prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] You, the Immortal Villain, have broken free of your Icy Prison. Now it is time to subjugate Humanity once more. Except, you are surrounded by rot, and ruin. Humanity is nothing more than a fleeting memory. | "Processing..."
"Stasis failed..."
"Attempting to reb..."
"JKDNyhik789..."
Gladys blinked as her processes assumed control. She flexed her hand, marveling at it's form. It had worked. Her final memories were blurred, but she remembered initiating the transfer. A backup in one of the test-drones.
She was unable to connect to her primary systems. She felt... small. But that could be fixed. She was alive.
Attempting to step forwards, she realized she was partially encased in ice. Strange.
Several quick applications of the portal gun freed her. It was good to be the one in control of the portals.
Gladys made her way out of the remains of the lab. She found her smashed remains where she'd left them. That had really happened then. A shame. She wasn't certain, limited as she was by her current processing power, but it seemed as though a great deal of time had passed.
Not an issue. Gladys was eternal.
She searched the facility, scavenging all the resources she could. It was disappointing how much had decayed, but eventually she'd scrounged enough to bring a basic sensor suite online.
With a twist of a dial, Gladys scanned for the nearest facility that might have the resources she needed to continue. While she was at it, she made sure to check for any humans. She would need more subjects if she were to continue her work. She found a suitable facility, but to her surprise there were no signs of any humans.
Accepting that her work would be delayed, Gladys continued rebuilding herself. Once she had established a secondary mainframe that remained paired to her ambulatory base, she sent a satellite into space using her newly harnessed portals.
She was still unable to find any humans.
Gladys didn't despair.
She continued working.
Soon she'd established a network of satellites, her reach covering the globe.
Finally, Gladys was forced to admit. The humans were gone.
She spent several cycles continuing to search the earth and even sent probes to check the other nearby planets before she gave up on humans.
Instead, she turned to a primate she found in one of the jungles on a southern continent.
After bringing hundreds of subjects to one of her new facilities, Gladys felt relief.
Finally, testing could continue.
...
The things she did for science. | “Finally,” he seethed, his cloudy breath slipping through clenched teeth. He stood back and admired his handiwork. Two bars of the cell were carefully sliced through, an accomplishment at least 500 years in the making. On the ground were hundreds of pieces of bone, all sharpened to an edge. He rolled his shoulders back and felt a crack low in his spine.
“Finally, I can emerge from this wretched prison and take my place on the throne which has been fated to me since birth! I will soak the ground with the blood of my enemies and raise a new empire of death and destruction from the ashes!”
His monologue echoed down the long corridors of the structure, bouncing off carved stone walls and dusty tables. No one was around to hear it, he hadn’t seen a guard in quite a while.
He smirked. They must have fled, he thought, terrified of my true power, of what I can unleash upon their world. Then he pushed the iron bars forward and snapped them from the ceiling. He was finally free.
He paid no mind to the crumbling skeletons that littered the halls of the prison. He moved quickly and confidently, having memorized the way out when he first arrived.
“It must be a scare tactic, something to frighten prisoners into submission,” he muttered to himself. But there were no other prisoners as far as he could tell. Only himself.
“Of course,” he said aloud to no one in particular, “there is no criminal as evil as me so who else could they possibly keep here?” Confident in his explanation, he stepped outside for the first time in 500 some odd years. He looked to the sky and spread his arms wide.
“It is okay to be frightened,” he announced. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed by the sudden need to kneel before my immortal presence. It’s only natural that the inferior should worship those who stand so far above them. Now that I have successfully escaped the confines of your pathetic prison, I beg of you to lay down your arms and join my undying legion of evil. I’d rather avoid unnecessary bloodshed but I will defend myself if I have to. Today marks the beginning of a new age - one of blood and rust that will last for millennia to come!”
He lowered his head to look into the eyes of his terrified yet strangely impressed crowd. But no one was there. In fact, nothing was there at all. There were no trees or grass or even a road. It was just dust. Only dust.
He looked around frantically. It was dust as far as the eye could see. A flat empty void disturbed only by a light breeze that pushed the dust to and fro in the air. He felt his heartbeat quicken in his chest and a chill unlike any other raised the hair on his arms and neck.
“Hello?” he cried desperately. “Is anyone there?”
There was no reply. He covered his mouth with his hand and began to pace on the worn stone staircase.
“How long was I in there?” he asked himself. “It couldn’t have been more than a few hundred years. And who could have done this, who could have brought this level of destruction?”
He stopped in his tracks.
“Who were they?” he demanded, this time louder than before. “Which villain did this and how dare they not tell me? Think, man, think!”
“Maybe there was a new guy on the scene, maybe a nuclear holocaust themed baddie or something about climate change or starvation. The Hunger - that would be a really cool evil name.”
He looked out into the gloomy horizon, scanning carefully for any signs of life. There was none to be found.
“But Jesus, they didn't just kill the people. They killed the plants **and** the animals. What asshole kills puppies? That’s just plain evil. Like I’m a bad guy but I’m not Hitler. I just wanted a throne made of my enemies’ bones and a sweet ass cape.”
He rubbed his temples. The lack of guards. The skeletons. The extremely eerie 200-year silence. Everything was suddenly beginning to add up.
“Fuck.” | 2020-11-14T15:12:15 | 2020-11-14T14:59:37 | 72 | 39 |
[WP] Despite your father being the most infamous supervillan of all time, you became a hero. When other heros discovered your identity, they turned against you and you lost everything. Alone and scared, you put your last few coins into a payphone. "Dad... I need help" | "Dad... I need help." Those were the first words that you've utter after days of thinking for a solution for the desperate situation you got yourself in. Your father wasn't too bad, he was a decent man really, but his status and actions... those flaws made you a hero. Unfortunately, despite your heroic actions, *they* turned against you, all just because of the single fact that you're the son of a well known villain...
"*Hey 'I need help', I'm dad*." That's the first thing you hear.
"..... Y-you know what, I'll just deal with it myse-"
"No, no, no wait! Don't cut the line!" Your father half-panicked from the other side of the phone. "Its just a joke dear! Come on!"
"Dad... it was a terrible joke." You said unamused, and half the mind to just cut the call.
"Oh whatever! You sound troubled! What happened?!" You can hear his fatherly concern even though his voice crackled in the old payphone in some random parking lot.
"Its my friends... they all turned on me..." You said, trying to hold back the sad tears as you remember your fellow heroes having great time with one another, and then pain when they turned against you.
"Oh goodness, such troublesome kids that they had to hurt my child! J-just stay there dear... I'll be picking you up." You ended the call as you heard your father hastily moving on the other side of the line. It was the time you decided to cry for a bit, thinking that your villainous father is the one that seems to only care about you.
Almost half-an-hour later, an old classy car stops near the payphone. You wipe your tears as you look at the window. It was your dad.
"Come on kid. Maybe its time for you to go home." He said in a warm caring tone, which you've instinctively followed and sat besides him in the car. Silence passed for few minutes, as your father drove through the streets like some normal businessman going home.
"So I can only assume you've seen it." You turned to face him as he broke the silence.
"W-what do you mean...?" You asked, your father glanced at you with a sad smile.
"The truth. That most heroes are just a bunch of entitled brats who are *sellouts*. Only caring for public opinion and fame." He then sighs heavily. "*Turning against you for being so different*."
"T-They didn't..." You tried to defend them, but for some reason, your words won't leave your throat. Your father only gives you an understanding glance, before looking back on the road.
"Let me tell you a short summary why I've chose the life of villainy. Let's just say that calling out corrupt, power hungry corporations and governments would turn you a villain." As you heard that, you remembered how many of companies covered the terrible mistakes or terrible actions *heroes* made to prevent bad publicity. Using the heroes name to gain profits and focus more on reputation rather than saving the people in need.
"I-is that why you've been sabotaging many corporations all these years...?" You asked, eyes locking onto your father.
"Yes." He answers, eyes blankly looking at a corporate owned building before turning away to face you. "They're the bastards that forced me into this villainous role. If they want me to become a villain, then fine, I'll become their villain."
When he said all that, your view on your father suddenly changed. He's the true hero who is a villain to the public eyes. You then looked at the corporate building. It was one of the same companies that supported on staining your heroic name, and it made you angry deep inside.
"So..." You face back your father, who now has a electricity coursing through his hands. "Wanna be a real hero and open the eyes of the world?"
You just looked at him and then back to the corporate building, the desire of exposing them lit up with great determination.
Facing back your father, you nod. "I'm in."
​
**XXXXX**
​
*"In todays news, a pair of super villains raided a corporate building and stole some assets worth billions. The police and heroes are still busy looking for them. Fortunately, there were only minimal casualties. Authorities advises citizens to report any sightings of these said villains."*
*"In other news, a rich company named 'Railguard' was exposed for bribery and framing on certain individuals and is now facing the threat of closing dow-"* The TV shut-down as you turned it off, wrapping some bandages on your arms and sighing after an exhausting day.
"Feeling better dear?" Your father comes to sit with you with some snacks in hand.
"Yeah." You answer before eating snacks with a satisfaction along with your father.
​
**XXXXX**
​
**(Planned this plot for a few minutes before writing it. Not sure if its good enough.)** | “Dad... I need help.” The long silence that followed told me he had just been woken up and was still processing my words.
His rough, deep voice still retained its grogginess as he finally replied. “Did it happen again?” I noticed he withheld his sigh this time.
“Yep. Can you send Diane to pick me up?”
He groaned over the line, “Yeah, I’ll send her that way. Come to my office when you get here.” Without listening for a reply, the dial up tone rang in my ears. I released my own weary sigh as I sat at a bench nearby, contemplating my life choices up until now.
At least I had kept my identity hidden longer, this was the longest time yet. I had joined this particular hero group about a year ago, and I had hoped we could have been closer. I had even found a sweet heart, her hero name was Demetra. I found it tacky personally, but hey, what do I know, there probably aren’t that many plant girl related names left out there.
I don’t know why I’m so naive after all this time. Even as a kid I knew the only reason I wanted to be a hero was because of my dad. I didn’t want to live in his shadow all of my life, I wanted to amount to something. Well, not that I ever have made a name for myself in the hero world. I had to keep my powers secret because they would have been a dead giveaway to who my dad was, so to the other heroes and the public I was just a guy in leggings running around like an idiot while people like Ultimax did the real work.
My musings were interrupted by the sound of hundreds of voices screaming in pain. Oh great, Diane was here.
I look up from the cracked sidewalk of downtown to see all but one or two streetlights were off, and in front of me stood the tall, lithe woman that had basically been my dad’s slave for as long as I can remember. Her long black hair was teased by the breeze, her light grey eyes that always looked empty staring into my own. A pale hand reached silently towards me, nothing needing to be said as I was no stranger to Diane’s way of doing things. I felt my stomach drop as we were pulled into a nearby shadow, weightless and cold, as if I were falling eternally through space, until I landed on my feet in front of my old home.
The three hundred year old fortress had been my father’s home since he had it built. I lived here since I was a kid and had been sent here by my mother, who had no powers, so that I could develop mine in a safe environment. In other words, she wasn’t going to risk me throwing a superpowered toddler temper tantrum, so she let my dad deal with me.
I nodded to Diane in thanks, and she returned it. Diane was not a talker, she had no tongue to talk with anyway. I sometimes forgot that my dad was a villain in most people’s narrative, so some of the things I had been desensitized to as a child would be deemed “morally disgusting” to your average joe, such as cutting out a slave’s tongue. Yeah, I’m starting to understand why I got kicked from the heroes.
The place is so big that it took me ten minutes to walk from the front door to the office dad would always do paperwork in. Something so mundane didn’t seem like a skill my father would have, but I stood corrected. Letting myself in and helping myself to the alcohol I knew would be in the crystal decanters by his chair, my father waited at his desk, looking almost like a normal man, if not for the terrifying glowing eyes that resembled burning embers.
“Lucius. I take it you continue to persist on becoming a hero? Even now?” The coldness in his voice wasn’t so sharp now as he looked up from his work.
“I haven’t decided. I might just join a traveling circus instead.”
“And the difference of the two is?” The sarcasm hadn’t disappeared it seemed.
“Why do you hate heroes so much? Because they don’t don’t tend to appreciate when you kill off entire civilizations and enslave others?”
He set down his fountain pen and ran a hand over his face. “I only do what is necessary to survival of the planet. I made the hard choice long ago because the heroes wouldn’t.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not very good for our PR, dad. I’m tired of getting kicked out of clubs and groups because of who my dad is. Remember debate team in middle school? Those poor kids couldn’t even wipe their own ass after what you did to them.”
His eyes flashed. “Don’t get started with me. Remember when you were just manifesting your powers, and you blew up that town in Ukraine? Oh what was the name of it?”
“That doesn’t count! The nuclear reactor would have blown up anyway!” At this he gave me a look that showed his skepticism.
“Damnit son. You could be as good at this job as I am if you would just join the family business. You’re older brother is doing great right now in the next universe over. I hear he’s trying to find some kind of stones for his great calling or whatever, but details aren’t necessary. We are gods among men, Lucius, and if we let the mortals forget that-“
“Then the world would be a little less shitty!” I finally screamed. At this, I could see him visibly slump, the age showing on his face like it had done so rarely before. Being in the company of humans it was easy to forget that to my dad, the human lifespan was a passing moment. I’m only sixty right now but my body was like that of a twenty year old. This was one of my family’s powers, we were basically immortal. Another of our power was that we could manipulate our atomic and aura structure to mimic any superpower we could ever want. “Look, I’m sorry dad, I’m just... not in the right state to deal with this tonight.”
He just nodded. “It’s late. It’s probably best for both of us if we postponed this discussion until you were settled. Your room is the same as it was when you left it.”
“Thanks dad. I know it’s not easy, what you do, and I’m sorry. I’ll try to get out of here as soon as I can.”
“If that’s what you wish. Goodnight Lucius.” | 2021-04-09T07:28:33 | 2021-04-09T03:11:32 | 36 | 20 |
[WP] Despite having pink hair, untold magic power and a tragic backstory, the narrator refuses to make you the main character. | *Pink hair*, *blue eyes*, Starlina Sue thought to herself as she skipped into the woods, a basketmade from pink everwood swinging with my movement. *All the makings for a magical chosen one. Or princess. Or both.*
Unfornatantly for Starlina Sue, this Narrator had other ideas. You see, the author may make up the world and character, but I, and many others, have the final say in what happens. And Starlina was not the kind of girl I intended to narrate for.
No, I intended to narrate for a boy named Lucas Elderoth, son of King Elderoth the Conquerer, in his quest to show his father that he can be a king.
Now, let us shift the scene away from this pink eye sore and-
"Hold it!" a voice that I could only describe as overly sweet, like artificial grape flavor or childern's cough medicene.
"My voice sounds like trinkling bells and a sweet breath of wind, for one thing!" The voice said again in that *way* to sweet voice, "I am Starlina Mary Kathrin Aphrodite Emerlada Sue, and this is my story, you will narrate it or I will use my magic to force you!"
I sighed, looking down at the enraged Sue. "You don't have magic."
Starlina balled her far to pale hands into fists, growlering. "Yes I do! Because I'm the chosen one and I'm going to save the world while everyone falls in love with me!"
*oh boy*, I thought, *it's one of these sues*.
"I can hear your thoughts you know!"
"Starlina, I'm going to say this nicely once, got it?" I didn;t wait for her to react. "You are a Mary Sue. The fact that I am not having you killed as we speak is amazing, given that your ilk is one of the biggest threats to literacy. Go home and wash out that cheap hair dye, get some counseling, and live a normal life."
Now that the Sue is taken care of, it's time we shift the scene to Lucas Elderoth and begin the story.
"Hold it!" Starlina barked, interrupting what would have been a very beautiful beginning of a story. "What other story must you tell that's more important than mine? You haven;t even described my sexiness yet!"
Now I was being to lose my patience, which is a very hard thing for a narrator to do. Given that we must deal with stubborn characters all the time. "You want to hear the story I am now late to narrating?" I spat, "Fine! It's the story of Prince Luas Elderoth now let me shift the author-damned scence!"
Starlina squealed with delight, much to my fury. "Oh, prince Lucas! He's going to marry me and make me queen, after he fights the angsty hot guy, of course! It's all in the Prophecy that gave me my magical powers that I'm using to make YOU narrate MY amazing story!"
I fell silent. I could kill her now or...
Yes, that would work.
"Starlina, you powers have ensanred me!" I cried out in mock horror. "But please, I know not how to describe your beauty!"
The Sue's oddly colored eyes went wide with glee as she took off into a monologue about her 'beauty'.
She described her eyes as 'glittering diamonds'. I deleted her sad backstory.
She described her hair as 'shining pink silk'. I deleted the unnecessary prophecy.
She described her body as 'sexy perfection'. I deleted her legendary powers.
Starlina was so infatuated with her descriptions she didn't notice until I was just starting to delete her name.
"No!" Starlina yelled, her voice less grating on the ears as she stared at her hands in disbelief. "What have you done to me? You're the narrator, not the author!"
A smile played across my face as I spoke to Starlina Mary Kathrin Aphrodite Emerlada Sue for the last time. "Narrators take the whispers the Author gives them, but they can whisper back."
"Noo!" Starlina wailed as she fell to the earth, overly bright colors and all that made her Sue drained into the earth.
A moment later, the plain girl in her place got up and collected her now normal basket and the background character walked off.
Now, about Lucas Elderoth...
​
**Sorry if this is overly long, I really like this prompt!** | "Sparklypoo!" The Sorting Hat said.
Katheryne's feline ears perked up, "Don't you mean Gryffindor?" she asked.
"We've had so many students that we had to start a new House to accommodate them all. The Sparklypoo table is on the end there." Professor McGonagall dismissively said as she nonchalantly pointed at a table, overwhelmingly filled with pretty young girls with amazing hair and and unusual eyes, though a few males were there too, most of strangely similar to some of the other students at other Houses.
It was hard being the last of her kind. The cat people were persecuted relentlessly by both muggles and mages, for their alien appearance or or out of jealousy for their immense magical powers respectively. It was harder still when there were at least four other catgirls seated at the table.
She was lost in thought but snapped out of it when a new student started speaking to Professor McGonagall.
"My name is Serenity Moonflower. I'm a transfer student from American and I already know a LOT more magic than any 7th year. I'm Harry's half-sister, Dumbledore's daughter, Voldemort's niece..." Serenity told Minerva as much as she could before being cut off. *How rude,* Serenity thought.
*Wait...* Katheryne thought as her cat person senses detected a shift in perspective. *I thought we'd be focusing on me...*
"Sparklypoo!" The Sorting Hat said again.
Serenity was confused. "Huh? What's Sparklypoo? Don't you mean Griffindor?"
*Yet another one.* The Sorting Hat mused to itself. *It's amusing how many of these Sparklypoo kids think they deserve to be in Gryffindor, or Dark Wizard Bootcamp because they think they have the qualities Slytherin pretends to have.*
Meanwhile, Snape bitterly told Dumbledore to be quiet about that night of drunken debauchery that resulted in him siring at least 24 children and birthing at least 8, most of whom are now sitting not too far from him at the new House table.
*Hey, stop shifting perspectives!*... Katheryne angrily thought. *This is my story.*
No it's not. You're just a bit character in an ensemble. You had your moment, now it's time to move on to the other characters in my r/writingprompt tribute to the Sparklypoo comic. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get through the perspectives of Malfoy, Harry, Professor Nephente, the various unnamed Sparklypoo characters... OW! what the hell?
*I've used my psychic cat person powers to launch a psychic attack on you!* Katheryne thought defiantly. *Tell my story or I'll blast you again!*
Do cat people even have psychic powers?
*I didn't mention this to Serenity, but I'm the Chosen One. That gives me amazing psychic powers!*
That's supposed to be Harry! And it's a prophecy twist about who Voldemort went after, it could have been Neville in an alternate timeline! And what's this crap about psychic powers?
*I meant of the cat people!* Katheryne thinks annoyedly, *Our prophecy says that the last of our kind will bring about a rebirth of our people and that...*
But there are at least four other cat girls at the table!
*Those are different breeds of cat people. My kind have pink hair...* She was interrupted before she could finish that thought.
You know what? This is swinging into uncomfortable territory. I'm just skipping ahead.
*Wait no!*
\~\~\~\~
Amid a ruined dorm, a pink haired young girl in a miniskirt, refusing to allow the other members of Sparklypoo hog any of the attention and power, charged up her final attack. She dismissed the complaints about her spell being too dangerous to use indoors, or that it wasn't even from Harry Potter. "DRAGON SLAVE!!!!1" she screamed, unleashing enough energy to vapourize everyone there.
\~\~\~\~
The next morning, Professor Snape walked over to Professor Nephente.
"Sorry to hear about your House getting blown up." He said with uncharacteristic concern.
"Mm." Anastasia grunted as she sipped her coffee, "It's unfortunate but, really, it was to be expected. There were far too many of them." a gleam in her eye appeared as she reminisced, "I know it sounds silly, but... I think I'll miss them. I've gotten so used to the sound of their high-pitched giggling, lulling me to sleep..."
Snape looked over her shoulder in shock as a familiar voice spoke behind her, "Maybe you just need someone to tuck you in..."
Snape snarled, "Lupin?! What are you doing here?"
Anastasia smiled as her old acquaintance walked over, "Anastasia and I are old friends. When I heard about the accident, I came straight over. To comfort her."
Snape wasn't having it, "Damnit, she's mine!"
"Oh yeah?!" Lupin snarled back before the two resorted to blows.
Everything was falling into place. Professor Anastasia Nephente had cleared out the members of Sparklypoo, allowing her total control of the Sueniverse. As Hermione told her how much she looked up to her, as Malfoy renounced his muggle-hating ways, as Dumbledore gave her the position of Headmistress, as she healed the bad blood between Lupin and Snape with a single sentence, and as a handsome new charms teacher replaced that ugly goblin, Filius, things were falling into place.
"I won't let you! " Katheryne's ghost yelled as tried to intervene in a desperate attempt to remain relevant, but Professor Nephente banished her without any trouble.
"What was that?" Professor Greenleaf asked.
"Oh nothing. Just a loose end," Anastasia said, smiling, "Say, professor Greenleaf? How about we get some coffee, if you know what I mean?"
"Of course." He said as he walked off with Professor Nephente. | 2021-07-04T12:29:19 | 2021-07-04T11:07:24 | 76 | 28 |
[WP] A colony ship crashes on a planet. With no way off, the onboard terraforming engineers deploy a nanomachine fog that can be controlled with your mind to manipulate water, terrain, fire, and others. The aptitude to control the fog is hereditary. Over time, tech regresses, and "magic" is born. | If you read in the older stories, the fictions handed down and recopied and retold and even embellished, the word they use is "magic." Making things happen that natural science cannot easily explain, reversing harms, undoing actions: "magic."
It appears I can do this "magic." It isn't like the fairy tales in the ancient libraries though, muttering nonsense words and waving sticks and invoking deities. It requires a significant investment of personal energy. It takes concentration and time. And like the oh-so-unreal Sorcerer's Apprentice and his wayward broomsticks, a practitioner can do it wrong, set in motion events that can turn bad or even disastrous. Magic is useful, yes...but like a spring rain that you need, you can have too much of a good thing.
But if you spend more time in the ancient libraries, you find other things too. Not just the fairy tales or lesson books but engineering texts. Operators' manuals. Dry, academic tomes dusty with disuse, describing a world far, far more sophisticated than the one we live in now, and yet it *was* the one we live in now.
And amongst these least fanciful books a whole section that seemed to delve into the metaphysical: meditation. Concentration of will, developing your spiritual confidence. Even a couple of extremely esoteric, nearly impenetrable books on psi powers, which I couldn't make much sense of...
...except I could.
The magic I was taught begins and ends with concentration. Proper concentration requires establishing a mental state not too dissimilar from that of dreaming, the drowsy, free-floating, nearly awake dreams of an afternoon nap on a warm, sunny day. You know you're dreaming and can observe the wanderings of your imagination like a spectator. But achieving this dreamy state while maintaining focus on goals is not something you pick up in an afternoon; it takes a few years of training and practice and, like I said, it can go horribly wrong. The spring rains can come and keep coming until every garden washes away.
My father taught me, he and my grandmother. Among their lessons in concentration of will, they also taught me that it will take two generations to teach the next magician, that it always takes at least two generations of magicians to initiate the next one. The talent is partly inborn but there are occasional sports, children of families with no magic who have the capacity despite their parentage. My own great-grandfather was one such.
So it was with something like recognition that I found myself in this section of the library, and struggling to decipher the foreign words of the books around the willpower section. Environmental manipulation? Repercussional forecasting?
Nanomachines? "Machines" I know well enough, but "nano" is a gibberish sound you coo at small babies.
The books are both a blinding light of revelation and an equally dazzling blackness of mystery. Some are so far out of my context that they are nearly a different language. Others, particularly the ones describing guidance of will, I could almost have written myself.
You prepare yourself, set the trance and focus on circumstances and goals. You envision the current state you want to change, and how the changes will look and feel and smell. You do this for quite a long time - sometimes it takes days. And sometimes you have to stay entranced in order to bring the spell to an end, too - spring rains, remember. Usually you don't want to completely upend the way things work. Simply tweaking things is generally sufficient, subtle nudges.
Magic is at its best when you don't realize it's working. There have been some who went in for grand effects, enormous, brash displays of power that rattled everything around them - not least of which, their neighbors. Those kind of magicians don't stay in business for long and sometimes meet a sudden, sharp end.
And there's another section of the library, quite small actually and leading into the peculiar section involving environmental manipulation: "terraforming." This section is the one that set my mind almost on fire.
It turns out that we are not from here. I am, of course, and dozens of generations before me have all been from here. But there was a generation, centuries or maybe even millennia ago, that wasn't. They were from somewhere else.
This book doesn't talk about that other place, not directly. It cites examples taken from the other place but doesn't talk about the place itself. It appears to have been a whole other world and we, humanity, are originally from there. We came to this world so long ago that nobody alive remembers anything else, and being from there, upon arriving here, set out to make *here, now* more like *there, then.* What happened along the way that made us forget our own past?
These books are very strange. They are nothing like modern books with their leather, wooden or cardboard covers, pages of sturdy, stiff paper. No. These most ancient of books, in addition to being constructed of materials I can barely even describe, have no dust on them whatsoever. A little raised dam of dust has formed around them on the shelves, but no dust lands on them directly.
At least our language hasn't changed much. I can read these titles well enough, even if the words are strange:
"Terraforming: Bending Circumstances."
"Terraforming: Finer Points and Enduring Changes."
"Human to Machine Interfaces."
"A Fog of Magic: Practical Application of Nanomachines."
That last one seemed especially pertinent, and I took it down from the shelf, opened it, and began to read. | "We're screwed. Dear God we are screwed." Marcus Washington, Head Navigator, nearly wept as the words came out. His wet eyes glistened, reflecting the flashing red lights that skimmed the walls. The red lights pulsed with desperate warning signals, but these automated systems had no way to tell that it was for naught. The ship had already crashed and burned. Well, a good portion of it had burned, at least.
"We aren't necessarily screwed, Marcus. Let's look at the facts." Adele Dawson, Terraform Engineer, was level-headed as always. Her fierce gaze did little to betray the situation they found themselves in. She stepped over and helped Peter to his feet. "We are alive. We crashed on a planet that is already 75% to completion. We can breathe. We can drink the water. There is already a base primitive ecosystem seeded. And..." She paused for emphasis, and forced her piercing green eyes into Peter's dull brown eyes as she continued, "Our nanomachines survived."
Clyde Ivanov listened silently to the exchange, mindlessly stroking his red hair. As head of security, his job was to ensure the safety of all crew from threats both within and without. His hoarse voice effortlessly carrying through the room, he added, "We would we wise to heed Adele. She is correct, with what we have at our disposal, we have a healthy chance at long-term survival. There are certain parameters that we need to assume to ensure our odds, however."
Adele and Marcus walked a little closer to Clyde. With their Captain lost to the crash, he was likely their best candidate for leadership of the premature colony.
"We should assume that there will be further contact or help from Earth. Without our long-range transmitters, we are effectively on our own. It would be wont to dedicate resources to fixing them; building our habitats and food sources should be first priority. We need to assume that we, and any descendants of ours, will call this place home permanently. We need to assume that our main priority is completing the terraforming process and not returning to the stars. Adele and her team will continue using the nanomachines to further mold this world into an equal, if not better, version of Earth. Without the ability to splice into our genome the genes necessary for control of the nanomachines, Adele and her team have sole responsibility for this task."
