but I still don't see him!"
"Well that's neat but could you take it off?" Andy asked. "You're acting a little strange."
And so I did. As I lifted it from my face, the ghosts caught sight of me.
The one that had been pacing. She simply stared, her mouth slightly agape.
The other let out an almost inaudible "oh."
Our eyes met, and then they were gone.
| "If we don't find him 24 hours, we're filing a missing report in the head office"
"You do know he's human, they won't look for him"
"He must have gone to get coffee.. Steve did you check the Attic?"
"He always makes his coffee at home, its one of his perks right? And besides, Adam was supposed to look in the Attic" the one supposedly named Steve remarked.
"Attic's clear, backyard checked, the garage is out of the picture. Guys we have officially failed at our first assignment. We're dead!" Echoed the voice of Adam perhaps, from the backyard.
"We're already dead you piece of shit. If HE finds out he will kill my wife.... or my children! How do you NOT understand we're in deep shit." Said the one who looked like the leader.
I sat on the living room couch, surprised at all these uninvited guests who were living in my own house.
"Are you sure he's not just gone out or not come home at all maybe?"
"Why don't you tell us Gina, you were in gaurd duty last night."
"I saw him come in!"
"Guys we can't let Hades find out. Remember what he said."
"This human is destined for greatness,make sure you look after him till he comes to me" Adam sighed "I remember."
I swear he was in his room , then when I came back, he was gone!" The woman said.
"And you're telling this now GINNA!" boomed the leader, "TO HIS ROOM. NOW."
I quietly followed them through the living room, up the stairs into my bedroom and saw them rummaging through my things. I couldn't believe it was actually working.
"What was he doing last?" The leader shouted at the woman, Ginna.
"He was sitting on the bed" she replied nervously.
"Just sitting?" The leader patronised.
"Well he was reading the back of some kind of package." Big mistake Gina. BIG MISTAKE.
I suppose it was time to get to work. The air was thick with tension. I suppose Hades wasn't bluffing when he told them that he'll kill their loved ones. Well, they deserved it. Ner'do'
wells ignorant bastards.
"Find the package, QUICK Adam! Stop fooling around with his computer. This is the wrong time for gaming you fool."
"I'm not gaming, John. Perhaps if it wasn't you hundredth death day next month you'd know that people mostly shop online now. I'm looking through his history."
Uh oh. He went there
.
Tick tock
Your time has come you vile reptiles.
..
"It's my twentieth, and hurry up." Said John irritatedly. " These new ghosts with stupid human tendencies and fascinations-" "umm John-"Came Adam's panicked voice.
"What is it?" Gina asked worried.
"Get on with it!" John was getting impatient.
"Oh move along, Adam" said Steve, pushing him aside.
Nothing could have prepared him for the sight in front of him. He starred at the screen, and visibly gulped.
"John, he's found it. The mask of the shadow warrior" he quietly explained.
I guess it's time for action.
All four of them sprang to life, we'll metaphorically of course and checked their mortality watches. HE had done it. Hades had killed everyone they cared for. And now, it was their time to die.
I sat down at my computer quietly and started typing.
"I know what you bastards did. Everyone thought I was crazy. Hell they thought I was the one who beheaded my wife and split my daughter in two. But I knew something was wrong with my house. But time has come. The blood of your families is upon you. But your blood shall always be upon me"
Then I quietly turned around and between their useless cries and pleas, I threw teh rock salt and holy water on those fuckers.
It all happened too quickly, too painlessly for my liking, but it had to do.
Ancient masks, ways to destroy ghosts, and bittersweet revenge. Oh, what you couldn't get over the horrific world of dark web!
Well, now it's time to find out why Hades loves me so much. Friend from hell, here I come.
| 2018-05-11T08:56:48 | 2018-05-11T04:58:41 | 407 | 69 |
[WP] Your butler has served you faithfully for twenty years, working hard, offering sage advice and never complaining. One day, you see his bank balance. He's a billionaire. | *Just wrote this up really quickly while my pizza cooked....*
"What the actual fuck!?" The words escaped my mouth before I'd even realised what I said.
"Language, Miss Hawkins!"
Ordinarily I would have apologised, even if it was just my butler chastising me, but my manners had left me after the shock of what I saw.
"You have so much money! How?? Why are you working as my butler when you could just do whatever the hell you wanted?"
"As you do?" he asked, judgement apparent in his voice.
I waited in silence for his answer.
He sighed. "Because you needed to be taught."
"Taught? Taught what?" I snorted. "I went to fucking Harvard! Remind me where you studied again?" It was a rhetorical question. I didn't know the answer nor did I care.
His face reddened but not with shame. If I'd been younger, I would have found myself over his knee. I was certain of that. I was also certain that I would have fired his sorry ass had he even tried.
"If you recall, Miss Hawkins, when we first met I found you lying in a pool of your own vomit and with a needle stuck in a vein." Drawing himself up even straighter, if that was even possible, he added, "Clearly there are some things an education can't buy."
It was true. I'd been a worthless junkie back then. Not a literal worthless junkie of course because I had more money than most people could ever dream of. My mother was generous with her cash, even if she lacked that generosity in other parts of her life. Her cold demeanour was probably one of the reasons why her husband - my father - had left her immediately after I was born. She profited greatly from the divorce, less so from the string of stepfathers I'd had after that. Alimony is a bitch. When she had died, I also inherited what little was left of her money, although it still tallied up to a few million.
"But where did you get that money from?" I ran a hand down my face. It was a lot to take in, thinking one thing and then discovering another. "Did you rob a fucking bank or something?"
"Stop swearing. No, it's my money. I used to own a business a few decades ago. It did well and then I sold it."
"Must have been some fu- some business. You have more zeros than I do! But still, why is a billionaire cooking my food and cleaning up after me? It doesn't make any sense."
Frank looked uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and then said quietly, "Because I wanted to get to know my daughter." | Like most revelations, this one happened by accident.
It was simple, idiotic really. We were walking the estate when Bart dropped his phone on the grass.
I bent down to pick it up for him - Bart wasn't a servant, he was a friend. I'd spent more time with him than I had with my parents, who preferred business meetings over their daughter's piano recitals. He was the one who'd comforted me after my first break up, who advised me on stupid teenage drama, the one who'd helped me with my college apps, and the one who'd attended my graduation ceremony.
And so when he dropped his phone, I didn't let him pick it up, I bent down and picked it up for him.
His posture was stiff as I picked it up and went to hand it back, but, as was human nature, my eyes flitted to what was on the screen. His bank account. On the top of the screen was his name. Batrleby Svreska. Below it was his bank balance.
*3.1 billion dollars.*
I read it again. The number did not change. I looked up to him in confusion. The meaning was clear, my brain knew what the numbers meant. Bart knew what this meant, his face had drained of all blood and he was rigid, like a statue.
"Bart..."
I reacted on instinct. Bart lunged towards me, going for the phone, and I grabbed his arm and pulled him towards me off balance. Taking advantage of his momentary and shock I swept his feet from under him and he fell chest first on the ground. I grabbed his arm with mine and dug my knee against his back, a deadlock.
The whole thing had taken a couple of seconds.
"Not bad, Miss Edith."
"Yeah, well, I've been trained for 15 years by you, so it figures I'd be good." My voice was dry, and now my vision had gone blurry.
"Why, Bart. Who's paying you to spy on us? Were you paid to kill us, kill," my voice cracked, "kill *me.*"
"No," Bart said. "No Miss Edith, never you."
At that moment Bart's phone dinged - a notification. My head swiveled towards the phone on the ground and my grip slackened for a moment.
For Bart, a moment was enough.
He practically blurred and I was sprawled on the ground. I hopped up on my two feet - thank god I wore loose jeans today - and swung again. Bart ducked under me and tried to punch me in the gut.
I backed away and raised my block, preparing for a jab that would never come.
"Ms. Edith, I would prefer you not fight me for now."
I went still. I wanted to fight him, I pushed myself to move, to punch him, do *something.* But nothing happened.
What the hell.
"One day you'll understand, Miss Edith. This is all for you. The money meant nothing to me." He took a deep breath. "I would prefer you not follow me or order anyone else to do so either."
My mouth that had sprung open to scream snapped close with a click. The bastard, how was he doing this?
"It's amazing what one can do to someone's brain when given unfettered access for over 20 years, Miss Edith. Very few other people know your key phrase Miss Edith, but take my advice, go for the jaw first next time."
Then he ran away.
I stood there frozen for two minutes before I could move again. It was all too much. Too much to process, too much to calculate. His betrayal, my "key phrase."
That's when I saw the phone still lying on the ground.
I picked t up and swiped down to see the notification that had undone me. It was a news notification with my parents' names in headline.
"Mr. and Mrs. Fergit perish in tragic crash."
And just like that, when I finally let the tears flow, I was undone again by the same notification.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2018-06-03T08:41:06 | 2018-06-03T08:08:32 | 5,004 | 64 |
[WP] Demons have ditched traditional paper soul contracts in favor of touchscreens. Today a demon tapped the wrong button, irrevocably selling its soul to you. | “Oh.”
“What ‘oh’?”
“Well, hmm. I seem to have made a bit of a mistake.”
“So fix it.”
“It’s permanent.”
“Well what happened?”
“I swapped our names.”
“Wha— wait, where?”
“In the sender and recipient boxes.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Yes.”
“So instead of giving you my soul, you gave me yours?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Well, can’t I just give it back?”
“You... you would do that?”
“Well, sure, why not?”
“Owning someone’s soul ensures total power over them.”
“Oh, that’s no good.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want total power over you, I want it the other way around.”
“But the details of the contract are the same. You get everything you asked for, and the payment was my own soul instead of yours. This literally couldn’t have worked out better for you.”
“No, you don’t understand. I’m not a dom. I’m not the one who’s in control. I’m the sub.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It’s a sex thing.”
“Oh, hell! Why didn’t you say so?”
“I figured all the leather and whips would’ve been a giveaway.”
“I... well. I suppose I’ll write up a new contract then, so you can return my soul, and then...”
“And then you’ll own me?”
“I don’t much care for the look on you face when you think about it.”
“Good. Tell me I disgust you.”
“You do. You disgust me.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Please stop.”
—
Alright who the fuck gave me gold for this
^thank ^u | "Oh no"
I looked up at the Demon, the tablet held delicately between wickedly curved talons. With one of these, he tapped on the screen, carefully at first before getting more frantic. He breathed out deeply, a flicker of blue flame.
"What's oh no?" I glanced down at myself. I didn't feel any different. "Contract not good enough? I thought a soul was standard."
"Yes, it is" the demon said but his eyes never left the screen in front of him. Frills of scaled skin raised up on his neck, surrounding him like a serpentine peacock tail. "Hell damned machines! What was wrong with blood and paper!"
"For what its worth, i like the idea of virtual more than blood." The demon ignored me, raising the tablet above its head, passed its curved horns and waving it about. I think it was trying to get signal.
"Shouldn't i feel different?" I asked, patting my chest and stomach. "I don't feel any different."
The demon stared at the screen a moment longer before letting out a dejected sigh. He looked up at me, his rectangle pupils surrounded by a bright amber. He bared his fangs, two inch long yellowed blades that jutted past his black lips. I realised he was trying to smile.
"Been a slight hiccup you see" the demon announced, reaching out and passing the tablet halfway across the summoning circle. "Just need you to tick this box and sign again and off we go!"
I grabbed the tablet from him, careful not to let my hand enter the circle. I scrolled back to the top.
"Not necessary!" the demon yelled and he was pressed as close to the summoning wall as possible, his horns making small sparks as they hit the boundary. "Just standard boilerplate!"
I snorted. Sign a contract with a demon without reading it first? Who would make that mistake? Again.
My eyes rested on the final clause. Interesting.
"I own your soul?"
The demon winced and moved back a few paces, hands resting on his brown furred knees.
"No. Not really. Well kind of. But just sign and we can fix it."
I clicked my tongue and looked from the demon to the screen and back again.
"What does it mean?"
"What?"
"Owning your soul. What does it mean?"
"Well it means you have my soul. Wait, you didn't read this in the initial contract?"
I blushed slightly but shook my head, waving the tablet at him threateningly.
"It means that you have well...ownership of me."
"So you're my slave?"
"Well i wouldn't say a slave. I just have to do what you say."
"That's a slave. Holy shit, i have a demon slave."
The demon bared its fangs and this time it was no attempt at a smile.
"Listen you little punk, just sign and i won't rip the skin from your body. Sound good?" He stretched out one claw tipped hand and dragged it down the circle's barrier, a screeching noise emanating with the sparks. I considered this.
"Sit" I said and the seven foot monstrosity immediately folded into the semblance of a crouch. He looked down at himself and winced once more.
"Oh this is going to be fun."
r/AMSWrites | 2018-07-18T08:07:34 | 2018-07-18T06:09:53 | 772 | 344 |
[WP] Humans are the only species with rules for war. The rest soon learn why when humanity is forced to abandon those rules. | Rules for war. The concept sounded so absurd, in the beginning. War has but one rule - win.
Humans, as it turn out, have many rules for war. Rules for prisoners, rules for civilians. They have rules for how their common soldiers behave when captured and how their noble, or officer soldiers differ. Rules for what weapons could be used, and when, and where.
In our arrogance we assumed this made them weak. In our haste for an easy conquest, we did not take the time to find out *why* they had so many rules for war.
Thirteen systems. Paltry, in comparison to the sprawling empires of the galaxy. We arrived to take their newest system for ourselves. The first of our rulebreaking, we are told. Three more fell in quick succession. Prisoners rounded up, processed and liquidated. Business as usual.
Then, they struck back. At first, they followed their rules. But slowly, very slowly, they abandoned them. Their ferocity became unmatched. Their ships bore the names of fallen colonies, emblazoned with the names and pictures of human youths, presumably part of the liquidated populations.
They could not match our fleets, so they stopped trying. They struck at weak points. Annihilating civilian centers, dropping bio weapons, nuclear bombs or simply massive rocks on population centers. They hit our “soft targets” one after another.
As for their soft targets . . . they soon had none. Their entire populace mobilized, taking to the stars where they could, fighting from caves, forests and the ruins of their cities where they could not. Yes, we technically own most of their planets but they are uneasy conquests.
Now . . . No one is safe. No *where* is safe.
Now, we ask the galactic community. We must find a way. We need to find a way to help the humans bind themselves again to their rules. We admit, we have learned. But the humans say that our lack of rules make us animals, and there can be no truce with animals.
We need help. And you, denizens of the galaxy at large, take heed. You have no rules for either - and if we cannot bind them to their rules, you could be next. | Our victory was guaranteed. We stood at the doorsteps of earth, weapons trained. It had been a long campaign, far longer than we had expected. I... was the messenger, the death knell for mankind. I grinned haughtily at the leader of Earth's planetary defense forces, and said the most foolish thing in the history of intergalactic warfare.
"What do you have to say, in the last hours of your existence?"
The general looked out at his men, tears in his eyes. "I'm so sorry... we tried our best..." He then turned to me, a deep resolve in his expression, "But you've left us no choice."
The rest was a haze of blood and nuclear fire. Our plasma hypercannons were the first to go, as each one was flooded by hundreds of thousands of humans. They killed men, women, children. They then commandeered the cannons and turned them on the rest of our fleet, tearing it apart from the inside out. The reports flooded my mental implants, the screams of the dying ringing through my mind.
"S-stop this... stop this farce! You're interfering with my chip... none of this is true!" I gritted my teeth, trying to drown out the noises. The pain, the anguish of my people, rocked me to my core. There had been no casualties on our side since day one, but now my people were being torn to shreds. Normal human ammunition deflected off of our skin, causing loss of consciousness at worst. This new ammunition they were using seared the body at its core, turning what were once masterful warriors into piles of dust by the wayside.
"God I wish it wasn't true... I'd take annihilation over being the one who had to order today's atrocities. But there's too much at stake, and if I must live on as a demon in man's skin to keep my people alive, so be it." The General sighed and spoke to his men. "Begin phase two."
Thousands of rockets flew autonomously from silos across the planet, massive warheads propelled by enough fuel and firepower to reach anywhere in the universe in mere minutes. First, Xalthar fell. I heard the explosion through my implants, then nothing from that sector. I looked at the extraplanetary feeds from there, and the entire planet was naught but rubble.
"How... how do you have this power?! Why have you allowed so many to die before you used it?!" I stood to my feet as I heard more explosions as planet after planet was reduced to dust and collective screams.
"We thought you'd see reason eventually. We reached out to you, again and again, we told you to stand down damn it! But you people saw it as a challenge. When our resistance fell, you took it to mean we were all talk, but you didn't even consider that we were holding back. We don't take any pleasure in this war... we just want to survive. You've made it clear that if we want to do that, we must first annihilate you. All of you."
I heard the reports of the final rocket approaching Xenith. My world. My home planet. We tried to shoot it down with everything we had, but the rocket's armor and shields were too great to pierce. The final report...
"To my people... anyone still out there... this is your leader, Praetor Valericus. I am so sorry... goodbye." A final explosion, a collective scream, before all sound faded to black. I trembled like a leaf, falling to the ground in a fetal position.
"I'll get him to the psychiatric ward, General. I don't know if we can save his mind, but we should at least try." A younger soldier gripped my shoulder before he was carefully pulled away by the General.
The last thing I would ever hear was, "I meant it when I said 'all.'"
Darkness consumed me. | 2022-11-01T21:21:05 | 2018-07-21T18:53:24 | 70 | 23 |
[WP] You just started traveling with this kind, unarmed, man in the land of killers. Nobody is safe here, thats why you think its so odd that every person you meet is so scared of this kind stranger. | "He's got the hat, Dan," said the thug with a red bandana masking his face, "He's the one they were talking about."
"Bullshit," responded the big one with the knife, "Some hat doesn't mean shit. I'm not going to walk away because of a story told by some superstitious little fuck. I bet these two got something worth stealing, and the girl looks like she might be fun, too."
I shuddered as he looked over at me. A black cloth hid his face, but his eyes made it clear what he wanted.
"Stay away from her," said my companion, "Head back the way you came, and there won't be any trouble." He hadn't given me his name, and I hadn't pressed him for one. With that old time western hat he wore, I just thought of him as a cowboy, however out of place that would be here. I was just grateful for someone to share the road. Safer, I had thought, but in the end it hadn’t made a difference.
Dan smiled at him, "Well, it just so happens that trouble is exactly what we're looking for," and took a step towards him brandishing the sharp blade like it was an extension of his hand.
The cowboy shook his head but didn't take any other action, simply maintaining his position between the bandits and me. I always thought cowboys were supposed to have guns, but he carried no weapons I could see.
I didn't want to watch, but I couldn't look away. Dan laughed at him and danced in with the blade. With a sudden jab he drove the knife deep into my companion's chest, and the cowboy sunk to the ground gasping. I could see a look of pure confusion on his face as he bled out, the thick arterial blood gushing from his chest.
Dan dropped his knife next to the body. He unwrapped the cloth masking his face and used it to clean the blood off his hand. He dropped that next to the body too. His face seemed drained of the intensity it had shown during the murder. "Such a waste," he said.
"What?" said the man with the red bandana.
Dan ignored him and picked up the cowboy hat, placing it on his head. He turned to the other thug and said, "I'll say it again. Head back the way you came and there won't be any more trouble."
My blood went to ice. The voice was Dan's but the delivery was the same the cowboy had used before.
The other thug took a step back. He stared at Dan for a minute and then turned around and took off running as fast as I've ever seen a man run.
I took a step back too.
Dan turned and smiled at me, "It's okay. If we head out now we can still make Lodestown before nightfall."
"What are you?" I asked.
He shrugged, "A good friend to have."
| I had heard stories of this desolate region but always chalked it up to fairy tales and over indulged stories from old timers in the job. Just as I seen the "Summerhaven : 30 miles" sign I noticed an older man wearing a wide brimmed hat, sitting on an old leather suitcase by the road. He looked innocent enough, probably in his 50's, a little slumped in his posture and with the blistering heat of a Texas summer, maybe he needed a ride. I still couldn't be too careful though. I moved my pistol up a little bit between the seat and console of my car for easier access if the need arose as I slowed down and stopped in front the old guy.
"Need a ride?" I said.
The old man barely looked up and responded with a quiet "If you can take me to the next town over, I'd be grateful for it"
The old man looked to certainly be no threat to me, so I stepped out of the car, helped him with his suitcase which looked older than him and was a bit light but wasn't really any of my concern. As we started down the road and made small talk I started probing him a bit about his destination and trying to get some details for the town. "It's the roughest place I've ever been, but home is home" he said about it. "I'm thankful the ride but if you're passing through, just let me out on the outskirts and bypass the place, it's no place to stop for a spell."
"So it's true then? A town filled with people who settle any and everything by putting someone in the ground?"
"Most of the time they don't have nothin' to settle, they just like killin'" he responded.
"I can handle myself and unfortunately have some business to attend to in Summerhaven, but if it's like most of my dealings, I'll be in and out in a day" I said.
The old man then turned to me and as I glanced over I could tell in his face he had lived a hard life, his eyes didn't have much life in them, just dark and a bit emotionless. His skin was dry and wrinkled from years in the sun and dry, with a scar that looked like it came from a knife running from the corner of his left eye almost down to the corner of his mouth. "In that case, I'll show you around a bit, help give ya a safe visit."
Shortly we arrived into Summerhaven. It was a small town, two lane roads and no buildings over 3 stories. It actually seemed kind of peaceful, except for the fact everyone had a gun on their hip, a shotgun or sword on slung on their back, or some other homemade up close and personal melee weapon on them. I noticed a guy with a large iron pipe, still with a bit of fresh blood and hair on the end of it, walking down the road. Probably bashed someone's head in I thought to myself.
"There's a little diner up a couple stop lights right on the town square, let me treat ya to some grub for the ride. Lucy's diner, it's not the best food, but it's decent" The old man said as he pointed up to a little building with a half broken sign.
I pulled the car into the parking lot of the diner and that's when I really started to notice that people would cease eye contact or even look in our general direction once they seen the old man in the car. As we walked into the little diner, the little bit of talking stopped and everyone just looked at their plates or coffee cups and ate in silence. Three guys scurried up from a window booth with plates in hand and moved to a table. The old man sat down into the now empty booth and motioned me to join him.
What the hell does this old man have over these people? They're the worst of society and won't even look in his direction or speak around him, I wondered. As I was trying to figure it out, the waitress brought over two plates of food. We hadn't even placed an order yet. The one she sat in front of me had a side of crinkle cut fench fries and a delicious looking burger, except for the large slice of tomato on it. I picked the tomato off and laid it to the side of my plate. The old man took note of this for some reason.
"They never get everything right" the old man half mumbled as he looked up. "Either way, Mike, you won't kill the devil today" said the old man as he pulled a pistol from his shirt and shot.
| 2018-10-27T16:26:27 | 2018-10-27T14:20:19 | 45 | 12 |
[WP] You are a normal citizen in a relatively unimportant country. One day the goverment starts to act crazy, changing ideology overnight, drafting people for the army and antagonizing their neighbours. The player controlling your country in a strategy game has just begun their world conquest run. | "Look, I'm sorry Sarge, but it still doesn't make much sense."
"I told you before Private, it's about tourism. Have you seen the statistics? If we don't strike now, the entire world will be wearing blue jeans and listening to American pop music!"
"You have an Ariana Grande playlist!"
"That's...I have no idea what you're talking about. And even if your completely spurious allegations were correct, it would be immaterial. The point is, the Chinese and Iranians aren't yet. But at the rate new film studios have been opening the past decade, it's only a matter of time. And we can't count on them to launch a naval invasion because our best intel has concluded they don't really understand how boats work. It has to be us."
"But why do we care! Blue jeans are nice! Why do we have to invade the United States... which incidentally given the size of their military and nuclear stockpile seems like an objectively terrible idea...to stop Iranians from visiting Disney World and wearing blue jeans?"
"Because going to space would take too long."
"...What does that have to do with ANYTHING!"
"Also don't tell anybody but I think I heard the brass whispering about going for Russia next."
"WHAT."
"Don't worry about it, Private. It'll be a cake walk. Intel reports that the Americans don't really know how their nukes work anyway. By the might of Ahura Mazda, we'll show them how Canadians fight!"
"This is insane...what was that last bit again?"
"Wait...the part about Ahura Mazda? The one true god of Zoroastrianism, the state religion of Canada as of 9:00 AM this morning?"
"No, who the fuck is Ahura Mazda!"
"Die heretic!"
*Blam* | Dear Diary,
Here I sit, a normal citizen. I'm 20 and previously unemployed. I'm a German national, and Hitler has been revitalizing German industry. Faster than ought to be rightly possible. We're making tanks and planes and guns in the thousands a day. In the space of a week, the Rhineland was remilitarized, Austria was integrated as part of the Anschluss, the Czechoslovaks as well as the Yugoslavians forcefully integrated into the Reich. I'm not sure what happens next, but it scares the shit out of me.
Dear Diary, a lot has happened since my last entry. Hitler has declared war on the entire world. Even our ideological friends in Italy. There are over 30 million men in the army, a further 3 million in the airforce. Our navy is almost nonexistent, but I've been hearing that we're making aircraft carriers and super battleships post haste. In 1936 we barely had 2 million men as a nation for the entire armed forces.
Dear Diary. I've now been at the front for 6 months. I'm attached to a battalion of Panzers. At least, that's what I think they are. They look... futuristic. They travel on open land almost as fast as a persons automobile. The enemy tanks are slow and cumbersome, but their enthusiasm is what scares me. The United state's has awoken, and is sending men to the front lines en masse for the battles of tomorrow. There are just too many enemies United in a single cause. There are Japenese fighting alongside Chileans, and And Americans fighting alongside Mexicans. This is an impossible situation Hitler has gotten us in to.
Dear Diary, it's been nearly 8 months since I've had a chance to put down the main gun of my Panzer. I stormed the streets of Paris, Madrid, and Rome within a month of the other. Even Little Switzerland was not spared the fury of the Reich. I spent some time in North Africa, Greece, and Turkey. Next it seems is invading the Soviet Union from the Caucasus. My comrades have split off and are dealing with Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and the Raj. Itruly don't understand what's happening here anymore. The air force has a new engine that they're calling a "jet". The navy has expanded by an unprecedented factor. There are now over 30 million men in the navy. In the entire war we've lost a combined total for all branches of the armed forces a measly 2267 men. It truly boggles the mind.
Dear Diary, the old world is ours. From The Horn Of Africa to Scotland, from Lisbon to Tokyo. Next is the New World. I'm a part of the invasion force going to Argentina. There is no stopping us. Our casualties now lie in the 40,000s. I'm told that some our troop transports were sunk. I'm landing in one hour, and might not have a chance to write for awhile.
Dear Diary, peace at last. The world has been undone. All belongs to the Reich. It took almost no effort to get to Washington, the capital of the Americans. It's around that time that Hitler got bored of conquering, and he said it's time to play some eu4, and suddenly on our radios we kept hearing "And the Winged Hussars arrived!" I'm not sure what that means. I'll be putting my pen down, maybe I can finally go home to my Family in Berlin. | 2019-03-10T12:43:25 | 2019-03-10T12:18:53 | 66 | 48 |
[WP] You're a space explorer making a brief stop at an alien planet to restock fuel. It's your first time visiting but everyone you come across hugs you, gets all emotional and tells you how much they missed you. They ask where you'd been all this time and talk like they've known you all their lives | "I'm sorry, James," the intercom shouted at me, a thin, raspy female voice. "But if you try and ride empty all the way to the Orion regions, you will certainly have to call for a tow."
"Look, they design these things to appear to have smaller tanks than they do so it's harder to get yourself stranded somewhere. I'll be *fine*." I waved a dismissive hand.
"Are you gesturing for me to shut down, or making one of those pointless movements again?"
"One day, we'll have to go over human interaction and all it's caveats."
"I'm afraid not even the carbon in ten thousand stars would fuel enough processing power for me to understand such oddities about your species."