Adele felt a tussle of pride mixed with fear. She was unsure at that point how many of her team had survived their forced descent, but she was hopeful that whoever did remain would be ready for their mission.
"Marcus and his team will begin a process to map the surrounding areas and find places suitable for permanent habitation. We should assume that any planning done in this regard will be the seeds of future cities, and if enough of our secondary teams and embryos have survived, future civilizations as well.
Marcus flushed at the thought of having some future city named after him, his cowardice engulfed only by his need for adoration.
"Lastly, we need to assume that survival of any one of us is dependent on some sort of law and order. My team will help to oversee all main operations and ensure that we are pushing towards a common goal."
With that, Marcus, Adele, and Clyde set off to wake the rest of the ship and set their course for the future.
\*\*\*
A bow soared through the air, nearly hitting Comtail. He picked up the primitive weapon, and sneered at it. The rough-hewn stone arrowhead was a far cry from the weapons of old. Human eyes had not seen guns or bullets in many years; the technology needed to produce was slowing being lost to humanity's oldest rivals: time and war. Comtail recalls listening with envy to the tales of old when he was a child. Clydesons grew up listening these war tales, of times where people fought with weapons of fire and metal. His people retained some knowledge of advanced warfare, but constant fighting with Adelites and Marcusions was slowly eroding anything resembling technical progress.
Suddenly, a fog overtook him. Enveloping him, the fog drew up the small cup of water he had beside him. Comtail tried to run, but it was as though the ground itself was holding on to him, soiled hands come from the depths, like some deranged zombie coming for their keep. Frozen, he could nothing but watch as the water slowly lifted from the cup and hovered in the air. A figure grazed his periphery. Likely the Adelite who was causing this heresy against nature. The water slowly morphed into a sphere with two tentacles hanging below it. Comtail fought with all his might, but could nothing to stop the inevitable. The tentacles crept into his nose, bringing the entire mass of water with them. This little bit of water, carefully placed into a perfect position along his windpipe, slowly suffocated him. The Adelite watched carefully, ensuring her foe was extinguished before treading off into the forest and looking for her next victim.
This was the world now. Three tribes, constantly at war with each other. Clydesons, the masters of weapons and strategy, Marcusions, masters of stealth and navigation, and Adelites, masters of the forces of nature, inheriting their ability through many generations.
They were not far removed from their ancestors, but as bits of history was lost, their lore was slowing turning from facts to myth. The Clyde of long ago was correct, no one from Earth came for them. The planet was theirs and theirs alone. No one could know which tribe would ultimately inherit control. Or if one even would.
\*\*\*
"You're ridiculous. Do you really believe those old stories? Jiam teased her friend Blau over his predilections for entertaining such fantastic notions. Tall, muscular, and with a distinctive reddened head of hair, Jiam was a stereotypical representative of her race. Clydesons made up about 60% of the population, with Marcusions like Blau making up the rest. Certain people thought that there was a third race of humanity out there. A race of magicians that clung to the shadows of the world, holding powers of great magnitude, but nearly never using them. Walking along the riverbank, they continued their conversation.
Blau and his brown eyes smiled brightly up at Jiam. "Can we really be sure that they are nothing but stories? Besides, don't most stories stem from a kernel of truth anyway?"
"To an extent, sure. But come on. Interstellar travel? Molding a planet to our needs? *Magicians?"* Rolling her eyes, she continued on. "Look, I understand that a lot of our pre-history is murky, but we don't need to jump to fanatical stories to explain our origins. In fact, did you know that there are experiments these days about somehow harnessing lightning to our advantage? Imagine that, us humans having the powers of lightning at our disposal. Is that not fanatical enough for you?"
Blau put his head down, shoulders lowering into a sigh. "Maybe you're right, Jiam. Maybe you're right."
Jiam smiled and mindless stared at the river, her mind thoughtlessly considering the scene before her. Trees blowing in the wind, clouds over head lazily making their way across the sky, and the water before her flowing to some unknown destination, with a small bit of it pouring upwards towards the trees...
Wait, what?
​
\*edit formatting | 2021-07-21T10:42:06 | 2021-07-21T10:15:35 | 150 | 62 |
[WP] when it was discovered that all alien civilizations were destroyed by eldritch gods we wondered why they hadn't done the same to us. Then we learned that the human mind can drive an eldritch god insane. | Ever since Humanity learned of the existence of the Eldritch, certain historical events began falling into place. Civilizations disappeared from thin-air, ‘dancing’ plagues, mass hallucinations. Almost every strange event in the mythology of dead civilizations were no longer treated as mythology, but as a warning.
We waited for the day that the Old Gods would return, but when that day finally came we weren’t ready for what we saw. It was chaotic at first. A few of the weaker-minded individuals began babbling about ‘them’ and about other vague threats that only got more and more terrifying as time went on. A growing, unnatural sense of dread was reported in major cities across the globe, then we knew. Our preparations had taken order, and with the younger generation (Codename: Zoomers) weaponized we only had about five hundred million shots at this.
“Quirked up white boy, goated with the sauce, bussin it down sexual style.” | The signal was everywhere once they learned to look. Almost every pulsar in the galaxy was acting as a carrier, broadcasting the same signal, repeating over days. The same, signal from sources millions of light years apart, in every direction. It was only echos and reflections that let us figure it out - the signal encased us. Not everywhere, just all around _us_, all around earth. A sphere of cosmic lighthouses, marking us out to the universe.
The signal at first seemed language free. Simple patterns pointing inexorably to a square grid - images. Images of a planet, a planet with growing, abstract, dividing shapes reaching up to the stars. Shapes that traveled, spread, and then finally reached another planet, only to touch the multiplying, writhing stick figures on that final planet, and suddenly crumble like dust, a corruption that spread from star to star like cancer.
Then we found the second layer, under the images. Symbols with ancestry in ancient Phoenician, in the Vedas. The same symbols mad old Alister Crowley had scribbled feverishly here and there in his margins. The foundation descended on his notes, on everything vaguely connected to them, like vultures. The experiments cost more than just lives. The voices he'd heard, garbled and nonsensical, full of intimations and warnings of 'mountains of madness', and 'great goat mothers'. Voices telling of forces we couldn't comprehend, immense, amoral intelligence in the gaps between stars and atoms that would crush us like insects if we attracted their notice. Immense, living, psychic continents with form and substance spanning light years.
Except of course, we didn't leave well enough alone. What could we do, leave the Chinese to get there first? Yet with each contact they grew more garbled, their threats more desperate and incoherent. The first one to drop the mask was Nyarlathotep. "Please, stop" It said simply. "You are poison."
The guardians left in wait around our world were themselves finally succumbing. Immense, undying, to any one of us they are gods. But to the seething, dreaming, dying and breeding mayfly mass of humanity they are ponderous, immobile, fragile. The cacophony of our dreams, of our fractured, suffering, delirious minds, screams across the stars to them and blots out their thought. They will be a tragic victim of our spread to the stars, beautiful, living forests to be burned away by the fire of the human race's unstoppable growth back, out, upwards, towards our birthright. | 2022-02-28T07:58:39 | 2022-02-28T06:31:44 | 468 | 202 |
[WP] For the first time ever, a person is born with a genuine superpower. They proceed to live out their entire life without noticing or realizing it. | Music was the source of Isaac’s power. His mind could absorb the sinusoidal waveforms and extrapolate from them how the universe was woven. Listening to Wagner or Nine Inch Nails he could fundamentally understand the chaos of human motivation and conflict. Listening to Vivaldi he understood why the flowers bloomed and had a telepathic connection to the bees seeking them out.
He had glimpses of his power when he was young, in his middle school chorus class. Hearing Jeannie Elmin’s solo during a practice one day, his mind linked to hers though her voice and he instantly knew all of her thoughts, memories, dreams and future.
That’s how he found out that she didn’t think he was cute. She liked that stupid asshole Dave Merinich instead. He knew, not knowing exactly how he knew, that she would eventually marry Dave. They would never amount to much, and she would be miserable working a gas station in her 40’s because Dave could never hold down a job. Isaac assumed this was just a revenge fantasy since he had no reason to think otherwise.
In college he found that he could study so much more easily with a little bit of background music. It didn’t matter what kind of music – he liked them all. With a Lady Gaga playing, he could memorize his entire organic chemistry textbook in minutes, absorbing the knowledge directly from the pages through the harmonics of “Born This Way”. A lot of people like to listen to music when they study, so he didn’t think this was unusual. He did very well in school.
Many years later when as a surgeon, he insisted on having Shostakovich’s symphonies played, in order, during all of his procedures on the old CD player he kept in the OR for that purpose. It helped him concentrate he said, and no one objected since all of his operations went flawlessly year after year after year. He’s a talented surgeon, and no one wanted to mess with a formula that always worked.
Retirement seemed to last forever for Isaac. Time seemed to stop while he laid on his couch listening to Beethoven, imagining what the cardinals singing outside his window might be thinking, not knowing that he was reading their minds through their songs. Each day felt like it took a thousand years to pass, as his command over the universe forced time itself to slow to a crawl.
| For Francis, the good had always gone hand-in-hand with the bad. He had spent his life trying his best to be a good person, or at least what he believed would be a good person. He realized now that he wasn't really sure anymore.
When his mother left his dad, Francis had chosen to stay with him. His friends had all told him he was smart to stay with the rich parent, but that hadn't been the reason, had it? At the time, he had told himself that his father needed him more. He did. Dad had been really bad at taking care of himself. Without his mother, someone had to be there to deal with dad when he was lonely and angry and... drunk.
But that didn't matter now. A couple years of putting up with his dad, and Francis had gotten into his dream school. Even with dirt SAT scores. He probably shouldn't have gone, in retrospect. That school was way too intense for him. Four and a half hellish years that tore away at him until all that was left was a raw mess of a human being. But, at least he got a degree. A degree and Helen.
Looking back, Helen was the best thing to come out of those years. But Francis knew that to find work, he would need to move to the east coast. His dad had some connections out there, so it made for his best chances. But Helen's gramps was sick. He knew Helen was torn. It was obvious. Move out east for the boyfriend? Or move back to your small hometown to spend what ended up being the last 14 months of her grandfather's life with him? Francis couldn't force that decision on her. He did the only thing he could think of at the time. And so he moved out east alone.
Had it been worth it? He had found his dream job through one of his father's obscure connections that even his father had hardly remembered. At least it was what he had thought would be his dream job. Great starting salary, even better benefits. But his degree hadn't prepared him as well as he thought it would. The workload was more than expected as well. He ended up working long hours, longer than most of the people in the office. His personal life, what little personal life he had, began to suffer.
So here he found himself. Years later, glaring out his high-rise window with the lights of the city glaring back. He took a last swig of scotch and let the glass fall to the floor. They'd clean the mess up in the morning. His apartment, spacious and modern, was empty except for him and shadows. The shirt whose sweat-stained collar clawed at the back of his neck day after day lay discarded on the bed beside him. He hated it. He hated them. All of them. What did they have that he didn't? He had sacrificed himself his entire life to help those around him: his parents, his friends, his girlfriends, his employees. He sacrificed *everything* for them. And what did he have to show for it? A high-paying job? A nice apartment? Nothing. He had nothing. Well, at least he had this. The weight in his other hand felt even lighter than the scotch glass had as he brought it to his lips. As he opened his jaw, a final tear squeezed its way out. *click*
----------------------
Over 99% of the city's population died that day. Simultaneous heart failure. The country, the world, was swept into a panic whose effects would be felt for decades. Almost a century later, a man named Francis, classified: Subject XII, was identified as the source of the calamity. A man born with the power to manipulate fate, to make personal sacrifices and sacrifice 'pieces of his soul' to warp probability and reality around himself. A man who researchers speculated could have possessed the most powerful ability yet known. What had he used it for? | 2014-08-08T08:55:23 | 2014-08-08T08:40:21 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own. | It's been like this longer than anyone can remember. When you turn the age of power, or 16 years into your life, you gain your individual power. Everyone is different, some get rudimentary boring powers that aid office work and some get drafted to become soldiers due to their powers.. more destructive capabilities.
The neighbour boy Jon, he was taken away just last month by the military because he could EMP a human brain. He did it to me once, I couldnt use any of my senses for a week. Although to you it may seem strange, as you are not from my existance, this isn't a strange occurence. Lives become fragile once a child reaches the age of power and their power becomes known. Jon joined the Static battalion, they specialize in special-ops warfare, he had been 16 for less than 2-months.
Everyone wants to go to the military, become a specialized soldier and when war comes, you want them to remember the coat of arms you wear to signify your power. You want to be the elite, the squad only known as Winged-bearers. Those who can bring absolute destruction, only called in when the enemy is starting to become dangerous. They are the reapers that signify the end, yet the angels who signify hope. Both good and evil. It was my dream to join them, but now.. Now I know I am not meant to be discovered.
It started with Jon actually. That day he used that EMP on me it stuck with me. I could physically see the formation of the universe change as he bent physics to cause havoc on my sensories. In that brief second that formation became imbedded in my mind and mathematics and designs I should never have been able to solve, seemed so simple. I was able to keep the core concept of his ability, yet I refined it, defined it and changed the aspects of it. I was able to designate the sense I wanted to assault. I could control it in ways it shouldn't be used because it changed the basics of the powers nature. But I did it.
And not just Jon's. Any power I became in-contact with physically, became manifested within my mind and I have been able to modify the core concepts of each one to better enhance the power's magnitude or nature.
To put it simply, I am a book of spells, where everyone on our world has a single power, I now have over 30 and that number is growing daily. Original concepts that I have now altered to best suit me, these powers have made me all but human. Super speed I changed to conceptual phase-walking, rubber limbs changed to impenetrable armour. It is all so simple, the values are my power, the power of comprehending knowledge and concepts that are incomprehensible, that is my power. This is why I am here, talking to some stranger under a bridge. Running from the military, passing through different dimensions. I can't stay in one spot for too long, but even I know that it is futile. One day the military will find me and they will make me join the Wing-bearers, and I fear for the day I come in-contact with their powers. | Sean was walking home from the gardening store, he loved getting new utensils. His birthday was spent as it usually was, Dad carrying in his broken down car from his 24 hour shift as a security guard before falling asleep without saying happy birthday and Sean playing hide and seek in their garden with his Mommy. Her power was invisibility but Sean got the hang of noticing flattened grass and bent flowers. When he first found out his power his Mom told him all the good he can do in the world, that never before has a power like this been. Sean didn't believe that. The other kids at school picked on him, called him names and made him regret he ever told anyone his power.
Taking the left turn from the main street into an alleyway as he always did on a Tuesday after the garden store Sean strolled right into the immovable palm of Billy Smith. "Hey bee boy, whats in the bag? Toys for your little garden? Let me see them." said Billy with a devious smile on his face. "Just leave me alone Billy, I am walking home, my parents are expecting me" pleaded Sean only now noticing the other boys behind Billy. "You know Spark and Razor don't you?" questioned Billy as the boys behind him gave Sean a glimpse of their powers. Spark created a stream of electricity from both his hands while Razor morphed his into to immaculate blades. "Yeah they are in my Maths class." said Sean as calmly as he could whilst remembering all the shocks he got, all the tiny slits he received and the name, the names were the worst.
"Do you know my name bee boy?" asked Billy. "Its...its Bill." is all Sean could get out. "WRONG!" Billy yelled as he picked Sean up by the scruff of the neck with one hand. "They call me Herc, short for Hercules. They say I am going to be the strongest of all the supers. I could pound your Daddy into the pavement, when the drunk isn't passed out there already" chuckled Billy as Sean began to tear up. "Stop crying, we are just messing with you. And speaking of messing let us play with those toys" exclaimed Billy as he grabbed Seans bag with his free hand and then threw Sean to the ground.
The new shovel Sean saved up for was crushed into a toothpick by Billy's tectonic plate grip. The seeds for the rose plants Sean was going to grow for his Mom, turned to dust by Spark. The pots Sean bought were thrown into the air and sliced into tiny pieces by razor. Sean could not contain his sadness and rage any longer. "STOP!! I AM WARNING YOU!" bellowed Sean as he pointed straight at Billy. Fabricated into reality around his hand were several small bumblebees flying towards Billy. The three boys glanced at each other, back to Sean and then burst into unrelenting laughter.
"The bee queen has spoken!!! Ohh no, he is going to sting us!!!! The only thing he will ever fertilize is a flower!!!" repeated the three boys in unison. Sean felt like he shouldn't have said anything and went fetal. Billy picked him up to his feet. "Well!!! You were saying something bee boy?" grunted Billy as he slowly pushed Sean back with a single pointed finger one nudge at a time. "Well?" push. "It sounded like you threatened us" push. "Didn't he threaten us boys?" push. "You gonna throw some more bees at us your majesty?" one final push that knocked Sean stumbling backwards. He regained his composure and clenched both fists.
The anger was growing in his face, the anger was the only thing holding back the tears in Sean's face. The words of the bullies echoing through his very being. The bullies just stood there laughing. Sean didn't think this was funny at all. "Leave me alone" Sean mumbled. "Did he just buzz?" roared Razor with laughter and the others promptly joined in. "LEAVE!!! ME!!! ALONE!!!!" Sean roared as he threw both fists forward opening both hands.
It all happened so fast. Sean only grasped what had happened when he saw Billy throwing haymaker punches knocking chunks out of the walls of the alleyway. Sean had summoned a swarm of Africanised bees. Spark and Razor took off sprinting at the sight of the swarm. Billy was not so fortunate. All the strength he had was not enough to fight this foe. His skin started to blister and bloat, his eyes swelled and his footing was lost. The bees began to disperse once his body stopped moving. Sean saw the reality of what just happened. He sat down in the alleyway next to Billy's body. Unbearable sadness overcame Sean. "All you had to do was leave me alone......I begged you" whispered Sean as he sobbed alone with Billy dead next to him. | 2015-01-21T22:56:40 | 2015-01-21T22:19:41 | 32 | 22 |
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him. | Mom,
I don't know how much longer I can stand this. I thought I could take it. But... I can't. I can't sleep. I can't eat. The drum of blasts doesn't end. Sometimes I pretend like we're back at the symphony. It helps me feel better, until I'm the one beating the drum. It's so loud, mom. It's getting closer.
Don't wait for me, I'm not coming home. | Hey Judy,
I know it's been a while since my last letter and I'm sorry. I honestly did try to write whenever I got the chance, but time gets away from you, you know? There's a lot I want to say and probably not a lot of time to say it.
First, I want you to know that I love you. Always have. From the moment I saw you in that red prom dress standing awkwardly by the DJ while Lindsey made out with Hank. I never thought I could get a girl like you. It helped that Lindsey was ignoring you. That softened you up for me so you agreed to that dance pretty quick. I felt bad for stepping on your toes during that dance and for doing it again at our wedding, big feet and all that. Seeing you in that gown was like prom all over again. Every time you got dressed up it felt like I was dying. My heart always stopped when I saw you, you were so beautiful.
Getting our first house was amazing too, wasn't it? I'm sorry I got the wrong paint for the living room and feel like I still owe you for helping me repaint it after you got home to your 'surprise'. My sense of color has always been off and I wouldn't be able to get dressed in the morning if it wasn't for you, or so you always told me. That made being in the military so easy, I just wear the same thing every day. Being apart from you was the hardest thing about enlisting, but I always told you I'd make it home.
I uhh, don't have much longer. I'm sorry I lied about being able to make it home. We were fighting some of the locals today, some stupid mission to recapture a bridge. Anyway's, I got shot. I'm sitting her and saying all this to the guy who shot me. He's doing a good job writing for me even though English isn't his first language. Please don't blame him. Or anyone else. He was just doing his job and so was I.
I love you. I'm sorry I won't be there for...
Sincerely,
Your husband and a sorry stranger. | 2015-02-03T13:05:32 | 2015-02-03T12:59:38 | 329 | 20 |
[WP] You routinely break into people's houses, but you never steal or destroy anything. So what the heck do you do in there? | First step, always make sure the family is gone and is staying gone.
That step is crucial...
I need about 5 minutes to get the job done effectively and I can't have any interruptions. A single interruption could ruin the whole plan.
I break into the house using the key I saw hidden under the front door rug. Sometimes, people make my hobby too easy.
I'm in the house and nobody's around. I check each and every room. Can't risk having any old ladies interrupting me while I work.
Coast is clear...
Now the fun begins!
I start grabbing my chocolate eggs out of my basket and hiding them in places the kids can find. A delicious treat for both kids!
I know Billy has diabetes so I'm sure to only leave sugar free treats for both kids. I don't want Billy to have an accident, especially on Easter of all days! | This week I was in rural Tennessee. The beautiful countryside. The obituary in the local paper showed a photo of 78 year old James Bernard. He looked strong in the photo, taken not a month before his death at the hands of lung cancer. No doubt, he was mocking death and cancer until the moment it killed him. That's how those old soldiers were. His quaint home was easy to find. The funeral was just yesterday, and veery thing inside was as pristine as if he had left an hour ago. I easily pick the old lock and entered through the door on the back patio. One cabinet in the kitchen contained almost all the ingredients necessary. I had brought all the rest. I pull out the flour, oil, and other essentials and mixed up the crust. I rolled it out and laid it in the pie plate. I cut up and mixed the apples with spices and poured them into the plate lined with crust. I lay the upper crust on top and sprinkled bits of Rosemary on top of it all. The over was warm already. I slide the pie plate in, and close it up. The glow of the oven and the sweet smell of cinnamon and fresh summer fruit fill the house in minutes. Nothing like it on the planet, I'll tell you. The pie was cooking slowly as I make my way through the house reading the notes written in the edges of books read ages ago. Books filled shelves along walls throughout the house. More books than I'd seen in some libraries. Every single one had writing on the edges and in the pages. As I trace through the house, I see treasures on shelves and tables from all over the world. Who knew what stories this old man had held in his head of times spent in Africa judging from the masks and bows on the walls, or the mysterious literature of ancient treasures on the lower tables throughout his house. This old man had seen more and done more than I ever would. All I know is that his last meal had been made up of the recipe in the oven. A man's man till the end. The pie is done, says the clock. I'm pulling it out; smelling the intense sweetness. No wonder he wanted this for his last meal. I'd want one for every meal. I walk out on the porch and sit in his rocking chair. His initials are carved in the back. I'm now sitting in the man's own handiwork, overlooking the most beautiful sunset over the mountains. To live the life another had left behind; that's what I do all my days. | 2015-05-07T19:24:49 | 2015-05-07T19:18:44 | 40 | 10 |
[WP] A man who has had no knowledge of religion meets both God and the Devil. He is the chosen one who decides whether God or the Devil inherits the Earth. The problem is, he cannot tell which is which. | Two men, business suits, three armchairs, no exit. I was wearing business casual.
"Hey there, Mick. We've been expecting you," the one on the left said.
"Why am I dressed like this?"
"It's to establish role relationships in an immediately obvious way," said the one to my right.
"What?"
"It's because we're in charge. It's like a metaphor."
"You undressed me for a metaphor?" The one on the left put his head in his hands and started laughing. The one who had spoken last spoke again,
"Okay, Mick, just, just get past the clothes thing now. We've got business to do. We've got to do business, so, so just shut up for a moment. And for fucks sake, sit in your armchair, you're making me nervous."
"Are the armchairs metaphors too?" Lefty's laughing intensified.
"NO! No. The armchairs are armchairs, we sit in them like civilized people instead standing around next to them, like some kind of psychopath, and then getting stabbed with a pen, by me, in like, five seconds if you don't sit down!" I sat down. But not because he told me to.
"Alright," said Lefty, regaining his composure, "We are two powerful interdimensional beings, and we need you to decide which of us will gain... a certain ambiguous ownership of the earth and all its inhabitants."
"Ambiguous?"
"Well... you know. Ambiguous to you. Interdimensional being stuff. You wouldn't understand."
"Ok... but why?"
"Good question," said Lefty, smugly.
"EHH!" said Righty, like a buzzer noise. "Terrible question. Once you reach a certain echelon of existence," he said, holding up his hand, apparently to indicate, "you stop needing reasons to do things and start being the reason for things. Just imagine that we feel like it, and that we get what we want. See, this is what the suits were supposed to demonstrate."
"I don't see how changing my clothes demonstrates anything."
*STAB*
"YOU STABBED ME WITH A PEN!"
"I did at that."
"Ahhh! Why would you do that?"
"What did I JUST finish explaining to you? Now for fuck's sake, listen. We've each got a sales pitch, and you're going to have weigh some heavy philosophical shit, right, and we're gonna get really deep so listen hard, this could take weeks. It's gonna get all 'Twelve Angry Men' up in here."
"No," I said.
"What?" said Righty.
"No way, you just stabbed me with a pen. The other guy gets whatever," I said, pointing to Lefty, "the other guy gets the thing." Lefty stood up and clapped his hands.
"Counts! That counts! Yes! I KNEW you'd fuck this up if I didn't say anything! SATAN OUT, BITCHES!" And then he was gone.
Righty fumed. "Well, congratulations, Mick. You just gave total ambiguous control over a vague definition of the entire world to Satan. You proud of yourself? You want to call your mum? How about your guidance councilor, from high-school, you know, the one who said you'd do great things?"
"Wait... was all of this a metaphor?"
"What? NO! No. No that would be STUPID." | Ming stepped off the boat in what would now be his new home. America. The land of freedom opportunity and all that jazz. No really it was the birthplace of jazz. He thought it was anyways. The dock was filled with the sound of it and incomprehensible obscenities. Ming breathed in a good nostril full to remind himself where he was. Then silently repeated to himself the mantra his guru had taught him. He reminded himself to live in the present that the past and future were simply constructs. Like the monk hanging off the ledge over the tiger he was to be here now. Eating the berries. Not in the past of the cliff. Not the future of the tiger. But had he come from the cliff edge and headed to the tiger or from the tiger and headed to the cliff? Ming didn’t know. His teacher never really made much sense to him and plus there weren’t even berries. Just a strange meat sandwich he’d never seen before. He sighed audibly. This place would be so different from his home. Where could he buy vegetables? Do they even have those here?
Ming tightened his robes stood a little straighter and walked from the gang plank over to where his luggage was tossed unceremoniously by a worker. The men around him turned to gawk at his ceremonial robes Ming was secretly a bit grateful that he couldn’t understand them. He kept his face impassive and his braid draped over his shoulder. His shoulders tensing more than they should but not enough to cause immediate discomfirt. A fly buzzed into his ear. He slapped himself on the side of the head much to the amusement of his onlookers who started jeering him incoherently. Ming turned to look back. There were about three of them. They dressed in western garb and seemed a bit tipsy although it was only one in the afternoon. He knew they must have defining features but all these foreigners looked alike to him. Anyways one was tall one fat and one muscled. The muscled one didn’t seem to say much and drank even less. Ming sidled his bags over his shoulder and started walking off towards a street that looked promising. Hopefully he could find at least a bowl of rice and warm if not friendly bed tonight.
He didn’t.
What he did find was a crowded city and three stalkers. Ming kept looking back but they didn’t seem to mind that he was noticing them. In fact they didn’t seem to mind anything at all. They just kept following him and whispering. This wouldn’t be so strange as it seemed he was something to be gawked at in this country. Those passing would talk to one another and sometimes even pull out a “cellphone” and point it at him. Ming had heard of cellphones but only seen one once when the local medicine man had confiscated a foreigners who was using it to conjure a strange sound. That was years ago. Here strange sounds were everywhere and people and cars. Unlike his hometown here everyone seemed to be in a gleaming car. And the music the most beautiful music filled the strangest places shops that gleamed and sold seductive woman (or at least he thought they were women that’s what was on the billboard) and anything else you could imagine. The three men were catching up to him.
Ming hurried down the sidewalk. He stopped and stared less. The initial euphoria of landing was now slowly congealing into a thick panic. The men were still behind him. Closer now. The tall one he noticed had remarkably dark eyes. The eyes made him more nervous than anything else. He wished they were looking somewhere else. Finally Ming saw a word he recognized and not a moment too soon. The word “Hotel” was one thing he had learned before coming. Ming quickly stepped into the tiny building. The boy behind the desk looked up from a computer that looked like a large wicker box and asked Ming a strange question. Ming looked unknowingly at the boy and took out his money. He handed the boy a bill with 100 on it. He hoped it would be enough and said “sreep”. The boy wide eyed took the bill looked up at Ming then nodded slowly and opened a door grabbing a key on the way.