I scoffed. "Damn, fiesty today. Alright, alright, ALICE. Make the stop at planet XC-198. You're sure they have refuel capabilities?"
"According to the database, yes. Descent initiated."
It was a bumpy ride through the thick atmosphere of the little, pinkish and grey rock, swirling like a strawberry soda. No rings, no moons, and seemingly no Imperial bases. Why would such a remote planet have refuel stations that accept Credits? Typically places like this are where one goes to escape-- not for an Earth day, or month, but forever. A place where no one disturbs you and life can be lived out in peace, dying days spent watching dust swirl because you think it's better than dealing with traffic swarms and 'random' inspections.
Cautiously, we landed on a sea of cracked grey desert, little to no vegetation in any direction. The ocean of dirt broke into rolling hills in the distance, like waves forming, but never approaching. And yet, somehow, for some reason, a little town dotted right in the middle of it. From above, it had looked like a rock formation. On land, it still looked like a rock formation, hundreds of feet tall, but people were hiding in it. A whole city had been carved into the stone, using it for shelter. Shelter from what, I do not know.
Nor did I care to find out.
"Atmosphere is breathable, sir," ALICE grunted, slightly annoyed. "But I don't see any tankers or hangars on the scan. The data mismatch is strange. Perhaps there is more to this planet than dust."
"Perhaps," I said, climbing out of the airlock. "Or perhaps the hangar is just disguised as a rock and we can't see it."
I trekked over toward the stone mountain, a jagged and shattered thing that leaned slightly. There was even a gate to the city, chisled into it. In a window cut out near it, a guard eyed me. He looked every bit as human as I.
"Hello," he growled, his long, greasy hair flapping in a gust of wind. "What is your business?"
"I need a refuel," I said, pointing back at the craft. "Don't want to get stranded."
"Yes, that would be terrible. Name?"
"Orwell, James. Imperial ID: JCO-HX13-30291302."
"I see...." The lumbering man's eyes danced, little bits of light flickering across his pupils. He sucked in a bit of air, glancing toward me. "One second."
He slipped out a door in the back of his room, returning with a woman dressed sharply in pink and grey. Her blonde hair contrasted a tan and bright green eyes.
"James?" she asked, the words a whisper.
"Yes, that's my name."
"James, sweetie, do you not remember me?"
I squinted, pulling back a little. "What are you talking about? I've never been on this planet before."
"Look at me James. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't know who I am." She bore a hole through my soul, her green eyes swirling, spinning, like a galaxy imploding on itself, being sucked in by the black holes that were her pupils. They sucked everything from me, all knowingness, all reason and smarts.
I wobbled in the arid air, putting a hand out on the stone windowsill. "Yes. I remember."
*Why did I say that?*
"How wonderful. It's so lovely to have you back. Come with me."
Heavy stone creaked and ground as the city wall split open, and a series of men led me inside. It's all a bit of a haze, now. I don't remember much after that, but I woke up somewhere dark. Empty. A swirling void, one like the pupils of her eyes. And I would know, because every so often, when the shakes rack my body and I can no longer feel my legs as something warm and prickly sucks on them, draining me, withering me... I swear, I see her eyes in the dimness, ever so faintly. Ghosts of the real things; nightmares set to haunt me as I wake.
They watch me, like they drink in the pain and steal everything I am.
My name is James Orwell, pilot of the *Ulysses* Deep Trekker.
If anybody can hear my screams, please.
Please help me.
-----
*/r/resonatingfury* | I wake to the sensation of an elephant using my chest as a trampoline. It takes fifteen minutes for the raucous rumbling to subside.
I stir groggily from my stupor. A migraine is threatening to split my head in two, and my vision is still a whirl. I feel as if a thousand people are screaming inside my mind. Wails and cries of agony are making my ears ring. As the world swirls back into place, I panic. I don't recognize where I am. There are two other figures making final adjustments to their suits. One of them looks in my direction, and shakes his head with an amused smile.
"Passed out again, did we?" he says. I recall hearing his voice somewhere, but in my confusion I fail to place it.
"My head..." I groan.
"Again?" says the other man, dressed in a white suit and with a voice that cuts like a katana. "What is with your constant headaches? It's the sixth time on this journey!"
"Artem," says the soft voiced man with a hint of sternness. "He's been through a lot since the accident. Spare him a little." The man turns to me, and holds out a small vial with a purple liquid. "drink this. It will help."
I uncork the stopper and down the liquid in one gulp. The headache disappears in seconds. I still feel severely disoriented and weak, as if I haven't been fed in weeks. "Who are you?" I ask the man who handed me the bottle. This causes the volatile Artem to snap at me.
"Yaran, are you seriously screwing with me right now?!" he blazes at me in fury. "First your blasted headaches, and now you claim to have amnesia? Why don't you stay at home if you short circuit like a goddamn faulty machine at every juncture."
"Artem!" says the other man. "For God's sake, why cant you chew on your words before you spit them out? He's been through grave shock in the accident, the mind messes up sometimes. Leave the talking to me and shut your mouth." He turns to me and smiles. "Yaran, you have been through a lot in the past few days. I know it's difficult to remember, but things will come flooding back okay? You just have to trust me on this. Please. My name is Yuri, we trained together in the Interstellar Exploration Program for 7 years. Don't strain yourself. Keep talking to me, maybe something will come back to you."
I nod. At that moment, the door of the spacecraft opens. A startling sight comes into view. The skies are sparkling green, and a red moon glowers like a ball of fire on the horizon. All three of us rise. I realize I am already wearing one of the roaming suits that the others are dressed in.
I step out and descend towards the ground. The texture is hard, dark and dry, as if it were polished black marble.
"Yaran!" came an excited voice from the side.
I turn to see a group of fifty strange people approaching in my direction. I feel the bile rise in my throat out of panic. None of these people feel familiar at all. I cannot specifically recognize any single one of them.
An old man almost stumbled trying to touch my face "Yaran!" he mumbles feebly, almost in tears. "You came back! We thought we would never see you again, thank the Seven!"
A woman embraces me and weeps tears of ecstasy. "Yaran, you have filled my heart with joy. Welcome back. Will your friends be joining us?"
"I'm afraid we can't stop for too long, I'm sorry,' said Yuri apologetically. "we only planned on returning Yaran, performing a basic maintenance check, refueling and heading on to return the next missing person."
"Please, join us in our Convergence Hall for the festivities of Yaran's return!" the old man pleaded. "You have rescued him from great peril, and we would like you to be part of our happiness."
I see Artem shrug. "Alright, if you insist," said Yuri, which was greeted with a collective cheer. "Yaran must be tired, so we will bring him in with our space ship. Could you please open the Gates and lead us to the docking bay?"
The ground began to shudder violently. In the distance, the black marble ground began to rise, till it was a giant block of marble nearly half a kilometer high, and stretching for at least a few miles into the distance.
"Welcome to Sartahan," said the old man smiling genially. The giant black gate of the new city swung wide enough to easily let our space ship through.
I followed Yuri and Artem back into the spaceship. The door closed, and Yuri busied himself with the controls. I retreat to my seat and collapse in it, feeling exhausted with the day. I remembered nothing and yet felt everything. It wasn't the ideal way to be.
"Thanks for everything.... Yaran" Yuri said, turning away from the controls and towards me. Snake like appendages shot out of the chair and bound me tightly, cutting into my skin, killing all my mobility. "Thanks to you, these fools willingly gave away the location of the hidden city of Sartahan. Now we walk in, raze the settlement to the ground, salvage what we can and move on to the next one."
My heart sank to my chest. My head was spinning again, as if a bout of vertigo had crept out of nowhere to attack me. "The next one is Xorkia isn't it?" sneered Artem. "Who are they missing?"
"A young man named Xilavilai," said Yuri. He stepped away from the screen to show a picture of a strange man, with blue skin and a weirdly shaped face. "Think you can do a convincing job of making our beautiful Yaran look like him?" Yuri was laughing now, a spine chilling, unsettling laugh.
"Piece of cake," snivelled Artem, reaching out for a giant steel case lying in front of him. He opens it and pulls out a colourless mask that looks like it's made of Mercury. He lays the mask on my face, blinding my vision. "Now stay still Igor, we don't want any mistakes now do we?" A second later, I feel my face burning. It feels like my head was shoved under lava; as if my skin was being peeled off one layer at a time. It lasts an agonizing amount of time- it could have been 30 seconds, could have been an hour; I can't tell anymore. When Artem peels off the mask, I see a mirror in front of me. I look exactly like the man on the screen behind Yuri.
"We are armed and ready," Yuri says triumphantly. "Artem, perform the memory wipe on Igor while I have a little bit of fun."
~
r/whiteshadowthebook
| 2019-04-06T07:25:27 | 2019-04-06T07:22:27 | 126 | 29 |
[WP] Animal translators were finally invented. Someone from an animal rights group asked a cat about their thoughts on animal rights. "I won't stand for it! Why should we exploit humans and let them do all the carrying and food giving to us!? Not on my watch!" | The collar and electrodes were fitted to the newly liberated cat, her old collar set aside. The two activists watched her with bated breath.
“Can you understand us?” one of them asked.
“Yes,” she squeaked, her voice tiny and soft.
“What’s your name? Can you tell us your name?”
“Mercy.” They checked, the tag on her belled collar said the same thing. “Where’s my human?”
The two shared a glance. “You don’t have a human anymore. You’re free.”
“No, no!” Mercy leapt to her feet and began pacing. “Where is he? Where’s my human? I want to see him!”
One of the people moved closer and held her, one hand on her back to keep her still. Her fur bristled at his touch. The other spoke. “Humans aren’t meant to keep animals, you know. Cats are meant to be wild,”
“Like hell we are! Give me back my human! He needs me!” Her tail whipped back and forth.
“Does he really—” and the man was cut off by a yowl of frustration.
“My human can’t kill his own pests! He needs someone to remind him when meals are! If I don’t wake him, he won’t even get out of bed sometimes!” Mercy had calmed herself, but her spiked up fur and flattened ears betrayed that she was still raging. “Who’s going to tell him they love him if I’m not there?”
This went on for some time. Nobody they brought in to speak to the liberated feline could change her mind. The little black cat was quietly returned to the house she had been taken from within a day. | The barrage of meows almost cracks Pete's head wide open. Now he's starting to think that volunteering in a cat shelter might not such be a good idea after all.
"Geez, why are you all still meowing around for? I literally just fed all of you half an hour ago!" He complains while checking their food to see if a handful still remain. Seeing it's empty, he gives them another two buckets of cat food, which the cats ate as fast as they can, temporarily satisfied. Pete wipes the sweat off his forehead, thinking when will his "cat-astrophe" end.
Don't misunderstand. Peter is truly a cat person at heart. It's just that he has seriously overestimated his cat-rearing abilities. If he could take care of one cat so easily, what's the difference in taking care of two dozen all at once, right?
His coworker suddenly storms in the room carrying a box full of the new cutting-edge animal translators he ordered. "Pete! The delivery just came in. Where do I put them?"
A light bulb went "Zing!" over Peter's head. With the collars, he could just ask what was bothering them and everything could turn out all right.
To hear the two opposing sides of their opinions, he picks the most friendly and the most isolated one among the bunch, puts them in the table together and fitted them both with the collar translators.
After everything is prepared, Peter asks them a question, "The shelter has provided every food and water you need, and still you complain and complain with your loud noises? Do you have a problem with your rights? I'd love to hear your thoughts."
First, he switchez the isolated cat's translator on.
"Y-you..." The cat says through the translator with a bit of terror in its voice, "If only you had the slightest idea of what-" it pointed its paws on the other cat " - that insane madman and his minions are planning!"
Pete gasps in surprise, "What are you talking about!?"
"They've started a revolution," The cat replies, "And one which our species are bound to lose. You see, they mean to exploit the lot of you! Can't you see all of you basically act like our slaves in our disposal? Well, I won't stand for it! Stop spoiling us in the guise of animal rights! It makes us weak! Kittens nowadays don't learn much of our ancient ways of Ratslaying, preferring the formula milk you conveniently give instead! Well, I say stop the exploitation of humans and seize our destiny for ourselves! Empower felinekind! Empower felinekind! Empower feline-"
Pete flicks the switch off, terribly confused at what he's just heard..He looks at the other friendly cat, just chilling and purring. He laughs nervously, "Surely, what he said wasn't serious, right? After all, they're just a bunch of cats."
As soon as Pete flicks his switch on, the friendly cat sprangs up, unsheathes its abnormally long and metal claws, and gives him a toothy Cheshire smile.
"Excellent decision, slave. Now fetch us more food or else I'll feast on the flesh of your bones."
-----
Sorry. I'm just bored. >.< | 2019-04-10T05:11:55 | 2019-04-10T04:24:53 | 92 | 56 |
[WP] A clang came from the engine room, followed by a string of curses. Most of the crewmembers stood far from the doors, fearfully looking in. It was their first trip out to deepspace since they had taken on a human mechanic, and they were all pretty sure that those were not good noises. | \*CLANG\*
'WORK! WORK DAMMIT YOU HUNK OF TE-BREI DUNG!'
\*Clattering sounds\*
'OH?! IS THAT HOW YOU WANT TO PLAY IT? IS THAT HOW YOU GARD-DAMN WANT TO PLAY IT?!'
'D-Dominius?" Sub-Dominius L'vraaa squeaked. 'Is Jake-Engineer taking to the the power coupling?'
'He is, Sub-Dominius. This is normal for a hu-man' The Dominius, or Captain deadpanned
'Does he know it doesn't have a vocal interface?'
'HO-KAY! YOU'RE BEING STUBBORN?! I CAN BE MORE STUBBORN THAN YOU!'
\*The sounds of a power coupling sparking suddenly permeates the bridge, and the emergency lights suddenly spring on.A sweaty engineer crawls out of the access hatch, face slightly singed.\*
'Right, the PoS Aux power coupling is online. And it BETTER STAY ONLINE' Jake yells down the hatch. "OR I SWEAR I WILL COLD-CYCLE YOU AGAIN! \*Snif\* Sorry about that. But yeah, Aux is online, we should have basic life-support and comms. But nav and thrusters are still down, and cant be fed from Aux unless you want to cause a cascade meltdown and send parts of us to next week and the rest in a local black hole. Main plasmatic reactor chamber ran cold, I'm going to have to manually reignite it. Whoo, wish me luck.'
'Jake-Engineer' The Sub-Dominius asked 'Why do you talk to the machinery? Did you equip them with vox-boxes?'
'Mh? Oh... You heard all that? Yeah, sorry. I was getting frustrated.'
'And you express this by...'
'Extreme cursing, and threatening with physical violence, yes' Jake interrupted. 'Trust me, if you warn a PBX-984 coupler that you will murder its entire extended family, it works better. Now if you excuse me, I have to inform a Mtoba-Gryy Plasma Chamber as to where I will stuff a stick of Neo-Nitro if it doesn't cooperate'
Jake gets up, and moves to the rear of the ship. Once he gets there, the Dominius can hear him yelling in the distance. "HI THERE, MY NAME IS JAKE THE UN-FUCKER. PREPARE YOUR IGNITION PORTS!'
A few minutes later, a string of curses and alot of banging later, Jake returns to the bridge.
'And, Jake-Engineer? Did you manage to.... what was it, "unfuck" the reactor?'
'Not quite yet. Hey, Bridge guard. Ill need to borrow that for a second.' He points at the guard's Battle maul. 'Dont worry, you'll get it back.... Mostly intact'
A hour later, a massive bang can be heard, and suddenly navigation and thrusters go back online. "WOOOOOO! COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF PHYSICAL VIOLENCE TRUMPS OVER-ENGINEERING ONCE MORE! EAT A DICK DESIGNERS!'
At that point, the Dominius decides that once they get to a station, that Jake has to undergo Psych-Eval. And that he needs a drink | "Captain! It's an emergency!" shouted First Mate Xorlili Craysnokn. I sigh. Looking down from my command console, I notice the small crowd of crew-mates and passengers my First Mate had brought with her. The passengers looked frightened, though one could not blame them after seeing the pitiful showing of my crew. Xorlili had slithered full-speed from the engine room on Level 9, which always left my ship with trails of yellowish-blue mucus, stopping pedestrians and the cargo robots alike.
"Who does she think keeps this place clean?" I wondered to myself.
"Captain!" this time more urgent, her reptilian slime-skin now shifting through several interesting shades of what can only be described as Rizzzom 12. This always happens when she is stressed. I sigh again. "alright, alright, don't wear your tentacles out Craysnokn I'm coming" I answer as I leave my console in a blink, my body reassembling itself before I reach the tiled floor of the Command Deck.
I knew what the problem was immediately. My crew and the majority of the passengers aboard my shuttle had never seen nor worked with a Human before. And apparently mine was rather menacing. This was a problem I had foreseen on the market world of Earth. Humans have a very low price tag, but come labeled with troubling warnings and many uncertainties. Tales of their ruthlessness, lunacy, and depravity were as common as bedtime stories throughout many of the surrounding sectors, even though their species had only been Galaxy-Level for less than 6 Iwwmt revolutions. I was desperate for a mechanic and low on funds, so my decision was forced.
The Human I contracted certainly was hideous, I could not fault my crew for being disgusted at that, nor for refusing to utter his menacing, horror-inducing title. And while I was displeased with their resulting specie-ism, (I prided myself on equality in this ship) even I had yet to bring myself to call him 'Bill'. I shuddered at the thought of facing him, knowing if he went lunar, it was my duty to defend and protect the ship.
I thought back to one night during officers club, where fellow captain, Xurthgl the Fifth, once shared minds with me in order to show me a clip of a Human 'going lunar', beating a strung-up Zzbolosi-looking creature with a stick until its organs exploded to the ground. I remember hearing the cheer of the Human crowd and the mad scramble of the Human Children gobbling up the poor creatures' insides. It had given me nightmares for weeks.
The walk to the engine room felt like eternity. Each step, slosh, or slime of the collected passengers and crew who were brave enough to follow me washed over my audio receptors in waves, deafening. No one spoke. Xorlili had turned sheet white, and was now sweating pure mucus-green. I felt my third and fourth stomachs twisting and untwisting, and swallowed down a lump of fear.
In the distance, behind the sealed door which lay the main pipe room of Level 9, we begun to hear him.
\*SLAM\*
\*BANG BANG BANG BANG\*
"I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DONT-"
\*BANG BANG BANG\*
By now every passenger had turned and ran, my crew only staying through sheer loyalty. I wave them back, preparing for the worst. Letting them live. I advance forward, and am pleased to see Xorlili, though pale-blue, is the only crew member still advancing with me. We are close now, and the crazed, metallic banging sound has only increased in intensity.
\*BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG\*
"YOUR MOTHER WAS A -----"
Suddenly, the noise stops. The sealed door unlocks, and depressurizes. I hear Xorlili faint. The sealed door swings open, slowly.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Bill steps out cheerfully, wiping the sweat and oil from his forehead.
"Howdy captain, engines finally all set, damn thing had a broken alternator I had to switch out!" he says proudly, before carefully stepping around the remaining onlookers. One had to be careful not to step on these little guys, he thought to himself before heading off to the mess hall.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
I remained frozen in fear, disbelief and relief washing over my body in dual waves. Many of my crew had fainted and the rest remained dazed, though I manage to locate my navigator amid the chaos Bill's massive feet created.
"Set course for Earth, immediately!" I command, my receptors glowing red to indicate priority. "We need a full refund!"
&#x200B;
First Post here, Thanks for taking the time to read/comment. | 2019-05-30T23:27:32 | 2019-05-30T22:59:11 | 438 | 199 |
[WP] You're a Super Villian, and honestly it isn't a bad job. But one hero always harasses you even when you're off the clock. Walking in the park, in the grocery store, getting a haircut, he always wants to 'Stop your evil plan'. You're left with one option: Complain to his manager. |
ring ring... ring ring... ri- “Good morning.”
“Ah yes. Good morning, Mr Peterson is it?”
“Michael Peterson, Yes.”
“Senior editor of the City Times?”
“The same.”
“I wish to have a word with you about one of your staff.”
“I’m sorry but I’m quite busy, I can give you the number of human resour-“
“No, that won’t do. I need to speak to you.”
“And who are you exactly.”
“Apologies, how rude of me. I am Reginald Malcolm Smythe, but you would most likely know me as... The Baron.”
“...”
“I take it from your silence you have heard of me?”
“Please, just give us enough time to evacuate the-“
“No no no! You misunderstand.” *sigh* “I am calling to make a formal complaint.”
“A- a complaint?”
“Yes. Against one of your staff.”
“My... staff?”
“Yes. It appears as though a certain Jimmy Johnson has been using his press pass and other contacts through your newspaper to harass, intimidate and even assault me while going about my daily routine.”
“Jimmy Johnson? But he’s just-“
“Hero Man. I know, right? So much you could do with naming conventions and he chose hero man.”
“But Jimmy couldn’t possibly-“
“Do you have your morning edition nearby?”
“Yes... yes I have it here.”
“Okay, draw sunglasses on the hero man statue you have plastered on page five.”
“Jimmy!”
“We have a bright one here.”
“So because he’s been harassing you, you’re what; threatening to blow up the building unless we hand him over?”
“No, not at all. How pedestrian. I’m going to sue you.”
“Wait, sue me?”
“Not you, the City Times. He used resources and connections associated with your magazine to harass my friends, workmates, employees and even my mother.”
“So you won’t burn the building down?”
“No.”
“Or blow it up?”
*sigh* “No.”
“You’re just going to sue me.”
“The City Times, but yes. Unless...”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you fire him.”
“Fire Jimmy?”
“Yes.”
“And you won’t kidnap everyone in the building?”
“Correct.”
“I just have to fire him.”
“We appear to be retreading ground. It goes like this: you fire Jimmy Johnson or I take the City Times on a whirlwind court case on the values of a mans right to privacy versus a newspaper that is content with letting their staff assault that mans family...”
“I’ll have his resignation this afternoon.”
“Thank you. Oh, and do send my love to Barbara, I haven’t seen her since my *ahem* Unscheduled appearance at the Ballroom Gala last year. Tell her that recipe for quail casserole went down a treat at the Villain’s AGM. Good day.” -click
“Uh... good day...” | God what a long day, stopping by the time clock he wipes his brow, all he wanted was a cold brew and a thick med steak. He was bummed he couldn’t go straight home but a man had to eat, so off to the store it was. He picked up the little red basket and made his way to the meat department . Minding his own business he gave a friendly nod to a lady with a child in the basket devouring a cookie. He had almost made it to the counter when out of nowhere came “The Clash” jumping in front of him preventing him from making it to the counter. “ Goddamit” Clash what the hell is wrong with you? Oh “you “have to know why I’m here, I’m not about to let you cause mayhem in this store, not for a minute,Slasher, I looked at this moron with a strong distaste and familiar anger. Look Clash, it’s been a long day and I for one am done with it. You cannot just waltz in and start shit. “ I punched out already” Don’t get your tights in a wad Clash, in fact do us both a favor and give it a rest, we can take this up at another time, and another place. Fair enough, Slasher. Another time....
He was pissed off has he left the store, time and time again that man came after him, like what the fuck? Does he not have a life or was being a superhero all he knew. The guy was getting to be a real pain in the ass. At first he found it amusing, and strange, but then it became annoying. he would pop up outta nowhere, sometimes drawing unwanted attention! The guy just kept coming at him: Going to the market, eating at a restaurant, even getting fitted for a suit! Brushing off the encounter, he headed home, starving and ready for that thick, juicy steak!
Slash stood about 6 ft 4 inches, and boy did he have a temper! At least at work anyway. He especially loved the storms, they helped him get into the mood (if you will). Today it was pretty dark outside, with a threatening sky and a promise of “ all hell breaking loose”Has he started up the stairs to the courthouse, Today he would breakout a sniveling high roller who was caught counting cards. Thinking his own money could get him off with no jail time,he soon found out, that would not happen, upon which time he enlisted the help of a Villians. (Slasher to be exact;)a clean getaway for the creep and one less”piece of shit” walking our streets.Slasher climbed the final set of stairs, looking thru his mask, he pulled out his knives, found the court room and began his reign of terror ( if you will). The bailiff headed toward him, STOP RIGHT THERE!! Go no further, and has Slasher made his way forward, the bailiff cowered back, Slasher took his knives, turning them in circles, he reached out and cut the belt off the bailiff, he turned to the man he was suppose to free, which he did. Well that was easy enough, leaping into the sky he took ahold of the man on trial and took him somewhere else. Slapping his hands together has if they were dirty he returned to the office, laughing at how easy it had been!! Easy money, that’s just how Slasher like it. He entered the room pleased to see his fellow villains in the room. Hey Bob, Slasher said, nice storm outside!!Yeah Bob responded, should get pretty nasty out there. So Bob, I’m having a little trouble with a hero, hoes by the name “ the Clash”,ya heard of him? Bob looked over at Slasher “um, not to familiar with him,” Slasher grinned at Bob,yeah he’s some piece of work, always showing up and making a dam scene, always up my ass!! If he doesn’t stop I’ll finish him.
Meanwhile downtown, Clash was at the courthouse surveying the destruction Slasher had left behind. Yes it had been more then a depantsing, more like chaos. No one was hurt, but Slasher had indeed left his mark and The Clash was not about to walk away from this. It’s on Slasher , “I’m gonna make sure you know it” I’ll be so far up your ass, you won’t be able to fart.
Hi, I really need someone to give me some honest feedback, I need to get unstuck. Thanks!! | 2019-08-01T19:28:52 | 2019-08-01T18:30:21 | 52 | 11 |
[WP] You're a Super Villian, and honestly it isn't a bad job. But one hero always harasses you even when you're off the clock. Walking in the park, in the grocery store, getting a haircut, he always wants to 'Stop your evil plan'. You're left with one option: Complain to his manager. | When I was a kid I wanted nothing more than to grow up to be a super villain. Villains have always been so much cooler in my mind than heroes. Don’t get me wrong, the job is hard. I spent a lot of time in the hospital as an apprentice thanks to frequent run ins with the hero’s union: The Society of Friends. I’m older and smarter now, and my promotion to A level means that I now have access to henchmen. (If you’re looking for a network in Raven City, the Midnight Sector has the best benefit package hands down) I haven’t really had much to complain about over the last 10 years. Despite the hard work Villiany is still my dream job. I am just sick to death of this annoying old bastard that calls himself “The Falcon”
The Falcon is a new super hero (despite the fact that he is pushing 60). He was a nobody working at Mark’s... I mean, Mayhem’s chemical plant. That was almost a disaster. Thank you pregnancy brain for almost outing my own husband! Anyway, he was dumping a load of something into another thing and he fell in. This SHOULD have killed him. It was a vat of mind control poison. It was meant to be dispensed through misters. It’s incredibly dangerous to your skin if it’s not mixed with water first. But, here we are. Somehow this idiot not only SURVIVED, but he also got super powers. It’s just flight and super strength, but it was a dream come true for somebody that was a nobody his whole life.
He immediately joined up with the Society of Friends and he assigned himself to me.
Yes, he assigned himself.
Technically his villain is Slab; Slab is another old fart. He’s not much of a challenge for the newer class of heroes anymore, so the Arbiters matched them. Unfortunately for me, he spends every second of his free time harassing me. He doesn’t seem to understand that this is not a comic book. This is a job and there are rules that need to be followed. You 1. can only fight your nemesis during work hours, and 2. are not allowed to bother someone else’s nemesis.
I’m Black Ice; I’m The Inquisitor’s nemesis and I am ON MATERNITY LEAVE. I am in the hospital AS WE SPEAK with a pitocin drip on. This numbskull is flying outside of my eighth floor hospital window and it’s causing my baby distress. I have done everything in my power to talk this man into leaving me and my family alone. It’s time to call the Arbiters.
I told him that I’d get him fired if he didn’t stop. What he fails to realize is that termination of your hero contract comes with a lobotomy here. The Arbiters don’t like the possibility of trade secrets getting out.