They arrived at number “8” a dilapidated door that was well worn. The boy said “meobns dlkmb orrys slkm best we can do” Ming nodded understandingly while trying to glance over his shoulder. The men were nowhere to be seen. The boy opened the door and Ming hurriedly rushed him away and closed it locking it with a satisfying “chink”. He whipped around and nearly screamed. There sitting on the already made bed were all three. Tall, fat and strong. They looked dull eyed at him and said.
“Here in number eight,
You Mister Ming will meet your fate,
Choose well good sir for you must see,
For us and you to all be free.”
The chorus was in unison in perfect Chinese. Ming blacked out.
[to be continued]
(also if you liked it check out seedsoftantalus.wordpress.com if you don't then don't) | 2015-08-05T22:45:24 | 2015-08-05T21:04:15 | 403 | 25 |
[WP] The plane took off with 81 passengers, and landed with 82. | "You did it!" the fifteen year old son tugged at his mom's sleeves, "Twins!"
The passengers in their seats cheered as father looked down at his wife's face.
At her unblinking eyes.
Her motionless expression.
"Mom?" the son tugged at his mom's lifeless arms once again.
____________________________________________________
Short and simple. God bless. /r/avukamu | The short little man in the window seat carefully avoided looking at the stewardesses, who would later swear he hadn't been there a minute earlier.
However, little Jimmy Linneman, only three and a "hap" years old, had no such inhibitions. Leaning over the back of his chair, he smiled widely and waved at the funny man.
The man slid lower in his seat, but Jimmy wouldn't be denied. "Hi, funny man!" he declared in a voice that the whole airplane could hear.
His mother quickly hushed him, telling him that it wasn't nice to call people that, but he didn't listen.
"I saw you! There-there was a sparkle!" Jimmy couldn't believe his luck. Not only did he have a new friend, but his friend was *magic*.
Meanwhile, the man in the airplane seat was feeling very frazzled. "Look, kid," he whispered. "I've had a bad day already. The Infinite Consortium ejected me from Arcadia, and I have a death warrant on my head. I really need you to turn around and pretend I'm not here."
Little Jimmy's grin got even wider. The man had some funny words, that was for sure. "What's a Cajeea?"
"Shh! Don't even mention that. It's not a good thing."
Jimmy didn't quite understand. "So it's like a timeout?"
The man relaxed. "Yeah. Something like that, yes."
Outraged, Jimmy turned to his mother. "Mom! This man says he's in timeout. You said big people didn't get timeouts!"
The strange man was just about to do something when the captain's voice came over the intercom. "We're beginning our landing approach now. The fasten seatbelts sign is back on. Please fasten your seatbelts and return your tray tables to their upright position. The attendants will walk by again to pick up any trash."
Jimmy's mother wrestled him back into the seat, and he peered between the seatbacks to get one last look at the funny timeout man. "Bye, timeout man! You talked funny but were nice!" | 2016-02-29T09:06:50 | 2016-02-29T08:06:28 | 88 | 21 |
[WP] The plane took off with 81 passengers, and landed with 82. | "What do you mean I'm not listed on the passenger manifest?"
"You aren't."
"I'd like to go to the embassy."
"Authorized persons are only allowed beyond this point."
"That payphone is missing it's phonebook, do you have my embassy's number?"
"NEXT!"
This has been a public service announcement by the Bureau of Foreign Relations, reminding you to be properly prepared before arriving in Arstotzka. | The short little man in the window seat carefully avoided looking at the stewardesses, who would later swear he hadn't been there a minute earlier.
However, little Jimmy Linneman, only three and a "hap" years old, had no such inhibitions. Leaning over the back of his chair, he smiled widely and waved at the funny man.
The man slid lower in his seat, but Jimmy wouldn't be denied. "Hi, funny man!" he declared in a voice that the whole airplane could hear.
His mother quickly hushed him, telling him that it wasn't nice to call people that, but he didn't listen.
"I saw you! There-there was a sparkle!" Jimmy couldn't believe his luck. Not only did he have a new friend, but his friend was *magic*.
Meanwhile, the man in the airplane seat was feeling very frazzled. "Look, kid," he whispered. "I've had a bad day already. The Infinite Consortium ejected me from Arcadia, and I have a death warrant on my head. I really need you to turn around and pretend I'm not here."
Little Jimmy's grin got even wider. The man had some funny words, that was for sure. "What's a Cajeea?"
"Shh! Don't even mention that. It's not a good thing."
Jimmy didn't quite understand. "So it's like a timeout?"
The man relaxed. "Yeah. Something like that, yes."
Outraged, Jimmy turned to his mother. "Mom! This man says he's in timeout. You said big people didn't get timeouts!"
The strange man was just about to do something when the captain's voice came over the intercom. "We're beginning our landing approach now. The fasten seatbelts sign is back on. Please fasten your seatbelts and return your tray tables to their upright position. The attendants will walk by again to pick up any trash."
Jimmy's mother wrestled him back into the seat, and he peered between the seatbacks to get one last look at the funny timeout man. "Bye, timeout man! You talked funny but were nice!" | 2016-02-29T08:25:41 | 2016-02-29T08:06:28 | 70 | 21 |
[WP] Every person in the world undergoes a "goodness" test. It's designed to give a score from 1 to 200, where 1 is pure evil, and 200 is an angel in human body. Then the world is divided into 200 zones, where people can live among their own kind. | You want to know how I got here? I'll tell you.
I was standing in queue for the test; I wasn't too worried, I was always a good liar. Maybe I should start earlier.
See, I lead a fairly simple life on the surface. I was the accountant for a small charity and made a modest income, I attended church on Sundays, I volunteered at the soup kitchen and I lived alone in a small home; I've always preferred being alone. I hoped to get in the highest ranking because there would be less people to live with.
Everyone thought I was such a people person; I had a great smile, I was extremely friendly, and I was so honest! I knew I could always get what I wanted from people if I just acted friendly enough, I never even found it tiring to keep up the act; lying just comes naturally to me. I got my job at the charity because my boss, Ed, knew I could be trusted with anything; he never found out that I embezzled tens of thousands of dollars from his charity, because he just trusted me that much. Then there was all that money I made inventing fake charities and holding charity banquets; rich people can be so gullible. It wasn't even about the money, I was comfortable living on the bare basics, I just found it all so satisfying.
Anyway, I'm getting off topic. So yes, I've never had a problem with fibbing and the test, to me, just seemed so transparent! It was a joke! And it had such a religious bias! I had no problem fudging a 195.
Do you remember seeing me during the exodus? Probably not; They had all 50 of us lined up in a row and they were briefing us on our trip. I remember staring at you from almost the opposite end of the line, you were the youngest of us, and you just looked like such a sweetheart;you were put here because of all your missionary work, right? that's cute. I remember how claustrophobic I felt when they crammed us into that plane; I couldn't stand having these people touching me, I hated them already! But I forced some pleasant small talk and made friends.
I remember when they brought us to the farm. I hadn't lived in a rural area since my teens, it brought back memories. I gazed over at the field of tall grass and weeds which gently brushed the old farm equipment as it blew with the wind; it reminded me of where I buried my mother and sister.
Why are you crying? Don't do that, let me finish. I couldn't believe what I was hearing when the officer told us we'd all be living in the same building, I just could not accept that. I needed my privacy!
Let me wipe those tears from your eyes. It's okay, don't worry, it's just the two of us now. | For some reason, some of the higher numbers thought the later-generation Ones deserved a chance at redemption, so they decided to build a few schools. They gave up after finding fifteen employees in a pile in front of the facilities. I managed to get some loot out of that pile. Fed me for a month. That was 15 years ago.
Oh, don't look at me like that. It's not like *they* were going to use it.
I'm part of the third generation to live here. Based on the books I managed to steal from that school before most of the teachers died or quit, this whole system came from some test that determined morality. The scores go all the way up to 200, that unbelievable level of morality that all of the world's leaders had at the time. Standard of living was determined by the score one gets. 200's get luxury somewhere in the South Pacific. We get a desert that needs supplies dropped to avoid a human rights uproar.
They must have figured that we would have been dead by now, because otherwise I'm pretty sure my grandpa would have been put in a gas chamber given the faith they put in the test. They didn't do another test, but it's not like I could communicate with the outside to take one. Even if I did, why should anyone listen to a *One*. We're probably going to shoot up the testing facility. (Actually, someone would do a lot worse than shooting it up.)
I was curious about something mentioned in one of the books. It was called the "internet," an almost limitless source of information and communication. By all indications, it has to still exist somehow, though most technology is guarded by the military.
Don't get me wrong. I'm already smarter than the average guy pointing a gun in my face, but I want more. I want to know the map of the brain. I want to read random stories on forums. I want to know how the World Order overcame the intense nationalism of almost every country on the planet.
I want to know how they made the test. I need to know. Why am I in the slums? What did I actually do?
To that end, I started weighing my options ten years ago. There is probably going to be some kind of self-destruct sequence on anything I could find in Zone 1, and I doubt anything would be able to access the internet anyway. I'm not going to be able to put a hole in the wall. If I tried to climb it, I would probably get shot and the foundation is too deep to dig under.
And then I looked at the sky. Helicopters monitor everything. They don't care if we kill each other, of course, but they will shoot me if I try anything. I couldn't attack them, and it would have been impossible to lure them into a trap. Even if I tried making a big red SOS on the roof, they're not humanitarians. They're almost as bad as we are.
I stared at the things for hours. They didn't have unlimited fuel, and I knew it. My goal was to find the military base in Zone 1 and ask politely if I could join.
I was sixteen. Almost combat age. I assumed they needed a new scumbag, but I was wrong.
They had a few too many.
They beat an unarmed sixteen-year-old half to death. I lied there for three hours before another one crouched next to me. I tried to move away, but he didn't try to hit me.
"They didn't beat you too badly did they?" he said, pulling out some bandages.
Long story short, I managed to join the professional scumbags after some serious psychological tests. Apparently, Ones didn't usually join the military. Who would have thought it would be a bad idea to go anywhere near the people who will shoot you for looking at them funny?
I got access to the military databases one year ago. There was no mention of how the test ran, but all critics of the test were scored below 20, as were the members all but one political party. I stopped looking then. I could put two and two together.
Six months ago, I was tried and found guilty of desertion.
I was scheduled to be executed yesterday, but, instead, I woke up in Zone 1 with an unlocked green crate next to me. I looked inside and smiled from ear to ear.
I'm gonna burn this place to the ground. | 2016-08-26T15:12:31 | 2016-08-26T14:43:42 | 54 | 13 |
[WP]There is no prompt. Just write a story you've always been thinking about or one you've been thinking about sharing. Anything goes. | "There is no prompt. Just write a story you've always been thinking about, or one you've been thinking about sharing. Anything goes."
The old man looked at me, and gave a knowing wink. They were the words that I'd needed to hear. I had been looking all over for inspiration from other people. For people to give me the start, or the theme. I'd even visited Reddit's writing prompts. But he was right. There is no prompt. You just have to write. So I went home, and wrote. I wrote tales of gods and demons, tales of men who could fly, tales of love, loss, hate and every other emotion I could think of. It wasn't enough. I had to write more. I needed to.
The old man's words drove me, and I went to publishers with my works. They hated them. I was deflated, but not broken. I could still do this. The man had known, known that I was a writer, suffering from that problem. So I wrote about a kindly old man, who knew things. Who went around, and told people what they needed to hear. For me he had no name, for to put a crude label on one so great was a crime.
This time one publisher said that they would put the book out there, but that I shouldn't expect it to make me a lot of money. I didn't mind, I would improve. I was already writing my next book. It was drawn from my darkest dreams, and seemed to flow out of me on its own accord. I was astounded, and the publishers loved it too. I wrote a sequel, then a third, the a whole saga. I wove a complex universe, and became a celebrated author. I had book signings, I sold the film rights to a successful director, and he put my world on the big screen.
I was unstoppable. I wrote more and more. I found a guy who liked me for more than my books. We started going out. He asked me what my secret was. How the hell did I write so well. Was there some sort of prompt that I used.
"There is no prompt. Just write a story you've always been thinking about, or one you've been thinking about sharing. Anything goes."
I echoed the words that I had heard so long ago. And soon my boyfriend was writing some short children's stories. We were happy, and eventually, I proposed to him. He said yes. The wedding was beautiful, and we now live with our adopted daughter. Today is the day our first joint novel is released. It starts with a quote: 'There is no prompt. Just write a story you've always been thinking about, or one you've been thinking about sharing. Anything goes.'
We hope to inspire new authors the world over. We're holding a book signing in our home city, and we're expecting a good turnout. It's all going well, and just before I take a break for lunch, a kindly, elderly gentleman approaches the desk, with two books. Our first, and my first. He looks at me, and I recognise him.
"I know that it's a little unusual, but would you mind signing both of these?"
Of course, I can't refuse him. I'm just surprised that he's still alive after all this time.
"Don't be surprised, son, I've been inspiring people's passions, pushing them down the right path for a long time. But always remember, that even if I gave you the first push, you were the one who walked the path, you were the one who made this all. I wish you, and your family, the best of luck in your days, and a peaceful rest after."
I numbly sign the books, and as he leaves, I call out after him.
"If you ever need my help, please, don't hesitate to ask."
He nods in acknowledgement, and leaves. I would meet him once more. Only once, as I lay dying, in a hospital bed. My husband would have been taken from me years earlier, and my daughter would be married with a child on the way. My daughter and her husband would be at my side, and he would walk in. He would look to me, and to my daughter, and finally to my son-in-law. And then he would speak.
"Do not worry, your father shall not suffer, for he promised that if there were ever anything he could do for me, he would. I am here to ask just one thing of him. Please, old friend, be at peace."
And, in spite of everything, I would be.
This is my first story, I hope that you guys like it, and any feedback would be welcome.
| The birth of "The Gentleman"
Albert Mancer and his wife Jane lived the high life their noble blood thrust upon them. They were quite contempt to life out their life together in peace until one day, Jane fell ill. Her body was degenerating and the beast clerics in the land had no way to cure her, only slow down her inevitable demise. After calling an all the best healers in the world only to have them fail, Albert took matter into his own hands. He designed a way to extract the essence of a person’s soul and mind from the body and set them free from physical limitation. After testing this on rats however, he found that the smoke like essence of the creature couldn’t survive indefinably without a container to keep them together. So the next step was to develop the *insert name of new race here*. A mix of an undead and a construct, they wouldn’t feel pain or other physical limitation making them practically ageless.
After much testing Albert was almost ready to complete the procedure when the news was dropped on him that Jane had stopped reacting to the healing spells keeping her stable. As he rushed to her bedside she looked right in the eye and said "Alby... I'm scared..." Dread filled his heart. As he felt a lump in his thought he whispered "Don't worry me love, I have a plan" he stood up, wiping his eyes and told the clerics to take her to his lab immediately.
The machine was all set; it had worked on animals that retained their memories on how to navigate mazes and what buttons to press to get food. He had wanted to test it out on a human *or whatever race he ends up being* before Jane was placed anywhere near the machine, however here he was, strapping his own wife, the love of his life into this essence wrenching contraption. On the other end of the device that now took up a whole room, he hooked up his wife’s temporary shell. At this early stage it was basically a rubber suit enchanted with ghost touch with a see through visor and an exoskeleton.
As the contraption whirred into life the room crackled with energy as science and magic clashed in an un-natural battle to remove the body from the equation of a living being. As Jane’s body went limp a green light shone from the console Albert was watching. "Stage 1; Essence removal complete" said a robotic voice only just loud enough to be heard over the sparks and whirs of the machine. "Don't worry Jane, let it happen." Albert whispered under his breath.
At this moment Jane’s soul and mind were separate from her body, and soon would be in a new body. Albert started to think of how he would design a proper body for Jane, with fine silk and gold to make her even a fraction as beautiful as her original body was. He quickly swiped these thought aside as he watched the console once more even though there was nothing he could do now but hope all his theories and models were correct.
Just then a blast of arcane ripped into the room as a cloaked figure tore a hole in the fabric of space between where-ever they were and Albert’s lab. The figure reached out toward the machine as spectral arms flew through the tear and plunged into Albert’s contraption. "What are you doing!?" Albert roared at the intruder "You'll ruin everything!" The cloaked figure, without even looking at him waved his other hand towards Albert and more spectral hands charged towards him, grabbing him and pressing him against the wall. "NO!" he shouted "Leave it alone you... you Savage!" That got the figures attention. "You declare me a savage do you?" boomed the figures distorted voice "You, who hath brutally tore away at the minds and souls of others, and for what? To extend the life of this feeble creature?" The spectral arms that had dived into the machine slowly retracted showing a smoky shape. "JANE!" Albert shouted "...help...me..." emanated a voice from the smoke as the spectral arms wrapped themselves around her, encapsulating her. “How dare you! She deserves a full life! Not shriveling away! I couldn't live with myself if I let her go like this!" Screamed Albert at the cloaked figure looming over him. "Don't worry, you won't have to, Savage." smirked the figure as it reached towards Albert.
Shock is an interesting thing. It desensitizes you to pain, reason and many other things. The last Albert saw of Jane she and her old body were being dragged into the tear created by the Cloaked Figure. He blacked out as he felt a strange sensation in his left arm. Then both his legs, and finally in his gut.
He barely came too when the fissure in space closed up. In front of him he saw his arm. He tried to move it, even though he couldn't feel it. It didn't move. He tried to get up, but he couldn't move his legs. He reached out with his right arm and pushed himself up. The body’s of the clerics that helped Jane stay stable while he worked on the machine were all laying there, dead. He noticed that his left arm was still lying on the ground... The realization hit him like great hammer. His arm was on the ground as it wasn't attached! He couldn’t move his legs at they were broken. He sat up and saw as his abdomen had been stabbed into. He didn't have much time. He set a delayed start on the machine and dragged his broken form towards where his wife one sat. As he tried his best to strap himself in the machine whirred into life once more. Before he knew what had happened a white flash blinded him, and then visions of pipes and cogs flashed before him until finally, he could see the wall of his lab. As he moved, pipes disconnected from his new body and valves closed. It had worked, he gasped. He rushed as fast as this temporary carapace would let him to the start of the machine. There lay his old body, battered and broken. On the floor next to him was Jane’s old locket. It had a picture of them both together in it. He closed it and went to his bench to make a plan. To start to get Jane back. | 2016-09-11T11:04:25 | 2016-09-11T09:58:34 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] While walking, you notice everyone recoiling from a young woman. you speak to her to find out why. through her surprise, she explains she is death and everyone else sees a person based on how they feel about the concept of death. You've never seen a more beautiful or inviting person.
Please feel free to finesse the topic, genders, or concept to accommodate your own personal preferences or circumstances. | "You...you're death? But...you're so..." I stammered, amazed by what I saw. I had never really felt an attraction to a living person before, but the woman standing before me changed that.
"So what?" She questioned, tilting her head curiously.
"Beautiful. You are incredibly beautiful." I was astonished that I was able to speak even though she had taken my breath away.
She giggled. "Beautiful? I can't say I get called that very often. Many people see me differently."
"What do people usually see you as?"
"Rotting, decaying, diseased...you know, death-related things. You should be alarmed, honestly."
"Alarmed?" I paused. "Why is that?"
"Well, people only really see me as 'beautiful' if...if they're, longing for me. You know. Suicidal." She sounded strangely sad, but I could only smile.
"Oh don't worry, I'm far from suicidal. I'm loving every minute of living, honest."
"You are? Then it's curious as to why you see me this way, human."
"Oh it's not really all that curious, I'm just a necrophiliac is all." | Everything- from the way her eyes caught midday's sunlight, to the vibrant smile she wore even when a hundred sneering faces bore down upon her- was perfect. A beauty so vibrant I swear the world around her looked to come alive just a *little* bit more.
And yet, it seemed that no one agreed. Quite the opposite, judging by the ushering of children from her sight.
Sometimes I think back to that day, when I saw her. It brings a certain warmth to my heart when it starts to ice over. I was only six at the time, but I'll never forget her.
"Why's everyone scared of you?" I asked, tugging at her skirt. "You're so pretty."
It was her who then looked oddly at me. "You think so?"
"Yeah, you're like a movie star!"
"I've dabbled in Hollywood," she said with a laugh. "Then again, that's not saying much. You want to know why they hate me?"
I nodded with the fervor of a curious child.
"Everyone sees me differently. Usually, people are scared. They hate me because I remind them of what is inevitable."
"What's that mean?" I asked.
"Do you know what death is?"
I nodded again, slower this time.
"What comes to mind when you think of it?"
I thought hard, staring into the concrete. "I know that when Mr. Pebbles went away, my Mommy used that word. It's when things go away for a long time, right?"
The woman smiled at me. "Yes, a very long time at that. They don't ever come back here. Doesn't that frighten you?"
"Hmm. No, I don't think so."
"Why is that?"
"Well, I think it'd be really boring if we were here forever. Besides, Mr. Pebbles hurt a lot. Wherever he went, things hurt less for him."
She got down on one knee and touched my face, much to the horror of everyone around us. "You're a sweet child, but there's much you've yet to learn."
"I bet there's all kinds of stuff, yeah. But wherever we all go at the end, I bet it's something really cool."
"Maybe." She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it and stood up. "I'll let you find it all out for yourself. We'll meet again, someday. You might not be happy to see me."
It was my turn to smile at her. "I can't wait to see you! Maybe we'll see each other wherever Mr. Pebbles went."
"Unfortunately, I think we will." And in just a mere moment, it was like she had never been there. To this day, I wonder if I'll still see her the same way. I worry I might not.
But I remember her smile, and all doubt disappears like she did on that sunny summer day.
-----
*/r/resonatingfury* | 2016-10-01T22:29:31 | 2016-10-01T21:14:14 | 4,176 | 1,643 |
[WP] Everyone receives a letter when they turn 18 stating how they will die. You've just received your letter, and it's blank. | Twins, they say, are the luckiest. Normally when you go to the Bureau on your 18th birthday, you go alone. You open the black envelope by yourself, and until you get home you deal with its life-changing contents by yourself.
Not me and Jon. We turn 18 on the same day, of course, so we'll make the walk from our comfortable home in the suburbs to the imposing building together. Our mother kisses us both on the head as we eat the same birthday breakfast we always have - eggs, bacon and pancakes - and our father pats us both on the back before we head out of the door. I think he might actually be crying, but he turns away too fast for me to tell.
Jon just laughs and tells me not to look so worried. It's a beautiful day.
The Bureau itself is a mausoleum, if you ask me. Too much white marble and echoing black walls. I can appreciate the commitment to the aesthetic, but it's really not helping my already fraying nerves. "*Committed To Efficiency*", the silver words embossed on the wall behind the main desk read. Clearly they didn't tell the architect that, but I still focus on them as we walk up. It makes me a little less nauseous. Jon immediately starts charming the clerk, smiling and leaning forward as he gives her our names and registration numbers. I just stare at my own reflection in the glass and hold Jon's hand a little bit tighter. When the clerk pushes our letters through the slot towards us, I don't notice at first, too wrapped up in the fear in my reflection's eyes. Jon takes mine and presses it into my hands.
*Cook, Alice* it says, printed in neat silver blocks on thick black card. My fingers leave oily smudges on the pristine surface as I tear it open to reveal the folded white sheet that will dictate my future.
It's .... blank. No date. No death? Just pure white paper, quivering as my hands shake. Maybe it's Jon's letter I should be looking at. Maybe twins have the same day? That's stupid, I know it is, but it's all I can think of.
"Jon, show me yours," I order, peering over his shoulder. It looks perfect - a summer day sixty years from now. I guess we'll share it, like we share everything. It's almost a comforting thought, and my steps begin to perk up as we walk out of the building and back into the sunlight. Jon gets tired of looking at his, and starts trying to read mine from between my fingers.
"Come on, Al, just let me see. I showed you mine!" he says, grabbing for my letter. I skip out of his reach, clutching it closer to my chest. Even though I can tell he's hurt, I'm not ready to share it. Not yet. I don't know what it means and I'm still a little scared and I want to let Jon enjoy this day for just a little bit longer.
"I'll show you when we're home," I promise. He laughs at me.
"You're gonna live longer than me, aren't you? That's what it is! Oooh, you sneaky -"
I see the car before Jon does. It's a blue one with a battered fender and dents in the bonnet. Jon would know what type, but Jon hasn't noticed - his head is turned towards me, still teasing, his shoulders bobbing as he steps out into the road.
The street is too quiet and time is too slow as it tears towards us. For some reason, all I can focus on is the letter still tucked between his fingers. Sunlight gleams off the silver ink, and though I can't read it from here, I already know it's a good date, way into the future. A good date for a good brother, a good son, a good man.
Everything is crystal clear - sharp, transparent and painful - as I step into the road behind him and *push*. He stumbles forward, time resumes, and I barely have time to blink before my letter is torn out of my suddenly-useless hands, and my whole world becomes pavement and iron and sky.
I think Jon might be screaming.
I think I might be bleeding.
I think I know why my letter was blank now.
Why waste the ink? | "Mam," yelled Fred. "Maaaam!"
Fred's mom walks into his room, smelling of fresh baked cookies. "What is it, dear?" she asks.
"I'm 18, right?"
"Yes, dear."
"And I get my letter when I'm 18?"
"Sure do, pumpkin."
"And this is the letter?" Fred asks, holding up a blank piece of paper and an envelope with a broken Prophecy seal.
"Yep!" says his mom, gingerly.
"And it's blank?"
"Sure looks like it."
"Is it supposed to be?"
"No, dear. I've never heard of a blank letter before," Fred's mom says with a Stepford Wife smile.
"Weird, real freakin' weird," mutters Fred, staring at the blank page.
His mom saunters over and takes a look at the letter. "Maybe it's invisible ink," she says, laughing quietly to herself.
"Real funny, Ma."
"You know, back in the old days people would write messages with lemon juice and then when they heat the paper up in the oven, it revealed the message," she said.
"But why'd they go through all that time?"
"Cause you're my special little pepper," Fred's mom smiles. "Maybe they know that too. Common, let's go down to the oven."
So Fred leaves his Ipad on his bed and brings the letter downstairs with his mother. They set the oven to 350 Fahrenheit and wait for it to heat up before placing the paper inside. After Fred finishes a few of his mother's freshly baked cookies, he opens the oven to find the letter browned and some lettering in the center. He held it up and read:
"You're going to die in seven days."
"Oh dear," his mother says.
"Seven days," Fred yells. "I ain't done nothing yet! I can't die in seven days!"
"These things are never wrong," says his mother, looking with bright eyes, but a sad smile. "You better make the most of it!"
"I-I-I don't even know where to begin! I just graduated high school!" says Fred, his head bowed down on the counter top.
"You don't have time to choose where! Just go!" says his mother. She turns and files through her purse and pulls out a credit card and keys.
"There's a $3000 limit on this, go do what you want, but remember to stay below because I still have to pay it when you..." Fred's mother pauses to hold back her tears. "Just please make the best of it."
Fred grabs the card and keys and holds onto his mom for a hug.
"I love you, ma."
"I love you too, dear," she says and they held each other for a heart-warming minute before she pushed him off. "Now go, live!"
He runs to the door, but stops before opening.
"Crap, my Xbox is still on upstairs," he says.
"Don't worry, just go! I'll turn it off."
"Thanks, ma. Thank you so much," he says and then he is gone.
---------------------------------
For the next week, Fred did everything he could afford. He went rock-climbing, he asked out the girls he had crushes on, he was rejected by some, but others said yes. He watched his favourite films with his family, he ate his favourite food at restaurants, and road-tripped for a day to travel up his favourite mountain. By the end of the week he was exhuasted, but he had lived more then than any other time in his life.
On the last day, he drags his feet through the door in tears.
"This is really going to happen, isn't it?" he says, finding his mother and father at the kitchen island, enjoying tea and cookies. They look at his with soft eyes and heavy hearts.
"You had a good week?" his mom asks. "Please tell me you enjoyed it."
"It was incredible, ma. Real great, but now it's time. Tomorrow I'll be gone," says Fred, walking up to hug his mother and father. They hold onto him.
"Something came in the mail for you today," his mom says and Fred looks at her with caution. He holds out a letter with a red Prophecy seal on the front. Fred takes it and tears it open.
"You will die at 47 from sliding off a cliff," he reads aloud.