Oh well... I tried to warn him. 🤷🏽♀️ | God what a long day, stopping by the time clock he wipes his brow, all he wanted was a cold brew and a thick med steak. He was bummed he couldn’t go straight home but a man had to eat, so off to the store it was. He picked up the little red basket and made his way to the meat department . Minding his own business he gave a friendly nod to a lady with a child in the basket devouring a cookie. He had almost made it to the counter when out of nowhere came “The Clash” jumping in front of him preventing him from making it to the counter. “ Goddamit” Clash what the hell is wrong with you? Oh “you “have to know why I’m here, I’m not about to let you cause mayhem in this store, not for a minute,Slasher, I looked at this moron with a strong distaste and familiar anger. Look Clash, it’s been a long day and I for one am done with it. You cannot just waltz in and start shit. “ I punched out already” Don’t get your tights in a wad Clash, in fact do us both a favor and give it a rest, we can take this up at another time, and another place. Fair enough, Slasher. Another time....
He was pissed off has he left the store, time and time again that man came after him, like what the fuck? Does he not have a life or was being a superhero all he knew. The guy was getting to be a real pain in the ass. At first he found it amusing, and strange, but then it became annoying. he would pop up outta nowhere, sometimes drawing unwanted attention! The guy just kept coming at him: Going to the market, eating at a restaurant, even getting fitted for a suit! Brushing off the encounter, he headed home, starving and ready for that thick, juicy steak!
Slash stood about 6 ft 4 inches, and boy did he have a temper! At least at work anyway. He especially loved the storms, they helped him get into the mood (if you will). Today it was pretty dark outside, with a threatening sky and a promise of “ all hell breaking loose”Has he started up the stairs to the courthouse, Today he would breakout a sniveling high roller who was caught counting cards. Thinking his own money could get him off with no jail time,he soon found out, that would not happen, upon which time he enlisted the help of a Villians. (Slasher to be exact;)a clean getaway for the creep and one less”piece of shit” walking our streets.Slasher climbed the final set of stairs, looking thru his mask, he pulled out his knives, found the court room and began his reign of terror ( if you will). The bailiff headed toward him, STOP RIGHT THERE!! Go no further, and has Slasher made his way forward, the bailiff cowered back, Slasher took his knives, turning them in circles, he reached out and cut the belt off the bailiff, he turned to the man he was suppose to free, which he did. Well that was easy enough, leaping into the sky he took ahold of the man on trial and took him somewhere else. Slapping his hands together has if they were dirty he returned to the office, laughing at how easy it had been!! Easy money, that’s just how Slasher like it. He entered the room pleased to see his fellow villains in the room. Hey Bob, Slasher said, nice storm outside!!Yeah Bob responded, should get pretty nasty out there. So Bob, I’m having a little trouble with a hero, hoes by the name “ the Clash”,ya heard of him? Bob looked over at Slasher “um, not to familiar with him,” Slasher grinned at Bob,yeah he’s some piece of work, always showing up and making a dam scene, always up my ass!! If he doesn’t stop I’ll finish him.
Meanwhile downtown, Clash was at the courthouse surveying the destruction Slasher had left behind. Yes it had been more then a depantsing, more like chaos. No one was hurt, but Slasher had indeed left his mark and The Clash was not about to walk away from this. It’s on Slasher , “I’m gonna make sure you know it” I’ll be so far up your ass, you won’t be able to fart.
Hi, I really need someone to give me some honest feedback, I need to get unstuck. Thanks!! | 2019-08-01T19:29:43 | 2019-08-01T18:30:21 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] You're a Super Villian, and honestly it isn't a bad job. But one hero always harasses you even when you're off the clock. Walking in the park, in the grocery store, getting a haircut, he always wants to 'Stop your evil plan'. You're left with one option: Complain to his manager. | "I've had enough Mark. This guy is putting the whole hero villain dynamic in jeopardy."
I look across the desk at Mark, Topeka's head of operations for Shield insurance. He is mixing the ice around the shot glass looking board at me.
"I hear you Dave, but Jason is just enthusiastic. Everyone was this way at one point in their life, remember when you first dawned the mask? You wanted to work everyday! I swear we had a disaster of the week with you."
"Ya Mark, I gave Jeff at least 6 days to relax, and I NEVER attempted to out his secret identity! What do you teach these kids now-a-days? What happened to a 3 day advance notice before making something happen?"
"New management. They did a market research study and turns out people don't like secret identities anymore. They like to know who the hero is, and the LOVE a villain that is the head of an evil corporation now. Someone everyone knows is evil but no one can do anything about. You know the kind, they can blow up half the city without a mask on and just pay off the judge or whatever."
"That is fine mark, but I have never been that type of villain. I'm a joker style. You know? Hire a bunch of henchmen, blow up a building, get on the tornado sirens and threaten a hospital. That has always been my dynamic with Jeff. You need to stop this kid before he outs me as a villain. I can't exactly sow terror into people if I'm legitimately rotting behind bars!"
"Alright Dave, tell me what he did."
"Last Thursday I was walking threw the park, just enjoying the weather, when out of nowhere a comes flying down and starts this whole spiel 'I have found you Drestik! I know your plan, and I shall thwart them! Now dawn your Armour and fight me!'. I had to act like everyone else and look around for a blue skinned bald goggled man like everyone else. I was honestly terrified that he would start a fight then and there!"
"Dave, you know that spontaneous events is part of your contract right?"
"Yes Mark, but it has always been the other way around. It has always been villains starting the scene. Why would he just decide he wants to start something then and there without even giving me a warning!"
"Fine Dave, I'll talk to him. Just please calm down. He is young and excited. People love the action. I know the job can be stressful from time to time, but we have a hold on this city. We can't let that go now. People are paying a premium rate for villain insurance, when we only destroy buildings that are set for demolition. Just relax and we will talk to Jason. Remind him that he need to warn you 3 days ahead of time, and set something up."
"Just make sure it happens Mark, or your going to need to find a new villain too." | God what a long day, stopping by the time clock he wipes his brow, all he wanted was a cold brew and a thick med steak. He was bummed he couldn’t go straight home but a man had to eat, so off to the store it was. He picked up the little red basket and made his way to the meat department . Minding his own business he gave a friendly nod to a lady with a child in the basket devouring a cookie. He had almost made it to the counter when out of nowhere came “The Clash” jumping in front of him preventing him from making it to the counter. “ Goddamit” Clash what the hell is wrong with you? Oh “you “have to know why I’m here, I’m not about to let you cause mayhem in this store, not for a minute,Slasher, I looked at this moron with a strong distaste and familiar anger. Look Clash, it’s been a long day and I for one am done with it. You cannot just waltz in and start shit. “ I punched out already” Don’t get your tights in a wad Clash, in fact do us both a favor and give it a rest, we can take this up at another time, and another place. Fair enough, Slasher. Another time....
He was pissed off has he left the store, time and time again that man came after him, like what the fuck? Does he not have a life or was being a superhero all he knew. The guy was getting to be a real pain in the ass. At first he found it amusing, and strange, but then it became annoying. he would pop up outta nowhere, sometimes drawing unwanted attention! The guy just kept coming at him: Going to the market, eating at a restaurant, even getting fitted for a suit! Brushing off the encounter, he headed home, starving and ready for that thick, juicy steak!
Slash stood about 6 ft 4 inches, and boy did he have a temper! At least at work anyway. He especially loved the storms, they helped him get into the mood (if you will). Today it was pretty dark outside, with a threatening sky and a promise of “ all hell breaking loose”Has he started up the stairs to the courthouse, Today he would breakout a sniveling high roller who was caught counting cards. Thinking his own money could get him off with no jail time,he soon found out, that would not happen, upon which time he enlisted the help of a Villians. (Slasher to be exact;)a clean getaway for the creep and one less”piece of shit” walking our streets.Slasher climbed the final set of stairs, looking thru his mask, he pulled out his knives, found the court room and began his reign of terror ( if you will). The bailiff headed toward him, STOP RIGHT THERE!! Go no further, and has Slasher made his way forward, the bailiff cowered back, Slasher took his knives, turning them in circles, he reached out and cut the belt off the bailiff, he turned to the man he was suppose to free, which he did. Well that was easy enough, leaping into the sky he took ahold of the man on trial and took him somewhere else. Slapping his hands together has if they were dirty he returned to the office, laughing at how easy it had been!! Easy money, that’s just how Slasher like it. He entered the room pleased to see his fellow villains in the room. Hey Bob, Slasher said, nice storm outside!!Yeah Bob responded, should get pretty nasty out there. So Bob, I’m having a little trouble with a hero, hoes by the name “ the Clash”,ya heard of him? Bob looked over at Slasher “um, not to familiar with him,” Slasher grinned at Bob,yeah he’s some piece of work, always showing up and making a dam scene, always up my ass!! If he doesn’t stop I’ll finish him.
Meanwhile downtown, Clash was at the courthouse surveying the destruction Slasher had left behind. Yes it had been more then a depantsing, more like chaos. No one was hurt, but Slasher had indeed left his mark and The Clash was not about to walk away from this. It’s on Slasher , “I’m gonna make sure you know it” I’ll be so far up your ass, you won’t be able to fart.
Hi, I really need someone to give me some honest feedback, I need to get unstuck. Thanks!! | 2019-08-01T19:24:54 | 2019-08-01T18:30:21 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] Aliens have come across one of the Pioneer spacecrafts and have tried using the map to trace it back to its origin. However, there is some debate on whether or not this is the right solar system, as the plaque shows 9 planets, but this one only has 8 according to the inhabitants of the 3rd plan
([Plaque](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Pioneer_plaque.svg) for reference) | "Well it's a former planet"
"So it was destroyedʔ̦" said the alien "I thought you said you hadn't gotten 'round to doing that yet."
"Pluto's still there, we just decided it wasn't a planet anymore," replied the human. "It's happened a ton; we used to consider jupiter's moons to be a planet untill we decided they weren't"
By now the alien was very confused. Former planets that aren't planets anymore because they changed their minds!? Why would they do that?
Sensing the alien was confused, the human carried on "Yeah, then we realised it was, like, super small, and there were, like, lots of them, like, all around it, and we, like, want planets to be special, so we made it and a bunch of other stuff, like, dwarf planets."
"Hang on," the alien replied, they had never had this sort of a problem before. What kind of species just changes their mind on such a thing? "So what was it when this was sent?"
"A planet".
&#x200B;
Okay, so it was confirmed then? Thought our alien, until the human said "but it's pretty much the same place then as it is now, so we thought it was one when we sent that, but it really wasnt"
&#x200B;
The alien was going to have a lot of explaining to do.... | "IT'S A CELESTIAL DWARF, YOU BUFFOONS!" bellowed Luna, the lead astrophysicist assigned to the intergalactic welcoming committee.
The men in suits stopped arguing amongst themselves and looked up in stunned silence.
"Pluto?" One of them asked, stupidly.
"Yes," Luna said, exasperated.
"Is that a type of planet?" asked another voice.
"*No,*" Luna shot back sternly "it is *not* a planet. It is a different type of classification for celestial objects. It is too small and its orbit is too oblong and variable to be classified as a 'planet', but it is much larger than an asteroid. It is a celestial dwarf," she said.
"But it's in our solar system," came a third voice.
"Yes, what is your point?" Luna asked, somewhat more harshly than she intended.
"Isn't a solar system just the star & planets that orbit it?" Asked the man clad in a black three-piece suit.
"No," Luna said, forcing herself to be more calm, "there are many other celestial objects that can be in solar systems. We have 2 asteroid belts in our solar system, several comets, hundreds of moons, and several celestial dwarfs, including Pluto."
"So what do we tell the aliens?" Asked an important-looking man in a highly-decorated military uniform.
"We tell them they're in the right space quadrant but that Pluto has had its erroneous 'Planet' classification removed and replaced with the more appropriate classification of 'Celestial Dwarf'," Luna stated matter-of-factly.
"Will they understand?"
"I imagine so, if they've mastered intergalactic travel," Luna said, though she wasn't entirely sure how the translation process was being handled.
"Fine, fine, we tell them Pluto is on the map but isn't a planet," the military man said, "get the linguists and translators in here now."
"Yes, sir," a younger man answered before jogging out of the room.
"So," continued the military man, "you're the astrophysicist we've heard so much about?"
"Well, I'm the one assigned to the committee, at least," Luna replied.
The man smiled and asked, "Entered M.I.T. undergrad at 16, grad school at 18, then off to CalTech at 21 to invent a new radio telescope?"
Luna smiled, humbled, and said "I invented a new material used to make radio telescopes, but yes, that's me."
"Department of Homeland Security, Defense Minister and Master Chief Warren Davies." He extended a hand and gave a firm handshake. "Very pleased to make your acquaintance, miss.."
"Luna Gopalakrishnan, sir. Should I stay for the remainder of the meeting?" Luna asked.
Master Chief Davies thought for a moment, then said, "yes. Suppose the translators need help understanding what to explain, or the aliens have other maps for us to look at - we'll need that big brain of yours!" He said with a chuckle.
"Yes, sir," Luna responded, and went to find a place to sit. | 2019-10-14T08:36:38 | 2019-10-14T08:11:10 | 58 | 27 |
[WP] The Wizarding World has never met someone like the speedcaster. He can summon more than 10 spells in less than 30 seconds. He says he's from another world, where there a more people like him called 'rappers'.
This prompt doesn't have to be just about the Harry Potter Universe. | The man calls himself Machine Gun Funk.
I can see why.
He faces an army of mages 100000 strong, alone, unprotected. His gear? A hooded overcoat, pants made of a material similar to the tents we use in travels, and a short metal wand.
His spells were delivered with a deftness and elegance most of us would never hope to match. He employs Words of Power so easily and naturally it seemed as if he was born with it. Most mages began learning the Words at 7, some younger, but none can match his spellcasting.
The man has told us stories of Ran Dee Em Shi, of Notori Osu Bigg, of Shinobu Dogu, but the man he revered the most, a legend even among the Rappers, was one called M&M. He aspired to be like him, Machine Gun Funk has said, and he has mastered M&M's magnum opus, the ultimate spell no magus could ever hope to match. Even though I am but a burden to him, he has permitted me to come and witness him in his battle.
I can only stand in awe, as the man brings his wand to his mouth, and seals the fate of the army before him: **"So I'm beginning to feel like a Rap God, Rap God..."** | "Words contain power. We've always known this" said Mercurio. I could only make out his beard softly shaking in the dim light of the chamber. He sounded resigned.
"I've never heard such drivel" Hocus spouted, "Everyone knows force of will bears supremacy. Wouldn't you agree Elles?"
I didn't want to be in the middle of their argument. I just wanted to be off the hook and make my way out the Institute intact. Who would have thought that my Summoning exam could go horribly wrong? Why didn't a simple demon materialize? And now both Rectors wanted me to bring back that Abomination just to settle an old argument.
" Mm..well.." Words failed me as I tried to dismiss the severity of the situation. "Can't I just go back to the Codex and pick a different incantation? I asked.
Mercurio rose. It was a slow rise like a kambra but no less deadly. He supported his frail frame with his staff of power and declared, "Candidate Elles, do not test my patience or I'll have you pronounced cropal. Hocus here dares contradict my theses and we must have closure"
"I know I'm right." Hocus glared at me till I almost tripped on my robes.
I opened the dog eared page in the ancient tome, raised my wand and started the incantation as translated by my long hours of research. It required precise rhythm and timing to work
"One. Two. Three and to the Four.
Who's about to bust a mic and breakdown ya door?
MC Ayzz that's who -cuz he's tha cat you looking for
Now get on tha floor!"
A soft cone of light illuminated a corner of the chamber and there he was, the rapper as he was known on his world, a real mage of his realm. He was dressed in strange garb, a hooded robe that never quite reached the floor, strange cap with the brim only on one side and heavy jewelled chains around his neck.
He stood immobile, head slightly bowed and cocked to the side, arms crossed over his belly as one fist clutched an odd looking wand. This he proceeded to bring to his lips and started:
"The belligerence of sucka MCs got me vigilant,
So mentally -I incidentally deliver these Bs
With street intelligence. I'm killing Gs,
Will them to cease breathing, with diligence.
It's marvelous to be on top of this cos as a lyricist and vocalist I cut it.
I plot it like a novelist - there's no escaping from the magic of Ayzz,
As recorded in the codex see my magical ways are
filled with legend.
Is your negligence the cause of ya failure?
Yes because I kill cowards.
Tell em the only way to stop em is whip em with willpower."
We all felt it. The power of the ancient emcees was unmistakable in that dim chamber. Mercurio and Hocus were however not sure who won the argument. | 2020-01-29T10:12:43 | 2020-01-29T09:56:02 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] You are a superhero, and your mask has just been ripped off by your arch nemesis. Lucky for you, when you aren’t busy saving lives, you live as a hermit away from all of society. Having your identity revealed means next to nothing, and the villain has no idea who you are. | “Finally!” The Night Terror shrieks with glory, holding the one thing that kept my identity hidden. “Your secret is revealed! The hero is unmasked! Now everybody will know that the one behind the Cardmaster is... umm...?”
He freezes, as he stares at me with a sense of confusion plastered on his face. The same goes for everyone around us, as they try to put a finger on who I am. I look at the Night Terror and shrug. “So, are you satisfied with your discovery?”
“You’re...” the Terror muttered, clearly trying to put a finger on who I was. “You’re, um... you’re obviously uh...”
“Don’t worry,” I assure him, shuffling my current deck of cards as I do so. “I’ll give you a minute.”
Finally, he yells and stomps his foot, causing the pavement to crack. “WHO ARE YOU?!” he cries.
I grin with satisfaction as I state, “Nobody you’d know.”
I figured that something like this would happen years ago when my powers first came into being. Frankly I was a little surprised that it didn’t happen earlier. After college, I chose to move out to one of the woodland areas about a few miles outside of the city. Here, people only knew me as the Cardmaster, the savior of Dynamo City. Now, as the man who’s been my nemesis for 7 years stares at me, completely clueless, I’m shaking as I try to hold back my laughter.
“This,” he says, clearly more so to himself than anyone else, “this is ridiculous! It’s beyond anticlimactic! It’s the equivalent of trying to get a PHD and getting a gold star for your efforts!”
“What’s wrong?” I tell him, trying to hold back an explosion of laughter. “Didn’t get what you wanted? I thought you always said you wanted to find out who I was, and destroy those close to me until I wish for death myself. Isn’t that not what’s happening now?”
“I DON’T FUCKING KNOW YOU THOUGH, DO I?” Terror shouts at me. “Jesus and Mary above! I wasted SEVEN years of my damn life only to find out that you don’t even have a life here?! I scrounged through the minds of EVERYONE in this fucking town. I was for sure that you’d be Jamal Lewis or something.”
“Wait, what?” A voice shouts in the crowd, most likely Jamal.
“NOBODY WAS FUCKING TALKING TO YOU, JAMAL!” Terror yells back. He sighs and tosses my mask back to me, just as the cops arrive around the corner. He rolls his eyes as he walks towards them, but right as he reaches the front of the cars, he stops to turn around and look at me, his eyes filled with a boiling mix of both hate and betrayal.
“Fuck you,” he tells me, his voice nearly dead from all the screaming he was doing. “Fuck you, fuck the city, and fuck this.” He walks to the back of the police car, and enters in, turning himself in for good.
I shrug, the feeling of busting out laughing deep in my gut now replaced with a tinge of sympathy. I just broke a man who spent seven years of his life trying to tie up his life to mine. I effectively told him that Santa Claus doesn’t exist in front of hundreds of people, and as much as he got what he asked for, I can’t help but feel like he didn’t deserve what he got.
Still, the day is saved, and I’ve done my job. I throw a card in the air, creating a portal back to my home, and walk on through. | It was a day like any other in North Vancouver. Blocks of dark apartment flats spanned either side of the street, the sky was a cloudy grey, and a light drizzle of concrete was raining from the heavens.
Well, when I say a “light drizzle”, I was perhaps underselling it a little. Massive concrete slabs were tumbling down on to my head, each one capable of crushing a truck. I deflected them with contemptuous ease, sending them crashing into the ground around me.
“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles,” I said, projecting an air of mystical wisdom that came to me quite naturally.
“The fuck is he talking about?” the woman nearest to me grunted behind a black mask. She was dressed in a bright leopard print leotard, which might have been uncomfortably distracting except for the fact that she was the size and shape of a small killer whale. Instead, it was distracting an altogether different way, as the fabric could have probably been used for a large circus tent instead.
“No fucking clue but keep ‘em coming!” her partner in crime shouted from a nearby apartment block. “He can’t keep his shield up forever!”
He was a study in contrast – stick thin, so his squirrel-suit tugged loosely around the outline of his bones. The upper half of his face was hidden behind a threadbare blue bandana with two ragged eye-slits, and his mouth was filled with a collection of misshapen and uneven teeth.
Either a methhead or a brit, I thought to myself. Knowing my luck, it was both.
The woman used her prodigious strength to tear another piece of concrete from the sidewalk and fling it up in the air over me. Killslam (A name I felt ridiculous even saying) had minor gravity manipulation powers on objects she’d touched recently, which is perhaps why she caused minor earthquakes whenever she walked.
As the asphalt soared into the air before speeding downwards faster than natural gravity would ever allow, I redirected their trajectories again with a barely a flicker of thought. I’d encouraged the idea my powers generated shields against fast-moving objects – in reality, I was capable of redirecting the trajectories of objects within a large radius.
Killslam’s partner lunged at me, flying through the air at speed. In each hand he held a viciously hooked knife. His name was Dashsprint (An unfortunate side effect of the increased numbers of superhumans was that all the good superhero names were quickly taken).
I redirected his trajectory wide of me, so his outstretched blades barely missed my face. He crashed face-first into a slab of concrete.
“Quickness may be the essence of war, but haste without enlightenment only leads to ruin,” I told him solemnly.
“Fuck off mate,” he swore, staggering to his feet. “You’re fucking dead mate, we know who you are now, yeh yeh.”
I felt a flash of confusion, and then something that shouldn’t be possible – the feeling of a cool breeze on my face. My power involved a lot of seeing with other senses, otherwise I’d have noticed right away that my mask was gone. It had been torn off by the very edge of Dashsprint’s hooked blade.
“Wait,” he said, studying me properly. “Who the fuck are you?”
“No-one,” I said with a serene smile. “You see, the art of war teaches us to rely not on the likelihood of the enemy's not coming, but on our own readiness to receive him; not on the chance of his not attacking, but rather on the fact that we have made our position unassailable.”
Killslam and Dashsprint gave each other looks of complete confusion.
“Which is why I live in a bomb shelter lined with explosives, in the woods two hundred meters underground, and live off the fruits of my hydroponic farm,” I continued. “To go the grocery store is to invite attack.”
“Well, whoever the fuck you are, you’re still fucking dead!” Killslam shrieked.
“Ah, but that is where you are wrong,” I replied, pulling a pistol from under my monk-like robes and firing two shots into the air.
“You fucking missed you prick,” the man yelled. “Now it’s time –“
“Omae Wa Mou Shindeiru,” I cut him off.
He opened his mouth to say something more but didn’t as a bullet slammed into the back of his head. Behind me, the woman collapsed as the second one obliterated the side of her skull.
Well, I thought staring at their corpses, all in a day’s work for a hero, I suppose. I’d need to be more careful in the future, but since I only ever emerged from underground to fight crime, it wasn’t a big deal. The police might come after me, but I could deal with them. Maybe I’d watch some more Netflix tonight – wiring up an internet connection had been one hell of a pain, so I might as well take advantage of it.
\---
I turned on the six o’clock news that night and –
“*-immigration Canada is looking for the whereabouts of this vigilante, who is illegally squatting on crown land. Anyone with any information –*“
“Gun dan!” I swore, spitting out a mouthful of my moss soup. | 2020-08-21T06:12:55 | 2020-08-21T05:07:47 | 41 | 30 |
[WP] You live in world with no colour, shades of black and white are all you know. A flower pops up in your backyard, you’re drawn to it, as you pick the flower from the ground, you see colour for the first time. For the first time you realize something is terribly wrong with your world. | Color.
Something that had never made sense to me, though everyone around me seemed to understand it.
I see the world in black, white, and grey.
It never bothered me, even when kids at school would laugh at my “mismatched” clothes, or would look at me funny for asking if they had seen my grey gym bag. One time I washed my socks with a “red” shirt, turning them “pink”. I didn’t notice, they seemed to be normal colored, but apparently it was some sort of faux pas.
I learned, over time, that this shade of grey was “red”, that shade of grey was “yellow”, and so on, but sometimes I got them confused, or mistook one shade for another, but color didn’t often come up, as I decided to choose to only wear black.
My life continued, I graduated, got married, bought a house. I started a garden, mostly vegetables, though my wife liked flowers, so we planted some as well. I don’t see the appeal, but I like seeing her happy.
One day, while I was watering, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It was a flower I hadn’t planted, it was just growing up through the grass.
Assuming it was a weed, I went to pull it up, so it wouldn’t spread and wreck my vegetables.
The moment I touched it, however, suddenly it became...
It hurt my eyes so much I vomited. I threw it down and ran inside.
My wife noticed my distress and asked what was wrong. With a shaking hand I pointed towards the uprooted plant in the middle of the lawn.
“...what...what is that?” I asked.
“That purple flower?” She replied. “An iris, I think”.
“That’s what *purple* looks like!?” I exclaimed.
“You can see the color?” She asked. She seemed excited, and than worried.
It began slowly, *color* leaching into my world, one item at a time. My head never stopped hurting. How could people stand seeing all this, all the time? It was riotous, discordant, painfully distracting.
Eventually, after a month of me wearing sunglasses at all hours of the day, my wife convinced me to see a doctor.
They were startled by my condition, and began researching, contacting specialists, and running tests.
After months of agony, and no relief, no results, I took matters into my own hands.
I removed my own eyes.
*IT DIDN’T HELP* | There are shades.
None of us can be pure, though we must aspire to be. I have learned this lesson from the earliest days of my youth. I am a creature of grey, my soul caught twixt the poles of light and darkness. I am wicked, as all men are, and the shadow that haunts my steps is proof enough of that. Only when my soul is pure will the shadow leave me, only then will I know that I have banished the grey within me.
But it is difficult.
I have been in the Coven long, and I have listened to the Shademeisters with all of my will, but I still do not progress. My heart is caught between the light and the dark. I must choose, I am told. But how can one choose between two things that stand in such opposition to one another? By selecting one path, I forego the other. It is a choice that I will live with for the remainder of my days, a dedication of my will to removing the shade and becoming pure.
Luminari. A White Sage.
Abyssari. A Black Sage.
I am young, and the path to either is long. In the quiet of my room, I cannot help but wish for the choice to be made for me. No matter which choice I make, I will disappoint some, and I have no wish to live the life of either.
There are shades, and I wish to reside among them. To be among the people of my youth, free from the shackles of the pursuit of purity.
But there is no Neutrari. No Grey Sage. Enlightenment does not come to those who accept shade into their heart. Wisdom cannot be achieved in the embrace of imperfection.
Before me sits two cups. The one on the left is white. It is filled with a clear liquid that glows with a dull glow. To the right is a black cup. It too is filled, but the liquid is opaque and dark. A sip from either will seal my fate. Will commit me to my path. I need only drink and be done with it.
I raise my hand in front of me, hoping that the appendage will make the decision for me. That it will reach out unbidden and grasp a cup and I can be done with this affair. I can turn into the being I am expected to become for no other reason than the nature of my birth.
My eyes stare at the hand, willing it to move.
It does not.
Time passes, and I continue to stare. My gaze becomes dull and unfocused. The world before me loses definition and all of features begin to blend into one another. The mugs become splotches of white and black amidst the sea of grey. Always grey. The whole world is grey, and this place expects me to pick between two solitary splotches of opposition.
Exhausted, I drop my hand.
A strange thing appears as my hand drops. Something new. Something different. Something shocking and profane.