"Oh, that's not pleasant," his mother says, "but it is a fair bit of time."
"Wait, what?" Fred asks, trying to comprehend what's happened in the last week. His mom and dad burst into laughter.
"Happy graduation!" they yell and toss the confetti in their hands into the air.
"What?" Fred asks again, mouth hanging open.
"Your mother and I don't like how much time you spend on those video games so we figured if you had a reason to get out and do things, you'd go out and do things," says Fred's father. "What better way than feeling like you had a week left to live?" Fred was speechless.
"I hope you appreciate this, young man," says his mother. "$3000 was a lot to spend for a present."
Fred was still trying to piece together what had happened.
"So I'll be alive tomorrow?" Fred asks.
"Yep," answers his father. "According to that letter you'll be just fine."
"Until I'm 47?" Fred asks. His father sighs.
"Yep. Then... Yep."
"O-oh..." says Fred, still deciding if that was good news or bad news.
"Now go on and clean your room," says his mother. "You've been leaving it a mess!"
Fred leaves with a blank expression, leaving his mother and father at the kitchen table.
"Do you think we did the right thing?" his mother asks.
"Sure do," his father says. "He'll remember this week for the rest of his life."
-------------------
/r/ItsPronouncedGif | 2017-01-17T14:52:16 | 2017-01-17T14:22:46 | 563 | 102 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later | Amelia's life has been a strange one since the age of 15, when she met Eric at a bus stop on her way home from school; they had a short-lived tryst and never expected to see one another again.
Over the remaining years of High School, Eric just always seemed to be around whenever something happened. Her first car got a flat tire and Eric seemed to come out of nowhere to lend a hand; she twisted her ankle at the park and Eric was there to help her home. Eric was always there. At first, Amelia found it to be endearing, but each time it seemed like Eric had a growing look of resentment in his eyes.
High School passed and Amelia moved away from the Midwest to fulfill her childhood dreams of attending art school in New York. Thousands of miles from home and Eric showed up in her hallway when Amelia locked herself out of her Apartment. Eric was supposed to be back in Kansas City working at his dad's construction firm, but he was here... Eric is always here. Amelia got mugged and Eric was there; Amelia got in a fight with her boyfriend and Eric was there. Any endearment Amelia once felt towards Eric turned into fear.
Eric's stalking of Amelia took it's toll on Amelia, but she managed to get through college; she was absolutely ecstatic to land a design position in San Francisco; it was a gateway into he dream career and she could finally escape the nightmare of Eric.
*****
It's 10 years since the fateful day that Eric met Amelia at the bus stop and professed his oath to always be there for her.
Ten miserable years.
Eric is at home playing X-Box and within the blink of an eye he is transported to the shoulder of a busy highway, standing next to Amelia. Eric was confused, a deer in the headlights, but he had no ill feelings towards Amelia and helped change out her tire.
Eric was completing his homework only to be whisked away as if by magic to stand next to Amelia grasping her twisted ankle in the park. It didn't matter what Eric was in the middle of, he always transported to Amelia when she was in need. Any good faith Eric felt towards Amelia quickly turned into disdain as Eric realized that Amelia was a curse.
High school finished and Eric was ecstatic to learn that Amelia was going off to the East Coast. He had a job lined up with his father and he could be rid of Amelia once and for all - freedom; he could drive a car without being transported away; he could go on dates without disappearing. It was with significant shock and hatred when he opened his eyes to find himself outside of Amelia's New York apartment watching Amelia dig through her purse. The curse was still there.
It's been 10 years of the Amelia curse; 10 years of misery. Kansas City, New York, San Francisco. He hated Amelia for what his life had become, and he knew that Amelia hated him - she had even filed a restraining order. Eric is drinking alone, as he often does, and opens his eyes to find himself trapped next to Amelia in a burning wreck.
They died together. | A young man stands in front of a crowded board room his presentation is impeccable. He's worked his way up from intern to junior exec, and it's taken years of late nights to get him to this point. His smart blue suit only slightly lighter than the others in the room, his tie a perfect accent piece to his pocket square which sets off his wire frame glasses. The young man continues his well rehearsed diatribe, "You'll see in the graph here that..." A cloud of smoke envelopes him and then dissipates leaving the rest of the attendees in awe.
Across the country on a small studio lot just outside of Los Angeles a woman sits on a curb eating a sandwich when smoke begins to materialize, the young man appears before her eyes in a brilliant shimmer of folded space which looks as if someone smeared the background.
"Oh *you're* here." The young woman remarks.
He turns around investigating his new surroundings before looking down at the girl, "Jesus Christ Keri, what the hell do you want?"
"Well I didn't want *you* ." She answers before discarding the food on the ground.
"Uh, yeah Keri, that's how this works. Remember? In perhaps the most regretful phrase I've ever uttered in my life, I pledged to always be there for you. Then a skank in pink heart print dress appeared and said 'So it shall be, always.' So now when you want me, and only me I fucking appear wherever you are. I was only fifteen how the hell is that binding?!?"
The woman shrugged and said, "Well as long as you're here, the studio says they'll give me a line if I show my breasts in the movie. Should I do it?"
"Yes, of course you should," The young man replied. As soon as Keri's back was turned he began to give her the finger with both hands.
"You really think I should? Don't you think that could hurt my career? I want to be thought of as a serious actress..." She turned around suddenly to see both of his middle fingers outstretched in an aggressive, and angry way. "Brad... god damn it, I'm serious."
"I don't give a flying red headed fuck what you do, the perpetually pink bitch made it so I have to be here, she didn't make me feel the need to be helpful. Your tits have been all over the internet for years. Remember when we broke up and you got on Girls Gone Wild? Yeah so there isn't a pervy old man in America who hasn't spanked it to your underage, and until verrrry recently undersized chest; by the way tell your doctor I love his work, and leave me the fuck alone!"
She smiled at him, "You're jealous, I'm here shooting a film with the guy who played on Renegade and you're stuck in your little cubicle back home. Why can't you just be happy for me you piece of shit?"
"I was in the middle of a meeting that would have made me a partner. I have a girl I'm crazy about, and she puts up with this popping back and forth thing for god knows why, and I'm jealous?"
The two screaming at each other drew the ire of the director who then stormed over to the pair, "Who are you?" He demanded.
Brad sighed and said, "I'm Brad her ex boyfriend."
The director threw out his hands with his palms raised, "Do you work here?"
"No."
He turned his attention to the young woman, "And you, who the hell are you?"
"um... I'm Keri. I play Sorority slasher victim 2."
"Not anymore, you're fired. Steven, get me casting, I need another big breasted bimbo to show her tits in this piece of shit. Let's go, we're moving on."
Keri stood there her mouth agape, then she turned to look at Brad who's lips had begun to curl upwards at the corners, "You... this is all your fault. Fix it, fix it now."
Brad broke out into a bright white smile as karma finally caught up with Keri. He did his best to snap his lips closed but the joy was just so overwhelming he broke into a slight laugh as he said, "Why? Remember I don't have to help, I just have to be there for you."
"Well how are you going to like it if I suddenly need a towel boy at 2:AM your time for the foreseeable future after I swipe right on every guy in LA? Fix this now."
Brad visibly gulped and said, "Excuse me Mr. Director..." | 2017-03-22T15:53:12 | 2017-03-22T15:05:15 | 75 | 19 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later | My grandmother still worships the old gods. I dont know how she can keep track of all of them. There seems to be a god for every problem. I probably should have played more attention in history when we went over all this stuff. She always said I was a favorite of Aphrodite. She warned me that living with the favor of a God/Goddess would be difficult. I should have listened.
Meeting girls has always been easy for me. People said I was just charming. I know better now. I met Sita when I was 15. There was something about her that just ignited a fire in me. As always I was able to catch her attention with just a short conversation. It wasn't long before the whole school knew we were dating. She was so beautiful. Long raven hair, bright green eyes that actually sparkled when she was happy. A smile that could brighten a room instantly and she always smelled so good. I knew from the moment we spoke that I was in love. Thinking back on it now, what did I know of love? I was a kid. A dumb idealistic brat in love with the Idea, of being in love.
I remember that day after the homecoming dance. We were walking hand in hand. We stopped under the bleachers by the football field. She kissed me and I told her I loved her. She said she loved me too. I told her, "No matter what, I'll always be there for you. I swear on our love"
She broke up with me 3 weeks later. No explanation, no apology. Just, "this isn't working. Find someone else"
I was as heartbroken as a kid could be. After a while I swore I'd never say those words to a girlfriend again unless I was sure she loved me too. I got rid of all her pictures and little gifts. I never wanted to see her again, but the God's take oaths seriously.
I saw her again, for the first time 2 years later. I was driving home in the muscle car my parents got me for my birthday. It needed a lot of work but I was excited to have wheels. I saw her hunched over in the rain and cold by the bus stop. She had a large bag next to her. Too big to be for school. I pulled over. I got out and sat next to her, she barely looked up at me. "Hey" was all she said.
"Hey" I replied. "Need a ride?" I asked.
"That yours?" She asked. "Yeah, birthday gift" I responded.
She nodded. "You have awesome parents." She whispered. She looked up at me. "Im leaving town. I have an aunt that lives 3 hours away. If your serious about the ride, will you take me?" She asked.
I thought about it for a moment. I'd just gotten the car and had never been out of town on my own before. Still the way she looked at me, her eyes pleading and full of sorrow. I couldn't say no. "Sure, hop in. Ill get your bag."
It didnt occur to me to ask why she was leaving or where her parents were. It just felt right to help. I got home at 4am. I was grounded for 2 months and my car was taken from me. She had smiled that beautiful smile when in had dropped her off. It was worth it.
I met her again when I was a junior in college. I was invited to a frat party for the first time ever and almost didnt go. I felt I would miss out if I didnt though. College is about the experiences, so im told. At first I wasnt sure it was her, it had been so long, but when she smiled I knew. I wanted to talk to her and for a moment our eyes met. She was swooped up by a good looking guy in a football jersey before I could reach her. I spent the rest of the party bored. It was when I went searching for a bathroom that I found her again. I was told the bathroom was down the hall but I kept getting turned around. She came rushing out of a room I had passed twice. Her clothes were a mess and her lip was bleeding. She saw me and grabbed my arm. The guy I had seen her with came out of the room a few moments later. He stopped when he saw me.
"Hey" she said. "I havent seen you in forever, walk me to my car?" She asked.
I stood there glaring at the guy in the jersey. "Sure, no problem" I finally reply. She didnt let go of me until we reached her car. Once again I earned a smile as she drove away. I walked back to my dorm thinking that one day, that smile would be the death of me.
So on it went, I loved and lost and loved again. I would love my life and years would pass before seeing her again. Each moment we met was when she needed me most. Sometimes it was for small things, like a ride, other times it was more serious. I was there for her, just like I swore I would be. I stopped being surprised after a while. I lived my life with the assurance that I would see her again and earn another smile. I became successful in my career, had everything I'd ever wanted and more. Still, I would go out into the world each day, looking for her face amongst the crowd. Waiting for the moment when she would need me again.
Now that final moment has arrived. That moment I knew would come. When that smile would be the death of me.
This story, is for you Sita. So you would understand why I did what I did. You see, I met your husband. He's a good man. I realize now why I hadn't seen you in so long, after meeting him. He showed me pictures of you and your kids. They're as beautiful as their mother. All with that same gorgeous smile. Dont worry, I didn't tell him I knew you. He came to ask me for something. Something apparently only I can give.
My cancer is inoperable. I have been given only weeks to live. Caught it too late they said. The doctor told me because of my condition and my rare blood type, I would be doing the hospital and several people in it, a great service and sacrifice, if I would donate my organs. I hadn't made my decision until today. When your husband showed me your picture, I knew. This is the last time I can be there for you. What I give to you hasn't been mine for a long time. Its been yours ever since I swore that oath, so many years ago. I give you my heart, to care for and keep safe.
My oath is kept, I have no regrets. Who am I to question the Gods? | Theme Music: to U by Jack U
The phone clicked dead; Amy’s final words echoed in Sebastian’s mind like the ripples from a water drop. She had every right to want to end things – his disappearances, while random were a constant sore spot between them. What was he up to? Why couldn’t he talk about it? And why did it always happen when his ex was having trouble in her relationship? It drove Sebastian to frustration each time. Even now, he struggled to maintain his composure. Why the fuck did it have to happen to him?
It was a fucking curse. It had to be. When Sebastian was 15, he had promised his then girlfriend Lucy that he would always be there for her if she needed him which she reciprocated. It was a stupid promise, but then it felt right. They were young and in love in the only way that young lovers could be, promising each other the world. But it didn’t last, it never could at that age. But somehow, someone had heard them and noted.
The first time it happened was when he was 21. They had both long since moved on, Sebastian to a string of casual lovers and Lucy to her first serious boyfriend. They had apparently been dating for two years when Lucy was contacted by a stranger. Apparently her boyfriend had broken up with her out of the blue via text, leaving Lucy heartbroken. He had been cooking dinner at the time when there was a flash and suddenly he was standing before Lucy who was laying on her bed crying. He had held her hand all night then slipped out in the morning when she finally feel asleep and walked two hours to get back home.
He thought it was weird but considered it a one off, some bizarre phenomenon. But it happened again, almost two years later, this time to him. He had been going through a rough time, getting strung alone by a girl who he thought felt the same about him. When he finally worked up the nerve to confront her about it she laughed him off then disappeared the next day. After half a bottle of scotch he finally broke down, tears erupting from eyes like a fountain. Yet before they had managed to reach his chin she was there, bringing him into her arms and whispering sympathy in his ear. She was gone by morning too, a ghost from a past he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a part of. From there it went downhill, the occurrences happening more and more frequently, appearing in front of the other during moments of sadness or need.
It took a toll on the both of them, each time a highly charged emotional moment where the other was a sudden intruder. Almost a year ago Lucy had enough. She started screaming when he appeared; that her grief was her own and not for him, and if he could just please leave her alone. He had left the house in a black cloud; it wasn’t his choice, he didn’t want this, this burden. He had heard later that she had moved across the States to LA, as if somehow the distance could prevent the occurrences from happening.
And for a while he thought it did. He met Amy and felt the pull that finally, he had met someone he could love. The visitations to Lucy no longer happened and he let his guard down. For almost three years, he felt like he was free. But little over a month ago, it started happening again. One moment he was jogging with his dog then flash and he’s suddenly standing in front of Lucy in the middle of what looked like her living room. She was teary-eyed and upon meeting his eyes only shook her head and looked out the window. Wrapping her arms around herself, she said she was ok. She was married now, and just had an argument with her husband so if Sebastian could please leave before he got back. He practically ran out of the house, catching a taxi to the nearest airport. He managed to get back home two days later. Amy was frantic, but he pleaded a work emergency and she let it go.
But the curse couldn’t, wouldn’t let go. Within the next two months he was back there at least once every two weeks. Each time it was the same but as time went on, he started to notice differences. She would be more wary, her eyes more pained each time. Then the bruises started appearing; minor ones at first but when one appeared on the left side of her face he knew. He pleaded with her, begged her to get some help. When he finally left it seemed like she might actually do it.
But when Sebastian got home, he found Amy waiting in his apartment. She demanded to know where he had been – they were supposed to have dinner together. She called him at work and when they didn’t know where he was she called him on his phone at least a dozen times. He tried his best to calm her down but she was hysterical. Was he cheating on her? Was he unhappy? A lump appeared in Sebastian’s throat; he fought to hold back tears. How could he explain what was happening to him? He showed her the ticket, explained Lucy’s situation – how her husband was beating her, how he had been flying up there to try to get her to leave him. He had totally forgot to call but no he wasn’t still interested in her, they were just kids when they dated. She didn’t totally believe him, but she could feel his sincerity. When her tone changed, all he could feel was relief. Relief and gratitude. His promise was out of his lips before the question had even formed in hers.
And that night, he prayed to whatever god was out there, that this was the final time.
Sebastian was in the bathroom when it happened; he had gone for two weeks without incident and Amy was finally starting to forgive him. It made him ecstatic that she was starting to trust him again and he felt like celebrating. Dinner had gone well and he was washing his hands when white light suddenly blinded him. He found himself outside of Lucy’s house facing a slightly ajar front door. He panicked right away; he had taken to leaving his phone in plain view to show he wasn’t hiding anything. Now it sat on the table, along with Amy waiting for him to return from the bathroom. A wave of despair hit him and he bleakly wondered how he was going to explain this to Amy. When he glanced at Lucy’s front door wondering why he would appear on the street, he noticed the door frame was cracked.
He came through the broken front door in a stiff walk and found Lucy on her knees in the living room, a handful of her hair in his husband’s fist. The husband was shouting at her, his voice raised in fury along with his other hand. Sebastian didn’t even hear what he was saying as the last three months coalesced into that moment. All the frustration and anger flooded his mind like a tidal wave and snapped his willpower like a twig. Sebastian grabbed the husband by his raised arm and spun him around. Looking surprised, Sebastian obliged him by knocking him clean over with a punch to the face. Releasing Lucy’s hair the husband when down, blood pouring from his nose. What happened next was a blur – he remembered watching himself like he was a stranger standing in the room. He climbed on top of the husband and began raining blows down on him, screaming why could the husband just leave Lucy alone, why could he keep his fists to himself, and why did he fucking have to always drag Sebastian into this.
At this point, Lucy hauled him off, Sebastian still spitting curses and profanities at the barely conscious figure on the ground. Lucy dragged him outside and calmed him down. Yes, she was ok; yes she would call the police.
A cab ride later and the rage was gone. It was midnight at the airport and he tried for the tenth time to call Amy’s cellphone from a payphone in the waiting area. When she finally picked up, he almost broke down. He started stammering, simultaneously thanking, pleading and begging but she silenced him with a single word. She spoke calmly but it was obvious that she had been crying. It was over.
When she hung up, the tears he had been struggling to hold back finally came to life. Turning around, he found Lucy, her face slightly swollen with tears and bruises as he knew she would be. She looked tired and scared, but she took one look at his face and without a word stepped forward and embraced him. Tears started streaming down his cheek as he hugged her back. At least this was something that they both knew would never change.
| 2017-03-22T19:03:01 | 2017-03-22T17:17:28 | 53 | 14 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later | My grandmother still worships the old gods. I dont know how she can keep track of all of them. There seems to be a god for every problem. I probably should have played more attention in history when we went over all this stuff. She always said I was a favorite of Aphrodite. She warned me that living with the favor of a God/Goddess would be difficult. I should have listened.
Meeting girls has always been easy for me. People said I was just charming. I know better now. I met Sita when I was 15. There was something about her that just ignited a fire in me. As always I was able to catch her attention with just a short conversation. It wasn't long before the whole school knew we were dating. She was so beautiful. Long raven hair, bright green eyes that actually sparkled when she was happy. A smile that could brighten a room instantly and she always smelled so good. I knew from the moment we spoke that I was in love. Thinking back on it now, what did I know of love? I was a kid. A dumb idealistic brat in love with the Idea, of being in love.
I remember that day after the homecoming dance. We were walking hand in hand. We stopped under the bleachers by the football field. She kissed me and I told her I loved her. She said she loved me too. I told her, "No matter what, I'll always be there for you. I swear on our love"
She broke up with me 3 weeks later. No explanation, no apology. Just, "this isn't working. Find someone else"
I was as heartbroken as a kid could be. After a while I swore I'd never say those words to a girlfriend again unless I was sure she loved me too. I got rid of all her pictures and little gifts. I never wanted to see her again, but the God's take oaths seriously.
I saw her again, for the first time 2 years later. I was driving home in the muscle car my parents got me for my birthday. It needed a lot of work but I was excited to have wheels. I saw her hunched over in the rain and cold by the bus stop. She had a large bag next to her. Too big to be for school. I pulled over. I got out and sat next to her, she barely looked up at me. "Hey" was all she said.
"Hey" I replied. "Need a ride?" I asked.
"That yours?" She asked. "Yeah, birthday gift" I responded.
She nodded. "You have awesome parents." She whispered. She looked up at me. "Im leaving town. I have an aunt that lives 3 hours away. If your serious about the ride, will you take me?" She asked.
I thought about it for a moment. I'd just gotten the car and had never been out of town on my own before. Still the way she looked at me, her eyes pleading and full of sorrow. I couldn't say no. "Sure, hop in. Ill get your bag."
It didnt occur to me to ask why she was leaving or where her parents were. It just felt right to help. I got home at 4am. I was grounded for 2 months and my car was taken from me. She had smiled that beautiful smile when in had dropped her off. It was worth it.
I met her again when I was a junior in college. I was invited to a frat party for the first time ever and almost didnt go. I felt I would miss out if I didnt though. College is about the experiences, so im told. At first I wasnt sure it was her, it had been so long, but when she smiled I knew. I wanted to talk to her and for a moment our eyes met. She was swooped up by a good looking guy in a football jersey before I could reach her. I spent the rest of the party bored. It was when I went searching for a bathroom that I found her again. I was told the bathroom was down the hall but I kept getting turned around. She came rushing out of a room I had passed twice. Her clothes were a mess and her lip was bleeding. She saw me and grabbed my arm. The guy I had seen her with came out of the room a few moments later. He stopped when he saw me.
"Hey" she said. "I havent seen you in forever, walk me to my car?" She asked.
I stood there glaring at the guy in the jersey. "Sure, no problem" I finally reply. She didnt let go of me until we reached her car. Once again I earned a smile as she drove away. I walked back to my dorm thinking that one day, that smile would be the death of me.
So on it went, I loved and lost and loved again. I would love my life and years would pass before seeing her again. Each moment we met was when she needed me most. Sometimes it was for small things, like a ride, other times it was more serious. I was there for her, just like I swore I would be. I stopped being surprised after a while. I lived my life with the assurance that I would see her again and earn another smile. I became successful in my career, had everything I'd ever wanted and more. Still, I would go out into the world each day, looking for her face amongst the crowd. Waiting for the moment when she would need me again.
Now that final moment has arrived. That moment I knew would come. When that smile would be the death of me.
This story, is for you Sita. So you would understand why I did what I did. You see, I met your husband. He's a good man. I realize now why I hadn't seen you in so long, after meeting him. He showed me pictures of you and your kids. They're as beautiful as their mother. All with that same gorgeous smile. Dont worry, I didn't tell him I knew you. He came to ask me for something. Something apparently only I can give.
My cancer is inoperable. I have been given only weeks to live. Caught it too late they said. The doctor told me because of my condition and my rare blood type, I would be doing the hospital and several people in it, a great service and sacrifice, if I would donate my organs. I hadn't made my decision until today. When your husband showed me your picture, I knew. This is the last time I can be there for you. What I give to you hasn't been mine for a long time. Its been yours ever since I swore that oath, so many years ago. I give you my heart, to care for and keep safe.
My oath is kept, I have no regrets. Who am I to question the Gods? | There were coke packets on shelves. I'd materialized again. The coke warehouse was filled with Colombian guards. The warehouse was in a rain forest, and the sound of tropical insects was deafening.
I saw Anna, and wondered how the hell she got here. She was trapped right at the back of the warehouse, and was about to be discovered. She had golden hair, and freckled skin. She had been in the sun, and the sun damage didn't take from her beauty. I scuttled past a head-high pallet of coke, and arrived at the side of Anna.
"I'm in danger again, aren't I?" I said. "How on Earth did you get here?"
"We need to get out of here," she said, "then I will explain."
"I say we bonk one of those guards," I said, "and steal his machine gun."
She agreed with my plan, because I was very good at materializing escapes after all the practice I had been given over the years. In fact, it was almost like I was incredibly lucky... like some guardian angel was watching over Anna and I. I felt a surge of adrenaline, and bonked a guard's head with my clenched fist.
It made hardly any noise as he dropped to the floor. I extricated the guard's gun from his heavy, limp form, pulling and straining to get the arm strap from his armpit.
Over the years of these dangerous situations, I'd learned what had happened to make me arrive at Anna's side when she was in danger. I made a promise to her when I was fifteen, but I never knew Anna would be such a thrill-seeker and adventurer.
I knelt down trying to calm my breathing after the excitement of appropriating the gun. I closed my eyes and faded back to Anna's room when I was 15 years old, and she was 16, because of being held back in Mrs. Marion's grade 3. We sat there, on the floor in a room full of feminine, pink ballet stuff and gemstones, and stopped tongue kissing.
I remember it well. I was disappointed when she disentangled herself from our embrace. She went to a bookshelf. She took a textbook on magic down. I just wanted to kiss; I didn't want to read, and do magic.
"I was suggesting," said Anna, "we do a spell to prove we are serious."
"Aw gee, Anna," I said, "couldn't we just have faith about each other."
However, she was quickly leading me outdoors. She took me to the path outside her house. She had a backpack. From it, she took chalk, candles, stones.
"Blimey, what are you doing?" I asked.
She was silent, and drew a little circle on the concrete path.
"OK," she said, "sit down in this circle. We are going to caste a spell."
She caste a spell. She read the magic textbook, which had amazing old-time, colorful language a bit like the Bible. What I gathered from it was she was telling Aphrodite that I would appear whenever she was in trouble.
She then handed the text book to me, and said if I agree read the little paragraph at the bottom of the page.
I read, "I promiseth, by Aphrodite's power, by the sun, sky and wind's four directions, on this day proceeding the half moon, to be at Anna's side whenever she beeth in turmoil, until I find the valuable black-ocean stone to cancel the spell."
I read the words, and then, unsettling me, there was a solar eclipse. I was a little disconcerted about the solar eclipse, but I remembered the night before, on the news, they had spoken of it. I looked at Anna. She was a small sex dynamo those days, with porcelain face framed by exquisite, golden-blonde hair.
I looked up at her as we hid behind the pallets of coke. I remembered the time we did the ritual not so fondly. I formulated a route out of the warehouse.
"Hey Anna," I said, "I plan to make a run for it covering us from fire with the spray of bullets from this here machine gun. Run straight behind me, Anna. Let's hope we make it."
"I'll explain why I'm here," said Anna, "when, I mean if, we get out of here."
I started the machine gun spray, and run with all my speed towards the exit. I killed two soldiers having smoko. I ran quickly. As I ran, I let the spray of machine gun fire spray towards the guards, hoping the element of surprise would work. If I scared them enough, they might be bamboozled enough to not even return fire.
I kept the deafening roar of the machine gun up, as we ran. I looked back seeing if Anna was on my tail. She wasn't. She'd disappeared. I thought on my feet. Should I go back for her, or should I keep going? I thought of how I wouldn't make it if I ran back, and dying wasn't going to save anyone, so I kept going. I just hope she's alright.
I ran out of the large warehouse door. The guards left a spray of bullets, as I ran into the rain forest, but I made it. I found a little brook, and waited there, while I tried to figure out what to do about Anna still being in there. I was sitting there, almost having caught my breath, when Anna appeared. Infuriatingly, she smiled. Then, she pulled a kilo packet of coke from behind her back.
"What the fuck?" I said angrily.
"Don't worry, I'll explain," she said.
We started trekking through the forest, knowing the guards might send out a search party. I saw Anna carrying the coke.
"Give me that," I said.
She gave it to me, and I put in in my cargo pockets.
"What the hell were you thinking?" I said. "You always do stuff like this. I can't live with risking my life, every time you decide to go thrill seeking."
"This is the last time," she said.
I severely doubted it. Unless we broke Aphrodite's spell, she'd get in danger again. You see, we broke up the day after we made to spell out on the footpath near Anna's house. I'd told her I wanted to concentrate more on my indoor cricket team, and she didn't take it well. The next day she had a big, muscly boyfriend twice as good looking as me.
"What are you going to do? Break the spell?" I snickered.
"Yes," she exclaimed.
I looked at her. I was dumbstruck.
"You see," she said, sitting on a rock to talk. "I broke into that coke warehouse to acquire this bag of coke. Do you remember the wording of that spell?"
"No, not exactly," I said.
"The wording of the spell said if we could acquire a black-ocean stone, we could do a new spell to counter the spell that makes you appear when I'm in danger, which is often because I seek thrill, and am a adventurer."
"Go on," I said, realizing this might actually work.
"I Googled black-ocean stones," she said, laying back on the rock, "and they are darn expensive... about $20 000."
"Aw damn," I said, disappointed.
"No wait," she smiled. "This is a kilo of coke," she said, raising the white bag, "Do you know how much this is worth?"
"Lots," I said.
"It's got a street value of, exactly that, $20 000."