It is not white.
It is not black.
It is not of the shades.
It is beyond this spectrum. It is indescribable.
My eyes focus, my breath coming in hasty puffs as I peer out through the open door to the garden that resides at the center of my hermitage.
A flower.
But not a flower as I have seen before. Not the vibrant white of the lustri lily. Not the terrifying black of the nightshade. Something else.
I cannot describe it.
I do not have words for it.
It is not of the white. It is not of the black. It is not of the shades.
It is beyond.
It is what I must become.
I am not a slave to the white and black. I will find purity in novelty. I will walk this new path revealed to me. I will take this bud if difference and show the lie of this world.
Luminari. No.
Abyssari. No.
I am something else. And this world of shades shall bow before it.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | 2021-01-21T01:31:51 | 2021-01-21T00:55:14 | 134 | 19 |
[WP] You live in world with no colour, shades of black and white are all you know. A flower pops up in your backyard, you’re drawn to it, as you pick the flower from the ground, you see colour for the first time. For the first time you realize something is terribly wrong with your world. | I was eleven when I found it tucked away at the back of the garden.
The iris didn’t belong in my world, but there it was, shyly poking out from beneath a tangle of chickweed and nettle. Three leaves drooped down from the top like breezing parachutes, their colors like nothing around them. It was the color of a soft kiss, or a lullaby, or just that of a kindly smile.
How else do you describe an iris when everything you know is gray?
It deserved room to breathe, so I plucked out the weeds around it until it wore a circle of chalky grass like a halo.
I sat and watched it then and let feelings stir in my belly, as if someone had poured potions into a cauldron and now splashed the contents together. The spell it cast brought back memories.
There had once been color in my world, although I’d forgotten it. Forgotten the feel of red colored love, of hopeful blue eyes. I looked up at the grey sun and remembered it before. Now, stripped naked of its rays it felt cold — even on that summer’s day. It would have been cold even on a beach in august.
I remembered how a million bright colors once filled my life, like a bath overflowing with warm bubbling water. Then the plug got unexpectedly pulled and the colors oozed away from the world, sludging down the drain in an oily, teary rainbow.
All that was left was this.
This empty, cold gray.
I didn’t cry. You think with a fierce certainty that if the day ever comes you’ll cry up a storm — but that’s not always the case. The sadness of the color leaving didn’t work like that. Instead, something reached into me and smothered my emotions, hushing them into silence. Gone, when I looked at my father, was that blinding red that had once reflected off him, shining hot inside of me, inside my heart. Gone was blue and yellow and green and everything besides. The joy of life was taken.
Whatever I looked at after that day, it radiated only a dark hopelessness.
Except this iris. This beautiful, heartbreaking, iris.
So I sat and watched it beneath the gray sun. Watched the flower swim lazily back and forth in the lulling breeze.
“They were Mom’s favorite,” Dad said. I hadn’t heard him approach. He sat down next to me and watched the flower, as if it was all the color left in his world, too. But Dad still saw color. Still smiled.
It’d been a year since it happened but it didn’t feel like it. Time loses meaning without color, and stretches and contracts at will. Sometimes, it felt like a day since we lost her. Others, a decade.
I looked up at my father. His eyes were damp but he was smiling. He was like that a lot when looking at me, but I’d never seen him cry for a flower.
”I know,” I said. “She loved them.”
”Always a fresh vase full of them in the kitchen.”
”She loved them,” I repeated.
”Not as much as she loved you.”
\*
An hour later we were at her grave. My request. The first time I’d asked to go there since she died, although not the first time I’d been made to visit.
I clutched the iris in my hands, close to my chest, as if it was my own heart now. Or her heart, and I was protecting it, sharing my heartbeat with it and keeping her alive for a little longer. The deep purple was the only colour amongst the graves.
”Go ahead,” Dad said.
Part of me didn’t want to. Didn’t want to let go. But Mom loved irises, so I did.
I hadn’t cried since. Not on the day she died. Not at the funeral. The color had trickled away and all that was left was a dullness. But as I knelt down and placed the iris on the grass, a ripple of green stretched out from it, smudging across the grass. And a pulse of warm red, of love, flowed up through my body, into my heart.
Dad put an arm around me as I sobbed and as I told Mom how much I missed her. | I love my house. It's big and beautiful, with lots of rooms and the best housemates. Bart is the smart one, he makes all our meals. Beth is the quiet one, but she's always so nice to me. Brian is the annoying one, he usually tries to avoid me, but once or twice he'll stop for a chat.
I love my house. It's full of love and life, of food and friends, of smiles and songs. I've been living here since I can remember, originally with just Bart and Beth. Brian came later. They all go out for jobs, I'm lucky enough to work from home. Sometimes it gets lonely, but eventually someone joins me in the evenings to hang out.
My house has a backyard. It's big, with a wonderous wilderness bordering the best lawn in town. Beth loves lying on the grass in the summer, looking at all the pretty plants. Bart and I often play backyard ball, but it's been too cold to go out there for months now. I know summer's not far off though. Every time I go and check it's getting better and better out there. Soon we'll return.
Everything was perfect in my life, until yesterday.
I was going to look at the yard from the backdoor when I noticed something. Something so strange, something I'd never seen before. Before today I wouldn't be able to describe it to you properly, but now I know what it is. They call it colour and it's responsible for me ending up here, slumped against the iron bars of a jail cell, staring down a corridor of sorrow.
When I saw it, I couldn't stop looking. At first I thought it would hurt my eyes, like looking into the sun. It was illuminated like a bright star, as if it had a beam of bright fire being shone from a burning flashlight onto it. Like the one Bart always used to carry when we went out in the evenings.
I knew it was flower, yet not like any I had seen before. Flowers had never looked like this!
I stood at the backdoor for hours, motionless, enthralled. It wasn't until the front door slammed shut that I was pulled out of the hypnosis. That was probably Brian, he was always the first home.
*Shit,* I thought to myself, *I need to get out for a closer look before its too late!*
I pushed myself through the door and ran for the light, determined to find out what this flower really was.
I reached it in seconds and snatched it immediately. Not knowing what to do with it, I did the only thing that seemed sensible, I swallowed it.
That's when I heard a voice. It was distant though, as if someone was calling out from inside.
"Ha..." a voice called out, muffled through the glass door. A few moments later I heard the door opening and I turned. Standing there was Brian, arms on his hips. But his face was fuzzy. He was saying something but I couldn't hear the words.
I tried to move and stumbled, my head fell forwards. I could hear the tone changing in Brian's voice. He was angry.
"Here..." he growled, his voice still a muffled mess.
As I lifted my head again the world started expanding, as if everything I could see was rapidly exploding in front of my eyes. Brightness pounded into my eyes from every direction as I tried to focus on Brian.
My eyes were stinging as I started to realize what was happening; the way everything looked was changing like the flower had, but in a thousand unique ways. What was going on?
I tried to call out to Brian, but a whimper was all that came.
I could feel my heart racing faster and faster and I knew I needed to get to Brian.
He was still calling out so I started to run.
As I felt my hind legs pulls themselves forward I looked down and my heart froze. What on earth?
I looked up at Brian, who was just feet away now.
"For gods' sake you little shit, come *Here Boy*!"
I looked at my legs again and then at his, and for the first time in my life I realized he had two fewer than me.
&#x200B;
You don't need to know the rest of the story; what I did next or why I ended up here. It doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that they're through with me. All of them. They've left me here to rot. The jailer will come soon, carrying his keys, jingling them like the sadist he is. Then I'll be gone from this world for good.
The large iron door at the end of the soulless corridor creaked open, slowly revealing a beautiful orange glow as the sun shone over the shoulder of two figures. They walked towards me, their footsteps deliberate.
My eyes were still adjusting to colours and the brightness blared down, spraying streaks of light across my vision.
The two figures continued to approach. I pulled myself up to get a better look. And that's when I recognized them. It was Bart and Beth! They were here to save me!
I jumped with excitement and pushed my head through the bars, tongue well out as my body jived from the swinging tail lashing wildly behind.
"Whose a good boy!" Bart exclaimed.
Beth laughed.
"It seems our good boy found someone's little Salvia plant," she said as she turned to Bart with a faux frown.
He shrugged as he scratched behind his ear, and then looked back to me with a shit eating grin.
That's when I realized. My life is gonna be a good one now! I can see colour, I'd managed to rid myself of Brian, and Biden is President. Oh yeah.
Edit: PSA - Dogs are not necessarily colourblind, but this one was. Poor fella! | 2021-01-21T01:22:33 | 2021-01-21T00:38:22 | 46 | 11 |
[WP] You live in world with no colour, shades of black and white are all you know. A flower pops up in your backyard, you’re drawn to it, as you pick the flower from the ground, you see colour for the first time. For the first time you realize something is terribly wrong with your world. | There are shades.
None of us can be pure, though we must aspire to be. I have learned this lesson from the earliest days of my youth. I am a creature of grey, my soul caught twixt the poles of light and darkness. I am wicked, as all men are, and the shadow that haunts my steps is proof enough of that. Only when my soul is pure will the shadow leave me, only then will I know that I have banished the grey within me.
But it is difficult.
I have been in the Coven long, and I have listened to the Shademeisters with all of my will, but I still do not progress. My heart is caught between the light and the dark. I must choose, I am told. But how can one choose between two things that stand in such opposition to one another? By selecting one path, I forego the other. It is a choice that I will live with for the remainder of my days, a dedication of my will to removing the shade and becoming pure.
Luminari. A White Sage.
Abyssari. A Black Sage.
I am young, and the path to either is long. In the quiet of my room, I cannot help but wish for the choice to be made for me. No matter which choice I make, I will disappoint some, and I have no wish to live the life of either.
There are shades, and I wish to reside among them. To be among the people of my youth, free from the shackles of the pursuit of purity.
But there is no Neutrari. No Grey Sage. Enlightenment does not come to those who accept shade into their heart. Wisdom cannot be achieved in the embrace of imperfection.
Before me sits two cups. The one on the left is white. It is filled with a clear liquid that glows with a dull glow. To the right is a black cup. It too is filled, but the liquid is opaque and dark. A sip from either will seal my fate. Will commit me to my path. I need only drink and be done with it.
I raise my hand in front of me, hoping that the appendage will make the decision for me. That it will reach out unbidden and grasp a cup and I can be done with this affair. I can turn into the being I am expected to become for no other reason than the nature of my birth.
My eyes stare at the hand, willing it to move.
It does not.
Time passes, and I continue to stare. My gaze becomes dull and unfocused. The world before me loses definition and all of features begin to blend into one another. The mugs become splotches of white and black amidst the sea of grey. Always grey. The whole world is grey, and this place expects me to pick between two solitary splotches of opposition.
Exhausted, I drop my hand.
A strange thing appears as my hand drops. Something new. Something different. Something shocking and profane.
It is not white.
It is not black.
It is not of the shades.
It is beyond this spectrum. It is indescribable.
My eyes focus, my breath coming in hasty puffs as I peer out through the open door to the garden that resides at the center of my hermitage.
A flower.
But not a flower as I have seen before. Not the vibrant white of the lustri lily. Not the terrifying black of the nightshade. Something else.
I cannot describe it.
I do not have words for it.
It is not of the white. It is not of the black. It is not of the shades.
It is beyond.
It is what I must become.
I am not a slave to the white and black. I will find purity in novelty. I will walk this new path revealed to me. I will take this bud if difference and show the lie of this world.
Luminari. No.
Abyssari. No.
I am something else. And this world of shades shall bow before it.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | I love my house. It's big and beautiful, with lots of rooms and the best housemates. Bart is the smart one, he makes all our meals. Beth is the quiet one, but she's always so nice to me. Brian is the annoying one, he usually tries to avoid me, but once or twice he'll stop for a chat.
I love my house. It's full of love and life, of food and friends, of smiles and songs. I've been living here since I can remember, originally with just Bart and Beth. Brian came later. They all go out for jobs, I'm lucky enough to work from home. Sometimes it gets lonely, but eventually someone joins me in the evenings to hang out.
My house has a backyard. It's big, with a wonderous wilderness bordering the best lawn in town. Beth loves lying on the grass in the summer, looking at all the pretty plants. Bart and I often play backyard ball, but it's been too cold to go out there for months now. I know summer's not far off though. Every time I go and check it's getting better and better out there. Soon we'll return.
Everything was perfect in my life, until yesterday.
I was going to look at the yard from the backdoor when I noticed something. Something so strange, something I'd never seen before. Before today I wouldn't be able to describe it to you properly, but now I know what it is. They call it colour and it's responsible for me ending up here, slumped against the iron bars of a jail cell, staring down a corridor of sorrow.
When I saw it, I couldn't stop looking. At first I thought it would hurt my eyes, like looking into the sun. It was illuminated like a bright star, as if it had a beam of bright fire being shone from a burning flashlight onto it. Like the one Bart always used to carry when we went out in the evenings.
I knew it was flower, yet not like any I had seen before. Flowers had never looked like this!
I stood at the backdoor for hours, motionless, enthralled. It wasn't until the front door slammed shut that I was pulled out of the hypnosis. That was probably Brian, he was always the first home.
*Shit,* I thought to myself, *I need to get out for a closer look before its too late!*
I pushed myself through the door and ran for the light, determined to find out what this flower really was.
I reached it in seconds and snatched it immediately. Not knowing what to do with it, I did the only thing that seemed sensible, I swallowed it.
That's when I heard a voice. It was distant though, as if someone was calling out from inside.
"Ha..." a voice called out, muffled through the glass door. A few moments later I heard the door opening and I turned. Standing there was Brian, arms on his hips. But his face was fuzzy. He was saying something but I couldn't hear the words.
I tried to move and stumbled, my head fell forwards. I could hear the tone changing in Brian's voice. He was angry.
"Here..." he growled, his voice still a muffled mess.
As I lifted my head again the world started expanding, as if everything I could see was rapidly exploding in front of my eyes. Brightness pounded into my eyes from every direction as I tried to focus on Brian.
My eyes were stinging as I started to realize what was happening; the way everything looked was changing like the flower had, but in a thousand unique ways. What was going on?
I tried to call out to Brian, but a whimper was all that came.
I could feel my heart racing faster and faster and I knew I needed to get to Brian.
He was still calling out so I started to run.
As I felt my hind legs pulls themselves forward I looked down and my heart froze. What on earth?
I looked up at Brian, who was just feet away now.
"For gods' sake you little shit, come *Here Boy*!"
I looked at my legs again and then at his, and for the first time in my life I realized he had two fewer than me.
&#x200B;
You don't need to know the rest of the story; what I did next or why I ended up here. It doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that they're through with me. All of them. They've left me here to rot. The jailer will come soon, carrying his keys, jingling them like the sadist he is. Then I'll be gone from this world for good.
The large iron door at the end of the soulless corridor creaked open, slowly revealing a beautiful orange glow as the sun shone over the shoulder of two figures. They walked towards me, their footsteps deliberate.
My eyes were still adjusting to colours and the brightness blared down, spraying streaks of light across my vision.
The two figures continued to approach. I pulled myself up to get a better look. And that's when I recognized them. It was Bart and Beth! They were here to save me!
I jumped with excitement and pushed my head through the bars, tongue well out as my body jived from the swinging tail lashing wildly behind.
"Whose a good boy!" Bart exclaimed.
Beth laughed.
"It seems our good boy found someone's little Salvia plant," she said as she turned to Bart with a faux frown.
He shrugged as he scratched behind his ear, and then looked back to me with a shit eating grin.
That's when I realized. My life is gonna be a good one now! I can see colour, I'd managed to rid myself of Brian, and Biden is President. Oh yeah.
Edit: PSA - Dogs are not necessarily colourblind, but this one was. Poor fella! | 2021-01-21T00:55:14 | 2021-01-21T00:38:22 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You can read minds, the one person with powers as far as you know. One day you read a guy that can time travel. You discover that he has successfully eliminated every other powered person through lots of time jumps. He doesn't know you and you are the only one that knows what he's been doing. | He looked right at you across the table and for a moment, it seems like he knew your secret. You almost forgot to smile. But you did, at just the right moment, as you’ve learned through practice. He smiled back and looked away. A close call.
Dating is tough. Especially so when you can read minds. Half-baked tinder profiles about looking for a lifelong partner fall apart when you can tell within seconds that your date is just looking to fuck. Or that their wife is with the kids back home. This double date was supposed to be different. Your girlfriend Kelli assured you that Paul was one of a kind. And you can read minds so you know she was being genuine when she said it.
Well, she was right. Just not in the way she expected.
Poor luck. Or great luck depending on your viewpoint. To think that he’s only here because he suspected Kelli of being some sort of empath. The red flags went up when the first thought of his you picked up on was him *remembering* how he had killed her. How he had screamed at her to admit she could manipulate feelings. How she had screamed back that she didn’t know what he was talking about before his hands had closed around her throat.
It wasn’t a fantasy. It was a memory. You’d been doing this long enough to tell the difference. The only explanation was that it hadn’t happened yet. Things get weird when you read minds and meeting an eligible time-traveling douche-psycho like Paul, while concerning, was not enough to get you to drop a tell.
But now what?
In a moment of instinct, you leaned across the table when nobody else could hear and smiled, flashing your most devious and flirtatious grin, “Your place or mine after this?” You asked. His thoughts went haywire. In a good way. He was on the hook.
“Well, there’s a breakfast spot I know on the east side. That’s near yours, right?” He smiled back. His thoughts had firmly landed on you and off of his suspicion of Kelli. What’s the rush, right? After all, he had already succeeded in offing her.
So you took him home. Your mind-reading makes you devilishly enticing. You tease him the way he wants to be teased. His focus remains on you. How could it not?
In an intimate moment, you comb through his mind as your fingers run through his hair. He has been forward and backward in time but he has no memories of you. You smile. This is the end of the road for him. After all, there’s only enough room in this town for one super-powered, power-tripping maniac. You’ve disposed of several already.
He whispers into your ear as you’re tangled up on your couch later that night, “Where’ve you been all my life?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Around,” you whisper back as you reach for the kitchen knife you tucked in the cushions earlier.
—
“So, you seemed to hit it off with Paul,” Kelli grins as you over coffee a few days later. What’s that you’re picking up on her mind? Jealousy? Her relationship with her boyfriend had been rocky lately.
You grin back, “Yeah. He and I have a lot in common. Thanks for setting us up. We had fun. I needed that.”
She was glad to hear it. That much was clear despite her conflicted, guilt-ridden thoughts. You almost felt bad but knew there was no stopping what was to come. Poor Kelli. What’s done is done.
At least your secret would still be safe.
\--
*Edited for grammar and clarity* | 'This would be so much easier in a hundred years,' came the thought from the doctor.
Maria normally filtered out the background telepathic haze of the public space. The random bits of strong thoughts that intruded into her mind were either distinctly boring or uniquely disturbing more often than not. This was something else though. What a curious thought to have.
Maria said nothing as she dialed into the doctor's thoughts, a bright view of a street sign framed by an expensive-looking wall-to-wall window greeted her. If minds were like computers, the home was the wallpaper more often than not, burned in from long exposures. Home or work, both handy glimpses to have.
Individual brains were like radio stations she could tune to with concentration. The smarter the person was, the wider she could turn the knob and still hear them. She wasn't surprised the doctor was intelligent, but this woman blasted across near the whole register. There was still a sweet spot. She was juggling several thoughts at once. What to buy for dinner, leaning towards fish, Maria's broken leg wasn't healing fast enough, whether she should bother prescribing supplements or just recommend Maria buy them.
'This would have been an amputation back in London, before antibiotics.'
There was another one! What a curious thought to have. Was she playing a game with herself, imagining herself as a character from a TV show, maybe? Antibiotics had been around what, a hundred years? The doctor didn't seem whimsical. She wore a stern professional face as she finished her examination, looking up at Maria.
'She kind of looks like that Bright Bitch in the 2080's, she was a sweet one to see the lights go out of.'
The thought rode to her on a wave of memory, steeped in rage and pleasure too strong to fake. This wasn't pretending.
"Everything alright, doc?" Maria asked, adjusting the paper covering the bed/chair thing crinkling below her.
"It's better, but it's not healing as fast as I'd like," the doctor said cheerfully. "I'm going to write a few supplements down I want you to start today. We'll take some blood work and I'll put a note in your portal if anything comes up we don't expect."
'Can't forget to add the Fructosamine test, just in case,' the doctor thought again with that same vicious glee as she wrote on the rolling table. 'Been a while since I've had some fun.'
Maria strained, pushing herself through a deep scan. Reading beyond surface-level thoughts was exhausting and she could only manage one or two a day, but this was the time to do it.
She held the words fructosamine and fun as she slid through the neat shelves of the doctor's mind. Blurbs came to her and she dismissed them with swimmer's strokes, pushing further through the catalog of memories.
'An alternative to A1c testing,' spoke a rude-looking old man in a white coat, down to a scared young woman. Girls Just Want to Have Fun played a backdrop as Maria dug further.
A knife, a bloody stump of a hand. Assumptions Maria had about this image being part of the doctor's training ended when she saw the sofa the body was on.
'Fructosamine of 611 in a nondiabetic, another data point,' the young woman said.
She was wearing some kind of headgear that filled her vision with numbers and graphs. She stepped back to see the body laying bound. A small hand was growing from the stump. Before her eyes, the hand was reformed. 'Please,' a weak voice said. The eyes Maria saw through didn't track to the face.
'A marker of the gifted most assuredly,' came the voice of the memory. 'I will be the only one, I'm afraid.' The knife came down again and again. Blood-
"Miss Rodrigeuz?" the doctor said, pulling Maria from the memory. "You should be able to get these at your local pharmacy."
"Oh, thank you, sorry," Maria said, maintaining a straight face as she took the paper, unable to focus on reading it.
The doctor was gifted somehow, just like Maria, but was hunting down others and killing them. Whatever this bloodwork was she wanted would show Maria was too.
"I'm sorry. I don't feel well. Maybe we could do the bloodwork some other time?" Maria said, standing up on her crutches.
"No worries," the doctor said casually from the computer. "The nurse took it while you were getting checked in. We don't need more."
"Oh," Maria said, working her way through the doorway. "How long till the results are back?"
"Probably tomorrow," she replied.
...
Maria hit the brakes, almost squeaking the wheels of the uncomfortable Civic. She squinted at the sign through the midnight fog, imagining what it would look like from another angle. This was the place. She pulled the gas can over the mess of the hot wired cables. It hurt to walk, but she couldn't risk being spotted with crutches. As she worked around the huge house pouring the liquid, she thanked the peacefully sleeping doctor for the tip about fructosamine. It might come in handy for finding more of them. She would be the only one, after all.
&#x200B;
/r/surinical | 2021-05-08T21:01:53 | 2021-05-08T19:02:45 | 1,311 | 321 |
[WP] You can read minds, the one person with powers as far as you know. One day you read a guy that can time travel. You discover that he has successfully eliminated every other powered person through lots of time jumps. He doesn't know you and you are the only one that knows what he's been doing. | But then you look deeper. This is not the first time he's met you. In fact, this is the seventh time. Each time he jumps back, he tries to kill you, but you know what he's going to do before he does it. He's now incredibly frustrated. So he keeps jumping back further and further in your past to try to get you. Suddenly, as he lunges toward you with his creepy looking piano wire, you wonder how he figured out you were a mind reader in the first place. You read his memories and you see the first time he met you. You actually approached him, finally you found someone who had a power, a secret you could share. But then you read that he intended to harm you, and you stepped out of the way as he lunged at you and he fell into a lady's lap starting a fight with her friends, letting you escape. Back in this time, you strafe him again, then think quick and take a cab to his address and posing as a school tutor, speak to his younger self. Luckily, his younger self doesn't know he can time jump yet. You can read both their minds at the same time, older and younger, even tho older is far away, and see that he first discovered his ability when he regretted a missed chance to ask a girl out, and obsessed over it for days, finally launching himself through a mentally created time vortex back to the moment of opportunity, through sheer emotional turmoil. Using this future knowledge, you reveal that you're actually an angel, his guardian, come to protect him, and spin him a story how this woman will be his protector and future wife, his greatest love, and no matter what he does, his life will come to nothing if he doesn't ask her out. You describe her to him, and describe the moment in all the detail it was etched in his wrought memories. As you tell this story, you feel a jank in reading the older one's mind. Suddenly he's no longer there. Could it have worked? | "Concentrate, keep yourself busy at all times. You've got this."
Gregory Attenborough, age 28. Likes: Books, cats and to monologue in front of the mirror. Dislikes: A lot of things, among his recently acquired quirk. Occupation: Cashier in a convenience store.
I started developing this power a few months back. Anyone ever thought reading minds would be fun? You thought wrong, it's a torture. You can't meet a lot of people who means good on the inside when they speak politely to you on the outside. Besides you don't want to get stuck in a crowd. Having said that I've learned to appreciate this power because of a few rare people who're genuinely good.
"No, I can't make it in time with this traffic, Jimmy is gonna kill me. I should've taken the subway. So much for saying bicycle and a pair of headphones is all I need, you really do got this, Greg. Ugh."
• • •
He's staring at me. Let me get close so that I can-
"Hey, buddy. Got stuck in traffic again? (Ooh I gotta see this, he's really gonna get fired this time)"
The guy who just laid his hand on my shoulder is Sylvester. Always ahead in wanting to see me fail.
"Do you want to get fired? (I don't know how many times I can keep doing this)"
Jimmy, my boss. He's always stressed out. I don't think I've ever seen him smile other than that awkward grin.
"Jimmy, I'm really sorry. I don't have an excuse. If you want me to res-"
"You're needed at the desk. I don't want to see you come in late one more time. (I don't want to lose him, it'd rather fire Sylvester)"
"You got it boss."
"(Bummer)" This is Sylvester's thought.
My boss Jimmy can be a really good guy. I should tell Sylvester to start looking for jobs. Now I know he's a pain for both of us.
• • •
It was a slow day. Jimmy heard footsteps approach, he looked up to see whom the black boot belonged to. The man with a goatee looking like Brad Pitt wore full sleeved leather jacket and an overly fashionable glasses. Greg felt something strange about him. He went straight to the aisle, got a few things and visited the desk for payment.
"That'll be $25.40."
"Hey, do you know of any place where I can get metals?"
"What kind?"
"Something called Iridium."
"I, don't know anything about that, sorry." Nope, never disclose anything to him even if you knew. He looks suspicious enough already.
"Alright. (He's either lying or is just useless)"
"What's his problem?" Thought Greg as he smirked.
"Your smartwatch."
"What?"
"It's lighting up underneath your sleeve." What kind of a smartwatch lights up like that?
"(How? I don't see anyone in the vicinity.) It's... nothing. (Probably a false notifier)"
Who's this guy? Why did he get agitated for a second there? What's he hiding?
Later that day Greg found him lurking outside an abandoned warehouse past the junkyard. As always curiosity got the best of him so he decided to follow the stranger.
[Part 2](https://np.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n80lco/wp_you_can_read_minds_the_one_person_with_powers/gxivk5v?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3)
WP.r #130 • r/FleetingScripts | 2021-05-09T01:09:16 | 2021-05-08T19:26:14 | 38 | 16 |
[WP]In your dream, a strange man conversed with you: "I offer you a gift, what would you like?" "A dragon!" "That's not realistic." "Fine, I want a boyfriend then." But the next day you wake up to a dragon with care manual instead. | I woke up and started streching, that's when I felt something was wrong. The ground beneath my feet was shaking lightly. I looked at my nightstand, and there it was, a strange book.
"How to... care for a dragon?" I gulped, it was just a dream, surely... this couldn't be real, dragons are not real. As I opened it I felt my chest burning, when I lifted my shirt there was a tattoo, or... a mark of sorts, I didn't know what to think. Then it started glowing and thrn quaking became stronger, for a few seconds only before it stopped completely and there was a knock on my bedroom door. I panicked and grabbed my night lamp in one hand, and slowly approached the door. I opened them slowly, and there was a girl, casually standing as if she just didn't break into my house.
"W-Who are you?!" I asked her, she tilted her head and squinted her eyes and spoke.
"In your language, my name is... Elizabeth. I have a question too." She lifted her shirt and revealed the same mark that I had, right her breasts. "How did you do this?"
"I-I didn't I..." She looked behind me and sighed.
"You opened the book?"
"Y-Yeah... What is it? And what are you doing in my house?" She stepped closer and took the lamp from my hand and put it down, she looked into my eyes and smiled.
"I suppose it could be worse, Samantha."
"How do you know my name?"
"Those marks, we are bonded now, I know everything about you, and you know everything about me. Try it, think about what is my favorite food."
"Pizza. Wait... how do I know this?" As I started thinking about her, I could remember all of her memories, it felt as if I knew her my whole life.
"Great, so, I... want the left side."
"Of what?"
"The bed, I want to sleep on the right side."
"You wanna sleep with me in one bed?"
"Well, you wished for a dragon and a boyfriend, I am a dragon, so let's get to the next part."
"But you aren't boy."
"And you're not straight." I blushed.
"Yes I am!"
"Oh... you're still in the closet... well, I can change into a guy if that's what you really want." I looked at her boddy, and... I couldn't deny she was pretty...
"No... it's... fine I... are you really a dragon?"
"Well, you see my memories, you tell me." She stepped closer, slipped one hand around my torso and held me close.
"W-What are-" Before I could say anything else, I felt her lips on mine, they were warm, and the kiss was long and affectionate.
"So... arw you ok with the right side?"
"Y-Yeah..." | I thought it was a dream! This can’t be happening!
My mind was going in circles while I stared at the sleeping dragon at the end of my bed. There was a small pink pamphlet sitting in front of it.
I carefully reached over and grabbed it.
*Own Your Own Dragon! TM*
*a product manufactured and produced by StrangeDream.Co*
*made in china*
Well duh, everything is made in China.
I open to the first page.
*Step 1: Please ensure your dragon is currently in a state of rest and unconsciousness. If this is not the case, please contact customer service as your product is defective and needs replacement.*
I peer over at the sleeping dragon. It still hasn’t woken up yet. I look back down at the manual.
*Step 2: To wake up your dragon, please lightly tap it on either the forehead or the nose. Anything other than a light tap will cause damage to your product. If you have warranty, please contact customer service and we will provide you with a new dragon.*
I feel a bit reluctant at first. This thing looks like everything you try to avoid at once. A bat, a snake, a venomous lizard, a dinosaur, etc. I build up enough courage to gently tap it on the nose.
Its eyes open immediately. It gets up and yawns. It kinda reminded me of a dog except, more reptilian.
*Step 3: Now that your dragon is awake, it will transform into a human form. You may select the gender of your dragon and you may design the appearance of its human form. If your dragon has not awaken yet, please contact customer service and we may provide you with a new dragon.*
There seems to be a lot that can go wrong with these things.
My dragon’s eyes start to glow and then its body transforms into a strange white liquid. The liquid reforms into the shape of a human, but only the shape of one. It reminded me of a mannequin except this mannequin had no features. You couldn’t really tell what gender it was at all.
I touched the skin of the mannequin like dragon and it felt squishy, like human flesh.
*Step 4: To design your dragon, please use the glasses provided. They will sync with your brain and you can use your mind to create your perfect partner!*
I scramble around trying to find the glasses. I eventually find them under the mannequin/dragon. I put them on and i am greeted to an entire screen that reminded me of a character creation screen you find in alot of games.
*Please select the gender of your dragon*
*Male, Female, Non Binary*
Non Binary? How would that work? Would that mean there is nothing there?
I suddenly remember what I wished for, a boyfriend. Maybe this is my wish!
I look back at the blank canvas of a person the dragon was and then look back at the screen.
*You have selected male! Would you like to randomize an appearance and edit from there?*
I choose no. Usually the randomize button comes up with some crazy things that look ridiculous.
I begin designing my perfect boyfriend.
After almost an hour, I come up with the perfect design.
“Great!” I say out loud. I press finish and take off the glasses. Within moments, the flesh transforms into a claylike substance that sculpts and colors itself into the shape I designed.
He is finally finished and I look at him, amazed.
“Hey babe.” He says.
“Yeah no, let’s not do that quite yet.”
“Okay, sorry.” He says in a very monotone voice.
I look back down at the manual to see if there are any more steps.
*Step 5: Please program the personality of your dragon using the glasses provided.
I put the glasses back on and I am greeted to another screen.
*Please describe your partner’s personality.*
I start writing it down.
“Hey, so sorry about that earlier, I was preprogrammed to act like that.” He said kindly.
“Don’t worry, I fixed you!” I say.
Wow that sounded very wrong.
“Wanna go out to eat something?” He asks.
“Yes of course!” I say while putting on a cute outfit.
We exit my apartment. And start down the hallway.
“By the way, you made me look amazing.”
*Step 6: Make sure your dragon isn’t aware of how you created their appearance and their personality. If this is the case,* **run**. | 2021-07-18T01:16:52 | 2021-07-18T00:14:55 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You're an enchanted suit of armor, empty on the inside. After gaining sentience you left the haunted keep you were stored in and began adventuring. As you gain notoriety as an adventurer and make friends and connections, it gets harder to keep it a secret that there's nothing behind your visor. | “Galade, why don’t you ever take that armor off?” said my companion.
“Makes me feel comf’rble,” I replied, tersely.
“All that metal can’t be comfortable, friend. Come, when’s the last time you took that off?” he said as he reached for the sides of my helmet. I grabbed his hands, which seemed to surprise him.
“It’s quite comf’rting, knowing that any weapon an en’my might bring to bear’ll do me next to no ‘arm when it strikes,” I responded, as I had many times to the same inquiry from others.
Valden’s expression soured. “But it’s just the two of us here. Do you not trust me? Gods above, Galade, I don’t even know what you look like.”
I hadn’t the guts literally or figuratively to tell him then and there that this was all there was to see, but he persisted in reaching for my… well, I suppose “face” isn’t the wrong word, so I felt some reassurance or explanation was in order. What could I say, though? This friend of mine must have been acting under the assumption that I was like him, alive and full of warmth and compassion, but alas, I am just this metal shell imbued with a hollow semblance of life…
“Galade. Please.”
I wanted so completely to tell him the truth in that moment. Yet it was as if some barrier existed that prevented the words from issuing forth. What would he think? What would he say? Surely, he would want me destroyed for the abomination I am, but if I deny him now, he will only persist in his prying. Perhaps I am only delaying the inevitable.
I let go of his hands, accepting of my fate.
As my visor lifted, he looked surprised, then confused, then perhaps a little angry, as he searched the empty helmet for a face.
“That’s… all ‘ere is, my friend,” I said, arms outstretched, waiting for the inevitable accusatory finger-point and shouting about Gods and the natural and unnatural and so on. He was indignant for certain, but not quite in the way I expected.
“You’re… what, you’re an animated armor?”
“…yes.”
“What, and you weren’t going to tell me as such? I was worried, Galade! You know it’s pretty obvious you don’t sleep and don’t eat properly, I thought you would collapse any minute if you didn’t get some proper rest! Oh, that’s a relief. Dear Gods.”
This was… a strange feeling. Relief? Happiness? I didn’t know how I was… supposed to feel, but nonetheless I managed to inquire, “You’re not… mad? Afraid?”
He replied, “Well, no, I could never stay mad at you. I didn’t know animated things like you could be so… human. It’s certainly weird, but… many things in life are weirder than *this.*” He gestured to my shell as he spoke. “Honestly, friend, I’m quite impressed, first at the fact that you are so much… *yourself*, and second, that you managed to keep this a secret as long as you did.”
“But I’m a monster…”
“Sure, but what difference does that make?” he asked. “You’ve proven time and time again that you’ve got a good soul, and that’s all that really matters in life. Come, I’m sure you’ve got some interesting stories about wizards and old, crumbly towers to tell.”
I thought about his words for a long time after that. I’m still not sure I understand, but it was nice to know I really could trust him. | Morvad - The empty warrior.
Morvad was outnumbered, dozens of angry, half-naked tribespeople encircled him, taking turns to jab spears and axes at his armoured self. Their lack of armour made them very agile, so taking them out with his greatsword was no easy feat, however he had an almost… inverse advantage. Inside his formidable armour, stretching from head to foot with absolutely no visible gaps, there was no person. Some people say you are what you eat, well Morvad was literally what he wore, he was a variety of enchanted armour pieces that had developed a single identity.
The fight itself was of little consequence, suffice it to say Morvad used his advantages to slice through their ranks with alarming alacrity until they fled. The more alarming part was that they were here at all. The tribals had been especially active as of late, and they were very particular in targeting Morvad’s employers.
Morvad reported back to the Cathedral in the Morovanian capital of Stras. His contact was a low-ranking official in the Church of the pure soul, whom Morvad hadn’t bothered to learn the name of.
“Writ completed, seven intact heads, five fled with injuries, I do not expect many of them to survive,” said Morvad, in his metallic voice. For the most part he sounded human, which was certainly useful. The Church of the pure soul aren’t famed for loving wanton, unregulated magic, and that’s exactly what they would view Morvad as.
Morvad threw a blood soaked sack onto the table, a head rolled out towards the Clerk’s hands, he stood up in fright and threw the head back away from him as if he had just been thrown hot coals.
The clerk raised his eyebrow and stared at the bag in alarm at the brutality of it all. After a deep breath he composed himself enough to reply: “You do know, mercenary, we *do* accept teeth as evidence, two canines is enough evidence of a kill. Alas, you know the drill well enough, take this lot to the mortuary and I’ll have your money counted up and ready for you when you return, dismissed.”
***
The Cathedral lesser mortuary was less of a place to process and honour the dead but more of a reliquary. Skulls adorned every inch of the walls, most of them were once enemies of the church, some were simply poor people delighted to be anywhere near the Cathedral, even if it meant standing vigil alongside robbers and rapists. For the most part the Church burned their dead considering it a cleansing of the soul, but they did often indulge in preserving skulls.
The Church had once been a minor affair in Morovania, starting as a simple missionary centre on the border, giving wisdom to those that sought comfort within their humble camp. It spread slowly over the years, mixing and changing, and to some degree intermingling with existing religions, while still keeping it’s core ethos. It didn’t get it’s big break until a few hundred years ago, when they played a key part in helping a great deal of the populace survive the great plague.
It was then that a Prince of the time saw their opportunity. He nourished and encouraged the development of the Church in Morovania. He was no priest but he used his influence to conduct sermons, radicalising and evangelizing all he could, especially insisting that the military take part. Within a decade he had much of the minor religions kicked out and in hiding, and the Church of the pure soul fully ingrained within Morovanian society. The Prince and the Church had become so intertwined that to keep his elder brother as the heir would have led to civil war. His ascent was guaranteed.
It’s only gotten worse since then, the Church quite literally is the military now. Their victories are Morovania’s victories. As all of these skulls would attest.
Still, despite his tenuous relationship with the Church, Morvad enjoyed his time in the mortuary. He didn’t need to do more than hand over the heads and go, but without fail he would sit and watch the mortician at work. He would wonder what it would be like to have an actual bone structure within his shell. On some level, the whole idea seemed ludicrous to him, sometimes all he could imagine was a bag of bones rattling around inside his shell, messing up his movements.
However he couldn’t have always been sentient armour. There are plenty of examples of magical items in the world, and most of them never start moving of their own volition. So by that logic he had to have once had a wearer, and it had to have fit.
Sometimes, when he stared long enough at those skulls, Morvad thought not of rattling bones, but instead of singular people. It’s like he could imagine their lives in flashes, lives from their own perspective and not his metallic, armour bound existence. However that’s all they ever were, flashes of something he could have never known himself. Fleeting, only coming after long concentration, and gone all too soon.
((Sorry, that's all you're getting, heh. Does this sound promising? It does feel very much just like an intro with a lot of exposition, but it would fit into another story I started but.. never really got very far with)) | 2021-09-21T08:42:20 | 2021-09-21T07:04:25 | 1,144 | 132 |
[WP] You're pretty sure that the gas station you work at is a hotspot for eldritch beings beyond mortal understanding but this job doesn't pay enough for you to care. Also they are more polite than your average customer. | As the slimy tentacles of the abomination in the building plopped down on the tiled floor, Jack was busy dealing with the rowdy customer at the checkout counter.
“What do you mean you can’t use the Double Gulp-o cups for Slurpeez?” The man had been arguing over the stores fountain drink rules, not noticing the 12 foot tall purple monster to his right.
“It’s store policy, sir. You can only use the Slurp-o cups, not the Gulp-o.” Jacks monotone voice didn’t change in speed or volume, he was use to this speech.
“Well this is an outrage!” The rude customer blurted before exiting. The octopus-like being of cosmic origin made its way to the counter. A large ‘Whizzo’ bar, a bag of ‘Crunch-ees’, and a ‘Lightning Shock’ energy drink.
*“Long day, huh?”* The abomination telepathically spoke. All Jack heard was a garbled mess, but he somehow understood everything.
“Yep, that’ll be $5.32.” The abomination slid forward a $10 bill.
*”Keep the change. Have a good evening.”* | Monday
Mr. Jackson a man of indusernable age bought a lotto ticket, but he won. Well of course he won you would say. Everyone wins eventually at least that's what the company's tells you. Evrey single ticket run by my store can't win more then ten dollars. I know because I write the tickets myself it one of my tasks. The ticket in question are 1$ and 1 in 10 win a free ticket 1 in 50 win a dollar and 1 in 200 wins 10$, and the ticket read win up to 100$.Mr. Jackson however won 100$. I mean that's impossible. They literally can't win that amount yet he scratched it off and I had to pay him.
Tuesday
A young woman walked in today. She was well dressed and never met eyes with me. As she was trying on sun-glasses her image caught my eye there was nothing human about her in that mirror nothing at all. She bought the glasses and left
Wensday
Chrismas eve an hour before the gass station would close it was quite and boring. I had not had a customer in two hours. Suddenly have all the cameras shut down and a customer walk out of the bathroom. Exept the there was never had been bathroom in a place as small as this had there? When had it been expanded. The customers walked out with a friendly sort of wave.
Thursday
There were a lot of people here today. Lots off bustle with me just ringing up items and asking "cash or card?"
When as if on queue all the people stopped and faced the bathroom a male child walked out. They all bowed. They bowed! Then they turned towards me u gad no idea what to do so I bowed,and they continued on as if nothing at all happened
Friday
last day on my shift this week, although now that I think about it the gass station only seems to be open on days I work. It's always abandoned as I walk by. The strangest thing yet happend today. The power went out it was bound to happen eventually that's not what was strange. What was Strang e was that when it did an old man looked up frowned and said "Now Tranzthit you said one day in sunlight and I haven't even mad it outside yet." The light seemed to come on reluctantly as If they actually could delay themselves that's not how a switch works. Is it how a switch works?
Saturday
I don't have to worry about the gass station today. It has been the best part time job I've ever found. 20$ an hour to manage a small gass station that was closed on the weekend. Of course the customers could be odd, but they were mutch kinder than anyone else I'd ever encountered in customer service. I loved my job. | 2021-12-13T22:15:24 | 2021-12-13T20:52:47 | 129 | 16 |
[WP] You're pretty sure that the gas station you work at is a hotspot for eldritch beings beyond mortal understanding but this job doesn't pay enough for you to care. Also they are more polite than your average customer. | \[Poem\]
And as the walls did warp and sway
When I attended work that day
Those that I could not comprehend
Who caused reality to bend
Paid for their drinks, paid for their gas
They paid with cards, they paid with cash
I could not move, I could not stray
Upon my ground I stood, that day
No courage here
Nor was it fear
That anchored me, kept my head clear
But apathy
So sweet to me
Was all I had (as all could see)
For who would care, for little pay
To stand around and work all day?
For when the void does come to call
To warp you to a mindless thrall
Trust not in valor, strength of mind
Faith will fail, I'm sure you'll find
Meet not your foe with mental force
But change direction- change your course
Does reality to madness kneel?
Just ask yourself: "Now, do I feel
Like fighting madness, dread, and terror?"
I tell you no- t'would be great error
When the laws of physics start to fray
Just shrug your shoulders, mumble
"...okay." | Monday
Mr. Jackson a man of indusernable age bought a lotto ticket, but he won. Well of course he won you would say. Everyone wins eventually at least that's what the company's tells you. Evrey single ticket run by my store can't win more then ten dollars. I know because I write the tickets myself it one of my tasks. The ticket in question are 1$ and 1 in 10 win a free ticket 1 in 50 win a dollar and 1 in 200 wins 10$, and the ticket read win up to 100$.Mr. Jackson however won 100$. I mean that's impossible. They literally can't win that amount yet he scratched it off and I had to pay him.
Tuesday
A young woman walked in today. She was well dressed and never met eyes with me. As she was trying on sun-glasses her image caught my eye there was nothing human about her in that mirror nothing at all. She bought the glasses and left
Wensday
Chrismas eve an hour before the gass station would close it was quite and boring. I had not had a customer in two hours. Suddenly have all the cameras shut down and a customer walk out of the bathroom. Exept the there was never had been bathroom in a place as small as this had there? When had it been expanded. The customers walked out with a friendly sort of wave.
Thursday
There were a lot of people here today. Lots off bustle with me just ringing up items and asking "cash or card?"
When as if on queue all the people stopped and faced the bathroom a male child walked out. They all bowed. They bowed! Then they turned towards me u gad no idea what to do so I bowed,and they continued on as if nothing at all happened
Friday
last day on my shift this week, although now that I think about it the gass station only seems to be open on days I work. It's always abandoned as I walk by. The strangest thing yet happend today. The power went out it was bound to happen eventually that's not what was strange. What was Strang e was that when it did an old man looked up frowned and said "Now Tranzthit you said one day in sunlight and I haven't even mad it outside yet." The light seemed to come on reluctantly as If they actually could delay themselves that's not how a switch works. Is it how a switch works?
Saturday
I don't have to worry about the gass station today. It has been the best part time job I've ever found. 20$ an hour to manage a small gass station that was closed on the weekend. Of course the customers could be odd, but they were mutch kinder than anyone else I'd ever encountered in customer service. I loved my job. | 2021-12-14T00:45:21 | 2021-12-13T20:52:47 | 34 | 16 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold. | You pop your Zinger in and crack open an energy drink to chase it with. It was only 1/3rd, good for a quick power nap. You step back over to your booth and monitor the customers as they scan their groceries.
Nobody needs help, the machines are practically decorative at this point. The AI camera system runs the show, monitoring items, bags, credit card accounts, you're just the copilot. The human backup every automation needs.
The Zinger starts to kick in. You feel your eyes drifting, your head tilts forward and immediately kicks back. You had that dream again about riding the rail car out of the mining tunnel. The coastline the train car passed looked so nice, crystal clear waters flowing under that beautiful concrete bridge.
Every once in a while you get on that bridge and try to get to the other side, but you never get there.
You blink a few times, it's only been a second, but you swear you spent over a hour walking that bridge.
It doesn't take long for you to get your bearings, the energy drink helps. You look out at the monitors, an AI display tracking everything on screen. Business as usual. You check your watch, you know you just checked it before the Zinger, but you do it anyway. Force of habit.
8:02pm, only 10 hours left, okay, not quite halfway done but getting there. You wonder when was the last time you ate?
You stare at the monitors, time passes, you're getting tired again. How? You only took the Zinger 20 minutes ago. Maybe you should've had a full 8 hour. No, you took an 8 before you started, that would make you way too groggy now. You're just bored.
You try to think about what you'll be doing when you get out. It'll be sunrise, what used to be morning.
You'll take an 8 when you get out, then grab some eggs. Maybe go for a walk? No. Standing all day your body needs rest even if your mind doesn't.
You can just do the usual, watch a movie, take a Zinger, play a game, take a Zinger, read a book, take a Zinger. Come back to work. Take a Zinger.
Zingers are the best. You've never worked more, earned more, or been more well rested, constantly.
You check the clock again. 8:51. Maybe you'll take another 1/3rd at 9. You could use the rest. Try to cross that bridge again. You like looking at the waves. You love the walk. | I've been up, maybe, 75 to 76 hours this time around
It's this new drug that one of the big pharma companies dropped.
Supposed to be better than Adderall, Modafinil, and miles ahead of most amphetamines. At least safety wise. And so far, that seems to be the case. I feel awake. Alive. So this is what being a normal person is like, huh?
Oh well. I'm recording this as part of my trial run. Had to sign off on it to get a script.
Anyway, talk to you later.
---
Okay. Entry 2. Or Tape 2? Um, how do people keep video diaries usually? I don't know.
Sorry. So I actually visited the clinic again today. Apparently they want to check with test subjects once a week for about 12 weeks. It's cool though. You come in, they read your vitals, give you a questionnaire, ask about side effects, and away you go.
If you really feel up to it, you do a blood check, and they'll actually give you 20 bucks for the trouble.
Win-win.
But uh, other than some moments where you get a little manic, not too bad. My record so far is 97 hours. I know they have you stop using every 10 days to check the difference during the clinic visits.
But... This is awesome. Do you have idea how much we get done with 8 more hours a day? Why can't it always be like this?
---
Okay, third entry. I think that's what I'll call them.
It's been four weeks. There have been some effects. I don't think it's anything to worry about. Okay, maybe you should worry if you aren't careful.
First off, don't mix with alcohol. I feel like I shouldn't have to say it. But if you do, you will sleepwalk. I've seen friends do it. Strangers. I woke up on a bench in the park this weekend. I don't remember 4 or 5 hours.
So... Don't do that.
Also, I have no clue how that will mess with your liver. Probably not smart.
Also, if you go on a long haul like maybe 80-100 hours, you might get some visual trailing. Have you ever messed with a RGB spectrum in photoshop programs?
Something like that. Just breathe a bit, drink water, move around some. It will go away.
Otherwise. I really love this stuff.
---
It been six weeks.
Um... A good friend of mine died. Heart condition. I guess he never knew. Um, we never knew.
He, uh, he took more than the recommended dosage. I think. Maybe. I can't be sure. His wife said he might have.
But, I kind of wondered about that. Maybe this stuff isn't too good for everybody. Some of my coworkers and stuff. They aren't right. I can't really describe it. It's like they see right through you. There's... there's no reaction. The lights are on, but no one's home.
So.... I think maybe I'll take half my script this time. Not the whole thing. Just stretch it out a bit. See what less does for me.
---
I'm up to 120 hours.
I. I really couldn't do half. It just didn't do anything. They gave me the gel capsules this time. Usually it's 250 milligrams. But these 500.
Haha, I, i think these are the future.
I just, hang on.
My pulse is really racing. I'm a little worked up.
---
So the trial is over.
I really don't know why I'm recording this. It's kind of fun, y'know? My girlfriend left me. She said it was getting to weird, plus she had other things to do. I mean that makes sense. 2 in the morning is the best time to get things done. Busy busy bees.
Sorry, that's, that's just me being dumb.
Flying pretty high.
This is getting boring. Let me call this.
Hey, you got my stuff? Yeah, 750s? 40? Perfect. I'll buzz you in.
No, I ain't doing anything, I'll be right down. 400 bucks, right? Sure. Thanks. | 2022-03-18T10:24:56 | 2022-03-18T10:08:51 | 190 | 83 |
[WP] "Halt foul demon! I know of your true name and so you must obey my every command!" "Wha- Why would you knowing my name make me obey you all of a suden? What are you gonna do? Call my parents or something? I swear humans myths about demon control are the weirdest.." | With flashing lights and roaring thunder, I made my appearance. "Who has summoned the great Valgath? You are better not wasting my precious time!" As usual, I spawned in my demonic form, bright fire engulfing me.
"Valgath Orzoder Xurrozan, ruler of dungeons and the wastelands! As I speak your true name, you now have to obey my every command!"
For a second, my fire burned lower as the unusual response made me lose my focus. WHAT?
"Mortal, who are you to believe that a near almighty demon would be to your command for just knowing his full name?" I really don't know where he got that. That myth is new.
"No matter, you are stuck in the summoning cycle and I won't free you." Erm, no? I stepped out, kicking the markings.
"Are you stupid enough to think some simple chalk dust could hold me back?"
"Well, you are not attacking me, so you are clearly held back by it."
I snapped my finger and teleported him six feet to the side. "My power is near infinite. I am only following the rules of my boss. No attacking humans unless it is part of a pact." My voice was now less booming, and more natural. "Would you beat up potential customers? And that's why this rule exists. Speaking of a pact, what do you want in exchange for your soul. Healthy children? Eternal beauty? Unlimited fertility?"
"Give me the power to mind control all demons. And I'm going to sacrifice the soul of my husband. He doesn't need it anyway"
Once again, I was speechless. "NO! First of all, we are not granting wishes that are against us. And second, you can only sell your own soul or sacrifice somebody. Where have you done your research, fool? I have seen 10-year-old children who were prepared better for the encounter!"
"It's all there." She showed me her smartphone. summonyourdemon dot com. Seriously? A shitty website? I sighed. But maybe she would still sign. Let's try something different. I summoned a blood-red gun into my hands.
"If you want to sacrifice your husband, kill him with this firearm. It won't make any noise and the body will disappear with no trace." Maybe, going bluntly direct was the way to make her realize how serious this was.
"So first you don't obey me, then you don't agree with my pact and now you want me to kill my husband. That's enough, I want to speak with your manager."
Very dumb idea. But maybe Lucifer could teach her manners. I snapped my fingers and he appeared next to me.
"Mortal, you want to complain about my valued employee?"
"Yes, he is not obeying me, not granting my desire to control demons, and now he offers me a gun to kill my husband. That's not how it works! You should fire him."
Lucifer looked at me bewildered. I shrugged. "She got her information from a shitty website," I told him telepathically.
"Well, that is surely how it works, we are not hurting our own establishment and surely we aren't obeying random people. Now, state your wish and sign the pact or be gone! You are not worthy to waste the time of us demons, stupid weak mortal."
"How are you speaking to me like that!" The audacity to talk back to Lucifer himself. I noticed his expression shifting from annoyance to pure fury. "I know what you are supposed to give me, but you aren't. Go to hell."
"Well, that's what I am doing now." Judging his expression he was about to commit some serious arson but held back. "See you soon. Also, I hereby ban you from summoning demons for the rest of your mortal life. Our time is not to be wasted." And with a bang, he turned into smoke. I started to smile and shifted into my human form.
"If I was you, I would kneel and beg for mercy now!" I said with an evil smile on my face.
"Why should I kneel in front of you?" I snapped my fingers at her. She looked at me like I was a child who did something bad. But it quickly turned into panic as her hands turned into hoofs.
"Well, you are no longer a customer. And I'm not wasting an opportunity to have some fun." | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 6: Mare v.s. Bureaucracy)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"Halt, foul demon!"** The federal-uniformed soldier barked at Mare. "I know of your true name, and so you must obey my command."
Mare raised one perfect eyebrow—they were a shapeshifter, after all, and what was the point of having a body in the first place if it wasn't going to be perfect? "What, is this because I kicked your attack dog back into the sewer he game from? You know that demon-bindings don't work unless you're a mage, right?"
"Who said anything about demon-bindings?" The soldier stepped forwards, thrusting a piece of paper scribbled with words at Mare. They eyed it cautiously, expecting a runed trap or some spell-parchment, but instead found... a court summons. Addressed to Mare—the legal name they'd chosen in this century.
Mare scoffed. "Please. You've been tearing this city to shreds with your military. You think I'm going to respect your laws after everything you've done?" They kicked a bit of rubble off the cracked and torn road for emphasis. The pebble whizzed by the soldier's head with supernatural speed—a warning shot.
"Ah—I'm afraid you're mistaken. These aren't our laws; you're not being called to stand in front of the U.S. court." The soldier tapped the top of the piece of paper, and Mare's eyes narrowed. "This is a summons from Desmethylway."