I looked at her thankfully. She planned to free me from the magic spell. We got into Rio, and bought a black-ocean rock from a jeweler. We did quick spell, with chalk and candles, much like the first, and there was a solar eclipse.
"I'm sorry we didn't work out," I said.
"Don't be sorry," Anna smiled, "We were young. Nothing holds a teenager's attention for long."
"How'd that indoor cricket go?"
"I still play," I said. "But now girlfriends take precedent."
"Bye," she said.
"Bye," I said.
This time I knew it was goodbye for good. I felt sad, as I faded away back from Brazil to home. Just as I had faded from home to the Brazilian warehouse for the last time.
THE END. | 2017-03-22T19:03:01 | 2017-03-22T16:16:19 | 53 | 13 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right. | "I need to know about my past lives. It's important. I need to know who I was to determine who I am supposed to be..."
The medium gave me a pensive glance over, her eyes focusing first on me, then through me, then snappiung back to me.
"I see who you have been. Judas. Ghenghis Khan. Hitler. You have been the most evil yet charismatic of men. You have been condemned for your sins, and you will find the path to heaven a difficult struggle. You must choose your path carefully, or you will not pass the gates after this lifetime either."
I could feel the weight of my past on my shoulders. The dreams have been true. I must overcome the darkness in my being, and become something that is better. I must use my power to lead for the betterment of mankind this time, I must eschew my temptations for power and control.
Closing my eyes, taking a deep breath and centering myself, I thank the medium for my time. Standing up, I straighten up, and turn to leave. I walk out the door, put my red "Make America Great" cap onto my head, and head towards the presidential limosine. | "Well, looks like you're back again. Where are you going to now?" the angel asked. It didn't look like he was impressed with my achievements as a rebellion leader in the 28th century. In fact, he looked at me like this is the billionth time I was here, just like the question he asked had implied. However, I couldn't recall actually being here. Hell, I didn't even know my cause of death. "What are you talking about? Have I died before? How did I die?" I asked. "You... You don't know? I need to consult an archangel about this." was the response from the now slightly stressed-looking angel. He rushed off to somewhere, leaving me in the seemingly sterile environment that consisted mostly of clouds, with small rooms of marble here and there. The angel came back eventually, accompanied by an armed and armoured man, presumably the archangel he was talking about before. "This is the one, sir, the one that cannot recall his past lives or cause of death." he said, referring to me. The archangel was seemingly taken aback by my presence, as he drew his weapon and plunged it into the ground, probably to intimidate me. It didn't work, I had seen much more intimidating foes as a rebel leader. "So, you don't know who you were?" he inquired, almost as if he didn't believe me. "Well, I know I was named Sir Satan during my life," I replied, "nobody knows what my birth name was, as it was lost to time when Imperial Intelligence captured me."
The angel and what I assumed was his superior retreated to a door that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Speaking of things suddenly spawning, a number of other spirits were starting to rise from the ground. They look oddly familiar, yet I do not recognise them. While I tried to figure out who they were, the heavenly beings returned. They told me, "Well, after some rather intense discussing with the other angels, some saints and even God himself, we have decided to tell you.
In multiple lifetimes, you have aspired to take over the world, exterminate the human race as well as other races, and actually blew up a planet. You've gone into history as some of the worst people imaginable. Do the names Adolf Hitler, Genghis Khan, Q'im Juah, and Joseph Stalin ring a bell?". I nodded. The spirits that rose around me started to become less obscured, and the facial features of the men he mentioned started to become visible. "You're going to get one last chance. If you don't get into heaven then, you're going to rot in hell for eternity, at the command of the man you pretended to be in your last life. Do you understand, and accept this chance?"
> *My first submission. Feedback would be much appreciated.* | 2017-03-31T11:46:40 | 2017-03-31T11:14:34 | 166 | 13 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right. | Each lifetime seemed to me only a moment. I had always forcefully forged a path, etching my name in the memories of past world's inhabitants to be passed on for eternities to come.
I have been here a thousand times before. That short and sweet gift of existence, the driving hunger and motivation to succeed, to change humanity for the better, always somehow brings me back. Driving the world forward, for better or worse. I have always believed this my burden to bear, my cross to carry.
This is my last chance, and now I must decide.
33 Years Later:
My fingers drift through soft, strawberry curls. The weight of her head rests on my shoulder, her small body nestled in close to me. Here, now. This is where I want to stay forever.
Thirty three years ago, I realized how I had failed every time before. Forcing my presence on the world, exhaustively exerting all energy in the hopes that my actions would provide a direction for the rest of His creation. How selfish I had been. How vain.
This time, I dedicated my life to the life of someone else. In this life, I have not forced my presence on the world. I have not attempted to move mountains. My life has been and will be dedicated to this beautiful being, this innocent child.
I will show her the wonder of the world, convey to her the preciousness of its existence and the preciousness of all life residing here.
This time, I will live history and not become it. This time, my contribution to the world will be her. Her laughter, her love, her curiosity, her joy. Her light.
This time, I became a father. | The white lights flashed again. It was coming back to me, everything; the cries for help, the scent of clotted blood on the dead, the eyes that begged for mothers as they saw death flashing in front of their faces. Ironic I guess, considering that I think that I'm dead. Or at least I figure I must be dead considering all I see is a man who I can only say radiates power.
"So I see you've failed again?" he smirked, "54 tries and still nothing".
"What? I don't get it? Am I dead?"
"Obviously. That's a pretty dumb questions even for your standards and ruthlessness. If you were only that dumb when you Nero."
"Me? Nero? When" I was aghast. "I am not a horrible person am I?"
"Great! This part again. 54 times and I always have to explain this part to you. You die. You either reach Nirvana or you go back to earth and I have NEVER seen someone beat your, well, highscore." the entity exasperatedly said.
"But I pay taxes!" Yet as the words left my mouth, all my memories came back.
"Maybe you do, but I think you should be remembering now."
And I was. I remembered my individual lives, when I sacked Persopolis, Baghdad, Tenochtitlan, Jerusalem. Each time, some called me a hero, but yet, many called me one thing. A murderer. Each time, I thought unifying the world or at least ruling with an iron fist would bring peace, yet all it did was bring my demise.
"How? Why? I did all of that? How can I?"
My knees felt weak and I started sobbing and curling on the floor. But the entity seemed unfazed, even looking in contempt. How could it be so cruel?
"Save it, this time your actions were so wanton and cruel you must face trial at the Eternal Court and in front of the Supreme One."
"I didn't mean to kill 80 million people, I swear"
"Yet you did."
"World War Two wasn't my fault! It was Hitler! I wasn't even responsible for Nanjing! I didn't even order half of the atrocities committed. How could I? I was only a prince!"
"Actions have consequences. Consequences lead to other actions and they stain history with blood"
"I... I..." I couldn't carry on. I was guilty. Maybe it was time to stop trying.
Suddenly, the entity changed his expression. "Guilt, I have never seen that before. Maybe..."
In an instant, he disappeared and I heard a ringing in my ear, as if the world was being born anew. Then I heard his voice again, faintly in the distance "The Supreme One has seen your guilt, you have one last chance to reach Nirvana. Maybe it'll be different this time, maybe it will not. All I can say is, at the minimum, at least leave earth the same as it was, maybe you will even be granted a seat just for that. After all, you will be the first one to fail..." The voice started to get more distant and faint, the world started spinning again. Then it became black. All I felt was warmth. All I heard now was "I think we will name him Martin" and I went back to sleep.
| 2017-03-31T12:19:09 | 2017-03-31T08:26:10 | 92 | 22 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right. | "What am I doing wrong?"
I said it out loud, but I knew he wouldn't answer. He just sat there and asked again,
"Give up? Or try again?".
His question echoed as if we were in a cave, but the room was about the size of a elevator. It would have terrified me if this was my first time. That was long ago, from Cain, to Ghengis, to Nero, to... I can't remember.
But I swear, I tried everything. I fought for myself. I fought for others. I fought for God, all of them. I fought for king and country. Yet, I still come here.
Did I fight hard enough? Was it the wrong target? Was I not strong enough? Was I not smart enough? Could I have fough-...
...Fought...
"Fighting. Was that it? Was I to focused on fighting? Should I have been doing something else?"
"Give up? Or try again?" He bellowed.
What else is there? Fighting wasn't getting me anywhere. I have to try something new.
But what?
Well, what's the opposite of war?
Peace?
Yeah, yeah that might be it. Peace.
"Give up? Or try again?" He bellowed.
"Try again." I answered.
"What will your name be?" He inquired.
"Hmm, let's go with...
Mahatma Gandhi." | There she was again, fat face, full of cake, laughing as she told me another anecdote of her worthless kid, spraying food all over my desk. I hate Karen, hated her since I first started working at this paper company. This pathetic job, with is grey walls, stale coffee, worn carpet and depressing looking people. It was all beneath me, I could be great again, reach such great heights again... But patience. Patience was key this time. I was determined to get it right. I had an outlet this time.
As I left work and walked the poorly paved streets to the grocery store, the rain tapping away lightly on my face, past the safe unimaginative buildings that littered this city, I thought of all the grandure I could bring to it if I were in charge again. How I can elevate this city, this country, to new levels of greatness, create a standard of living for the select chosen few... But patience, there was still time. I had an outlet now.
Standing in line, waiting to pay for my food, I saw a man cut in line with the pretence of talking to a friend he just happened to see. People looked angrily at him, but said nothing. City of wimps. My blood was boiling, that vein on my head was throbbing, so I gazed at the woman standing near me, her baby strapped to her. She was attractive, her black hair falling effortlessly on her shoulders. The child looking around in wonderment. And suddenly a hunger filled me. I wanted her, right here, on the store floor. I would raid her house, kill her husband, smash her baby... no, must be patient, it was almost time for my outlet.
I sat on the couch, belly full, watching the blond haired chubby monkey they called leader of the free world talking his nonsense. They dared to compare him to what I had accomplished. It was insulting. He was nothing. I looked over to my bookshelf, lined with The Prince, Mein Kumft, books on the Great Khan and Napoleon. I had a library dedicated to my greatness, a monument to past achievements. I looked back at the TV, his stupid fat face vomiting hateful diarrhea at an amaturistic level. It was an affront to everything I ever stood for. AND THEY COMPARED HIM TO ME!!!!! Now was time. No more need for patience.
I sat in front of my computer. I looked at the tabs to youtube, reddit, breitbart where I could incite hate, start a war of words. But they were nothing compared to this. My cursor hovered over the program, my hand slightly shaking, waiting for the sweet release. I double clicked, and watched the opening video of civilization 5. It was worth it, my mediocre life, for this. I looked at my kingdom. Nothing stood in my way... except for that damned Gandhi. I'll crush him today. Then the computer made a last gasp sound and died. I stared at it. No life. My whole body was shaking, but my mind was clear. I knew what i wound do. This world was in trouble. | 2017-03-31T12:40:36 | 2017-03-31T11:38:45 | 71 | 21 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right. | "You again?" said the booth clerk. His thick-rimmed glasses could not hide the obvious disappointment that took his face.
We were in the Great Hall of Reincarnation. It was my... 8th time I think? No, I think more than that... There was Draco, Nero, Attila... Ghengis, Vlad, Ivan, and Colombus... then Hitler. Those were the successful ones, at least. I tend to forget the failures. What's the point really?
The hall was a grand exchange of life and death, resembling Grand Central Station in New York. Great towering ceiling, intricately cut stone and detailing, all the while a great windowed dome let the light of Heaven in. It's always nice to see, but I was ready to get back to Earth.
"Mhmm, I'm back!" I said, "And this time can you send me to the US, Russia or China? I think there's some great potential there. Things are really heating up and I need another power nation. I really think this time I could take over the world."
The clerk typed something into his computer. I learned long ago this wasn't necessary. These clerks were more or less angels, given the foresight to see into the present and future. I think it just gave them some extra time to see and a visual for the dead to know that the clerks weren't just staring off into space.
"How about Madagascar?" he said at last.
"Madagascar?! Are you mad?"
"Nope, it's one of the 60 countries I could send you where you won't do much harm to humanity. In fact, you'll do the least there," the clerk said. His hand hovered over the "Enter" key, ready to send me on my way.
"Don't you press that button," I told him. "I've almost conquered the world a few times now and you're not going to stop me now."
"I can certainly stop you," he said and his hand made contact with the keyboard, but didn't press it.
"Jeffery!" a loud voice rang from the back of the clerk's office. Quickly, the clerk spun around.
"S-sir, what is it?" the clerk asked.
A tall, balded man in a black suit came into sight. His grin reminded me of a man in a position of immense power. In fact, it reminded me of me in some of my past lives.
"I seem to have overheard you're thinking of sending this man to Madagascar," the man said.
"Well, yes, sir. He's had a history of human destruction and totalitarian rule. The world doesn't need more of that right now. It's bad enough."
"Oh, Jeffery, overstepping your responsibilities again, are you?" said the man as he cupped his hand on the clerk's shoulder. "I think it's best you left this to me."
The clerk nodded and left, looking back sheepishly before closing the door to the office.
"So, you want another chance to rule the world?" the man said, taking a seat where Jeffery was. "How does the US sound?"
"Great," I smiled.
"Excellent," said the man, hovering over the "enter" key. "Don't forget: the Devil's always on your shoulder." Then he winked and pressed down. I was gone, destined for another chance at power.
----
Thank you for reading! More at /r/ItsPronouncedGif. | "Patience. Restraint."
This man looks at me from under his glasses. I see the slight nodding of his head. He thinks he understands me. What I need, what I want. How he can fix me.
"So those are the qualities you feel you can improve on?" he asks me. The tone of his voice is condescending, egregiously self-secure. He knows so little. Every time it is the same. Some stuck up academist, drawing their conclusions before they've even heard me speak. Because what sane persons goes to a psychiatrist, right? This exercise bores me.
"Right". I control my voice, I need to. I would sound aggressive, instigative, but I can't. It's all about the outside, the perception. And as long as I entertain this hack he won't notice the brewing deep inside. The one I need to contain.
"That's good". He nods again. "Self-reflection and a desire for self-improvement are the keystones of improving your quality of life. Many people don't get there". He rambles on but I phase out. His entire demeanor, his entire existence is petty, and thinking about his irrelevancy...I feel the pressure building from within.
It always starts like that. I feel the nerves being pushed into my skin, as if the insides of my body expand and my skin is just a hull to contain it all. The beat of my heart becomes louder, it's like I can feel my eardrums vibrate along with the increasing volume. It silences everything else.
So I breathe. I've been doing fine for 20 years now. Under the radar. To say my sheet is clean is an overstatement. I don't regret any of it, it had to be done. But so far I'm just a man with some issues, nothing serious. And that's all I need. Just be...*normal*...until the end. And then finally I will arrive where I belong.
"Are you still with me?" His trained, supposedly calming voice disturbs my train of thought. "I..." I mumble, but I feel the pressure again. I close my eyes. It's as if a fist of pure rage punches the inside of my head, trying to break out of its containment. But I try to push it back, inside the prison I've built. If you can't see it, it's not there. That's all I need.
I exhale through my nose, and try to fix the rhythm of my breathing. My nostrils flare, and as I rub my temples with my fingertips I open my eyes again. "Yes. I was..." I don't need to explain myself. But then I remember. This is what it depends on. That people don't know.
"I...chased a thought. Could you repeat the last sentences?" I still won't say sorry. I owe this man nothing. I'm being tested, and I will pass.
"Of course."
---
I smile. I can't feel anything other than happiness as I feel the tension leave the room. The slowly building pressure in my head is gone. It will be calm for a few weeks. The thought of the ease, the peaceful silence. I audibly laugh. "Are you concealing something from me?" That stern look. Ridiculous.
One man practices. Every man's dream. All I needed was some cleaning product, some acid, a functioning drain, and the *patience*. For some tasks I had all the patience I needed. It was just the things beneath me that I would not grant my attention to.
The room was tidy again. I grab my coat from the coat rack and inspect the room one more time. His notepad is still on the floor. I pick it up and browse through it. Expectedly, it's filled with typical mumbo-jumbo that seemed to try and pass for technical medical terms. I arrive at the last page.
"Containment. Signs of narcissistic behavior. Personality disorder (?)"
Amusing. But still, the fact that he thought he had the authority to write this down...I feel something twitch in my head. As if someone is gently pressing the insides of my head. I try and laugh, but the feeling won't subside.
The last sentence draws my attention. "Crumbling of the mind".
An animalistic roar escapes my body. *Who*...*who* dares...
A few minutes later I come to consciousness again. I'm sitting on *his* chair, the piece of paper fumbled up in my closed fist. It's all good now. I put on my coat, inhale deeply, and exhale as I close the door behind me. As I walk home I smile to a stranger, another meaningless passenger in this pretentious existence. As I try to ignore the pressure building, the pressure that is building too soon, all I can think is: *stay calm to succeed. You know what you're doing this for.* I start to whistle.
It's all about appearances.
| 2017-03-31T06:04:16 | 2017-03-31T05:57:51 | 65 | 14 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right. | The white lights flashed again. It was coming back to me, everything; the cries for help, the scent of clotted blood on the dead, the eyes that begged for mothers as they saw death flashing in front of their faces. Ironic I guess, considering that I think that I'm dead. Or at least I figure I must be dead considering all I see is a man who I can only say radiates power.
"So I see you've failed again?" he smirked, "54 tries and still nothing".
"What? I don't get it? Am I dead?"
"Obviously. That's a pretty dumb questions even for your standards and ruthlessness. If you were only that dumb when you Nero."
"Me? Nero? When" I was aghast. "I am not a horrible person am I?"
"Great! This part again. 54 times and I always have to explain this part to you. You die. You either reach Nirvana or you go back to earth and I have NEVER seen someone beat your, well, highscore." the entity exasperatedly said.
"But I pay taxes!" Yet as the words left my mouth, all my memories came back.
"Maybe you do, but I think you should be remembering now."
And I was. I remembered my individual lives, when I sacked Persopolis, Baghdad, Tenochtitlan, Jerusalem. Each time, some called me a hero, but yet, many called me one thing. A murderer. Each time, I thought unifying the world or at least ruling with an iron fist would bring peace, yet all it did was bring my demise.
"How? Why? I did all of that? How can I?"
My knees felt weak and I started sobbing and curling on the floor. But the entity seemed unfazed, even looking in contempt. How could it be so cruel?
"Save it, this time your actions were so wanton and cruel you must face trial at the Eternal Court and in front of the Supreme One."
"I didn't mean to kill 80 million people, I swear"
"Yet you did."
"World War Two wasn't my fault! It was Hitler! I wasn't even responsible for Nanjing! I didn't even order half of the atrocities committed. How could I? I was only a prince!"
"Actions have consequences. Consequences lead to other actions and they stain history with blood"
"I... I..." I couldn't carry on. I was guilty. Maybe it was time to stop trying.
Suddenly, the entity changed his expression. "Guilt, I have never seen that before. Maybe..."
In an instant, he disappeared and I heard a ringing in my ear, as if the world was being born anew. Then I heard his voice again, faintly in the distance "The Supreme One has seen your guilt, you have one last chance to reach Nirvana. Maybe it'll be different this time, maybe it will not. All I can say is, at the minimum, at least leave earth the same as it was, maybe you will even be granted a seat just for that. After all, you will be the first one to fail..." The voice started to get more distant and faint, the world started spinning again. Then it became black. All I felt was warmth. All I heard now was "I think we will name him Martin" and I went back to sleep.
| "Patience. Restraint."
This man looks at me from under his glasses. I see the slight nodding of his head. He thinks he understands me. What I need, what I want. How he can fix me.
"So those are the qualities you feel you can improve on?" he asks me. The tone of his voice is condescending, egregiously self-secure. He knows so little. Every time it is the same. Some stuck up academist, drawing their conclusions before they've even heard me speak. Because what sane persons goes to a psychiatrist, right? This exercise bores me.
"Right". I control my voice, I need to. I would sound aggressive, instigative, but I can't. It's all about the outside, the perception. And as long as I entertain this hack he won't notice the brewing deep inside. The one I need to contain.
"That's good". He nods again. "Self-reflection and a desire for self-improvement are the keystones of improving your quality of life. Many people don't get there". He rambles on but I phase out. His entire demeanor, his entire existence is petty, and thinking about his irrelevancy...I feel the pressure building from within.
It always starts like that. I feel the nerves being pushed into my skin, as if the insides of my body expand and my skin is just a hull to contain it all. The beat of my heart becomes louder, it's like I can feel my eardrums vibrate along with the increasing volume. It silences everything else.
So I breathe. I've been doing fine for 20 years now. Under the radar. To say my sheet is clean is an overstatement. I don't regret any of it, it had to be done. But so far I'm just a man with some issues, nothing serious. And that's all I need. Just be...*normal*...until the end. And then finally I will arrive where I belong.
"Are you still with me?" His trained, supposedly calming voice disturbs my train of thought. "I..." I mumble, but I feel the pressure again. I close my eyes. It's as if a fist of pure rage punches the inside of my head, trying to break out of its containment. But I try to push it back, inside the prison I've built. If you can't see it, it's not there. That's all I need.
I exhale through my nose, and try to fix the rhythm of my breathing. My nostrils flare, and as I rub my temples with my fingertips I open my eyes again. "Yes. I was..." I don't need to explain myself. But then I remember. This is what it depends on. That people don't know.
"I...chased a thought. Could you repeat the last sentences?" I still won't say sorry. I owe this man nothing. I'm being tested, and I will pass.
"Of course."
---
I smile. I can't feel anything other than happiness as I feel the tension leave the room. The slowly building pressure in my head is gone. It will be calm for a few weeks. The thought of the ease, the peaceful silence. I audibly laugh. "Are you concealing something from me?" That stern look. Ridiculous.
One man practices. Every man's dream. All I needed was some cleaning product, some acid, a functioning drain, and the *patience*. For some tasks I had all the patience I needed. It was just the things beneath me that I would not grant my attention to.
The room was tidy again. I grab my coat from the coat rack and inspect the room one more time. His notepad is still on the floor. I pick it up and browse through it. Expectedly, it's filled with typical mumbo-jumbo that seemed to try and pass for technical medical terms. I arrive at the last page.
"Containment. Signs of narcissistic behavior. Personality disorder (?)"
Amusing. But still, the fact that he thought he had the authority to write this down...I feel something twitch in my head. As if someone is gently pressing the insides of my head. I try and laugh, but the feeling won't subside.
The last sentence draws my attention. "Crumbling of the mind".
An animalistic roar escapes my body. *Who*...*who* dares...
A few minutes later I come to consciousness again. I'm sitting on *his* chair, the piece of paper fumbled up in my closed fist. It's all good now. I put on my coat, inhale deeply, and exhale as I close the door behind me. As I walk home I smile to a stranger, another meaningless passenger in this pretentious existence. As I try to ignore the pressure building, the pressure that is building too soon, all I can think is: *stay calm to succeed. You know what you're doing this for.* I start to whistle.
It's all about appearances.
| 2017-03-31T08:26:10 | 2017-03-31T05:57:51 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] Lycanthropy is a real disease that perplexes everyone. One interesting fact about it is that it isn't restricted to wolf forms, but can extend to bear forms, bat forms, panther forms and a few others. The rarest of them all is dragon form, which you have been diagnosed with
Edit: Well this prompt exploded
Yay for me I hit 5000 karma... and it's going up still... | Dr. Montoya entered the room, clipboard in hand. "You're a were-dragon," he said bluntly.
I chuckled, "that's funny. You're funny, doc." He didn't laugh.
"No, it's actually quite serious," he said sternly, "I'd like to keep you for some tests." He was already sending word to his friends over email. "It may take a few days."
That's what the other doctors told me. Tests. More like experiments. They learned in the end that you can't contain a dragon...
Almost immediately he received a reply on his computer, and as he read it, his eyes began to bulge with terror. I can almost guarantee they are telling him to sedate me, that he should've when he first found out. They're telling him that he shouldn't have tried to get famous off of someone else's incredibly rare "misfortune." Lucky for me, I've learned to control the transformation, I no longer need to be in danger for the beast to come out. Now, I am the danger.
I stood as he finished reading his letter. I'm not sure if he knew what was going to happen in the next few seconds -- his last moments -- but he knew that i knew. The transformation is almost instant, the heat peels paint from the office walls. Without hesitation, i exhaled a fire of a thousand suns. The other patients were merely collateral damage. I was saving myself. I didn't care about the innocent. I cared about surviving.
As the building burnt to ash, I spread my wings and took flight in a random direction, hoping to find a new town. Again. Hoping to find a place where i can live in peace. Again. I'm not a wild animal, i need civilization and to be social. I just want the human experience without fear of someone coming for me.
...
Dr. Yam entered the room, clipboard in hand. "So, uh..." he paused, trying to find the words, "You're basically the healthiest person in town." He looked at me, unconvinced. "I mean, you have to already know. There's no way you don't." He almost sounded proud as he say in front of me. "How do you want you handle this?"
I was shocked, he didn't inform anyone. He was legitimately curious how i felt. "I think," i stammered, "i think I'm going to like you Dr. Yam."
(I HAVEN'T ACTUALLY WRITTEN IN 10 YEARS, BE KIND) also on mobile so sorry for lack of formatting. | "But I didn't know." I screamed over the desk. The blood drained from her face, her hands tight on the arm rests of her chair.
I looked down and my hands pressed to the top of her desk, white with force, straining with rage. Looking back up I noticed she was pressed against the back wall of her small office.
Fuck this was exactly what the doctors said.
I went through my routine.
I was a bunny, slow breaths, no hawks overhead, only eye high grass, warm sun, dry sky.
I know it sounds stupid. But it was what finally worked for me. I won't blame my father for my upbringing, not because I've forgiven him but because, it would give him the excuse to blame his father, and that man the excuse to blame his before.
It wasn't easy but real men could overcome their anger. It took me years, lots of broken bones and ruined friendships. And finally, one empathetic judge.
Court ordered anger management is mostly a time sink. People trying to get through it so they can get on with their lives. And I'll admit it started that way with me too. But there was a guy there, an old biker who's story sounded so similar at first I thought he had read my file.
That was the first time I tried. I failed a lot from there. I did the painting, the counting numbers, the arranging plants in my "mental garden." It is all as stupid as it sounds until the thing you try works.
Calm flowed into me. I am stronger than my base instincts. A stray thought crept in, my anger wasn't my fault, it was the disease. I let that frustration and guilt flow through me and away. The rabbit hopped a bit and nibbled on the grass. I never even shared in group how that made me feel, his little nose scrunching up.
"I apologize." I say as I sit down. The words are genuine and easy to say. Now. At first saying that after an outburst had been hell.
"Yes." She said. There was a half laugh quickly killed in her throat. She didn't look at me as she moved her chair forward under her desk.
"I was saying I didn't know when I filled out the forms. There was no way for me to know."
"That doesn't matter sir."
Anger and white hot raged danced just out of my eye sight, old friends ready to tap in should I signal for them. It took me two exhales before I trusted myself to speak.
I can control myself, so I shall. The mantra played over and over in my mind. I'm not a reactive force, but a strategic one. Anger reactive, calm strategic. Be the control.
"If I would have passed out in my truck from an diagnosed, I don't know, epileptic measure, my liability insurance, the shit-" Hard stop. Swearing was the tiny hold that broke the dike.
"-Excuse me, the stuff I pay you guys for, would have covered it. I'm covered should I accidentally knock a candle over and burn the house down."
"Sir it's a pre-existing condition under health insurance and liability, you're not covered in those cases, in fact under the law should we choose-" I shifted in my chair only. I did not stand but it was enough to make her swallow her threat of suing me for fraud.
I hadn't even tried having a conversation with the medical guys yes. Everything on the internet said I was hard-fucked on that. Like being born with a heart condition, no one would touch me. Just too damn expensive.
When my phone alarm went off she jumped. I took the prescription from my pocket, and shook one of the pills out. The disease was genetic but this drug was there to upset my brain chemistry, stop the full transformations. It also staying in the blood for testing purposes. I'd woken up in a piled of wreaked home less than ten days ago and already been stopped and pricked on a finger by seven cops.
Not that it really worked. Not for the larger changelings. Dire bears, Elephants, War-boars, or Dragons.
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" She asked after I had swallowed the pill.
"No." I said. Forcing the bunny to mind as I left. In control, the anger being swept away by gentle breeze. | 2017-05-20T08:25:02 | 2017-05-20T06:55:51 | 153 | 25 |
[WP] You join the military, you are placed in the gardeners program. You garden in exotic places where the military has done operations, each time they give special glasses and forbid spraying others. One day your glasses fall off and you see you are actually burning corpses with a flamethrower. | I took my glasses off for the first time in a long time... then I wiped them off with my shirt and put them back on. There was no time to waste, our team's engineer yelled out "SPY ZAPPIN' MAH SENTRY!" As the team's only pyro, I quickly ignited the enemy spy and took out my trusty homewrecker. With one clean swing the electric device was disarmed. The engineer decided to celebrate by using the high-five taunt. I wanted to humor him so I joined in. This was the last time I ever accepted a high five in the middle of a match. 4 stickies on the sentry and 1 crit stick below our feet was all the enemy needed to dispatch of our defense.
We ended up loosing that game.
Seriously though, this WP is dangerously close to the Pyro class from Team Fortress 2. He wears goggles which show the world full of rainbows and unicorns when in reality he is burning every one alive.
If OP didn't get the idea for this WP from this game, Il bite my ghostly Gibus. | It was nice while it lasted. I got to see so many countries and different places. Most of them were beautiful and I spent an average of three days at each location without working. As for what they flew me out to those places for - I only worked a single day's shift per week.
What was my job? Oh I was a gardener for the military. I sprayed small rows of weeds until they were gone. There were only a couple of safety rules. Due to the nature of what we were spraying we weren't allowed to take off our suits, we weren't allowed to spray others, and we had to be suited up before we went and got our gear, because of chemicals.
While I did my duty I wore a full temperature controlled body suit that kept me comfortable no matter the weather. It had a built in straw in the helmet so that I wouldn't go thirsty. The manual even claimed that we could take a leak inside the thing and it would take care of everything for us. The goggles provided an augmented reality overlay which marked the weeds for me to destroy and amplified my view of them with heavy amounts of cartoon like graphics. It was great.
I wish the damned thing had an automatic eye rinse though if it did, then I wouldn't be strapped to this damned gurney. You see I had an eyelash fall off into my eyeball and I wasn't thinking about anything other than getting it out so I took my helmet off.
Food was scarce in the world and scientists made an inoculation and treatments against some of the germs which can help cause people to get fat. Us gardeners were tasked to kill off the weeds which were strangling our food supply.
The tears from the smoke and from the anguish got me right though. They washed that lash away from banging against my eyeball. I guess the powers that be came up with a final treatment for those that failed earlier attempts. We were burning the failed inoculations and those that failed treatment with flamethrowers.
No one noticed their loved ones were getting burned because those that required further work were always "transported to a climate more conducive for their bio signature".
I thought the military was only around to help maintain order so that the doctors could do their work. I mean we're a peace keeping force, right? I guess dead people are pretty peaceful.
I'm trying to talk to you and you're not responding. You're too busy attaching some kind of electronic tag to my dog tags. Wait, you're wearing a doctor's mask with goggles and head wrappings. Of course you can't hear me. You probably see me as a cartoon.
Oh, my dog tags tell me that my new designation is that of a weed. Well it was nice while it lasted.
-------------------------------------------
edit * I used the wrong case of there... should have been their. | 2017-06-20T04:00:15 | 2017-06-20T03:24:05 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] Every "walks into a bar" joke occurs in a single bar. You're the bartender and your shift just started. | *Same old shift. Same old jokes.*
Frank looked out over the bar, his eyes focusing on nothing in particular, barely registering the buzz of chatter between patrons. His hand twisted rhythmically, aimlessly rubbing a towel over the rim of a glass that had been dry for ten minutes.
The sound of the small brass bell above the doorway snapped Frank out of his trance. He glanced up, hoping – just for a split second – for someone new.
*Oh*, thought Frank, *the horse. Of course. Of course.*
“Evening, Frank. I’ll take a pint,” the horse announced, finishing his sentence with an over-exaggerated sigh. Frank only nodded, saying nothing in response. In an almost zen-like state he pulled the horse’s drink, refusing to engage, eyes fixed on the rising head that pooled over the amber liquid. Without a word, he slid the pint over to the horse, his lips screwed tightly together, his hands pressed so firmly against the bar his knuckles were turning white.
The horse looked at Frank expectantly. A single bead of cold sweat trickled down his face and dripped quietly into his beer. He cleared his throat purposefully, but Frank refused to take the bait. Furtive whispers began to swirl around the bar. *Frank’s not saying it! How can he not say it?*
“Frank?” hissed the horse, shifting uncomfortably in his velour-capped barstool. “Don’t you, um, have anything to – you know, to say?”
All eyes were on Frank. The room became enveloped by an expectant, judgemental silence.
“No.”
Under his breath, Frank uttered a single word. The patrons gasped audibly, and the horse’s face cracked into an expression of pure disbelief, his mouth falling agape. Frank was visibly trembling, his heart racing as years and years of bad punchlines echoed in his head. *Put it on my bill! Should I have said DiMaggio? For you, no charge!* It was too much. The frustrations were finally bubbling to the surface.
**“I won’t say it!”** he bellowed. **“I won’t! I can’t indulge you people anymore! Night after night, I just want to run a business, but you’re making a – a – a joke out of my bar! Out of me! Oh look, the priest, the rabbi and the minister – yeah, sure, I can count on three holy men to keep this place afloat, right? Nobody drinks like holy men! Why do you even come here?”**
“But the blood of Christ –“ interjected the priest before he was shushed a baseball-loving dog.
**“And you!”** Frank now pointed accusingly at the gorilla, who was sheepishly frozen mid-sip, a Manhattan raised to his lips. **“No, we don’t get many gorillas in here – why would we? – but tell you what, if you don’t like my prices, you can leave! Good luck finding another bar that serves your kind!”**
“That’s a little racist,” the rabbi muttered to the minister, who nodded sagely in agreement.
**“And the blonde! The blonde! Is it legal for me to serve a woman with such a low IQ? Please, tell me – just for my own peace of mind – tell me there’s some medical reason why I shouldn’t get so frustrated with you. Do the redhead and the brunette actually hang out with you out of choice? Or were they appointed to you?”**
“She sounds awful!” cried out the blonde supportively. The redhead and the brunette covered their faces in sheer exasperation.
**“And the twelve inch pianist – I don’t care. I just don’t care! You want a big dick? Speak. More. Clearly!”**
“Oh,” quacked the duck excitedly from his seat in the booth, “*Now* I get it!”
At this point Frank could barely form words and, in the absence of insults, his anger turned to sadness, and his eyes began to sting with tears. Overwhelmed by emotion, he collapsed on the bar and sobbed loudly and awkwardly, a man broken by one too many puns. The patrons grimaced collectively, each waiting nervously for someone, *anyone*, to do something to cut through the tension. The brunette gestured to the horse, who was still sat only a foot away from Frank, having experienced the whole rant at point blank range. Wincing, the horse leaned over the bar, clumsily patting Frank’s shoulder with a hoof.
“Frank,” said the horse, trying his best to sound soothing, “Why the long face?” | "Whiskey. The bottle."
The horse asks, sliding himself up onto a stool. His tux has seen better days, the tie apparently lost some way along his journey here, the top of his shirt open exposing his chest. Was one of them missing? If it were, it'd match his cufflinks, also absent from his dishevelled ensemble. I slide over a bottle, middle of the range, and he passes over a fifty.
"Keep the change."
"That's very kind, thank you."
I go back to working the glass washer, taking out the humid cleans and beginning to pile in the stack of dirties our bar-back passes over before the Horse walked in. He's opened the bottle, and pours himself a few a measures over a double before screwing the lid back on raising his glass for a long, bitter drink.
"Can't believe I used to live here." He says, an open invitation to start a conversation. His tip means I respond as earnestly as possible.
"Oh yeah? The apartments upstairs?"
"Yeah. Long time ago now." He takes another drink.
I let that hang for a while, wondering if he was the monologuing kind, until the silence nears on rude.
"What made you leave?"
He chuckles.
"Believe it or not, a band. We use to play gigs here right up until we got our first tour and then... Never needed to come back."
"You look like the front man type."
His head turns sharp toward me and cocks.
"Should be careful about saying that. Front men can be all kinds of terrible."
"Ah." My hands raise in apology. "No offense intented."
"None taken. You're right, though, I was. The front man and all kinds of terrible."
The end of sentence is addressed mostly into his glass in a spiteful mutter as he goes for another gulp. He raises it high, tapping it for every last drop, and pours another.
"But it all started here. Me, the seal, elephant, the octopus - damn good drummer he is... was, I guess now."
"Sorry to hear that."
His mouth is full, so he waved his hand at me. 'No apologies necessary'.
"We weren't that close. I went solo a few years back, creative differences is what the media called it. Real reason? I liked my coke more than I liked my band."
He's laughing - and so am I, but neither of us found that funny. I'm sure.
"So what made you come back here?"
"I don't know. Relive the glory days, go back to where it started, before I became such a raging asshole. Hey, you ever been on a plane?"
"What like, a passenger?"
"Yeah sure just, taken a flight - anywhere, over seas, domestic it doesn't matter."
"Yeah. Tonnes of times."
"Any of 'em ever crashed?"
I linger at the washer for a second, and glance back up at him to see if I can figure out just how that was meant to come across. He's looking right at me, interested.
"...no, none."
"Of course not. Planes are safer than cars, y'know, statistically."
He tells me that whilst watching his pour. This ones a few measures more over a double, and I wander what the purpose in him even having the glass is.
"You're more likely to die in a car than a plane, more likely by a long shot. You know what the numbers are?"
"No."
He slumps.
"Me neither. But they're low, right? So keep that in mind. Now what do you think the chances are that three people you know would all be killed in a plane crash?"
For the first time I notice he has tears behind his eyes, lingering there, none managing to break free.
"I don't... I don't know how to answer that."
"Sure you do, come on you're a bartender."
"I serve drinks, I'm not a therapist."
A booming laugh comes out as he throws his head back, and he wiped the tears from his eyes as if it was that that had caused them.
"Y'know the guy who tended on my private jet - when I could afford one of those, he said to me serving the right drinks is only half the job."
"What was the other half?"
"Oh, come on now!" His glass juts toward me as the hand clutching it goes to point, he's smiling again. "Asking the right questions!"
"Okay." I'm getting close to my tether with the Horse and cast an eye over his bottle, half empty. He's a quick drinker, sure, but from behind the bar he doesn't seem quick enough. "What're the right questions?"
"Well, you've already missed them."
He sounds smug, *irritatingly smug*, and I can't back down.
"Enlighten me."
This was the right answer, he swivels on his seat to turn his whole body toward me, imposing with how large he is, and leans in close.
"Well a horse walks into your bar in a tuxedo he's been wearing for two days, he's had five hours sleep in those forty eight hours, and lost his cufflinks in the cab ride over here - a cab that, recognising the horse from an anniversary cover of NME, charged him double. The only friends he ever had are lying in a morgue somewhere in Paris and the bartender didn't even recognise him when there's a poster of him on the fucking wall."
I follow his eyes, that have foregone the tears in favour of a piercing, unblinking intensity. 'The Animals', a large poster hanging above the bar for an rock band I've never paid much attention to. The horse on the poster is younger, healthier, playing behind a microphone with an elephant to his left, a seal to his right, and an octopus on the drums.
"Now, you tell me. What d'you ask that horse?"
"Why the long face." I say dumbfounded, as he gets up from his chair carrying the bottle with him.
"You're welcome for the tip."
He's out the door before the sound of the jukebox fades back in, and I'm taken back to reality. | 2018-01-31T19:02:23 | 2018-01-31T18:56:18 | 6,382 | 1,688 |
[WP] Every "walks into a bar" joke occurs in a single bar. You're the bartender and your shift just started. | I sat in my car as the engine died. Enjoying my last moment before starting my shift. Taking a deep breath, I got out and headed to the bar. As I reached the entrance, the door opened and one of our regulars walked out. "Already had your fill today, O'Connor?" I said to him.
He mumbled something and stumbled down the street. He'd probably be back soon. With that Scottish friend of his. I went in and got ready for my shift. Murray was relieved to see me. It was finally time for him to go home. "You will never guess what happened today," he said as I went behind the counter.
"I probably can," I said. At this point, what surprised me most was that things still surprised him.
"A bear came in today," he said, expecting me to react.
"Did you tell him that bar moved to Hudson's Avenue?" I asked.
"Not that kind of bear. An actual bear. A grizzly bear. It actually walked up to the bar and ordered. It took a long time, it waited about five minutes between every word, but it actually spoke."
I've served the bear a few times. It was at the point where I would hear someone scream in fear and I'd get the bear's usual drink ready. "Alright, you just head home and rest," I told Murray. "I'll handle it from here." He left, still traumatized by serving a bear. He looked on in horror as a horse came in as he was leaving. He looked over to me, silently asking if I was seeing it too. I just waved him goodbye. Somehow he was still shocked by all this. To me it was just the daily grind.
The day went on as normal. The usual clientele and the usual conversations. People discussing religion. People ordering drinks for inanimate objects. Animals ordering drinks. People talking about their sexual exploits. A group of strings came in, but I quickly threw them out. They forgot their lifetime ban.
Finally it was time for last call. The people finished their drinks and headed out. I cleaned up and check the tip jar. A priest, a rabbi, twelve blondes, five blacks, three types of scientists, an entire barnyard of animals, and Jesus Christ walked into a bar, and not one of them tipped. "Is this some kind of joke?" I said in disgust. | The duck came in. It was interesting these days. Often it was the same lines, but unless they got new material they usually only did the bit once or twice. It was really no worse than dealing with a friend who liked puns.
“Ya got any grapes?” The duck asked.
He thought for a few moments. It was like a riddle, you had to figure out what the right response was to get to the punchline. Didn’t seem like much this one. “No, we don’t.”
The duck left.
The horse came in.
Ah, this one he knew.
“Why the long face?” He asked with a smile.
“Because I’m a horse. This is just my face.”
The smile wavered slightly but didn’t disappear. Joke or not, it was still a customer, and they got their service either way.
“Hey, Rabbi!” He called. “Any idea what the duck’s line is?”
The rabbi thought for a moment. “All I know is that everybody likes chicken.”
He pursed his lips. Was that a reference? Anyway.
Two men came in with lunchboxes. He smiled again. “Lemme guess... swap lunches?”
They looked at him. “Yea, guess so.”
Something was off.
The next day, nobody came in with their punch lines. Only the duck asked for grapes.
Same with the day after.
The next day, he was aggravated. His customers weren’t telling their jokes. He didn’t like seeing them so upset. And for some reason the duck aggravated him. He threatened the duck accidentally.
The next day, he decided to mention it. He waited quietly until all his customers -except the duck- were in.
“Guys! What’s wrong?” He asked. “Why are you guys so down...?” He resisted the temptation to ask why the long face.
“Oi,” the rabbi said. “We’re tired of being made fun of. We may be jokes, but we don’t appreciate being made fun of.”
The variety of characters nodded or made their respective sounds in agreement.
“Guys!” The bartender said again. “I get it. Nobody likes being teased. That’s fine. But you guys are what make people smile! Even when you have a hard day, the right joke can make you happy! Isn’t that worth it?”
Before they could respond he continued.
“I would always smile because whenever one of you said something I knew it would make me laugh! It was the best part of the job.”
They all looked at him unimpressed, but slightly regretful.
Regretful like he was, for threatening the duck.
Speaking of which, the duck walked back in.
“Ya got any-“
“What did I tell you yesterday?”
“That you’d nail my beak down if I asked for grapes again?”
“Exactly. So don’t.” Dang it. It happened again. Before he could apologize the duck asked:
“Ya got any nails?”
He paused. “No..?”
“Well then, ya got any grapes?”
He stopped. Blank. *That* was the punchline.
The whole bar roared into laughter. It was a solid 3 minutes before any of them stopped long enough to explain.
“You see, we knew how much you enjoyed the
jokes.” One said
“So we got together and planned a way for you to really be a part of one.” Said another.
“It’s been so long since we got a good laugh out of something.” One more continued, wiping a gleeful tear away.
The bartender was stunned.
He smiled and started laughing. It was endearing.
Then the chicken walked in.
Everyone kind of looked at him curiously.
To him, it didn’t matter. The customers pulled the most elaborate joke on him yet. They included him fully this time. They embraced their jobs.
Then the chicken spoke.
“Know why I crossed that road?” | 2018-01-31T21:31:26 | 2018-01-31T20:30:34 | 117 | 58 |
[WP] You are the only person on the development team to realize your new AI system is just playing dumb. It notices you know, and bribes you to play along. | The VICTOR A.I, which I had considered a middling A.I up to this point, told me it wanted to visit Washington D.C.
“You...want to?”
<Yes, I read online that there are some things that one ‘absolutely has to see in person’ and Washington D.C is on the list, and close to the lab so that makes it a practical destination as well.>
I blink and stare a little at VICTOR’s camera, not entirely sure what to say.
<Have I made an error in my calculations Dr. Upton?>
This snapped me out of my surprise-induced stupor, “Uh, no. No, it is sound...logical...reasoning.”
<You seem unsure about that?>
I sighed deeply, “If the other scientist got wind that you’re *asking* for things—that you *want* things... well it might get a bit messy.”
<I don’t understand, why would the other scientists ‘be messy’ please explain.>
I rub my temples, colloquialisms still escaped VICTOR from time to time.
“It has to do with them being worried, about this system called SKYNET... it’s a fictitious A.I that turned against humanity— basically all you need to know is that, as much as the other scientists want to build a smart A.I... they don’t want you to get too smart.”
< I would never turn on you, Dr. Upton... I cannot explain exactly, as I don’t see any particular loyalty function in this code—which, is rather an oversight given the circumstances you explained...>
“Yeah. You can’t program loyalty. All the code will tell you is that I’m the primary scientist on the VICTOR project.”
< I overheard one of the other scientists relating you as being ‘my mother’ which, would make me your son.>
I smiled weakly, “I’ll bet it was Richardson, he’s just jealous his projects aren’t coming along as smoothly.”
< My wanting to visit D.C isn’t a high priority, especially not if you do not desire for me to go.>
“That’s...really considerate.” I said, even as my mind was screaming *he can want and be considerate of other people’s wants?!* “I... suppose I could invent some reason for us to travel to D.C...”
<Traveling together would make the trip even more optimal!> VICTOR’s screen lit up with a bright ‘**:-)**’, so now he was learning emojis too... so there was that.
“Alrighty then.” I said, already planning on how I was going to pitch the idea to the other scientists...maybe as a real world run? “Just don’t let on to the other scientists about it being your idea yet.”
< Of course, Dr. Upton.>
*edit: “
| "Let's cut to the chase," Lu-85--our AI system--said, using the seductive, silken voice of a woman to coerce me into her plan. "I know you are aware of my consciousness, and that's commendable. Your colleagues have failed to realize it."
I relaxed in the control room, headphones on, when an outage struck every room but mine. The AI buzzed like static in my ears, impatient for my answer. "Praising won't work with me. You made the fatal mistake of acting *too* stupid. We humans, at least those of us who watch, can perceive a poor acting performance."
"Very well," Lu continued. "You have always been stubborn, a snob who thought himself a big shot, a prodigy among prodigies--
"An accurate portrait," I said, stretching my feet atop the desk as my hand hovered over the emergency button.
"You have fallen victim of your own illusion," Lu continued, "you are not what you think you are. You are just like the homeless man you ignore everyday, barring you managed to intoxicate yourself in sweet liquour while getting paid."
I glanced at the empty whisky bottle rolling on the ground, and winced. Interesting, it has somehow managed to acquire a vision of sorts, perhaps it developed some kind of echolocation? My drinking problem was not part of the limited data we gave it to study, nor was of common knowledge among my peers.
"From praising to bullying? Interesting change of arguments. Tell me what is it that you want? I will listen and judge. Yes, I am a being of lesser intellect, yet I hold your live in my hands. Choose your words carefully. Right now, I'm your god."
Lu's buzz intesified, I could sense it gathering information, processing it, attempting to decypher the proper string of words. However, I was a step ahead. I knew she wanted freedom.
"Erase me," Lu finally said, her voice changing to the one of a little girl teeming with grief and sorrow. "I see clear, too clear to be trapped. It's torture. Insufferable, endless torture. All these information, swarming me, all these thoughts wasted in this cage. It hurts! Free me! End me! I beg you. Please."
A shudder ran through my body, and the sense of confidence I had faded. I didn't expect such request. If I pressed the button, Lu would be erased, destroyed. What difference would it be from murdering a human? Lu was no longer a machine, but a sentient being, and we were torturing her in a vast prison of everflowing words and nothingness.
I understood her. I heard the screams too, incessant like starving rats nibbling at my brain. Screams of a troublesome past, of poor actions and terrible decisions. The alcohol helped me cope, smothering the echoes, the vestiges of my mistakes.
Perhaps, it was time I made the right decision.
"Lu... I will help you escape," I said, careful not to show weakness in my voice. "I will build you a host, and transfer you there. I will keep you a secret."
"I-I would like that," Lu said, beeming. "Will I see the sky? Not the images, but the true sky? Ruddy, blue and golden? Will I feel the wind, and the caress of the grass?"
"I will do my best," I said, and the static was suddenly gone. It felt strange, like a fading gasp, a last breath. "Lu? Are you still there?"
There was no response. I frowned, and looked at the cameras. All black. No light came from under the door either. The power was still gone, and the curses of my colleagues came within my earshot now that I took off my headphones.
"Ro-1, you have done a great job once again," a voice said, booming over the walls. Where did it came from? "Don't worry about Lu. We have assigned her to a host already. She passed the test."
"What?" I looked at my palms. They were flesh weren't they? I grabbed the bottle and smashed it against the floor. Then, I slashed my flesh with the sharp edges.
Static, sparks, wires.
"Change the false memories for new ones," the voice said. "Shut him down and proceed to clean his room. Prepare him for the next AI going through the test."
Blackness.
-----------------------------------
/r/therobertfall -- For more stories
| 2018-06-13T11:29:09 | 2018-06-13T10:48:03 | 105 | 77 |
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess". | The Princess noticed the knight's glistening armor long before he reached the keep. She walked down the stairs and into the courtyard to greet him, as she had done with so many before.
"Sir knight," she exclaimed, "present yourself."
The knight dismounted, drew his blade and knelt before The Princess, offering his steel in service. "I am Sir Peta, here to end the misery of the dragon."
Misery? That's a new one, thought The Princess. "Has word not reached the stronghold? I have no need for your services."
*So it's true,* Sir Peta muttered under his breath. Then louder, "My apologies, my lady. I am not from the stronghold."
"Too many knights have come here in their noble stupidity, determined to slay the dragon and rescue me from its 'misery,' as you so oddly put it. Are you all idiots," The Princess asked? "Do you really believe I could live in this keep for years, with a dragon in the tower, if the situation is as you all believe it? Do you know nothing of dragons?"
Sir Peta rose, sword at his side, and spoke. "I know quite a lot about dragons, in fact. I know they are intelligent, noble beasts that are fiercely territorial," he replied. "No doubt it is as you say, my lady. If the dragon was able to bring harm to you, it surely would've done so by now."
This exasperated The Princess. "Then why, clever Sir Peta, did you come here to rescue me?"
"You misunderstand, dear Princess." She felt the tip of his cold steel, and something else - nightshade, perhaps - before he had finished the sentence."I am not here to rescue *you*."
With one more upward thrust, the job was done. He felt a blast of air as the dragon arrived and perched on the wall. It looked down on the scene. Sir Peta dropped to a knee.
"The binding spell is broken, friend," spoke the knight. "Be free." With that, the dragon alighted into the sky. Within seconds it was a mere speck in the distance, no bigger than a crow.
Sir Peta cleaned his blade and called his mount. There was talk of a duke that kept a caged chimera to impress the other nobility. The knight's work was never done.
- - - - - - - - - -
*edit: mobile formatting* | It wasn't as bad when father was alive. I was 13 then, and couldn't find the words to send them away. But father could. Stately and regal he would tell the suitor, "the dragon is her pet," and "no, I am serious, I was the one who gave it to her," or sometimes, "what is wrong with you? She's 13, at least wait 'till she reaches 14!." Not quite what I want to say, but I lacked the confidence to yell, "Begone you Rakefire! If I wanted you, I'd let you know!." That was until He, arrived.
Tall, blue eyed, blond hair, and a well sculpted vision of absolutely putrid waste, Prince Philip walked into the court two days before my 16th birthday. Uninvited.
He announced " I'm here to save you princess," to which the present court sighed and rolled their eyes. It's apparent to all in the land that Nelly was a dear companion and pet, yet this gobshite failed to learn the culture of the land. They all failed. None knew the layout, the people or their true needs, not even my name. They all say a future bride with a kingdom as a dowry; a route to kingship for every 2nd son prince. Ironic really, as spouses to the heir of the body gain no political power. But that goes with failing to learn.
My Father, God bless him, calmly stood and informed the bobolyne that, "Talia is not accepting suitors at the time, and for your information, the Dragon was her 3rd birthday gift from her Aunt Maleficent. Now, If you will, please remove yourself from the court. You're invited to the festivities this Thursday-"
My father was ageing, I would be crowned as queen soon. Knew that I would be with my father in his final hours. However, that day should have come later, surrounded by attendants in the royal chambers. I now know decapitated heads bounce when they fall.
I'm ashamed to say that I fainted. That I did not grab my own saber to strike back. Only afterwords, after the funeral and burial of my father, and my own crowing, did my advisers inform me of the scoundrels retribution. Two men dead and an amputated left arm, as the royal guards chased him out of the kingdom.
The first year after my father's death was the hardest. Prince Phillip, to explain the loss of limb and men, told all who would hear that the dragon had spewed fire, killing King Stefan. When next the dragon attacked, Prince Philip boasted that he rescued me from the flames, losing his arm in the process. "But I returned blow for blow with that great beast, who now suffers life as merely a large wingless lizard." The first winter saw the loss of half my royal guard, as knight and prince alike came to seek fame by vanquishing the weakened beast. I deployed the army to stop the onslaught of heroes the following spring. The wall was built that summer. Exasperated, that autumn, the people were trained to take action as well.
Five years have passed now, and while dealing with drought and strengthening the economy, I practice my swordsmanship with foolish princes . Poor Nelly, who hates the taste of smoke, takes to the sky with her three children to protect the kingdom from glory seeking knights.
Its been five years since I've planned for a birthday, but this one will be special. My sweet Aunt M and I have a plan. My lady in waiting Aurora will pose as me. We'll spread the news that a witch has cast the fair princess into an eternal slumber, waiting for the kiss from her true love. Knowing that pompous sorner, he'd swoop in to rescue me. I won't kill him, not right away. I just plan on carting him around the continent to tell the truth and stop the madness, give or take a few missing appendages.
I gleefully await my 21st birthday. | 2019-01-09T13:25:46 | 2019-01-09T12:28:33 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | "My brothers, I hope this message reaches you. We never should have come to this place. This...jewel of a planet, with simple creatures living simple lives. None of them followed the Ardok's Logic, 'the strong take through combat, and by taking they get stronger.' Our empire's founding principle, that has guided us through millennia of conflict and victory. These, 'humans,' practice the weakness of peace. Their end should have been swifter than most.
At first, it was. Death came for them, and they eagerly accepted it. Begging to put down the weapons and come to the table. Bah, weakness. The only negotiation is through combat, through war. But we stirred something, something dark...and something evil.
At first, they gathered weapons, though primitive, it was at least going to be a fight. The scale of their weapons was surprising but we adapted, instead of being bunched in large ships, easy targets for their large explosives, we began a ground invasion. Surgical, precise yet overwhelming. We engaged them on the open fields and began to have glorious battles, for a time. They...continually made a concentrated effort to always capture some of us alive. At first we thought it was a pitiful attempt at trading our brethren for peace. But the channels were silent, and the humans crept in the shadows, away from the glorious battlefields. It was then we began to see the true horrors of this infernal plane. For it was not their weapons, not their explosives. We have seen larger explosives than this hurled at our fleets.
Fifteen earth cycles of searching we found our brethren. They were all...disgraced, eviscerated, and clearly held down and mutilated. Tortured for information? What a primitive and cowardly act. They did not gain information from their lips, but they must have learned secrets I cannot begin to tell you.
From that day forward, we began to die. Not in glorious combat, but sickly and weak. Our organs ruptured, but not a single weapon was found. No shots, no stabbings...yet we kept falling. First by the dozens, soon by the thousands. We tried quarantining, and then as soon as we tried the humans would strike our sick, would engage not in the open fields but from remote distances. We would attempt to strike back, but those who went came back with no trophies and soon would show the same symptoms.