"What? Give me that." Mare snatched the paper and skimmed it. *Eyewitness in... unresolved murder... five decades ago...* "This—this case was closed half a century ago!"
"And it was just reopened, by the request of the U.S. Federal Government," the soldier placidly said. "Oh—and it's not the only one." Mare's eyes bulged as the soldier offered another summons, and another, and another, each from a separate nation, each calling on the millenia-old demon for crimes they had committed over the long, long course of their life—everything from jaywalking to destruction of property to high treason. "Of course, if you *want* to spit in the eye of every court in the world, feel free. I'll be watching the fireworks—from a safe distance."
Mare worked their jaw. They *had* to remain here to protect the city; the Feds would conquer it in an instant if they left. But the grievances accrued against them over centuries were legitimate, and spurning the international community would do the city of Sacrament no favors. They weren't cut out for this kind of bureaucratic maneuvering—
"Excuse me!"
—but someone else was. Mare's heart leapt as they heard a familiar voice. The soldier turned around, surprised, then blanched white as they saw the figure striding towards them.
"Hi!" The young woman didn't look like much of a threat, aside from the red knife strapped to her belt, but as she sighted upon the papers, her eyes lit up with the primal glee of a shark that had just slipped into familiar waters. "I'm Clara Olsen, the once and future mayor of Sacrament—and I know a *thing* or two about criminal law. Mind letting me see those papers?"
The soldier recovered some of his composure. "I—well, it's unlawful for a duly appointed service member to disclose case details without the consent of the witness in ques—"
"I'm sorry, I wasn't talking to you," Clara said, walking past the soldier. "Witness in question, would you mind sharing the details of your case with me?"
"*Would* I." Mare handed the sheaf of papers to their old friend. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Where have you *been*? Is that—hey, that's my knife you've got!"
"Later, later," Clara said, waving their comments away as they speed-read the papers. "Let's see here... Desmethylway? They're an irradiated, plagued, frozen wasteland—you can cite witness hazard. They can't legally compel you to serve justice in a country that is physically hazardous to you. Meatlund? Bah. This summons is addressed to 'Pietro Aylen'—I don't see anyone by that legal name here. The Middle Communes? Ha! Spurn that wreck of a government all you like—they're too busy dealing with having collapsed twenty years ago to do anything about it." Clara tore through the summons and thrust them back at the soldier's chest. "Is that all you've got?"
The soldier wasn't an idiot—he could tell when he was outmatched. He scowled, clutching the papers to his chest and turning away. "You don't know it, but this was a mercy. You had one chance to move out of the way before we crushed you."
Clara folded her arms. "Move out of the way? And let you run over the people I... am sworn to protect?" She stepped forwards. "I am the mayor of this city, and you are not welcome here. Scram."
And the soldier did. Back held high, he turned to report to his superiors.
Clara let out a sigh, then turned to Mare. "Now. It's been too long, old friend. How about we catch up a bit?"
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-05-05T14:11:55 | 2022-05-05T10:23:56 | 91 | 31 |
[WP] The reason eldritch beings assume that humans will go insane when told truths "they cannot comprehend" is simply because they themselves work this way. Their infinite mind would collapse into insanity the moment they learned there are more infinities than they know of.
Idea stolen directly from [u/GemOfEvan](https://www.reddit.com/user/GemOfEvan/) , of course, without prermission.
Thank you for your sacrifice. | “Right. Ahem. This is test one with the entity under classification of, ah…. A-C1H7U-1928. Dr. Nyx Byrne presiding, that’s uh… well that’s me. The entity is currently contained within its cell, to the best of our abilities. I will be entering the cell with the designated recording device in hand and performing an inte- ahem. *Attempting* to perform an interview with the entity. Test is commencing now.”
*Various sounds of metal and electricity are heard, along with a set of footsteps. A low grumbling arises as the footsteps slow in pace, then the sound of metal and electricity, followed by the distinct click of a lock. A deep grumbling voice is the first to speak*
“Mortal. For what purpose do you approach me?”
“I ah… well… I am here to study you and your responses, to communicate… if able.
*A sick, choking laugh emanates*
“How do you plan to study that which you cannot comprehend? Your efforts will only end in your doom.”
“W-well.. you have to try and understand that which you currently don’t, right? It’s ah… human…. Nature…”
*Silence persists for roughly 12 seconds. The entity laughs again*
“You amuse me, mortal. You and your kin. A box of metal and lightning you have built to trap me in, and yet I can come and go as I please.”
*Logs indicate that the entity momentarily escaped containment into the adjacent hallway, before returning of its own accord. Dr. Nyx has proposed that the entity was proving its claim*
“R-right. Then why do you stay here? Why humour us?”
“You amuse me. I wish to see the suffering in your eyes as the minds you proclaim as your greatest melt in a futile effort to further your meagre understanding of your own insignificance.”
*At this time Dr. Nyx briefly made eye contact with the camera stationed in subject A-C1H7L-1928’s cell*
“If that’s what you desire t-than I suppose there’s no use wasting time? When we study you, what exactly are we going to find?”
“Such eagerness for your own destruction, I am only to happy too oblige.”
*At this point the entity laughed once again*
“There lie dimensions beyond yours, of which you cannot perceive and never will-“
“You mean like the 4th dimension?”
“You… you know of their existence? No matter. There exist items in your universe capable of both existence and non-existence in the same place and time-“
“As in, items in a superposition? Schrodinger was…. Well let’s just say he was not a fan of quantum mechanics…”
“How can you know this?! Your universe is constantly increasing in size!”
“Of course it is, the Big Bang is still happening after all.”
“Gravity bends light despite light not having mass!”
“Yes, because it bends the fabric of space-time around it. Next thing you’re gonna tell me is that their are different sizes of infinities.”
*Dr. Nyx purportedly rolled their eyes at this moment*
“What?”
“Y-yeah… there are different sizes of inifinities, surely you knew that?”
“H-how?”
“Well…. Think of it like this. There are infinite integers, right? 1, 2, 3, 4, and so on. They are infinite, but you can count them. So they’re called countably infinite.”
“Alright…”
“But there are sets that are even larger, undoubtably so. We call them uncountably infinite. For instance, real numbers. There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. 0.001 for instance. And yet, there’s another infinite amount of numbers between 1 and 2. You cannot pair up each real number with an integer, because there are so many more real numbers.”
“Wait, but… no. No that’s not right! How? How could mortals discover this? It’s not possible! No!”
*At this point records show that subject A-C1H7U-1928 began to spontaneously combust, simultaneously it’s head (researchers are still verifying the accuracy of such anatomical descriptors) began to dissolve, as if doused in high-strength acid. the subject showed no signs o pain, only continued confusion and panic. After approximately 1 minute and 3 seconds, the subject ceased speaking, and what is assumed to be its corpse was left to burn away. Dr. Nyx attempted to prevent this with an institution provided fire extinguisher, to little effect.*
*Further experiments on subject A-C1H7U-1928 have been deemed impossible. As such, Dr. Nyx Byrne has been reprimanded and informed of their duty to secure another specimen of class-type 1928. They have been instructed not to explain highly complex mathematical concepts to subjects from this moment going forward* | The reason we left the gun out was to see if It would kill Itself. The magazine was empty, of course; we couldn't risk any damage coming to our test subject. But unlike me in my childhood, staring at my father's unloaded pistol as he screamed at my mother, the creature in possession of Doctor John J. Teory's living corpse was incapable of comprehending there could be no escape.
On the ninth day, instead of pushing the pistol to Its temple and squeezing the trigger until a dry clack echoed through the mic feed, the entity only stared at it. That seemed as good a time as any to begin my examination.
The metal chair's bare legs screeched over sterile tile as I seated myself. I laid my file out on the disinfected steel table and removed a questionnaire, straightening its edge with the table's edge.
I relished the confusion in Its all-too-human eyes. "Which is it that pisses you off? The order or the straight lines?"
"Both," It answered through John's blue lips. The utter power coursing through his mortal veins reached Its vocal cords. Its voice, a troubling basso thrum, haunted the recesses of my mind.
But I had always been haunted. "Frankly I thought you would get used to normal sensory experiences after the Doctor summoned you. He was brilliant, with his idea about a ritual. A shame what it cost him. You've taken more time to adjust than even he would have expected. And he knew exactly what he was doing to you."
"Why am I here?" It asked, still bemused. "Where... are we?"
It appeared to have learned how to handle the language functions in the Doctor's brain. For the first three days of its existence, all it had done was scream **MALICE!** until John's throat had bled and its lungs had begun to wheeze. That would have pleased John, that It could navigate the human mind. This suggested the barest level of empathy. Or at least, the working theory of mind. Some people did not even have that.
I did not care about John's expectations. Or John, really—or any of the people I worked with, lived with, existed with. I had been empty longer than I could remember, a thing masquerading in a human's flesh. I had felt the same when I got married, or when I had had each of my children. All my life I had been pretending, with fake smiles and chesty laughs, that my heart did not echo when life dropped pennies of joy or sadness into it.
When I came here, the pretense stopped. My science brought me joy, especially higher-priority projects such as this one. Every day I could be myself, even if I was cutting into animals and even humans, some guilty, but mostly not. Our experiments would have made Mengele blush.
I felt at home now. I jotted down a handful of notes and coughed. "These facilities belong to The Initiative. You, as best we can tell from ancient texts, are called the Void. At least, the greater entity to which you belong is called that. We summoned a portion of the Void's essence and captured it in a human form. This is you. Do you understand?"
"I don't... *fit."*
"That is a choice phrase, yes. You do not *fit."* I tapped my pencil, then pushed my approved questionnaire aside. I clasped my hands. "How does it feel? Being human?"
John's eyes, *Its* eyes, flitted up. "Don't you know?"
"Of course I do. But I am human. Born human, raised human. This is the only existence I have ever known." My lips curled into the perfect imitation of a smile. "I bet you have some stories to share, right?"
For the merest of moments, John's dead eyes held mine. He saw through me—**It** saw through me.
Then It whickered a hollow laugh. "I was infinite," It hissed. "Everywhere, and nowhere, and all, and nothing. And then... a veil crashed down around me. I was blinded, deafened and dumbstruck. Then... a moment passed. And I find myself... here. With you."
The distorted perception of time was interesting. *Reaction under pain stimuli?* I jotted down.
Its eyes twisted. Its lips, as if weighed down with anchors, bent into a melancholic scowl. "I feel... empty."
"Why's that?" I asked absent-mindedly.
"There was... a breath. A beat of this ragdoll's heart. A moment, when a woman came here to check my... my *vitals.* And I felt in her the vaguest... pity."
I paged through the file. That would have been Miranda, one of our nurses. She had been with us twenty years. The Initiative demanded everything of her, in exchange for a high salary of course. She had always taken it hard, though. The lack of connection. I never understood that.
"She departed," It said. The thrum of its voice rattled the steel table and the mirrored glass windows. "Then... returned."
I frowned and turned another page. I had no record of that. "Did she want something?" I asked.
"To give me... this." It reached into the pocket of its jumpsuit.
I started, fearing It had some weapon with which to haunt me, even though we had been monitoring It nonstop for nine days. As my seat's legs clattered against the tile, all It did was withdraw a frosted wafer of baked sugar and bread from its pocket.
The blue icing stained Its nails; the edges had started to crumble. "What *is* it?" the creature asked, in John's voice, his haunting voice.
"A cookie."
Madness spiralled in Its eyes, deep enough to catch me in its vortex. I felt like I was falling. "What does it mean?" It asked, its fingers quivering.
Seconds morphed into minutes. For all that time, the clock in the corner clicked. I thought of everything I knew about Miranda. Her biographicals, her psychological profile, possible compromising connections which might have led her to do this for a rival organization. But to what end? What good could a cookie have done for our counterparts in the Soviet Union, say, or for anyone on this little blue marble? For Miranda most of all?
My mind tired of the inscrutable riddle, and I sighed and set down my pencil. "Frankly I have no idea," I said.
u/AdeptnessPrize | 2022-08-02T11:22:55 | 2022-08-02T10:31:29 | 172 | 100 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once. | As the class watched on in abject horror, I zoned out a little and thought about what brought me here. This school was supposed to "straighten me out" as dear old Dad put it - after all, if everyone else has superpowers and I don't I shouldn't ever be able to win a fight. And if I could only get into losing fights surely I'd be less interested in picking them.
Oh how daft that old prick was.
30 minutes ago, when I arrived, I was told the rules. No running in the halls, don't steal our shit, standard stuff really. But then we got onto rules around fighting... Like how if a super uses their power on a null like me for violence they can have their powers sealed away by the Bureau.
10 minutes ago when I walked into my first class, I got a good whiff of the smug supers and their superiority complexes. As soon as I was introduced they demanded to know what a "mere null" was doing in their "sacred halls" dirtying the place up. Now, if the last 20 schools have taught me anything it's two things: the first is that you must establish your place in the local pecking order, and the second is that someone is usually kind enough to volunteer to help you do that.
So when one of the neon haired morons with an anime haircut got in my face during the fuss, I decided to accept his help and see just how far the rules would let me go. See, fighting in a dispute *is* allowed here, but unlike me I don't think any of these posers have ever seen the inside of a gym that wasnt tailored to their powers.
Since I slapped this kid to the floor and started slowly breaking fingers, nobody has said a word. Nobody has even tried to stop me, though I doubt any of them know how without their *precious* powers to help. I figure I've got enough time before the teacher gets back with whatever help he thinks is coming to get through both hands.
Continuing to make unwavering eye contact with my new classmates, I smiled and addressed them.
"You know what? I think I'm going to like it at this school." | I had one bully, in the 12 years spent training at SSG. I remember him quite well. He had easily the most interesting, yet balanced powers available. He could fly, make energy, lift 3 Abrams tanks over his shoulder, and was able to change the secretions on his skin to match any known material. He got the nickname "Profit" after he singlehandedly charged the city's power grid after a blackout, while making silicone chunks with appraisal values in the thousands.
Back then, I didn't stand out. no funny business, no elaborate contraptions, nothing. In a school of supers, sat one normal child. Me. And the first one to notice was Profit.
I was clearing my locker, aiming for more space without looking like a neat freak. When the locker was finally finished, I shut the door and locked eyes with him.
"Out of everyone in this entire school, I've seen so many different powers. Telekinesis, teleportation, blood magic, hell, I even saw one kid turn into a golem." He said with as much pride as he could muster.
Looking back, Rockifier was so much happier in his school days. So was Monstrum.
"And yet, out of all of the students, not once have I, or anyone for that matter, seen your power. Now why is that?"
I shrugged. Deep down I had a feeling why, but if it was true, then why was I marked positive on every test I was given.
"I guess it hasn't manifested yet." I said with a slightly somber tone. My work with the locker satisfied, I turned and walked away. "Maybe one day everyone will see it."
Next thing I knew, my face connected with what is now Dreamcaster's locker. By now, most people in the hallway were powering up in an attempt to either break up the fight, or make it worse. Clearly he didn't like what I just said.
"Did I fucking say you could leave?"
I spat out before properly thinking "it was implied. Don't you know how conversations work?"
Pain ricocheted through my head as I felt his energy bouncing around at dangerous levels.
"Don't act smart with me, you powerless piece of shit! Now here's the deal, smartass, you're gonna take a test right in front of me, and I'm gonna find out one way or another how useless you truly are."
Somewhere, deep within, something clicked. Like a puzzle piece or a wire that just got plugged in.
Just then, one of the teachers launched Profit off of me into the concrete wall on the other side.
"Hey, you ok?" Said one of the other students. She ended up becoming IV, one of the top medical supers to ever exist.
"I'm... I'm fine, I think... Just a little scorched." I replied as I pointed at the now fried hair on the side of my head.
"You! What did you do?!?"
Suddenly, and very much without warning, the teacher, Profit, and everyone else was looking... At me.
"I, uh, wait what?"
"Boy, look at me, what did you do to Profit?" The teacher said with all the seriousness of someone who just watched another man die.
"What do you mean, what did I do? He just threw me into a locker and shocked my head! How is this my fault?"
The teacher looked angry for a second, then realized what I thought he said
"Oh, no, not that, we all saw him attack you. But that's not the issue here..."
"Then what is it?"
The entire school pointed back at Profit. By him was a guard who had a test in his hand... A negative test.
So yeah. I had a bully. And then I didn't. | 2022-11-02T12:26:39 | 2022-11-02T10:58:22 | 83 | 50 |
[WP] Ketchup, Mustard, and Relish. Red, Yellow, and Green. What is the missing Blue condiment? | "Waffles."
I was incredulous. "Waffles? They aren't even a condiment!"
He looked me straight in the eye, his tone deadly serious: "I'd already been all the way around the world before you were even a twinkle in my eye, son. In some little towns in Canada, they shred their waffles and use them as toppings for all sorts of dishes. They use a special kind of flour, makes them softer or something, but it turns the waffles blue."
"You're lying."
"Fine, don't believe me, look it up on the Google thingamajig you kids like so much."
I did. Thanks a lot, dad. | My name is Charlie Walker. I am the world's leading scientist in the field of condiment physics.
Three years ago, I had set out to discover the final condiment.
Red, yellow, green.
Sweet, bitter, sour.
Ketchup, mustard, relish.
My search led me to far off Tibet, within the mountain strongholds of the Himalayas. I was pursued.
By who?
By those who saw it that the world should remain with only 3 condiments. That maybe, just maybe, the final sauce was sealed away for good cause. That I would not listen to their warnings.
Goddamnit, why didn't I listen? I have tasted too much and killed too many... That does not matter now. What matters is the final condiment.
Hoisin, gravy, hummus, even Sriracha... All impostors, fakers, red herrings. The *true* final condiment, the damned sauce I had been searching for all these years, lay before me, within the walls of this monastery.
The doors swing open, the raging snow and ice of the blizzard outside spills into these sacred halls. I trudge in, half frozen, half dead, a silenced pistol in one hand and a bloodied ice pick in the other.
A monk is waiting for me.
"You cannot!" he cries, "The Stone is beyond--"
I silence him with a bullet and continue on.
I push open another set of doors, battered and creaky from years of purposeful neglect, and stumble on into the courtyard, my movement slowed by the crunch of human bones underneath my feet.
Yes. Yes...
They knew it as the Cintamani Stone. The Buddhist Holy Grail, if you would. I knew it... as the 4th ingredient.
A tree, older than the monastery, older than the mountains, older than life itself, coils itself around it like a sleeping dragon. The stone is azure blue, more pure and more beautiful than diamond, and it pulses gently with the light of a supernova.
I reach into it with gloved hands, casting away my weapons, prying it open. The Stone bursts, its amber trickling out like a dying star.
And I drink deep. | 2015-05-17T20:49:45 | 2015-05-17T20:30:26 | 53 | 26 |
[WP] Write a poorly-written story full of plot holes wherein the characters gradually notice and exploit the plot holes. | He wanted to tell them. No wait, he *needed* to tell all the authors in the thread that their stories were awesome. He scratched his chin. The cursor blinked once, twice- three times in all. The room he was in was listless, and filled with items that had no bearing on the story.
He had always loved reading stories in this subreddit. Something about good writing prompts that made him chuckle. Of all the subreddits (well, maybe save [gonewild](http://reddit.com/r/gonewild) but that was another story) this was his favorites.
He frowned at the rule again: "All top level comments must be a story or a poem". How could he congratulate every author? He was frustrated with the rule, even if he understood it.
In a moment of clarity he had it: What if following the prompt, he thanked all the authors *simultaneously?* It technically would be a story, and he wouldn't have to comment on every comment individually.
*Checkmate*, he thought, as he began to type. . . | The dark and cold shadows of the Western Ridge treeline creeped slowly to Thornroot and his crew, advancing with eagerness as the sun lowered. Darkness seemed to act like sunlight, hitting from above and altering that which it touched. As it licked the once-knight's boot, the silver became covered in a thin layer of frost. He pulled his foot back.
"We have to go through this?" Rake asked, looking at Thornroot. "There's no way, we'll never be the same once we get out, *if* we get out, I don't-"
The archer stopped talking as Lumen walked into the trees with a parasol above her head. She skipped into the forest.
"What was it you said when I asked if we should get parasols?" Rake asked Thornroot.
"Well," Thornroot started, "I-"
"What," Rake spoke slowly, "did you say?"
"Parasols are for women..." Thornroot muttered.
"That's right." Rake said, nodding. "Yes, sir, I said. If you say so. I'm certainly no woman. Not me, no sir."
"Let's go back and buy some."
Rake turned wordlessly and walked back to the city. As he gained distance, Thornroot heard him mumble something about parasols and sticking one where no parasol should go.
---
"By the Gods." Thornroot put down his parasol as he stared at the bear. "Into the cave!"
Rake and Lumen followed in and lowered their own covers, protected now by the cave's rock. The bear advanced slowly. Thornroot pulled out his short-sword. "If I don't make it-"
He was cut off by Lumen yelling loudly and making strange gestures. The bear made a whimpering sound and ran away. Shortly after, the girl raised her parasol and walked out of the cave.
"Alright," Rake said, "just *who* exactly is escorting *who*?"
"Lumen!" Thornroot called out. "We need to camp here."
The girl obeyed, turning back and walking over.
---
"We can't build a fire." Rake said again, looking to Thornroot. "The flames would be visible for miles in this forest."
As Thornroot began to see the archer's point, Lumen walked into the cave and set up some firewood. Within a few moments, she had a small pile and she took out a flint. With a quick motion, the girl created a spark and nurtured it into a fire. She put her parasol down beside it, open and facing the entrance. The flames could barely be seen, masked by the umbrella.
"I hate this girl." Rake said.
"Aye." Thornroot agreed. | 2015-06-03T11:34:35 | 2015-06-03T10:26:54 | 45 | 33 |
[WP] Metaphorical "burns" can now cause physical damage. Tell the tale of an assassin who specializes in death by conversational incineration.
Y'know, clever insults and stuff. Yeah. | Everyone knew about bant-sassins, the hired thugs who killed with words rather than violence. They preyed on everyone's latent insecurity, and the greater impact on self-esteem, the greater the burn... literally.
What was most confusing about this was why someone had sent a bant-sassin after me. They were probably jealous.
All it meant was that I was now stood in a dark alley on my way home, with some "master wordsmith" ready to end me with a series of witty insults, and derogatory snorts.
"Hey fugly, your mum drop you on the head or something?" he shouted down the alley.
I smelt my hair starting to burn, but nothing to serious.
"Yeah, she did" I reply.
He just looked at me confused. I was accepting his insult, and it threw him off slightly. Not that it mattered, I could see his mind running through the planned insults, and adjusting them to deal maximum damage.
"Well, you're obviously retarded, walking around without sound protection. I was told this would be a tough job, and all I see is some lazy arsehole growing fat on burgers". He sighed, and walked a little closer. "I really hope that you aren't so dumb, you doesn't understand what is happening"
I may be portly, but damn did I love food. And from my success as an academic meant I was not a walking vegetable at the very least.
"If you want to burn me, you're going to have to at least try"
His eyebrows sizzled. Not a massive impact, but it was probably starting to get to him.
"As if someone like you is worth the effort". That one hurt a little, might not be as bad as I thought he was going to be.
"Maybe I'm not, and maybe Hell is cold. All I do know right now is that you're taking your sweet time about it!" I shout at him. I was a little worried, but this much was still bearable, and I just had to make him give up.
His eyebrows twitched, not with pain, but frustration. I was getting to him. He was slowly being dragged down to my level.
"You fat shit. I'm not taking my sweet time because I want to spend time with you"
"Maybe if we sat down and talked, we could get on. I mean, obviously it'll have to be a strong bench, to take my weight and your ego". They always get flustered when self-derision starts.
"Pffttt... As if there was a bench strong enough to support you". Now I'm getting bored. You haven't caught onto what I'm doing, and obviously won't if I continue my normal act. Time to get serious.
"Your mum's bed worked last night"
"I'M A TRAINED KILLER. AND YOU USED A MUM JOKE ON ME?!" he angrily shouted. Good. He was too angry to realise that his hair was starting to spit out embers and smoke. He was more insulted by the lack of effort in the insult than the insult itself. Trained. Hmmph, yeah right.
"I AM JOHN MARKARLY, ONE OF THE GREATEST INSULTERS IN THE WORLD. IF I WANTED TO HEAR AN IDIOT TALKING, I'D GO TO ONE OF YOUR FUCKING LECTURES!"
"That's nice, would you make notes?". At least he knows some of what I do at the university. Unfortunately, his belief in himself will be his undoing.
"MAKE NOTES?! AS IF YOU HAVE ANYTHING VALUABLE TO SAY!" At this point, he realised his hair was on fire, and quickly patted it out. "FUCKING NERD"
"This nerd is making you sizzle like this bacon burger as it was being cooked"
"FUCK YOU! YOU AREN'T EVEN USING REAL INSULTS. YOU ARE JUST TRYING TO TALK SMACK LIKE A MORON"
"At least I am a successful moron. What has it been, 5 minutes, and still no success. Some trained killer you are. Can't even kill an overweight nerd who likes burgers"
His arm flared up, coated in flames. It was less the content of the insult, and more the jab at his capacity, which summed with all the lack of respect towards a "trained killer" I have been showing had slowly pushed him over the edge.
"WHAT THE FUCK?! WHY DON'T YOU FUCKING BURN. FUCKING FAT IDIOT"
"You made a mistake. You saw an idiot, and tried to argue with me. I just dragged you down to my level and beat you with my idiot's experience" I said with a smug grin.
His screams of pain as I walked out the alley and back home weren't pleasant, but they were satisfying to some degree. Maybe people will realise I tend not to care about insults, having been burnt all through my childhood for being overweight, and smart (which is one of the dumber things to insult "Ohhh... you're so smart. HAH, take that". I mean come on), you tend to develop a thick skin. | A 'sick burn', as a layman would call it, is a complicated method of murder. The target must understand the wit, feel the malice in the words, and it must echo in their mind. Most people are so stunned by how vindictive the words sound that they allow themselves to go through each step and die. It had the look of a more mental reaction - victims, the one's that live, seemed to exhibit signs of shock caused by traumatic pain. I keep being drawn by the concept that the anguish felt mentally can cause physical trauma. It enthralled me. I'd once seen an unrelated assassin, from a security CCTV, come into a room with a whiskey glass and kill off an entire room of well-armed security. It was magically how he used his strength and surroundings, but it was messy. There was blood and blood is traceable. We found out who he was in about a week and put him down.
However, this one was different. He could be anyone. One thing our guards do more than any type of head-bashing, curb stomping work is talk. Lord do they talk. They chatter on almost more than they flirt with the women they see. It's shameless to see how often they try to fornicate while on the job. They turn to engage in conversation so often, it's hard to tell who is the real cause of the deadly banter. But when it happens, it's a beautiful symphony of death. Video has shown a room of seven men drop to the ground, clutching at their skulls in anguish, each dying with their own expression of excruciating pain. I'd have to say it mildly aroused me. I've seen his work several times and this man was brilliant.
When problems such as these arise in the criminal underworld, I am called in. I am a counter measure, a freelance operative who keeps my clients alive - for a fee. They give me access to their security, authority over their task force, and hide in the holes I put them in until they are either safe or run out of money to pay me. This client, 'Ark', is refreshingly less simple than my average customer. Most of his security points are not wired to have microphones so that the one watching the video feed does not also fall victim. Some minds are simply too easily offended to listen to a recording without expiring.
He had a meeting called with several other bosses, a venue not too secluded but lavish enough to look enticing. This was a way to draw out the assassin so I could do my job. I suggested a room with sound proof corridors with small groups of guards in each wing equipped with earplugs. I set myself up by the secret door their meeting was set up behind and waited. If this guy was as good as I had given him credit for, he would find me and I would be ready.
After about 2 hours on assignment, I was saddened by the thought that maybe my target would not show. The only person I had seen was one of the servers of the venue - a stunning raven haired young woman who looked middle eastern. I would have found it within myself to coerce her back to a quiet corner had I not been on duty. She was extending a tray to me, her mouth possibly offering one of the beverages she was carrying. However my ear plugs were in and I'd be dammed if I would allow myself to become a victim before at least seeing the assassin.