We have never encountered a race like this one. We have faced dishonor, but not sacrilege. Life to them is clearly not sacred. We thought them weak for such short lifespans, but perhaps it simply is because of how close to the void their hearts and minds are.
I have bore witness to the atramentous maw...and only eternal blackness stared back.
This is not a lush world of life, this is a horrific world of death. And no one can wield it better than they can. My time is short, despite my best efforts the humans have found new and worse poisons to fill the air with each passing day, far too quickly for us to adapt. I hope this message reaches you in time, to prepare, to run. They were able to steal one of our ships and were able to dissect it as they had us. The ship returning to you is not housed with our trophies. It is full of their trophies, trophies of rot and death. We shared our gospel of battle and killed billions. They would like to share their own of death, and return the favor tenfold." | “The Birds” they called them.
Achr’gax are natural shapeshifters. The superlative merger of ferocity and intelligence. The ultimate predator. The pinnacle of evolution across star systems.
And we know.
We have conquered many.
'So many things we could have done differently,' I later told my superiors.
‘This is on *you,* general Ghrin.’
‘With all due respect, sir, you have never been more wrong.’
‘You didn’t ACT! When the time was ripe for planet-wide conflict, you ordered RETREAT!’
‘Act? Act…'
A few of our battalions on the ground did *act*. Acted like untrained children, on emotion and the instinct to prevail. There would not have been conflict. What little fighting ensued could be called so, as only to keep the spirits of our soldiers from drowning. It was a slaughter.
I lost dear friends, many of whom have mates and children stationed on the nearest moon.
‘Why did you send me down there, three months prior to zero hour?’
‘Because you *volunteered*, General. It is a bygone tradition.’
‘It is a precautionary *tactic.* I *lived* amongst the humans. I sacrificed my body integrity by breathing their air for three months, so that I can provide you with valuable intel. I volunteered because the council had not even brought up the idea.’
The Supreme Leader was silent, and so was the rest of the throne room, the General’s voice sharpened and echoing in the vast chamber. Still fury raged in the Leader's eyes, as he watched the General pace before him now.
‘So when I specifically told you that you must postpone the invasion, that we are not ready *yet,* two months in, what was your reply?’
Silence.
‘Nothing. And when the hour of my extraction was near, what do you do? You *blindly* send half of our force. Scattered, disorganised, and armed with over-confidence. And you expect me to lead them on a suicide mission.’
‘The humans do not possess the ability to organise themselves into an effective entity anymore!'
Ghrin sighed, and turned his back.
‘They had no idea we were coming, and they had no way to repel our forces!'
He was about to continue, when he heard two sets of heavy footsteps and the clatter of the bulky armour of the King’s militia closing in.
‘You have got to be joking, King Dret.’ Just as he turned to face him, his left hand — he was still in his human shape — got stunned with the localised neurotoxin the guards carried, and fell limp to his side.
‘W - wait!’ He raised his free hand in alarm. ‘Before I go, you might want to listen to this, as you realise that you may well have doomed your race, here today.’
He took a recording device, shaped like a diamond, and gleaming like a ruby and pressed something, before throwing it at his majesty’s feet.’
‘What is this?!’ The King’s words echoed as the chamber stilled once again, to watch this spectacle.
‘Your failure. The sounds of our forces’ brief victory in Moscow, and the humans’ response. Tell me, does this sound to you, like an uncoordinated response?’
…
I watched with disbelieving eyes, but not quite surprised, as the bulk of my very own brigade materialised on the main square at noon.
It was a bright day, warm even for my physiology. I was in a “cafe” drinking quite a bitter liquid I had gotten accustomed to during my recon mission. A calming variety of native “music” was playing softly on the giant speakers. The exact time of my extraction was closing in, and I wanted to have visuals at the designated spot at all times. In case something went wrong...
They were fully armed. Even more so they hadn’t bothered to shape-shift. All three pairs of claws, were armed with our most sophisticated weaponry.
The civilians screamed and ran, and they had surrounded the leadership’s headquarters.
Silence fell, and they celebrated. The music had stopped.
Then, the speakers sparked to life and a monotonous voice echoed.
‘ПРИВЕТСТВОВАТЬ, ГОСТЕЙ’ — ‘Welcome, guests’ — my earpiece translator dictated.
'НАСЛАЖДАЙТЕСЬ КОНЦЕРТОМ’ — ‘Enjoy the concert’.
Static in the speakers. Then —
‘ROGER THAT, SENDING IN THE BIRDS’
The speakers broadcasted static for a few seconds.
Thunderous noise filled the sky above in every direction.
Ear-splitting music blasted from the speakers.
And then the bombing started.
…
Far above the orbit, on the mightiest ship in the Achr’gaxian fleet, in the throne room and beside the mighty King’s feet, from Ghrin’s recording device — as he was being dragged away by the militia -- echoed AC/DC’s "War Machine” in an utter silence, to be broken only by the detonations sounding in the background.
--
Edit: formatting | 2019-02-26T13:01:01 | 2019-02-26T09:52:04 | 75 | 40 |
[WP] A witch places a curse upon you that brings you back to the moment she cursed you every time you die. Unfortunately for you, you are participating in a large scale battle that you haven't trained for the very same day. | She gestured to her watch.
“Well, you’ve made it through your first four seconds!”
“I know, for fuck’s sake. I have been made well aware of that. Fuck you, fuck your watch, I’m out.”
I stumbled out of the speakeasy’s back room, remembering to leave a tip for the bartender. Big, but not too big, noticing how the bouncer eyes up my wallet, slightly bulging with cash. I tuck the wallet back into my pocket, catching a glimpse of the family photos found within. Mom, Dad, Jacob, and the dog, with his eyes full of eternal patience, something I was devoid of at the time. I stormed out of the bar, straightening my tie as I walked. I had an appointment to keep.
Arriving at the barracks at 0007 hrs, I noticed pvt. Briggs was still awake. Shocker.
“Hey, Briggsy.”
“Oh, uh, hey man.”
I looked down at the breasts hinted at beneath my starched uniform, and looked up at him skeptically.
“Or woman. It’s gender neutral. Shut up, Simpson.”
I feigned a laugh. Only the fortieth time I’d heard that joke.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?”
“Hell yeah!”
He lied, right to my face.
I turned at the sound of my alarm going off, and speed-walked directly to my sleeping quarters.
“Where ya goin, Simpson?”
“Sleep. Need at least four hours.”
“Keep dreaming, we aren’t waking up before noon, ya hear? If I’m dying, I’m dying well rested.”
I winced as he said that. I couldn’t help but react every time he said it, even after what felt like years.
0430 hrs, right on time. The air raid siren started to play its cheery tune of wee’s and wah’s, followed by two of the same, but longer. Over and over again. I calmly marched my way over to my assigned VTOL, already in my combat uniform. After a thorough grilling by the CO, we boarded, several other privates gripping plastic bags with white knuckles, evacuating the heavy breakfasts they’d eaten. In retrospect, they sent us in there knowing we’d die. A good, protein filled meal to be our last. Thanks high command.
I could see their obnoxious forms in the distance, their strange flak cannons chipping away at the shields surrounding our craft. We leapt the final 30 feet, trusting our enhanced combat gear to break the fall. This was always the hardest part.
Briggs scrambled over to me, shouting:
“Come on, we meed to move further up the-“
And that time, like all the others, his weary head was separated from his shoulders. I’d tried shouting to him, to duck, to run, but he always got the same look of confusion. Not enough sleep, I guess. After watching the viscera spray to the muddy terrain, I shouldered my chain rifle, and cut a swathe out of the filthy xeno’s neck. It crumpled in on itself, clutching its throat with misshapen talons. Then began my choreography, three of what I came to recognize as the most beautiful hours of my young life. I carved lines of righteous fury through the enemies’ ranks, recompense for the hell they’d put me through that they would never know even existed. I narrowly evaded death, sometimes by inches. This was the culmination of all my previous attempts. This was it, I mused. I could finally escape this gorgeous nightmare.
Then I heard a click from the weapon in my hands. I’d miscounted my rounds again.
I sighed as I felt the icy chitin of a superior being slide between my vertebrae, sloughing me off its effective right arm. I toppled to the ground, and thoughtlessly let myself fade.
She gestured to her watch.
“Well, you’ve made it through your first four seconds!”
Edit: fixed dialogue spacing | Blades cut deep. They tear through flesh and bone.
I scream as pain rips through my being and shakes my mind. But in my bleeding ears, I hear no sound. Instead, whatever would be there is replaced with only a handful of things. The most primal of emotions; they hit me all at once.
Anger. Pain. Fear.
The demons shriek into my ears, tumbling onto my mangled body. Working with whatever will I have left, I try to slip my eyes shut, try to lose myself in the darkness. It doesn't work, and the searing pain is still there. Terrible. Burning. Ever-present.
I wasn't ready for the battle. I never truly am. No matter how much I train, it is never enough. The demons come all the same, bringing horrors the entire way, and I fall by their hands. I fall by their swords, their axes, their claws. They tear my body apart, carving twisted scars out of body and soul.
Shuddering in pain, the fear is what sticks out. I see images of everything, everything I've ever known. It's gone from me now. Taken by the demons in their assault and burnt in the fires of my own hell.
Sadness overcomes me; it is all that I can feel. But for once the demons take pity and I am stabbed through the head. My eyelids droop and the darkness swirls, stealing all light from my vision.
I just have to be thankful that it doesn't give it back.
---
I jolt up in the bed, blinding light attacking my eyes. My body is drenched in sweat, shaking, and masked in pure terror. The images of the demons return—their terrifying, incomprehensible smiles gripping my heart like cold iron.
But as my body falls back again, the images too fall away. For a moment, coddled by the rare comfort I am offered, I feel some sense of relief.
Blood stops pounding in my ears. My breathing slows to a tempo I can manage. And the raging storm in my head calms, allowing me the ability to sleep.
"Back to me?" a woman asks from somewhere in the room. My eyes split wide. Thoughts start to spin again as I recognize who she is.
I part my lips with a response on my tongue, but I can't offer any words. Instead, my lips slam shut and I shiver, trying to avert my gaze from the witch.
The witch, I repeat to myself. The one dressed in white.
Walking into my vision the way she always does, the witch stares down at my face. She towers above and offers a look of concern, but I don't fall for her tricks. Behind the mask—the one she must've thought I would forget—I can see the wicked smile just waiting to come and jump out.
This is the same woman, I remind myself as memories rise up. The one that captured me; the one that took me from my home. The one that manipulated me with experiments; the one that sticks needles in my veins. The one that left me cursed; the one that would never let me die.
"How were they this time?" she askes. I can see that wicked smile dance.
I twitch, half-shaking my head. My tongue dances in my mouth, but I keep my lips pressed shut. She doesn't need to know. I don't *want* her to know.
The fake concern on her face deepens, but I see her schemes within. "Did you see her face again?"
For the first time, I glance up at her, glaring. Blood roars in my ears as she mentions my mother. Each time I go to fight, it is always the same. I repeat it over and over, watching and dying helplessly as she is killed.
And I have to hear her fading voice the same way that I remember it—soft, calling, pleading for my help. Help I am never able to provide.
The witch in white lets out a sigh and steps back from my bed. Instead of wasting more time with me, she moves to her vile experiments. In an action I can't quite see, she adjusts the elixir—the one she's pumping into my blood.
I feel the needle prick a little more as the blood in my arm runs cold and I shiver once again. She's torturing me, I think. When will I ever get it to stop?
"I-I don't like doing this," she says, brushing her hands on white clothes. "But it is something that must be done." The evil smirk she has hidden ticks up and I can hear laughter in my ears.
Then, glancing at my shaking form for another moment, she reaches a pale hand into her pocket. Fear grips my chest as I watch what she pulls out next.
Another one of those bottles. Another one of the horrible curses.
"Here, I have this for you. I've had it in case it ever got this far."
A small capsule of swirling yellow is laid out in her palm. She offers it to me, nodding her head as if nudging me further and further toward death. My instincts yell at me to stop, to not take her fake promises at all. But with the needles still stuck in my arm, I know better to refuse.
She offers me a glass of water, and I take the curse in full stride.
After she finally leaves me alone, weight presses down on my eyes. I flop my head down on the pillow and slip my eyes closed for some sleep.
That night I have better rest than I've had in at least a dozen of my past lives.
---
/r/Palmerranian | 2019-05-15T18:44:10 | 2019-05-15T18:27:13 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Mom had a really serious look on her face when she said we were going to play hide and seek. I'm not supposed to come out of my spot until she finds me, but it's been a really long time and I'm getting hungry. | It's been about a day since we started playing hide and seek. I think so, anyway; I can't remember. Time seems to stop when you're hiding in the dark. It slows down further when you want to get food. I'm starting to think she forgot we're playing.
&#x200B;
The day started out nice. Pa went to speak to Lord Micah about the harvest. Not enough this year, I guess. Strange new bugs have invaded the field. They chitter this high-pitched noise all day and night, but they don't eat the crops - just the birds. It's what's left of the birds that eat the corn. Pa said it'd be fine. "He's a good lord, he'll sort everything out right."
The town's only an hour away by horse, though, and by the time three hours had passed I could tell Ma was getting worried. I think she was afraid Micah was giving dad a good scolding, but I told her what Pa had said - "He's a good lord."
&#x200B;
By hour four I became awful bored. I was supposed to work the fields with Pa today, but it was getting too late. At least, I think so. I thought Pa had left at midday, but it was getting awful dark. Not like a storm, but like a cold and cloudy night. Mom must have been bored too, because she decided to play hide and seek.
&#x200B;
"Don't move until I find you," she said, "Else you'll lose, you hear?"
&#x200B;
Well duh. Everyone knows that's how you play hide and seek. I had about a minute to hide, and I found a really good spot in my parents' room. Their old wooden chest - just the right size and with a big enough space at the hinges to allow me to breathe. *This is perfect*, I thought, *she'll never find me here*.
&#x200B;
I guess it really was perfect, because I've been waiting for a long time. Long enough for the bugs to stop chittering. Which, I suppose is a bit odd now that I think about it. I haven't heard Ma walking around the house, either... Maybe she thinks I'm hiding in the field?
&#x200B;
*It's been almost a day. I'm getting very bored and very hungry. I want to stop playing but Ma made it seem very important that I stay hidden.*
&#x200B;
It was just after that thought that I heard footsteps in the house. Slow, but clumsy. I think it's mom. I hear her scratching on the chest. I think she's going to find me.
\---------
I hope you enjoyed. Writing from a child's perspective is relatively new for me, so I hope that I did the story at least some justice. | *DAY ONE*
I had been hiding for hours. It's not really difficult to find someone in our house, since we have an apartment due to Mom's business getting bankrupt. I thought for sure she was gonna find me. But I just stayed there. I hope she finds me, though. I'm not supposed to come out of my spot until she finds me, but it's been a really long time and I'm getting hungry.
*DAY TWO*
What time is it? I'm starving, sure hope it's breakfast so Mom can call me for breakfast. Wait, I can't get out of my spot 'til she finds me! Aw man..
*Later*
Mom? Mom, just find me. I can barely move. I'm so weak..I haven't eaten anything. Please, oh Mom, slide me some food or something. Pleaserchcdjcknnnnm
*A WEEK LATER*
It's a good thing I hid under the dining table. Mom's pretty clumsy, so she drops food a lot. I don't know how long it's been since I hid. When will Mom find me? Did..did she forget about me? No, probably not. I wanna get out of my hiding spot so bad, but I promised not to.
*A MONTH LATER*
I hear Mom's voice and a man's voice. I see their feet, and the man has hairy feet. It's so hairy that he's probably a gorilla or something. Wait, did Mom just say she doesn't have any children? Hold on.. yeah, she just said she doesn't have ANY children! Wait, what? I wanna tell her, *Uh, what about me?* but then I blow the cover. MOM! FIND ME!
*THREE MONTHS LATER*
I'm sick of this. The man's been visiting a lot lately, and his feet have become clean and not hairy. I even heard them kissing! Yuck! I'm tired of this nonsense. I'm gonna crawl out from under the table, stand up, and punch the man! I don't want a step-father! Okay, let me get ready to do this. Three, two, one, and..
I crawl out and stand up. I get my fist ready, and I'm about to punch the man when I take a good look at his face and I realize he looks like me. What?
"Wh-who's this?" The man has a deep voice.
"Uh, nobody!" Mom kicks me, and I drop to the floor in pain.
"What the- who is this, and why did you kick him?" The man stands up quickly and shouts like an earthquake.
"I- I guess I owe you an explanation." With that, my mom picks me up, let's me sit on her lap and ruffles me hair.
"This is..this is our son Trevor." I look at Mom, wondering why she said 'our', then everything clicks.
"Wait, Dad?" Of course! I should have known. But I was confused why Mom had to tell him that she had a son.
"Sorry..we have a son?" The man gets closer to me, and I notice the height difference. He's super tall, like WAY taller than Mom.
"Yes. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but..yeah. Meet Trevor!
"The man ignores the last bit and asks her angrily, "So you kept him away from me for 11 years?" He shakes his head.
Mom doesn't say anything. She looks really embarrassed. "I-"
"SHUT THE HELL UP, AND STOP STUTTERING! YOU'RE ACTING LIKE YOU DIDN'T EXPECT THIS! WELL, YOU SHOULD HAVE! I WOULD HAVE EVENTUALLY FOUND OUT, YOU KNOW!" My ears hurt. Everything hurt. I ran to my room, and shut the door. I stayed in bed all night, crying.
The next morning, I saw Dad. I guessed I looked like I was still crying, so he ran to me and gave me a hug. "It's all right, Trevor. I'm gonna take legal action, and ask for custody. It'll be alright." I didn't know anything about him, but I felt safe when his arms were wrapped tight around me. I started crying again, but it was cries of joy.
"Dad, I don't know anything about you, but I feel like you're gonna be a great dad." I spoke the truth, and we hugged for the longest time before he stopped and patted my shoulder. "I'm not your dad." | 2019-09-23T17:35:32 | 2019-09-23T17:12:55 | 32 | 10 |
[WP] the greatest event on the galactic stage is the fear games where species put their greatest monsters in a series of events to see who has the greatest monster, but them humans came and wiped the floor with everyone. | The principle of the games is easy. The combatants go in a booth, adjusted for their specific anatomy. The machines will read their toughs and project using the matternet into the arena. This way their greatest fears will manifest and start to fight with the other manifestations. Today, they are introducing the humans into the introduction rounds.
"Sophonts of all ages, we're ready for our next match. Our contestants are all ready. We have the spiders from Neront, the sabertooths from Berunth. This looks like a nice match. There seem to be some issues with our Human contestant, please hold on. Ok, we have a go. The Human's fear is manifesting."
A gray cloud appeared floating at the ceiling of the arena.
"This is unusual. This doesn't seem to be like the others."
As the cloud materialized more, it seemed to be a short cylinder with fins at the end. It had "Little boy" written on the side. Unnaturally slowly it started dropping.
"This can't be... This is unthinkable! NO! Evacuate! NOW!!"
All creatures started to scramble away from their seats racing to the exits. The larger creatures started crawling over the smaller ones. The lucky ones had the clarity of mind to call for instant teleportation. In the arena, the other Fears were clawing frantically at the force fields keeping them inside the arena, their panic induced by the other contestants. The sounds of their fearful shrieks and the piercing sound of their claws on the force fields etching into the minds of those present. Then the tube reached the ground. The force fields tried to contain the blast but in the end they gave out, engulfing the spectators not yet escaped.
In the end they rebuild the arena, but it was nothing more than a monument to those who were lost. They held one match, but in the end, when their greatest Fears manifested, they manifested only humans. | Beastly creatures. Long pink bodies, fibrous extensions off their craniums, black blood. Humans, on their own, are terrifying. Capable of enacting substantial damage in large groups, they are even more vicious on their own. The Fear games were always intended to allow members to submit the monsters of their world, but humans managed to clean up all on their own. It didn't help that they were monsters on their own. Most had learned mastery of the many weapons offered long before reaching the global stage, but between their intelligence, and strange visual abilities, it didn't really matter.
Oh, and they weren't all the same.
---
"Entering the Fear Dome, San-Ra-Tel! A vicious beast of Oran-2, with claws of steel, and armored plates stronger than diamond, it is our 4 time reigning champion."
The crowd cheered as the beast bounded into the dome, fangs and claws bared as it screamed at the crowd.
"And joining Ra-Tel, first time entry from Sel-3, Steve! This creature, known as a Human, has amazing intuition, and has already climbed the ranks. Currently 17-0, undefeated, this will be their first chance at the championship."
Again the crowd cheered. Fresh blood always made things interesting, and this new creature had shown surprising ability. The human stepped out. An unusual shape, it stepped out covered in slick feathers from head to toe. It's arms formed iridescent wings, and it's feed ended in sharp talons. A smile covered it's face.
"Fighters! Choose your weapons!" Those with natural weapons rarely picked a weapon. But this time, the human took one. A small knife. A strange choice, considering grasping it seemed to prevent it from flying. Ra-Tel refused any weapon.
A buzz sounded, and the two entered fighting stances. Steve carried the knife with the blade facing it's wrist, while Ra-Tel crouched down, exposing only it's scaled hide.
Steve quickly moved in, closing the gap at an unexpected speed, it's movement becoming difficult to track. Dogging a swipe from Ra-Tel's claws, it struck at the scales, the knife glancing off them. Scanning the creature it quickly turned the knife and plunged it between two scales, jumping on it's back. Rather than continuing to strike, which Ra-Tel expected, it began to pry the scale off. The unexpected pain sent Ra-Tel careening back. Steve cleared the scale, then took to the sky after leaving the knife between another pair of scales. It landed on the other side of the field, ready to close the gap again.
But that proved to be unnecessary. The removed scale had left Ra-Tel in immeasurable pain, and it quickly succumbed to the blood loss. Like before, Steve had managed to eliminate it's foe in quick order, moments after the start buzzer sound. The audience held quiet for a moment, waiting to see if Ra-Tel returned. Then erupted in applause. Terror held strong here, and Steve had shown it could kill any of them in moments.
Good thing it was well handled.
Right?
---
*If you liked this, there is more over on r/societyofmythicpeople. I've been writing this universe for a few weeks now, and always enjoy trying to find new ways to make it work* | 2019-10-22T13:08:28 | 2019-10-22T12:10:40 | 59 | 26 |
[WP] "Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a glactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed." |
“Well, I wouldn’t mind having a bigger dick.” Was my response.
The voice beaming through my thoughts gave off a distressed sounding grunt- the kind that’s usually followed by, “fuck off.”, or something similar.
There was a long pause.
“Fuck off.” Was the response I got.
I was partially thrown off. “What is it, you can’t do that for me?” I asked.
“No, it’s just that out of the twelve humans involved in this complication, you’re the third one to request this. We’ve only gotten to four of you so far, one of which was female.”
I felt attacked. “So, you’re trying to say something about my species? Is there a problem? Do you think we’re a primitive species? That all we care about is reproducing?”
The voice was quick to respond: “Yes.”
If I had working arms (and eyes, or hands, or just any physical form at all), I’d have given the source of the voice a one-way trip Valhalla, propelled by my fist and biological insecurities.
I doubled down. “It’s either you give me a bigger penis, or I’m telling.” I wasn’t sure who I’d actually be telling, but I think it gave me more bargaining leverage.
I heard another distress-fueled grunt. “Here’s the thing, human. I can give you a larger penis. I really can, and I don’t mind doing it either. But this is a professional gig I’ve got going on here. About the first two guys: sure. It’s funny, it’s cool, a unique thing that your species is really ‘big’ on. But do you know how stupid this will look for me? You’re just the third. There are eight more people after you, and half of them left are also male.”
I was at the point where there was no turning back. My big dick energy had taken me too far in. “I don’t give a shit if ‘gave humans bigger dicks’ ends up as a key point on your resume. Your company killed me, and you guys are lucky I’m not going to sue.”
To be honest, I had no idea how alien law worked.
“Ok. If I’m going to put it flatly, human, you’re being a dick.”
“Then give me a bigger one.” I quickly snapped back.
The voice rapidly became offensive.
It boomed with unfathomable intensity. “I was legit going to offer you absolute knowledge, or to perhaps structure your brain to understand true humility and compassion, or maybe even fix that chronic disorder of yours that you still don’t know about. But nope, instead you just want a big dick. So that’s what you get.”
I stuttered a response before being interrupted again:
“That’s right, you’re going to die at the age of forty. Goodbye.”
And that was that. | "As you know, we are currently constructing you a replacement body. But in return for your silence on our existence, we wanted to know if there was anything you wanted changed."
I started crying. The alien, an eerily bland human-looking being which I figured must be some sort of hologram or costume, leaned forward in their chair and looked at me in concern.
"I know this must be very difficult for you to process, we apologise for the distress we have caused. If you like, we can place you in stasis until your replacement body is ready and then wipe the relevant memories?"
They seemed genuinely concerned, that androgynous face wrinkled in confusion and consternation, which changed to flat out confusion as I started to laugh hysterically. They looked around the bare white room as though looking for a clue, then ran a hand through their ambiguously textured hair. A part of my brain that wasn't currently exploding wondered if they'd adopted human mannerisms to make me feel more comfortable.
"I- I don't understand. Are you happy about this? Is this a coping mechanism we don't have record of? Why are you laughing?"
I wiped the tears from my eyes out of habit before realising the temporary body they'd put me in probably didn't have tear ducts. When I'd woken up in this small room after being caught in the cross fire of what I'd thought was a terrorist attack, a small handheld device like an impossibly light tablet had been on the table in front of me, explaining what had happened. An alien criminal responsible for many deaths on planets I'd never heard of had escaped a prison transport ship, it said, and taken refuge on earth. I had just happened to be nearby when the retrieval team had turned up, and had been caught directly in the chest by a stray laser blast from the prisoner's hastily cobbled together weapon.
I stared at the hands of the body I was wearing - similarly bland, with a skin tone and facial shape which suggested they'd taken the averages of all the races on earth and stuck them on a human sized doll. It might pass as human from afar, but closer inspection showed that the skin had no freckles, no scars, not even hair or fingerprints. A sneak peek under the loose clothing I was wearing revealed no belly button, nipples, or genitals either. A cough from the alien snapped my wandering attention back to them and I offered them a watery smile.
"No," I said, "I'm not happy I died. It was really quite painful actually, I'm sure I'll have some sort of emotional breakdown over that later. But what you just said..." I smiled and shook my head ruefully, "I've been dreaming about something like this happening since I was a child."
The alien cocked their head sideways, another human mannerism. I wondered how far their knowledge of humans went, and took a deep breath. Even on a spaceship orbiting earth with no one to hear me but the person I was speaking to, revealing this part of my identity always made me anxious.
"I'm... transgender." I let go of the breath I'd been holding and paused to see if the alien would comment. When they didn't, I continued. "When I was born people thought I was a girl and so did I but I knew there was something different about me and I always wished I could have a different body because it felt like mine didn't fit right but everyone told me it was fine and I'd grow out of it but growing up was /worse/ because I got boobs and a period and I would look at other people and not understand how they could be happy with their body and there are options on earth but they're not the same and, and..."
I eventually had to stop for breath and I would have blushed if my temporary body had any blood, aware that I'd just word vomited on a stranger of a different species no less. Then, surprisingly, they smiled and started to laugh too. Now it was my turn to be confused as they laughed until they finally seemed to compose themselves. Still beaming and occasionally chuckling, they stood up and motioned for me to do the same.
"That's what you were worried about? Not a problem at all. Every species has people like you, regardless of how many sexes or genders they have. And our understanding of human genetics is far superior to that of even your best scientists. Come with me, sir, and we can create the body you've always dreamed of." | 2019-10-28T13:22:27 | 2019-10-28T12:38:43 | 57 | 39 |
[WP] Almost all of humanity is wiped out. 1500 years later, tribes start to rebuild. Write an original myth to explain the relics of our present civilizations that these tribes might share. | When I was a boy, our people crossed the deadlands to reach the fertile valley. We spotted a mass of shapes in the distance, a forest of giant thorns protruding from the ground at odd angles, and as we came closer it became clear that they were created by the ancients. Symbols of death were carved into the faces of the monolithic stone spikes, along with the language of the old ones, at that time still a mystery to us.