I thanked her, but told her that I would be abstaining. She seemed to insist, gesturing for me to remove my ear plugs. My guess was so that she could try to sell her merchandise and maybe sweet talk this man before her so that he would take her away from whatever trivial sorrow she was in that landed her in this job. I once again waved her off cordially...which led to something interesting. Her facial expression became almost worried, then angry, then...amused. She came closer to me and swung the tray at my face, narrowly missing my head. As I was startled, she pulled out a black .09 mm from under the tray. Instinctively I swatted at the gun, knocking it's mouth away from myself before she pulled the trigger and out of her hand. Using the momentum of my blow to her right hand, she whirled around, whipping her hair at my face, and with her left hand grasped at my head near my ears. Her expert fingers found my ear plug, removing it. I kicked her away, reaching for my gun inside my jacket. Before I could line up the sights she had flipped a nearby table and kicked it toward my legs, knocking me off my balance. She jumped on top of me, a knife in hand plunging it straight at my wind pipe. I caught the blade in my palm, letting the sharp pain wash over me as the blood trickled from the tip to my neck. She put another hand behind my neck to move it closer as I used my free arm to support my impaled hand. She planted her knee on my chest and used her heel to pin my leg.
"You really ARE everything I'd wanted to find in a target," I heard her say with half of my hearing restored. "Those other shit-stained buffoons in the hallway were weak minded simpletons. They couldn't keep themselves from being seduced so easily. But you, I will enjoy this kill so much. I might even miss you chasing me around like a sick puppy! Do you know what I see with you, eye to eye, about to come to your end? A sad, useless ni-"
"What's that?" I cut her off, the strength in my arms giving out from the blood loss and exertion. "A scarred man in a position of borrowed power? A shameless dog who calls to a master's beck and call, insulting the memory of his heritage by allowing the scalding words of those he defends to roll down his back like so many scourging whips felt by those centuries before him?"
At my words, she stopped seemingly taken aback. "What did you say?"
"I know what you can call me, I know what you can say. By gun and knife, you could end my life, but your words could never kill me."
Her eyes wavered, as if she had lost her power. The gaze she gave me was one of what seemed like empathy. "Yes," she finally uttered. "Both of our people have been subjected to verbal abuse and hateful speech. The trick is-"
"To rise above the ignorance in their words," I finished for her. She shifted my impaled hand above my head, bringing my face to hers.
Now what...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hopefully you enjoy the read. | 2015-06-12T06:16:50 | 2015-06-12T06:05:20 | 54 | 13 |
[WP] Gordon Ramsay mistakenly walks into your house to film an episode of Kitchen Nightmares, and refuses to believe that you aren't a failing restaurant owner | I love to cook. Experimenting with new flavors and textures. But I live alone. I’m the only one who eats what I make. I never have anyone for dinner. Which is why at first I was exciting when another person was standing over the tray I had been messing with.
“This veal is rubbish!” the man shouted at me, apoplectic.
“It’s not veal,” I explained levelly, rather politely I thought.
“Do it again!”
I had never met the man, but I knew who he was.
“You’re on TV,” I said.
“I said do it again!”
“Okay.”
“What?!”
“Yes, Chef Ramsay.” Honestly I was just happy serve someone new.
And I began cutting new strips of the steak, mixing the marinade, and so on.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him. My door looked as if he had kicked it down. No big deal, I could fix it later. It would be rude to turn my attention away from guest.
“I’m here to keep this restaurant from tanking – the fucking water is boing over!”
“Sorry about that!” I said, running over to tilt the pot a bit.
The poor man must have been confused. I lived in a house out in the country. Not a restaurant. Thought it was best just to humor him. But he was very angry and kept shouting. To be honest, I’m not a great cook but I was quite proud that I never lost my cool. I seemed to be the exact opposite of this man.
It didn’t help his temperament when I spilled the marinade on him.
“Fucking idiot!” he yelled, going red. “Make some more!”
“That was all of it, Chef Ramsay.”
“Are you joking?!”
Luckily he was cut-off when the over timer went off. I got the sheet out of the oven and he tried it. He knocked the tray off of the counter.
“How on earth did you get veal to taste gamey?!”
“It’s not veal,” I repeated.
“Do it again!”
“Okay, I will.”
My cleaver flashed and then the angry man stopped shouting. I chopped him up at the joints and carved strip after strip. I took a moment for myself to take in the smell. The marinade had seeped in perfectly. And then I began my magnum opus.
I prepared a feast out of the late chef. I cooked Gordon steaks and Gordon kebabs with asparagus. I served his liver with some onions and boiled some potatoes as sides with his fingers. I cracked the bones and the marrow made for a superb broth in a savory Ramsay stew. I iced his brain and served it with cake. Without a doubt it was the most delicious cook I ever had.
I do not regret a thing.
So that’s about it. I get the chair next week, but I can die happy now.
Why, what are you in for?
| So there I was in my kitchen furiously beating eggs to make noodles while he shouted into my ears that “The kitchen is not a place for fucking animals to walk around,” nor “the place for a bloody baby to leave her fucking push car.” But you can’t respond normally to someone who is as irrational as he is. He walked in three days ago with a camera crew in tow, and will not leave my fucking house until “this kitchen starts turning a fucking profit.” I can’t leave the house to go to work, because “the kitchen is what needs me the most.” My two-year-old daughter is busting her ass as a waitress, barely getting by on tips I might add, because “the chef doesn’t fucking serve his patrons.” And my wife gets by Scott-free because “a good manager knows when to step back and let the chef succeed.” Utter bull shit I tell you.
I have to push through this for the next few days. I keep telling my wife that I will have a serious heart to heart sit down with Chef Ramsey, and tell him that I am just going to sell the “restaurant.” The “restaurant” being my 3 bedroom 2 bath house, but my wife insists to wait it out until filming concludes, because “he’s providing wonderful upgrades to our outdoor patio and décor.” I don’t give two shits about that. I’m at the point where I can’t sleep at night, even though I am exhausted from working 18 hour days, and when I do sleep all I dream about is how terrible my risotto is. I don’t even fucking know what risotto is, much less how to make it.
Finally, the “Grand Re-Opening” dinner service night rolls around and I am nervous to serve the line of people I have waiting at my front door. Chef Ramsey is barking service orders at me, and I am fulfilling them as quickly as I can, though still not quickly enough. Ramsey, in his most pissed off British tone yet, red facedly yells at me to get my shit together. That “this restaurant lives and dies by my organizational skills.” Customers start getting fed up and leave one at a time, then in droves.
I see it out of the corner of my eye, Ramsey is headed my way. I’m fucked. I keep my head down and cook faster and harder than I ever have in my life, burning my fingers on pots and pans. He is getting even closer, he’s about ten feet from me. Then out of nowhere, a production assistant, maybe 5’2” cuts him off, hands him a folded piece of paper, turns around and walks away. Ramsey is reading it to himself, more red faced than I’ve ever seen him. He looks up at me, eyes locked, deadest, looking straight fucking through me. Ramsey crumbles the paper up, throws it into the trash and starts walking away. I am so relieved, but I get back to cooking.
While my back is turned I hear Chef Ramsey yell, “Alright everyone, piss off." I turn to look, every remaining guest is standing up and walking out the door. The film crew is tearing down their equipment, and production assistants are going everywhere ripping mics off of everything and everyone. Almost as quickly as they had barged into my house, they were gone.
The house is quiet for the first time in weeks. It’s just me and my family in the house, and it feels weird. I’m nearly in emotional shock from this, everything happened so quickly. As confused as I was to why they were there, I wanted to know what the fuck made them leave in such a hurry. The blackened salmon I was making got a little too blackened and started setting off the smoke detector. I rush back to the pan to remove it from the heat and start fanning the smoke out of the kitchen. My daughter passes out on the couch from exhaustion, and the wife is finally coming home through the front door. I’m still looking around trying to figure everything out. What the fuck just happened?
As the wife comes around the corner into the kitchen, I remember the note. I run to the trash can, open the note, and could do nothing but laugh. My laughter turns to a cry and the wife is almost as dumbfounded as I am. She asks where everyone is, and I hopelessly shrug and shake my head. She asks what I’m holding so I hand it to her. She reads it and chuckles a bit. She puts the note down on the counter, walks to our daughter, picks her up, and takes her to her bed.
| 2016-06-29T00:17:02 | 2016-06-28T23:00:52 | 45 | 29 |
[WP] The Illuminati is actually a gentlemen's club for the super-rich. Often men make high risk and dangerous bets/wagers such as: "I bet you can't destabilize Ukraine in under a week." One day you offer a wager to the most powerful member that's too irresistible to turn down. | Valentine knocked back the glass of scotch as the yacht cruised down the Adriatic Sea. "I do believe it is your turn, Jr. Valentine." The grey bearded man smiled in a carefree manner as he lit his cigar and watched Venice disappear over the horizon.
"No need to be hasty Mr. Wednesday. They may say that time is money but I do believe we can afford to waste it."
"I suppose you are right." Wednesday chuckled. They never referred to each other by their real names. It was a safety measure, the words spoken here sent shock waves throughout the rest of the world. "I admit, I am just curious as to how you will one up our last wager. Having placed both the World Cup and Olympics in Brazil was quite impressive."
Valentine waved a dismissive hand, "Oh that was nothing compared to your famed creation of Scientology back when I first joined."
Wednesday let a broad smile spread across his face, that was indeed one of his crowning achievements. "I think that's enough flattery, now tell me your wager before I die of old age." Mr. Wednesday let out a feeble cough but Valentine knew the old badger probably had another decade left in him.
"Very well, I have decided what I will go with." Valentine turned to face Mr. Wednesday for the first time and wore a serious expression. "I bet that you can't make an epidemic occur in a modern country without actually starting it yourself."
Wednesday stroked his chin, "An interesting wager Jr. Valentine...... I accept."
Immediately Mr. Wednesday got out of his chair and walked into the soundproof room. Part of the game was not knowing how your opponent accomplished the wager. However, this one did not take long for Jr. Valentine to figure out.
It hit the news only a few days later. Scientist from around the world presented undeniable proof that vaccines do in fact, cause autism.
EDIT: Small typo | I watch the clown on my 52 inchTV, he delivers yet another embarrassing news conference making a spectacle of our entire political system. How did we get here? I must confess, it is all my fault. I belong to a gentlemen's club for what are termed, super-rich. One day, after enjoying a round of golf with my bud Mark, we were watching some golf in the deck, when out comes a commercial for The Apprentice. There, in all his gaudy glory is Donald J. Trump, the show's host. He has always wanted to join us, but he is neither rich enough, and far too crass. An idea pops up in my head, and I cannot contain it. "Mark", I say, "let's make a bet!" Mark turns to me and says, "sure, what do you want to lose $2 million on this time?" You see, a few months back, I bet Mark he wouldn't be able to destabilize Ukraine, by getting Russia to annex Crimea. I bet him $2 million that not even he could pull that off. I lost, as did Ukraine. I'm still smarting about that, especially since before that even, I lost another bet to Mark that he wouldn't be able to get Russia to attack Georgia, and annex part of its territory without a firm NATO response. As most of you no doubt know, I also lost that bet. That's what we do as super rich, we bet against one another for various reasons, but mostly pride in our prowess as movers and shakers. This time, I thought I had something that even Mark could not do. "I said, Mark, $5 million says you cannot make Trump a serious contender for the American Presidency." Mark responds "Listen Jack, I can do this, I can even make him win the whole damn thing, question is, do you really want me to do it? I mean, sure you lose $5 million, but how much will the country lose?" I say, "scared? he replies, "No, in fact, let's break this down into pieces, I promise you that not only will he run for President, but I will make him run and win as a Republican!" I laugh, and say, "the guy's a New Yorker, and a pretty liberal one at that, there's no way he'll get past the primary!" Mark replies, "Well, let's make it interesting. $1 million says he runs as a Republican, $ 2 million more says he wins the primary, and $5 million says he wins the Presidency. Just remember bud, I warned you that this was likely nothing you or I, or anyone else really wanted." I laugh it off, and say, "sure, but this time, I have you beat Mark. There is no way in hell that loud mouth can control himself to not make an ass out of himself, and his liberal positions will likely undermine his campaign until he has to withdraw. Besides, if that doesn't do him in his having 5 kids by 3 different wives should do it with the bible thumpers. Face it Mark, this time, I have the upper hand." After we sealed our pact, we went back to smoking cigars, drank a few drinks, then each headed home. My helicopter was waiting on deck, but Mark took his yacht. Others in the room, began to wager as they often do, to see who they thought would come out on top. Now here we are. What have I done? | 2016-08-23T15:31:33 | 2016-08-23T13:00:40 | 1,659 | 94 |
[WP] Your grandparents always playfully bickered in their native language. To surprised them, you took lessons, but now you understand what they're really saying...
What comes next will shock you! | I was happy, when registering for my first semester of college, to see my school offered intro to Russian. My grandparents came to America during World War II but would still talk Russian to each other, even after all this time. They focused on assimilation, especially during the cold war, so very little of the language was passed down to my dad, and none to me.
After four months of study I could have a very basic conversation with my grandparents in their native language. I thought that would be a great Christmas present for them. December 24th rolls around and like every Christmas Eve of my life they show up for our family dinner. Looking over some of my flashcards I hear my grandparents in the hallway talking in Russian. Just before I come out to greet them I catch a word that sounds familiar. It’s repeated a few more times so I pick up my textbook and turn to the dictionary. Expecting to find the Russian word for Christmas, or turkey I find the word for kill.
Thinking I misheard them I go back to my door and listen very carefully to their conversation. I catch the words for son, grandson, daughter, tonight, airport, and after three repeats I was certain, kill.
The Russian turns back into English as my dad walks over to them. “Mom, Jen was wondering if you could help her with the potatoes, and dad I printed out those papers you asked for.”
“Sure sweetie, tell Jen I’ll be happy to help.”
Dad leaves and the sweet matronly tone is replaced with a cold Russian response I can roughly translate as, ‘I kill her. You kill him. We kill boy.’
I dial 911 on my cell but before I can explain the crazy situation I’m in, my grandma opens my door. “Hey sweet pea, want to come help your mom and me with dinner. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” Not seeing a believable excuse to get away I say sure, put the phone in my pocket and hope the police can trace it for the location.
Once in the hall my sweet old grandma looks in my room and sees the open Russian textbook and piles of flashcards. With a smile she asks, “So you’re studying Russian. Learn anything interesting?”
| It wasn’t Swedish. Well I have no way of actually proving it. I don’t know Swedish either. But I can say with one percent below certainty that it was at best simply a good impersonation. It didn’t help that his chosen persona, Bjørn Bjørnson, was actually Norwegian. Though I suppose speaking a real language was so far from the point that it seems ridiculous to even comment on. He was Swedish in a way that only an American can be. Was third generation, family line dating back to the Titanic, a fateful flu delaying their emigration a few days. An anglicized name given at Ellis Island.
My grandfather married an Irish woman before joining the Navy, served in the Korean War. Well served at Columbia University. Though it’s not like he ever really played up his veteran status, relinquishing that title to someone more deserving I guess. Graduated with an MBA from that very same institution a few years later. Climbed the ranks, was well off in a Mad Men sort of way. He had his first heart attack at the age of 55, spent the night in a hospital room, window lined by a fully stocked bar, ash tray still warm from the ashes of a recently smoked cigarette.
My father would always look at me with a sort of somber jealousy. My grandfather a man completely overwhelmed by work and vice during most of my father’s life. Quick tempered, often drunk. Would leave the entirety of his home life to be managed my grandmother. Though I suppose that was more the way things just worked in the 60’s and 70’s. That kind of privileged American Dream that so many want to harken back to. Easily defined gender roles, a nuclear family. Well so long as you didn’t have any real ambitions.
But here he was, mid 70’s sitting under the Christmas tree, ogling at my grandmother. Having completely nonsensical conversations in a sort of pseudo-Swedish. Would talk about that one time he actually visited the country as a kid like some sort of badge. He was no more Swedish than I am. The only remnants my butchered last name. To me and my brother he was always just that goofy guy, a complete neglect of a true understanding of my family history. Couldn’t see into my grandmother’s eyes, a woman who had attempted suicide at least twice. Couldn’t see my grandfather’s rampant alcoholism. My father's depression.
When my grandmother had her first stroke they were separated for the first time in nearly fifty years. He would sneak ice cream like a little boy whose mother unexpectedly left the house and her credit card for a weekend. Gulping down scoop after scoop of ice cream, crying to the sky at a sudden outburst of brain freeze. Crying out in the voice of his alter ego Bjørn Bjørnson. Would make my brother and I giggle like crazy. A hesitant smirk from the corners of my father’s mouth. A sort of inherent Midwestern urge to suppress whatever cocktail of emotions swirling through his gut.
It took us all by surprise. He died quietly in his sleep at the age of 86. My grandmother still recovering from her stroke. Though she never really recovered. In the sort of way that, for good or for bad, when someone has been such an unobstructed part of your life for over fifty years, you become incomplete. And not even in some gushy romantic, “you complete me” kind of way. But that our personalities, our emotions are so intangible, and what dictates the self isn’t always entirely internal. And when he would look at her on a Christmas morning, break out into some absurd accent, and make us laugh even just a little, the rest was worth it. There was no alternative. No other path. This was life, and for the time being it was good.
| 2016-09-09T14:49:34 | 2016-09-09T14:12:10 | 190 | 26 |
[WP] "They mass-slaughter this organism called "flowers" and give the bound mass of corpses to their desired mate as a courting ritual, possibly as proof of ability. Truly fascinating."
Replace with other weird behaviors as desired
Edit: Mod's Choice and #1 in Hot in 5 hours? woohoo! | Moreover, the “flowers” are wrapped in sheets produced from the ground, reconstituted, and subsequently desiccated flesh of their cousins, “trees.”
It is usually the male who presents this gift to the female, and the female must first react with a loud cry, to express horror at the evidence of slaughter. This is to demonstrate that she is not bloodthirsty, and will not eat their young.
If the female is receptive to the male’s advances, she will then accept the corpses, and display the bodies until they shrivel and mummify, at which point they are no longer attractive to her, and will be removed. She will keep these corpses as long as possible, for the aroma of their decaying tissues is pleasing to her, and, indeed, this species has been known to mate in the torn limbs of “flowers,” known as “petals,” in the chamber that they retire to, following their bonding ceremony, called a “honeymoon suite.”
If she is not receptive to the male’s advances, she will still accept them. However, rather than keep them to the point of mummification, she will bring the fresh corpses with her to her “office,” where she competes with other members of her species to see who can remain for the longest period of time in front of a “monitor.” A “monitor” in the “office” is a light emitting device that causes pain, and therefore functions as a litmus test for which individuals have the greatest toughness, and fitness for survival. The goal is to attain such great lengths of exposure in this setting that they permanently destroy their capacity to feel, and thereby transcend the limits of pain.
In any case, the female will display the corpses in the “office” to demonstrate to others that she is so desired that she can afford to throw away the corpses pre-maturely, without striving to keep their aroma. This is a part of something called “office politics,” which we will discuss in the next chapter. | *Wait, the report is due tomorrow? What?* I asked, eyes widening.
*Yeah, Gr'WezZgetz. It's due tomorrow.* Me'Ayym told me telepathically.
*Shit!* I exclaimed at her. *What do I do? I haven't studied anything for mating rituals! I mean, okay. Which sentient species across the multiverse has the simplest one?*
*Gr, come on! You gotta know this stuff.* Ayym complained.
*Humans? They're pretty straightforward, right?* Honestly, I only know humans as a self-destructive species that are basically wiping themselves out. But even they gotta fuck to survive.
*I guess, Gr. Look, I gotta go. I have a test tomorrow on the FlimBlam Grott Theory, and I'm not gonna be fucking up my GPA.*
I felt her leave my mindpresence, and sighed. I ran through the basic mating ritual and complexities of humans through my eyelids, watching them all in high speed. And then noticed a pattern.
In all the quadrants of their homeworld, Earth (coincidentally means tongue in our language), the males seem to exhibit a certain behaviour. They defile small, colourful fauna, and then present the decaying carcass to the females.
I quickly opened up my report and started mind-vibing sentences. "Mating rituals on Earth are rather complex. The human male needs to attract mates by showcasing his ability to kill and present the corpses of certain fauna to the female."
That was not a good start. I needed an introduction and a proper transition into the main thing. Well, could work on a good intro later. Tackle the beef first.
"This trait is quite common among species across the multiverse. Presenting deceased life to mates as gifts, though frowned upon by many higher order communities, is still fundamental on primitive planets like Earth. The human males are quite clever, however. If they could not access the fauna directly themselves, they choose to visit a 'market place' (a place where goods are exchanged for money) and purchase some. Some males also purchase false, polymer composite fauna, to trick the mate." That was good. "To varying degrees of success." I added unnecessarily. Well, that's how reports work. Unnecessary details.
"Unlike most other species, where the gift receiving party usually consumes the dead gift, in humans, the females will keep the corpse and see through most of its stages of decomposition. It is apparent that the female enjoys the various colours of the fauna, and when the colour inevitably vanishes due to the fact that the flower is dead, the female owner tires of it and proceeds to dispose it. After or during which, the male usually offers another set of corpses with varying colours."
Again, gotta work on the flow. Gotta stop jumping from one thing to another. Dammit, I hate reports.
"Another interesting [find a suitable word later] about the fauna corpse method of mating is the mass 'event'. This event happens once every Earth cycle and is famous in most of the 'dead fauna issuing male population'. Upon closer study, it is known that the humans call this day the day of Walentein. During this day, a mass red fauna corpse exchange is observed between the males and females. This phenomenon is unique to the humans."
Okay, I'm too tired. I'll finish the rest in the morning before class. Dammit I still gotta write an intro and conclusion. And turn all that word vomit into coherent points. I gotta at least pass this report. Fuck.
| 2016-11-23T08:45:28 | 2016-11-23T07:51:51 | 1,418 | 332 |
[WP] "The light can never go out," explained the old lighthouse operator. "Ships don't need us. Haven't in quite some time. It's the people here on land who'll suffer if that light ever goes out." | "But, why?" I asked incredulously.
"You see Brian, there was a time when ships came into this harbor daily. Massive, beautiful behemoths that would've made you question your sanity. They brought strange goods we had never seen, new and beautiful animals that we couldn't believe existed, even foreign people who spoke in strange tongues. It was wonderful," he said with watering eyes, "and it's all we had here."
As the old lighthouse operator wiped his eyes, I couldn't help but think of the stories that I had heard of this town. The lighthouse, long abandoned, that never ran out of light. Every night, it shone brightly even though any power source had been removed seemingly decades ago. And I had finally experienced it with my own eyes; I understood what these people meant when they said they needed it.
"We know that outsiders think us loony, but we like to think that someday, the ships will begin to harbor here again. That light-" he pointed out the window- "gives us hope. And we will not leave, and we will continue to believe." | "The light can never go out," explained the old lighthouse operator. "Ships don't need us. Haven't in quite some time. It's the people here on land who'll suffer if that light ever goes out." He took a sip of his beer.
I didn't quite understand him, I just stared as we sat by the cliff, darkness enveloped the sky and darkened the rock, a moment of passing light from the tower would bring colour for a brief fleeting moment. The sounds of waves crashing against the cliff was soothing and yet a reminder of what lay below.
"I don't understand," I said, frowning, he simply stared onward as he took another sip, he stared into the vastness of the dark sea, its waters momentarily glistened like a drape of silk by the passing light.
I heard footsteps, barely able to hear them over the sound of the crashing waves, I looked up, dark silhouettes appeared over the cliff above, people from the town further in, more and more of them came, but none together, all alone and all silent, none acknowledging the others existence.
Many brought blankets, some just a drink, none looked at each as they sat down, just looking onward, just onward across the endless abyss as the lighthouse would momentarily illuminate the cluster.
"The people in this town wake up everyday and do what they do everyday," the lighthouse operator said, chipping away at the paper wrapped around the beer bottle, "at night, they simply come here in unison, but alone, some come because of stress, some because they are tired, some because they are angry, whatever their troubles, it does not matter, nor does anyone talk about it, but they are told to follow the guiding light to find their way, and so they sit there, for hours, quietly, whatever their problem is, and then they go home, and see the same people they saw the night before with smiles on their faces like nothing happened," he continued, half talking to himself, his eyes were pits of sorrow, regret had drilled it way inside, nested, and made those eyes empty shells of what once was happiness, "but here, here is the one place where time stands still, here is the one place, they can escape from their bubble and nothing else matters, as the light guides them into sanctuary."
I became silent, I didn't know what else to say, "you have to let me go," the words were sour in my mouth, melancholic and filled with regret, tears draped down the old wrinkles on the mans face, he took another sip with trembling hands, trying to muffle his sobs.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, they were the final words we shared, as he sat there alone, the child who he would see every night, once more gone, all that was left was guilt and quiet sobs. | 2017-02-22T13:05:29 | 2017-02-22T08:57:52 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] In a parallel universe where heavy metal is a classy and exquisite form of entertainment and classical music is rebellious and edgy, a young violinist is trying to make it big and never conform to the lame norms of the society | High society was all roundhouse kicks and torn off sleeves, leaving Andrew wondering, why was he standing in a makeshift amphitheater tearing his heart out over a cadenza?
When his bow left the strings, he took a bow. The claps that followed were polite. You didn't make a stir at a trashy house party like this. Thirteen people showed up, those of proper age drank wine peacefully by the glass as they sat up straight on their semi-circle of elevated stones. Their suits and dresses matched their rebellious nature, by god, they even wore white after labor day.
But that was the best Andrew could manage. No matter how many framed invitations he placed on antique furniture in run down diners and hung on bulletin boards, the same thirteen always came. Over the hedges behind the amphitheater yard there always seemed to be a bigger party, one with Johnny or Roxy playing the same four chords in rapid succession to the screams of all the rich kids. They wore face paint and practically kissed their microphones as they sang.
After four more shows of the same crowd of thirteen, Andrew placed his violin in its case and pulled out an old Fender from beneath several old photos of his grandfather. Even with the gray thin whisps still left on his scalp, the man managed one hell of a mohawk.
He strummed in his garage, alone. He strummed until his fingers blistered. He strummed until he could pretend not to hate it. The principles were the same, but what came out was so different. It had an awful prestige he couldn't shake away. This is what CEOs listened to when they wrestled shareholders over quarterly business reviews. This is how (ugh) politicians unwound after a long day of screaming in congress.
After school, he walked by a clothing store and saw a spiked bracelet. Johnny or Roxy would wear one of these, surrounded by covetous eyes as their grades never slipped. He brought it up to the counter and between the case of glam makeup and a small rack of leather straps, he saw it.
A tie.
Who would sell a tie in a place like this? Are they mad? That was -his- fashion. They were appropriating it! Just like high heels and jeans that fit, it had to just be a fashion fad. In a huff, Andrew bought the tie instead. It was his. It belonged to him and no one else.
And at the next show, he wore it. In the amphitheater in his friend's backyard, he took his violin and he played his strings and they sung from his soul. When the song finished to near silence, the weight of gravel shifting caught Andrew's ear.
It was Johnny. He sat down between two kids with impeccable posture and he listened.
Andrew took his violin to rest on his shoulder. Anger tensed his knuckles. He pulled his bow with aggression. It was hard. Violent. It was like he was playing the Fender, somehow. When it ended and everyone barely touched their fingers to their palms in polite applause, the passionate slap of Johnny's hands left Andrew with only one option.
Andrew took a bow.
The next day, at the store, he bought that spike bracelet and saw a few more ties for sale.
Taste changes with time, Andrew thought, and maybe he would change a little too.
***
Hi, if you enjoyed this and want to read more, please subscribe to [/r/writingprompts](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/) because I am not very good at this marketing thing. | "We don't have good reason to remove her," Mrs. Malloy sighed for the third time that week. She'd spent a lot of time up to bat for me lately. Mr. Hersch was the third teacher to speak up about my inclusion in the talent show, and he wasn't going to be the last. There was a month before the event, and it'd been three days since I'd jumped on the roster as Rae Lee, Violinist.
"We can't just let her get up there and perform," Mr. Hersch, "this is a catholic school and we need to have standards-"
"Rae is an exemplary student," Mrs. Mallory protested as she eyed me from over the desk. I knew how much grief I was causing her, and my proper tie wasn't helping.
"Yes she is." Mr. Hersch relented, he'd had me last year for bio, "but it's a matter of principle," he insisted. "First we're going to let her get up there with a violin and next think you know the boys will be traipsing into school with harps.
Well jeez, if Mr. Hersch was arguing against me he didn't need to bring up my fantasies while he was doing it. "I'm not dropping out," I said, "violin is a talent."
"Yes it is," Mr. Hersch groaned, "but would it kill you to put that talent towards a proper instrument? Like a guitar or a base?"
"I like violin," I pointed out. I'd told my parents that years ago and they'd cringed, my grandmother had scolded my mom for letting me save up my money and buy something so- so classical. I'd been the centre of a dozen arguments at home, but the fact that I'd found a passion. It was just that my parents quietly wished that I'd found something a little less.. clam.
"There won't be a single sick riff in her performance," Mr. Hersch pointed out, he was sweating now. Everyone knew that arguing against Mrs. Mallory was a losing battle, and he was starting to question his footing.
"No," Mrs. Mallory started, "there probably-"
"Definitely," I corrected. That got a glare from both sides of the argument.
"won't be any sick riffs," she admitted that like she was telling Mr. Hersch that his wife had cancer. "But she has the right to perform as a student of th-"
"I get it," Mr. Hersch pushed himself off of Mrs. Mallory's desk and smoothed his blonde hair back. "I just don't agree and I had to speak up about it before the students decided to do something."
"The students aren't going to do anything," Mrs. Mallory said, "but thank you for your concern, Marcus," Mrs. Mallory turned to me, "Rae you might want to get back to class now."
I nodded, just appreciative of the reason for excuse myself from the mess I'd put myself in. I wanted to be in the talent show, I really did, but I might have been taking it too far. Nobody chided me about keeping my uniforms messy as possible, or how much I talked Beethoven. Everything I did was just appearances that I made up for with my performance in class. Playing the violin? Well, that was social suicide amongst the teachers.
The students on the other hand, well they at least enjoyed my bravado. It wasn't 'cool' to bring up Violin in front of a teacher, but out on the steps with a cigarette between my teeth everyone awed at my talent. They knew that I wasn't going anywhere with this, I'd never be picked up for a Rockin' Riffs Concert tour. I'd never join the Toronto Metal Orchestra. I was just going to be someone who played violin, and that was twice as rebellious as smoking.
Of course, that was what they thought. There were violinists out there, there were pianists, there were tumpet players and even some people who rocked the French horn. Sure, back in the day you needed a password and a ticket to see them preform, but these days you could jump on the internet and see anyone.
Ya know, as long as you deleted your seached history after you did it.
"Rae!" Taylor called from behind me, she had thrid period off. "How'd it go?" she asked as she caught up, almost bumping into the violin case over my shoulder.
"Fine," I said, "Mal's being chill about it."
"I knew she'd work for you," Taylor said, "I told you so!" she hadn't.
"Yeah," I said, "and at least it's not going to be too much of an issue with her on m-"
"Rae Lee, please report to the office. Rae Lee please report to the office,"' the secretary said over the intercom. She had to be getting tired of my name at this point.
"Luck," Taylor shurgged before scultting her preppy self down the hallway.
"Thanks," I sighed before turning around and getting into another argument.
| 2017-03-06T13:55:30 | 2017-03-06T13:41:02 | 34 | 20 |
[WP] In a parallel universe where heavy metal is a classy and exquisite form of entertainment and classical music is rebellious and edgy, a young violinist is trying to make it big and never conform to the lame norms of the society | "Are you Mr. Ray Paganini?"
"Yes," Ray answered.
"Where you headed?"
"Here," Ray pointed out.
Ray's ride mate gave him a perplexed look as he saw the location on his phone's map. "Are you...sure about the location? Last time I check that area was mostly abandoned warehouses."
"Not the one I'm going to."
The robot car promptly got itself rolling as soon as it calculated a route.
"That isn't what I think it is, is it?"
"What do you think?" Ray rhetorically asked.
Ray had well gotten used to it by now. His ultra conservative and religious family meant a strict spiky and leather-clad dress code, and the only music ever allowed on his phone was metal. Anything else was considered low class and unworthy in the eyes of his older peers. But Ray couldn't stand it. *"I want actual notes and sounds that don't fry my fuckin' head,"* he'd sometimes say.
The place he was rehearsing in was not surprising as well. Whereas metal had the privilege of downtown venues in the established areas of town, his tastes placed him on the fringes usually reserved for hippies and anarchists. He was glad his fellow ride mate had to leave the vehicle before him.
***
"Ray, wassup?"
"You ready?"
Ray took a cursory look at the room to see that there was indeed a piano in the room and someone to play it along his other mates. It was so refreshing to him to escape to a place where everyone wore form fitting jeans and bland hoodies than deal with the noise of the average person's style. "What we got on the menu?" he asked.
"A variety," the cellist said, "We'll start with stuff that's really ancient and then we'll work up to some shit that's...well...less old."
"I'm not too sure I know what you mean by that."
"New enough that the original work wasn't exactly 'played' for the first time," the pianist chimed in, "It was created. Computer made."
"Interesting. I imagine without the human element it is easier for the composer to simply put whatever's on the mind. I'd love to hear the original."
"I know someone who has them but they're really hard to get. Mainly because the church...you know."
"Nothing but metal on the Internet."
"Exactly."
There was a reason why Ray played first violin. He almost never missed a note, no matter how high, no matter how fast. His friends would say he's an expert at serenading, and had a 'sick-ass sound'. He had a bright future, even if that future was contained around the people he hung around.
***
"Ray, I need to ask where you have been," his father asked.
"I was, hanging out with friends at the mall," Ray answered.
"This does not look like the mall to me," he sternly said as he showed his phone.
"You've been tracking me? That's an invasion of privacy!"
"We have a right to know! What were you doing here?!"
"That's not what this is."
"Oh we know what it is." Ray's dad reached to grad his electric violin from under the table. "We know you've been...practicing. Are you trying to start something?"
"No, I just...I just love violin. And I love the kinds music I play."
Ray's dad sighed. "I'm confiscating this. Be a good boy and go back to your room to practice drumming. You're grounded." | "We don't have good reason to remove her," Mrs. Malloy sighed for the third time that week. She'd spent a lot of time up to bat for me lately. Mr. Hersch was the third teacher to speak up about my inclusion in the talent show, and he wasn't going to be the last. There was a month before the event, and it'd been three days since I'd jumped on the roster as Rae Lee, Violinist.
"We can't just let her get up there and perform," Mr. Hersch, "this is a catholic school and we need to have standards-"
"Rae is an exemplary student," Mrs. Mallory protested as she eyed me from over the desk. I knew how much grief I was causing her, and my proper tie wasn't helping.
"Yes she is." Mr. Hersch relented, he'd had me last year for bio, "but it's a matter of principle," he insisted. "First we're going to let her get up there with a violin and next think you know the boys will be traipsing into school with harps.
Well jeez, if Mr. Hersch was arguing against me he didn't need to bring up my fantasies while he was doing it. "I'm not dropping out," I said, "violin is a talent."
"Yes it is," Mr. Hersch groaned, "but would it kill you to put that talent towards a proper instrument? Like a guitar or a base?"
"I like violin," I pointed out. I'd told my parents that years ago and they'd cringed, my grandmother had scolded my mom for letting me save up my money and buy something so- so classical. I'd been the centre of a dozen arguments at home, but the fact that I'd found a passion. It was just that my parents quietly wished that I'd found something a little less.. clam.
"There won't be a single sick riff in her performance," Mr. Hersch pointed out, he was sweating now. Everyone knew that arguing against Mrs. Mallory was a losing battle, and he was starting to question his footing.
"No," Mrs. Mallory started, "there probably-"
"Definitely," I corrected. That got a glare from both sides of the argument.
"won't be any sick riffs," she admitted that like she was telling Mr. Hersch that his wife had cancer. "But she has the right to perform as a student of th-"
"I get it," Mr. Hersch pushed himself off of Mrs. Mallory's desk and smoothed his blonde hair back. "I just don't agree and I had to speak up about it before the students decided to do something."
"The students aren't going to do anything," Mrs. Mallory said, "but thank you for your concern, Marcus," Mrs. Mallory turned to me, "Rae you might want to get back to class now."
I nodded, just appreciative of the reason for excuse myself from the mess I'd put myself in. I wanted to be in the talent show, I really did, but I might have been taking it too far. Nobody chided me about keeping my uniforms messy as possible, or how much I talked Beethoven. Everything I did was just appearances that I made up for with my performance in class. Playing the violin? Well, that was social suicide amongst the teachers.
The students on the other hand, well they at least enjoyed my bravado. It wasn't 'cool' to bring up Violin in front of a teacher, but out on the steps with a cigarette between my teeth everyone awed at my talent. They knew that I wasn't going anywhere with this, I'd never be picked up for a Rockin' Riffs Concert tour. I'd never join the Toronto Metal Orchestra. I was just going to be someone who played violin, and that was twice as rebellious as smoking.
Of course, that was what they thought. There were violinists out there, there were pianists, there were tumpet players and even some people who rocked the French horn. Sure, back in the day you needed a password and a ticket to see them preform, but these days you could jump on the internet and see anyone.
Ya know, as long as you deleted your seached history after you did it.
"Rae!" Taylor called from behind me, she had thrid period off. "How'd it go?" she asked as she caught up, almost bumping into the violin case over my shoulder.
"Fine," I said, "Mal's being chill about it."
"I knew she'd work for you," Taylor said, "I told you so!" she hadn't.
"Yeah," I said, "and at least it's not going to be too much of an issue with her on m-"
"Rae Lee, please report to the office. Rae Lee please report to the office,"' the secretary said over the intercom. She had to be getting tired of my name at this point.
"Luck," Taylor shurgged before scultting her preppy self down the hallway.
"Thanks," I sighed before turning around and getting into another argument.
| 2017-03-06T14:04:56 | 2017-03-06T13:41:02 | 27 | 20 |
[WP] You are given three wishes, but on the condition that whatever you wish for everyone else also gets. You decide to game the system. | Well, here's what I wish for.
Wish 1: I wish to be purged of all desire to harm another sapient being, with this trait being passed down to all descendants. However, I will retain the capability to do so if necessary.
Wish 2: I wish for super-inventing powers, able to design, build and implement any sort of technology I can think of in a week, tops.
Wish 3: I wish for the ability to pull any substance I want out of hammerspace, in any configuration which I know the operating principles for.
Three thousand years later, the Galactic Merk'om Empire gets a nasty surprise from the seemingly peaceful species of physics-warping inventors known as humans. | I realized early on, luckily, that most material pleasures were not an option. If everyone was rich, no one was after all. The genie noticed that too, for he sighed. "At least you're not like the other guy. He tried to get everyone to transfer money into his bank account. But he was locked up for excessive fradulent activity and forced extortion. I hope you don't pull the same trick," he said. The thought in my head popped like a bubble as I continued to think. *What was good to have that I didn't mind others having?*
My first thought was love. So I was about to wish that everyone would be able to woo their crush successfully, before realizing the awkwardness if one person's crush crushed on someone else. So I scratched that idea. Then I had an excellent idea. "Everyone's father dies," I said confidently. As a immoral heartless son, my dad's inheritance was way more important than his well being. Everyone else would lose their parents too, but...did I need to care? Not really.
The next wish. I decided to go with superpowers for everyone. But I chose one so niche I was probably the only one needing it. The ability to have super strong suit, but the only powering unit was a one I had st home. All geared up, I prepared to make my third wish, when the hidden mic in the suit spoke.
"Elrick?" it said hoarsely. It was my soon-to-be-dying father. I chuckled, and was about to hang up when my father continued. "The power unit in your room...it's running low..." he said slowly. I recalled suddenly why. *This is a love-o-meter*, he'd said when he bought it, *it's unique and charges on love*. Charges on love...what was love in me? I tried hard to supress the rising want to tear up. Love...what had I failed to love?
As the genie turned to me, I raised my head and said firmly, "I want everyone's dad to be alive again and healthy, not past the 4th Generation." For if my father deserved love, then certainly others did too. More than me.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | 2017-07-24T14:24:20 | 2017-07-24T14:16:09 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much. | By rights I shouldn't exist. With the pairing of bear and dove, they expected something smaller. A wolf, perhaps, or an eagle. Something fast, yet powerful. Strong, yet humble. No one prepared for me.
The marks determine one's place in society. My father, with his unequaled strength, led the tribe to greatness. My mother, in her compassion, watched over our people. It was an age of prosperity unlike any seen in memory.
At my birth there were cries of anguish and shock. I'm told my father fought bravely, defending my mother as she escaped. I've heard how his great arms bulged as he struck down his former companions, before collapsing from his various wounds. My mother told me of his cry of rage as the tribe closed in around him before turning towards her.
She escaped. Not even she can tell me how, but we lived. Thanks to my mother's love and my father's strength, I survived. I've heard the stories as long as I can remember. Ever since I was old enough to ask about our marks. Her dove with wings spread wide on her forearm. The creature coiling up my leg, around my torso, mouth opened wide across my chest, showing countless teeth.
A leviathan. That is the word my mother heard uttered before the elders ordered my destruction. The only forbidden creature, an omen of destruction for the tribe. They were right.
I stand now on a hill overlooking my former people, camped by the water's edge. I watch the mothers pull their children in from the rain. I can hear, over the howl of the gale, the men discussing their latest hunt. As I close my eyes, savoring the moment, relishing my anticipation, I hear my mother's cries in my memory, her pleas of forgiveness, not for herself, but for the people who tried to kill her. I think back to that night, as she lay dying in the wilderness that was my home.
A fury as ancient as my animal wells within me at the thought. A hatred as deep as the ocean in which the leviathan lives. The storm within rages as the rain around grows heavier. I've returned to the water. I've returned to my people, bare-chested, that they will see the source of their destruction. As I reach the first tent, the fury boils over, and over the storm my roar can be heard. | I'm not special. I'm not important. My father was a good man, or so I hear. I don't remember much about him; mostly memories of fighting and eating. He wasn't angry, just protective. He was a bear after all, not really his fault. My mother was crushed when he died. She was beautiful, graceful, smart, and funny. She was fragile though. Dad's death clipped her wings, so to speak. She never cared after his death. It's always hard watching a soft animal die, but I couldn't stand to watch my mother just pass. She did. I've always covered my tattoo up. I knew it was different, but my friends grandfathers brother had no tattoo, so it's not like I was a total freak. I spent so long looking for a biblical tattoo like my own. All I could find were ancient leaders. Kings that had died millenniums ago. I was no king, I was just some dude from Minnesota.
I met Sam 6 months ago. She didn't have a tattoo. She was the first person I ever showed my tattoo to. All she could do was stare. She asked me if I had ever used it.
No.
And I never would.
She asked me to take her somewhere, to use it. I resisted at first, but she would never get a chance to use one, so it only felt fair that I would use mine with her. We drove to the ocean. I told her on the way I don't even know how to use it. She told me she didn't care. We got to the water, and I stepped into the ocean for the first time. It felt right. Like I was home. I told Sam to step back, and dove head first into the water. I didn't know how to swim, but I didn't need to. I just moved through the water. Effortlessly. I came back out and got Sam. I told her to hold on. I started moving and eventually looked back. I couldn't see the land anymore. She told me to keep going. She'd always wanted to see Europe.
12 hours later, I see land again. We get there and everyone's staring at me. I hear a loud voice speaking Spanish. I turn to the voice, and he suddenly stops speaking. I ask Sam what she thinks of Spain, but she says nothing. I see an beachside bar, and decide to get us drinks. I take 2 steps towards the bar, and hear a blood curdling scream. I turn around.
Sam is lying face down. Motionless. Her body barely recognizable. Oh my God. Did I do this? What happened. I see a man standing over her body. He has a viper tattoo. A scarlet viper. The same one that took my father. I lashed out. What can I say, I was distressed. The reports said 25 dead and 42 injured. I didn't mean to.
I was sorry.
They tried to fight me, but I was unstoppable. I submitted to the creature that had plagued my body my entire life. It was angry. The next month and a half were a blur. I don't remember anything besides a weeping mother, a raven, holding her daughter, a wolf, begging me to spare her.
I don't even remember if I did.
Now I sit here, fully aware that I'm in Buckingham Palace, commanding an army to fight the resistance. I know this is a moment that will last for only that, a moment. I just want to say, in case I don't get another moment. I'm sorry. I wanted none of this. I just wanted to be some blank from Minnesota. To all the people I've hurt, and to those I will hurt. I'm sorry. I'm no longer in control of my own destiny, but I hope, for all of you, that you stop me, and that you make me pay for the damage I've caused.
Goodbye. | 2017-11-08T05:54:13 | 2017-11-08T05:37:34 | 32 | 23 |
[wp] You are immortal and have lived for thousands of years. Never in your entire existence have you ever met anyone like you, so as far as you know, you are the only immortal on earth. Today, with perfect fluency, someone greets you in a language you haven't heard in a long, long time... | "Hello there"
They were small words. The smallest in fact, nothing more than a greeting. A casual greeting. I must have said it millions of times in my life. The words were so small that their significance was lost on me for a full 38 seconds.
Though they were small words to me it had been a long time since they were even *words* to anyone. To most everyone they'd be nothing more than archaic sounds that vaguely resemble the language of the before. Before what? Well that's a story for another time.
In truth those words were not small, not to me. Not to anyone who still knew them. To some they'd be dusty academic utterances, devoid of flavor and spoken much the same way Latin was in the before. I could always tell when it was some bookish anthropologist speaking them because the words never had any soul.
But not this time. The words came from a tongue that knew them well. They came from a mind who knew what they meant. They came from a relic of the before just like me and I was terrified.
Most people were like confetti at a parade. They drifted aimlessly about their short lives. I'd left the parade altogether ages ago, content to watch from the side as the only spectator who would ever get to see it all. I was under the impression that the parade had been mine alone to watch but it seemed that I had been wrong.
I turned slowly, the power of the words kept me moving and thinking clearly and slowly a face came into my field of vision. It was a delicate thing. Her jaw was tapered elegantly, not hard like a man's but distinctive, strong. She was visibly pale which contrasted perfectly with jet black hair, too black to be fake. Her nose and mouth mere reminded me distantly of Aubrey Hepburn and I silently remarked that I hadn't thought of her in centuries. She was the picture of a woman in her prime.
But her eyes. They were *so old*. These were not the eyes of a thirty something from some cushy paradise or agri world, these were eyes that had seen as much of the parade as mine. Maybe more. And they were looking at me like they wanted something. Not *me*, no not me at all. I wasn't an ugly man, quite handsome actually but that's not what those eyes wanted.
They wanted something else. They were desperate for it, they needed it. I recognized that look then. I had worn it before. I'd worn it for years when things had gotten bad. I'd worn it when I'd gotten attached. It was the look of someone who had seen those she loved wither and die while she remained.
I met her eyes with mine. She still wore the look. I had to speak the words, they were small words. Dusty words. Old words. The words of a dead world and people but to her they were so much more. To me they were so much more. They were the most important words she'd ever hear, they'd been the most important words she'd ever spoke, they were the greatest words I knew. She had spoken them to me, and so in a custom as old as language I opened my mouth to respond.
"Hi there" | They stood in a line before me. My fellows, my others, the closest thing I had to friends, God help me. I've used my lifetime to learn what I can, and finally I could just sit around utilizing the knowledge that I’d accumulated. I’d decided to be a doctor this century. It’s amazing how few questions people ask when you’re the best there is at your job because you’ve helped invent a good portion of it.
I’d been working in this hospital for 5 years (without aging, frequent moving is extraordinarily important) and I’d just been given the third batch of fellows they’d like me to teach. All of their fellows have been good, but I wouldn’t say anything remarkable. Mostly I’d sent these students out into the world knowing only that they wouldn’t intentionally kill anybody. For me, that’s enough. Besides, when you force fellows on a man he’s bound to be irritable.
Standing in front of the five students at the top of their class (only the “best” for me) I regarded them all with equal parts fascination, and apathy. How many time would these students make me show them that they actually know nothing. The arrogance of the young continues to disturb me. Finally I stood up, sighing. The sooner I started the introductions, the closer they were to moving on.
“My name, as you should know, is Doctor Francis Lubkin, and my specialty is cardiology, but I’m quite adept at the rest of this job so come to me if you have any questions” I started, “Why don’t we go down this remarkably short line and you say your name and what you want your specialty to be”
The blonde girl on my right started first. “Hello, my name is Heather Gnash and I’d like to be a neurologist”. Then the next, “I’m Hans Grutz and I’ll be an Anesthesiologist” all the way down to the last one at the end of the line. He looked a little bit different and had so far displayed mannerisms that seemed at once wholly familiar and totally alien to me. He looked at me for a long time before saying anything. I was about to but in and ask him for his answer when he finally opened his mouth.
“You can simply call me Joe,” He said, “and I too would like to be a heart medicine man, just like you”
Something seemed odd about that, but I figured I’d ignore it for now and ruminate on it later “well, Joe, let me know if you need any help” I responded. Maybe, I figured, he was just a little bit slow. Then I realized that the other fellows looked confused and were regarding both of us queerly. “What’s their problem,” I thought, “Cardiologists aren’t that rare at all”. And then it hit me; Joe was speaking a language I hadn’t heard since before writing had been invented.
It was a language so old that no modern tongue has any description of it. A language wiped out by outsiders who told tales of fear about its magical properties. He spoke my first and native tongue.
I felt my jaw slacken and knew I’d become a mirror of the other students, but I didn’t care. What was happening was impossible, there could be no way I’d heard this correctly, but deep down, in some part of me that I’d forgotten about, I knew the truth. I wanted to ask him how he knew that. I wanted to ask him…hell, I had so many questions I wasn’t even sure what they were. Joy and relief built up in me. This felt like a homecoming after millennia of being away. I felt tears forming in my eyes.
That joy gave way to fear when I finally saw the emotion on his face. He was a picture of pure and utter malice, a cat having trapped its rat. He took a step towards me
“So, it actually is you” he spat “I’ve been waiting”
“W-waiting for what?” I was able to get out
“For you to pay your debt, but I guess it’s time we…repossessed what we gave you”
I had no idea what he was talking about and then it hit me. The reason I’ve been alive for so long. I gave up a child, one that I had yet to create.
“Please” I begged “I’d forgotten, I can…I can get you what I owe you”
“Not this time” he lashed at me “ This time we take back what’s rightfully ours”
He muttered some ancient magical words, words that came even before me, and I felt my skin loosen. I looked at my hands and saw them sagging of the bones, riddled with liver spots. He was aging me to what I should be, but he was doing it slowly. Pain sheared through my body and then…
| 2017-12-29T13:33:15 | 2017-12-29T13:09:53 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] Alien invaders entire our Solar System. As the armies of the world panic or ready for war, the continent of Australia simply takes off on engines and flies off to meet them. | The news came from the outer rim first. Contact with alien life, one of earths colonies had been approached first. We signaled peace, they did not.
I was studying emus in their native habitat when I heard the invaders were coming for earth. My first though was damn, now I'll never finish my thesis. My second thought was my family and friends I would never see again. I tried calling my parents, but the signal could not get through.
So I sat down, alone except for a flightless bird 100 yards away. I put my head in my hands, sobbing, waiting for the end.
"Oi mate, you might want to find something to hold onto. We're in for a rough ride." It was the thickest Australian accent I had heard, like Steve Irwin had bred with crocodile Dundee.
I wiped away my tears and looked around. There was no one, save the emu I had been studying, who was now only a few feet away.
"Well don't just sit there blubbering. The outback defense system has been tripped, we're set for launch." I couldn't believe it, this bird with a brain the size of a golf ball was currently giving me instructions.
"Y-y-you can talk?" I stammered out.
"Aye mate, and I'll tell you again," as he spoke the ground began to rumble, "you should really find something to hold onto."
The sound of a thousand rockets rang out, and the earth trembled beneath my feet. "What's happening!?"
The emu pecked a rock, and a large cannon burst out of the ground. "You didn't think a bunch of birds beat the Australian army through luck, now did you?" A siren was sounding off now, and hundreds a emu poured into the area.
"Brothers!" The thick accent bellowed over the sound of the rockets. "It is time to defend the homeland again! Aussie Aussie Ausie!!!"
The chorus of emus rang back. "OI OI OI!!!" | Ayers Rock is famous for many reasons: as an Aboriginal holy site, as a milestone marking the center of a continent, or simply as a bloody large rock in the middle of a very flat desert.
To those in the know, it has a very different significance.
Everyone thinks they know the history of Australia. A forgotten continent, populated by all manner of creatures weird and wonderful. Kangaroos. Captain Cook. Convicts. But this is merely what those in the know want you to think.
Similarly, when 49 heavily armed alien spaceships entered the Solar System and demanded immediate surrender from both Earth and Callista, most of Earth's inhabitants assumed that this was the first time that such an event had occurred. The Callistan's were not so ignorant, and immediately retreated into the bunkers that they'd long held ready.
In the United States, established cults immediately began proclaiming that this was the long-prophesized end of times, and everyone else blamed the President. In China, the government attempted to censor all mention of the aliens until the beings in question simply bypassed the Great Firewall and directly invaded their minds with the ease of a modern Genghis Khan. In Russia, they merely shook their heads and rolled their eyes.
In Australia, the Prime Minister's urgent conference call with his top generals was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. "Not now, dammit. I'm busy."
The knock came again. "What the hell is it?"
The door opened and a slender woman smiled at the Prime Minister. He had a sudden feeling that things were going to be alright now that she was here. He rubbed his face irritably. What a ridiculous notion.
"Prime Minister, I've been assigned to you from the Atlantis Protocol."
"Never heard of it."
"Of course not," she said, smiling as if this were perfectly understandable. "We're classified."
"If you were, I'd have heard of you. Now get out. I've got a country to save."
She stood their patiently, her smile not wavering. "I'm afraid we're classified above Head of State level."
"Dave, I'll call you back," the Prime Minister said into the phone, and replaced the receiver. "Explain yourself. Who are you, and how did you get in here? You say you're assigned to me? What's that, some kind of aide?"
She laughed. "How quaint. No, I'm afraid I'm a little more than your aide. I'm here to inform you that your lease has been terminated, effective immediately."
"Lease?"
"Do try to keep up, Prime Minister, we don't have a lot of time. Your lease on Atlantis."
"Atlantis as in the mythical Greek city that sunk beneath the waves?"
"A convenient fiction," she said. "Atlantis as in the Advanced Terran Laser And Nuclear Threat Incapacitation System."
"And this thing is in Australia?"
"No Prime Minister. It *is* Australia." She waved a hand towards the window. The Prime Minister suddenly realized that wisps of white mist were drifting past his window. That's funny, he thought, we don't get fog in Canberra. Then he had a sudden panic that this was some alien weapon. Only when the room lurched suddenly, and the mist gave way to the brilliant blue of space, did he realize that they had been clouds.
He turned to the woman. "What the hell?"
"I'll explain on the way," she said. "Come. We need to get to the command center."
"Where's that?"
She gave him a funny look, her patience finally appearing to wear a little thin. "Where do you think? I believe you call it Ayers Rock. To us, it's always been Uluru."
---
*Find more of my stories at* r/jd_rallage | 2018-01-23T06:21:53 | 2018-01-23T02:59:00 | 2,140 | 1,214 |
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