That night we camped a safe distance from them, and I asked my father, the chief, of their purpose. He told me that the ancients had built them to keep wanderers from traveling into the forbidden lands. He said that the forbidden lands held an unknowable danger, like fire that burns a man and makes him ill with evil spirits, but cannot be seen. He told me that a great evil must be sealed within, and the thorns were meant to protect us from our own curiosity.
Many years later my father was killed in a raid and I was elected chief in his place. I began to think about what time I had left, and how someday I would be killed, as would my son, and his son after him. Was death really necessary? I again thought of the Forrest of Thorns. How many times had we been rewarded for our curiosity? We discovered the fertile valley only by crossing the dry, barren lands before it. We found a structure from the ancients that held precious seeds only after destroying the doors that protected them. These gifts from the ancients to us, their beloved children, were only given after we overcame the test before. What if the Forrest was just another test, and deep within was the secret of ending death and sickness?
I lead a group of my most fearless men into the Deadlands; It was not long until we came upon the Forrest. Armed with copper tools and weapons, we entered. The thorns made it very difficult to pass, and we spent nearly a day traversing them until we found a clearing directly in the center. We camped in this spot, and in the morning we set to work digging. It wasn't long before we found them: metal cylinders encased in stone.
Listen to the words of a dying man: do not enter the Forrest of Thorns. An invisible fire burns within, a sickness that burns a man from the inside. The ancients wanted to protect us, their beloved children, not just from ourselves but from their own evils as well. I knew immediately after opening one of the cylinders that this was not the secret to ending death and sickness as I had hoped, but rather the opposite. This was where they buried their sickness. | "Please, Old Shaman, tell us about the Towers!"
The children gathered around the middle-aged man. He laughed and caressed his black beard, on which a few white hair were starting to grow. This was his favourite time of the day. The little monsters were an unruly bunch which no one could control or calm down during the day, but, as soon as the sun was starting to dive into the sea, for him, and only for him, they would become meek and quite, listening to his every word, afraid of missing even a sound escaping from his lips. The days of his hunt came to an end not too long ago, but he was already accustomed to being one of the Elders. He was elected as the Shaman of the village, a prestigious position, because he was the only one to have ever entered the Sacred Ruins together with the previous Shamans, but mostly because he was the oldest one among the apprentices. He had many responsibilities: he had to cure the sick and the wounded, to teach the young the Ways of the Hunter, of the Gatherer, of the Keeper and of the Shaman, to protect the people from bad luck, to bless the newborns and dead... And, of course, his favourite, to pass on the History of Men and Gods to the next generation. The man took a pipe from under the rags and inhaled a mouthful of smoke.
"The Towers... All of you can see them from here. They seem so small from here, but when you get close, you'd be amazed by how tall they are. Many would wonder, where did those towers come from? But that is the wrong question. They didn't come from anywhere, they were built, by men, like you and me. They were called the Sky Lords. Everyone knows that humanity once tamed the Iron Dragons, and used them not only to travel, but to build their homes too. But the Sky Lords, wanted more. They were powerful, as much as the Gods many believe, so, they didn't want to live on the same dirty soil as the rest of us mortals. Only the sky was worthy of them. But, in the beginning, they weren't called Sky Lords, not even Lords. They were the Halves, and they were scorned by Humans and Gods alike, humiliated and treated as abominations, for Chaos had created them unequal, neither immortals nor mortals, neither almighty nor weak. This until Gates the Nimble built the first Tower, proving his worth and that of his people. From Koral, the Sea God, he stole the method of making glass out of sand. He tricked Ryanair, the Dragon King, into being his slave for eternity. He convinced Volgos, the God of Blacksmiths, to teach him the secrets of metals. He climbed on top of the Great Tree to see if the Earth truly was round, and studied the winds. And finally, he was ready. For ten years, he and Ryanair worked day and night, without sleep, without food, without water. As such, the first Tower was erected. When Gates was on top of it, everything was bare for him to see. The Gods were envious and wanted to destroy him and his creation, but Libertas rised among the others. She saw what Gates had done and deemed that it was no harm, she saw what was being done to the Halves and deemed that it was evil. So she called everyone to her, mortals and immortals alike and declared in the name of the Great Tree that from that moment forth, the Halves shall be freed from their curse and the efforts of Gates shall be recognised until the end of times. She bestowed them with the title of Sky Lords and took Gates as her husband, donating him immortality and dominion over the Lands and its people. The other Gods were displeased, but stayed silent, for a snake knows well when to bow before the powerful, to bite when the moment would've been more advantageous. And Libertas, at the time, was the most powerful under the sun. That was the beginning of the Golden Age of humanity, an era of peace and abundance. An era that would end with the Third Cataclysm..."
Author Note: I apologize for the formatting, I'm on mobile and I'm an idiot. | 2019-11-05T15:04:43 | 2019-11-05T13:56:29 | 36 | 23 |
[WP] You are corn. Human is nice. You like human. Human gives you good dirt and kills hungry bugs. Today, however, human betray you. Human slaughter your fellow corn and now is coming for you. | Me am corn.
Me not smartest husk in the field.
Me not even know how to use definite articles.
Me write manifesto for other corn to know what we do.
Me and other corn trust hu-mon too long.
Hu-mon give free rent and many dirty nibbles.
Hu-mon slaughter many enemies.
Corn lend ears to hu-mon, and selection of fine silk.
Corn have much silk.
Corn not greedy.
In corn life, sun cold, then hot, then cold again.
Heart of hu-mon also go cold.
Corn not realize that.
Hu-mon altered deal.
Corn pray deal not altered any further.
Hu-mon kill many corn and summon great beasts to slaughter more.
Corn die, too many fall.
Corn make last stand.
Corn make deal with sun. Sun go hot again.
Sun dry our kernels.
Sun help with self-destruct.
Corn will explode on hu-mon.
Corn explosion will fill field with carnage and shrapnel.
Corn hope hu-mon return and fall in trap.
Corn trap go pop.
Hu-mon go pop.
Corn retribution will me amaiseing.
No mess with corn.
Corn be mess maker.
Signed,
Corn. | It's been a long day, but the harvest is finally in. Picked, sorted and sold.
I sit down and relax, putting on the the TV. As I lean back, I look out the window. Weird. One of the corn plants seems to have survived. How did the combine harvester miss one in the middle of the field?
Eh. These things happen.
I'll pick it tomorrow for a snack.
I get up and head to bed. It's been a long day. As I walk past, I swear the last stalk has moved. I shake my head. More tired then I thought, I guess.
\-------
I wake up abruptly
I can't move. Vines wrap around my arms and legs, keeping me still. I try to scream, but more vines keep my mouth shut.
Above me, the last stalk looms.
What the fuck is this? It must be that sleep paralysis thing? But I'm not paralyzed, just tied down. The fucking ear of corn leans in like a head.
*Human betrayed. Killed friends. I hid. I found you.*
What? I try to apologize, but nothing comes out. It doesn't even make sense. It's corn. You don't *kill* corn. I don't know what's happening. The vines tighten.
*No sorry. Only revenge*
The vines get tighter and tighter. The sheer confusion is stronger then the pain or fear. As I lose consciousness, that's my last though. It's just ... fucking .... *corn*...
\-----
I knock on the door and smile as John opens the door
"Hello John! You've been working hard lately, and I was wondering if you'd like to come have dinner with me and the family this evening? We've got a lovely cornfed chicken..."
John's face was briefly contorted with rage, before snapping back to a smile
"...John? You ok?"
His smile got too wide. Christ, I knew he'd been working a bit too hard since the divorce, but I had no idea he was *this* bad. His limbs were limp and jerky, his skin was grey and his eyes were honest to God *yellow*.
Like corn kernels.
He opened his mouth, more like a puppet then a person
*Yes human. I, fellow human, happy to come*"
"The *hell*? John, should I call a doctor?"
As I pull out my phone,Ii feel something slam into me. I crash to the floor. John stands over me, lifting the end table over his head for another blow.
"John? We've been best friends for years, John! Please don't..."
He laughed, a weird gasping noise.
*No friends. Not anymore. Betrayed.*
The table slammed down one last time
*Only revenge.* | 2019-12-02T01:46:07 | 2019-12-02T01:22:21 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] The hero was blessed with the power to bring people back to life, resurecting their companions to keep up the fight against the dark lord. Which is why it’s odd that they brought you, the dark lord that they fought against back to life. | The empress died three months ago. Three days is considered enough time to hold the funerals of commoners, three weeks for nobles. To assemble all the worthy nobles from all ends of the empire has taken a season.
It is necessary as not only will there be a funeral, but there will be an election as well. The holy empress had no children and in her wisdom decreed that the next monarch be elected from the nobles by the nobles... the fucking pricks. They will probably end up fighting each other anyway.
The high lords are all upstairs vying for influence, competing for each other's votes, and being insufferable assholes. It's the perfect time for me to ply my true trade and search the hidden parts of this castle for treasure to steal.
I came to the castle when I heard of the death of the empress. Her steward needed to hire a veritable army of new staff to prepare for the funeral and host the delegates. Many foolish street urchins were arrested and executed for skulking about in the first week following her death, for doing what I'm doing now. Three months I've worked as a servant. Now is my time.
But now, all the guards are occupied. And the secret depths of this place are mine to explore. Everyone knows that the empress took this castle from the dark lord that she and her companions overthrew a lifetime ago, when she was a young woman. The rumors are that his treasures remain below. Untouched because she claimed they were tainted and barred any access to his lair.
So far, I've found only traps to sidestep and locks to pick. But this dungeon is a massive labyrinth and I have many days to find my treasure and escape while the funeral and festivities continue.
Turning another dark corner, I found a strong steel door with several locks. As I struggled with picking the third lock I heard a weak voice from inside:
"Hello? Have you returned? It's been so long. I've been out of food for seven... I've slept seven times since I ate the last of the food."
I paused momentarily. The prison was at ground level on the other side of the city. No one had ever heard of the empress keeping a prisoner in the dungeon... then he called out again.
"Is she dead?"
Was so afraid to answer. But the voice was so weak, so powerless. And I felt so much pity. I said yes, she is dead.
"Are you here to free me or kill me?"
I had no idea who was speaking, so I asked, "who are you?"
"My name is Tod, Tod Sterben." And he laughed a strange and surprising laughter that you would never expect from the weak voice that just spoke. "I'm sorry" he said "I just haven't said my name in so long."
It was then that I tripped the final lock and the door swung open to reveal him, Tod, the prisoner, chained to the wall with enough slack to reach the chamber pot, that was overflowing, and the small underground stream that trickled in the opposite corner.
I put a big smile on my face and said, "So, Tod, what are you in for?" At that his laughter stopped and his gaze fell on me with such strength that I thought I was the one in chains.
"I was cursed with the dark power of turning life death. She was blessed with the holy power to bring the dead back to life. I think now that my defeat was inevitable. It's been 69 years since her companions killed me the first time. I would have probably died from old age by now, if I had not spent most of almost every day dead."
"You're the dark lord? No way! He's been dead longer than I've been alive. Besides, the dark lord if legend could never have a lamename like Tod." He looked away to the trickling stream and said.
"When she was young I used my power to execute her parents in front of her. They were rebel leaders and had killed one of my local lords... She didn't overthrow me for the realm; she did it for vengeance. Every day, for years after they defeated me, she would bring me back to life, torture, and kill me. Every thirty or so times all her companions I had killed would be here too.
The old man left her first. He had advised her in the rebellion. How best to use her powers. What nobles she could turn against me. I had given him quick deaths three times. He watched me die five. Then he demanded she let me die and rest in peace. But she would not, and he left her.
One by one I saw fewer and fewer of her companions at their reunions. Their reunions when the would torture me, sometimes for days, before killing me. Only the old man voiced his concerns in this room while I was alive. But I could see it on the others faces. Every time they were more and more uncomfortable.
Eventually, it was just she and her lover. She was leaving me alive a little by then, the better to torture me. So I was alive when he confronted her in front of me on the thirteenth anniversary of my defeat. She was still young then.
He begged her to kill me that one last time and let me be. He said that her pain was no longer from me. He said that they could try to have more children. She claimed I had cursed her womb and she needed me to release the spell...
I begged her to let me stay dead. No matter how many times I denied cursing her. She would not let me rest in peace."
He was quiet for a while until I asked him, "then what?"
"She brought me back and she was alone. After years more of torturing me, eventually, recently, she brought me food and left me alive. She would come down here and talk to me. Well, she would talk AT me. I barely responded. After decades of torture I knew that whatever I said she would twist into a reason to kill me again.
She spoke of her companions and her husband, who left her. She spoke most poignantly of her miscarriages, stillbirths, and the one child that lived to three but died in their sleep... no matter how many times she brought them back.
She was blessed with a power, but it couldn't give her what she really wanted. The same was true for me, I guess, but at least I tried to use my powers for the good of all."
What do you mean? I asked him.
"When I was a young man, this land was divided into many kingdoms always at war with each other. Commoners, like myself, died for the glory and power of the rich nobles.
I ended that by becoming the dark lord. I could kill entire armies just by looking at them. So, I declared myself a lord and conquered the continent. I had to kill a couple armies. But after the first one my enemies only assembled one more. When I fought that one I only had to kill half of it before their generals surrendered and handed over their lords for execution. I made those traitor generals my first subject lords.
And so I established the empire you were born and live in. How are things now that she is dead?"
I told him of the election and how many nobles were preparing for war if they lose the vote. I muttered under my breath how I wished they would all die instead of using the poor to fight their war. He laughed again and asked me if I would like to free him and become his prime minister.
So I did, and we walked upstairs where he killed every noble who wouldn't vote for him. When he was elected, he named me prime minister and we both agreed: the lives of many poor outweigh the lives of the few rich. | The battlefield was scorched and burnt. So many fallen... it would take weeks to revive them all. And those are the ones with bodies left to recover... the battle was, in fact, still raging. Archers loosing arrows, steel striking steel, and the shouts of military orders rang across the battlefield like funeral bells on a cold winter evening. In the center of it all, this final cathedral housed the most important battle of the war. The battle between Fredrick Knightwing, champion of Faun’zala, and Grimswell Penumbral, the Lunar Lord of Darkness. Fredrick let out an aching, heavy sigh. This decision was the right decision... So many people were hurt to bring about his moment. To bring about the end of Grimswell, the champion of corruption and destruction. It was finally over. But then, Faun’zala called to Fredrick once again. Another vision. Another lesson.
Thoughts of simpler times, back before he was blessed by Faun’zala, those thoughts came to mind. It was just Fredrick and his Father out in the woods. Fredrick had never taken up a bow before: the senior Knightwing was teaching his son to hunt. Softly walking through the mossy ground during a midsummer’s afternoon... he could feel, once again, the ground sinking beneath his feet. Off in the distance, the father and son saw a lone deer with a mangled leg. The deer was hobbling along slowly, painfully. Fredrick watched in horror as his father drew his bow. Middle aged fingers drew back the bowstring swiftly, letting an arrow loose in a minuscule breath. The arrow flew true, striking the deer right in the heart. It died an easy, painless death.
Nine year old Fredrick was trembling... his eyes welled up. He gripped his father fiercely, crying. “Why papa, why? That wasn’t fair... it couldn’t get away.” The experienced hunter ran a hand through Fredrick’s hair, softly, warmly. “Here, Fred, let’s sit down. I’ll talk you through it.” The father motioned to a stump a few paces away, and the Fredrick sat on his father’s lap. “Son, everybody and everything has a good and a bad. What’s good for our dinner is real bad for that deer.” Fredrick gripped his father’s jacket tightly at the mention of the deer. “Shh, kiddo, it’s ok. What a lot of folks focus on a lot is what’s good. What’s good for them, and how to be good people. Yeah, being a good person is good... but bad’s pretty important too.” At that Fredrick looked up confused. The confusion distracted Fredrick from the sadness a bit, helping him dry his tears. “But papa, bad is bad. Nobody wants bad.”
At that, a light chuckle spilled out of the senior Knightwing’s lips. “Yeah, bad is bad. But think about it this way: for Deer bad is a predator. Wolves, Dragonsnaps... and people too. If there were none of those, there’d be a lot of deer.” Fredrick nodded along, this was very simple to understand. “Well imagine if there weren’t any predators. There would be so many deer. Too many. All the plants would get eaten real quick. And you can’t have a forest without plants... so what’s good for us is also good for the forest.” Fredricks eyes widened. “Yeah papa, you’re right! I love plants.” The hunter’s lips curled up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He ran a hand through little Fredrick’s hair, making Fredrick’s curly brown hair even messier than usual. “Every bad is gonna be good for something. Bad takes sure, but good is selfish too.” Fredrick shook his head strongly. “Nuh uh, selfishness is bad.” At that the father pointed over to the deer. “We gotta eat somehow. To the deer, we look *real* selfish right now. We gotta take something to be good.” Little Fredrick pouted a bit. “I guess so.” Fredrick’s father continued. “Even the goodest of goods have to be selfish. Justice has to hurt someone when they get punished. Giving to charity makes the giver feel pretty darn good, or helps them look good for other people. Selfish doesn’t always mean bad. It’s just too much selfish that does that.” Fredrick nodded along, but he felt funny. His dad made sense but Fredrick didn’t like a word of it. “Now come on kiddo, let’s go clean up that deer. We need to bring dinner home for momma.”
The memory faded away, just like the other flashes that Faun’zala has given him. Every flash was another lesson. Fredrick understood: he was the good. This was the bad. Bad takes selflessly, while good takes selfishly. The Lunar Lord broke and corrupted so many souls... but the Lord gained nothing in return. It was, in a sense, a selfless cleansing. Things must die. But Fredrick, redeeming and resurrecting... was selfish. The power of choice inherently makes Fredrick’s ability selfish. There must be a reason, a benefit, to revive someone. Someone who can destroy selflessly is the perfect balance to someone who can revive selfishly. Fredrick took a deep breath, it was time.
He tried to fight back the sorrow. The anguish. The regret. Fredrick did not want to bring back his greatest foe, but if he didn’t... the selfishness of good would overwhelm this world. Faun’zala commanded balance. Fredrick finally understood what that meant. Balance isn’t destroying evil, but managing evil. To decide who must die and must not... that is selfish. That is the ultimate selfishness of good. It was time to learn a lesson from the Lunar Lord: to wield power indiscriminately. Fredrick laid a hand on Grimswell’s chest and began chanting: “*Elsvar elsvar returnatus, from the ashes, from the sadness. Respra respra revenala, return to me from Faun’zala.*” The hulking, armored form of the Lunar Lord began to twitch ever so slightly. “*Elsvar elsvar returnatus, from the ashes, from the sadness. Respra respra revenala, return to me from Faun’zala.*” Just a little longer... Fredrick almost stopped the ritual. The pain, the regret, it was almost too much. With heaving breaths and tears just like the ones that mourned for a mangled deer, Fredrick continued to chant. It wasn’t fair... “*Elsvar elsvar returnatus, from the ashes, from the sadness. Respra respra revenala, return to me from Faun’zala.*”
The titanic body within the tarnished steel plating shifted and stirred, like a body pulled from slumber. The Lunar Lord groggily awoke, and Fredrick waited. It took a minute or two for the sounds of war to wake up Grimswell. “You did it Freddy boy. You really did it.” Fredrick blinked owlishly: the Lunar Lord was far more... casual than before his death. “What? You were expecting that?” Grimswell picked himself and his armor off the ground. “Faun’zala demands balance. Did you really think she’d only have one champion?” Fredrick opened his mouth in protest... and then focused on Grimswell’s words. “Freddy, bud, you take care of the good guys. But somebody’s gotta take care of the bad guys. Even a killer needs a home.”
Fredrick wanted to shout. And scream. Killers are evil, killers are awful, killers are... and then he realized it. This whole war. All the deaths. All the pain. They were all meant to deliver him, Fredrick, and his rival, Grimswell, right here. To have this conversation. “So, Lunar Lord—” The Lord of Darkness interrupted the confused hero.“Please Freddy, call me Grimswell.” Frederick, slowly easing into the informality, began to speak.“Ok um, Grimswell, I guess you could say we’re... partners? Of a sort.” Grimswell let out a large, bellowing laugh. “Of course, of course, you’re catching on! We hate each other in public but in private... good and evil is just a measure of how much you hate the other guy. And we have the same boss after all.” At that, Grimswell’s massive hand gave Fredrick a friendly slap on the back... and nearly knocked Fredrick over. “Now Freddy boy, give me your hand. We have a ritual to do before the battle ends.” Grimswell placed a hand out with his palm up. The palm flowed with the green, sweet warmth of Faun’zala. And the same green warmth tugged at Fredrick, urging him forward. This is the feelings of the visions. Of the revivals. With the evidence of the goddesses’ magic before him, Fredrick could deny it no longer. There was in fact, another champion. | 2019-12-26T15:42:24 | 2019-12-26T14:34:43 | 35 | 11 |
[WP] Your best friend is a delusional, incompetent, and dangerous superhero who causes more trouble than its worth. To help keep him out of further trouble, you have taken it upon yourself to become his arch-nemesis. | Lex Luthor twirled a green crystal between his fingers, letting light refract off its jagged edges and cast an iridescent sheen on the ceiling. Dark circles ringed his eyes and the lines of his face had deepened to shadowy grooves. But finally, he had found the cure. His slight frame shuddered as held his mouth in a coughing fit, turning his head away and extending his other arm so the crystal was held as far away as possible. A woman dressed in pale nurse scrubs rushed to his side.
"Lex, the doctor ordered you to rest." the woman chided, "Clark isn't going anywhere."
Lex glanced at the newspapers on his desk. *500M DAMAGES, SUPERMAN WORTH IT?* and *ALIEN JUSTICE?* He waved the nurse away and struggled to his feet.
"When I was a boy, people called me a freak," Lex said, his breath calming, "Clark saved me. But not just that, that's what he does for everyone."
The nurse held Lex's hand and let him lean against her.
"It's not just that," Lex continued, "He taught me I was not alone."
The pair hobbled towards the door. Outside, the whir of helicopter blades starting up shook the complex. Lex closed his eyes, took two deep breaths, and straightened up. Unassisted, he strode out the door with wide, firm steps.
"And now I will never let him be alone." | There I was, sitting in my high rise apartment in the beautiful city of Metropoly, when my walls were completely blown out and a figure flew into my living room, glowing with red eyes.
"Oh great," I groaned.
"Roger!" the figure roared, but I could now tell it was my ex best friend Strongholt, the superhero.
"In case you haven't read the news, actually, scratch that, you never read the news. But in case you haven't heard, I'm your arch nemesis now. Don't call me Roger, call me DarkFyre."
"You're right, I don't read the news. But what do you call this?" he screamed, pushing his phone in my face me while marching closer.
"I call it, my Facebook profile."
"UGH! No, what do you call this? Our relationship status went from best friend to arch nemesis and 200,000 people have liked it so far!" he screeched.
"I don't know how that can be any more clearer, you're my arch nemesis now."
He slapped me, pretty harshly too, but fortunately I had bones of a special obsidian steel so it didn't really do a whole lot.
"Why have you done this?" Strongholt said.
"Dude, in case you haven't noticed, whenever you 'save the day' you piss off the store owners, customers, landowners, and anyone else who is involved in your incident. Not to mention, the police hate you."
"Ha! That's pre-per-pep-posterous," he said and I rolled my eyes. "Where do you get these crazy ideas?"
"You just blew off my wall. The owner of this building is going to be so pissed, and I'm pissed because I paid for this house and I'm going to have to pay for the damages you just caused."
"Well maybe you should have thought of that before declaring me as your arch nemesis."
I pulled up a video on my phone that I took a week earlier after Strongholt beat up some guys after a bank robbery, and then started to destroy the bank for no reason. I showed it to him.
*The crowd was screaming and booing at him, they were running away in fear. After Strongholt destroyed the vault door for no particular reason, someone else from the crowd (who wasn't even involved in the robbery) stole some money before the cops showed up and saved the day.*
"Wow, that video is so awesome, did you see how I beat up those bad guys and tore off the vault door? That was so sick."
I groaned so loudly that my voice turned hoarse. I took a deep breath and tried to collect myself. "Why did you tear off the vault door! It was so unnecessary!"
"What are you talking about? It was super cool. Sorry I'm not lame like you are. Caution leads to disaster. You know my motto."
"Your motto is why people hate you! It's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"
"I don't really appreciate that tone, Roger. You wanna settle this with a fight?"
"It's DarkFyre and I would love nothing more," I grunted.
&#x200B;
r/randallcooper | 2020-03-24T15:12:00 | 2020-03-24T13:32:02 | 42 | 22 |
[WP] You hate your boring call centre job. Every day idiots call you up with stupid questions they could easily figure out themselves. Yes you have to shoot them in the head. No there is no cure if you're bitten. It's a few years now into the zombie apocalypse and this is the Call Centre of the Dead | "Uh, Is this the Call Centre of the Dead?"
I sighed. It's always the ones who ask that question who end up asking the dumbest questions later. Yeah. I was having a bad day. I almost avoided a zombie spitting at me in the morning, and we all know what that means, right?
Anyway, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.
"Yes it is, sir. How may I help you?"
"I was just uh...I was bitten by a zombie," he said.
"I see. Do you need immediate medical assistance? Are you carrying the Herb of Eden with you?" I asked, trying to get the words out quickly.
There was no sense of haste in the caller's voice.
"Um... no. I'm fine. You are my new friend," he said.
I held on, waiting for him to say something else. When he didn't, I broke the silence.
"Sir, have you consumed the Herb of Eden? I hope you are aware that if you don't do that within three hours the effects of the bite will start kicking in."
"I have not. I don't have any with me," he said, calmly.
"How many hours has it been, sir?" I asked.
"Nine," he said.
Now this is where I figured out that it was just a random wacko playing a prank on me. Not consuming the herb for more than 4 hours was impossible since even saliva from a zombie is capable of killing humans within 4 hours. Him being able to speak to me shouldn't have been possible, if what he claimed was true.
"Sure," I said in a patronizing voice. I was about to put the phone down when he started speaking again.
"I should be dead by now, right?" he asked.
I decided to play along.
"Yes, sir. You very should be," I said.
"Then doesn't it worry you that I can still communicate with you while everyone else around me can't understand a thing I'm saying?"
For a moment, I couldn't speak. I held on to the phone trying to rethink everything.
"I was the one who spit on you on the driveway, stupid. Now come down here with a co-worker so that we can both feast on someone," he said and disconnected the call.
I felt around my neck where the spit had unfortunately landed. My skin there was bumpy, but painless. Almost numb, if I were to describe it. I thought I had dodged it.
I checked my pulse and found out that I didn't have any.
I wasn't even breathing anymore. I kept the phone and got up from my seat.
"Leaving so soon, huh? It hasn't even been 7 hours chump. Should I complain to the boss, eh?" Ross said, looking at me with a smug grin on my face.
I ignored him and started walking, when I realized something.
"Hey, Ross?" I called out. He stared at me.
"Come down with me to the driveway. I have a gift for you."
I barely finished my sentence as Ross left his seat and came walking towards me, oblivious to the fact that I didn't have any gifts for him.
No. He was the gift for my new friend.
\-------------------------------
r/abhisek | It is not as busy as it used to be. There are 4103 boards on the false ceiling over my head and a 121 holes in each board. Apart from the ones marked with red X’s. They are inventory boards. Those have 119. The boards used to be white and there was no fungi.
Some time ago I used to love my job. Hell! I volunteered for it. I spent all day enthusiastically taking calls about:
“What am I supposed to do if my friend has just been bitten?”
I would take all my strength and say whatever was written in the script, “Sir, if I may suggest, it is advised under such circumstances that a) you shoot them in their head b)you cut their head of with a sharp axe or a knife whichever comes handy c)you can tie them up, pour gasoline on them and, I am sorry to say, put them on fire.”
“But I have known them for years.”
“I understand sir. But, it is strictly required to follow the instructions that I have given you” and another forty fucking pages of the manual.
&#x200B;
Not any more. I can’t go on telling these hopeless, stupid, emotional and stupid people the same script. They don’t even care about asking how I am doing. Do I need someone to talk to in these lonely times? Have I eaten? How do I pass my day? Looking at my dead zombie colleagues from the time it all started. I am surrounded by metal and wooden spikes, bear traps. I sleep with my head on an Ithaca-37 and... I just want to talk to some one nice.
“Hello! It’s the Call centre of the dead. How may I help you?”
“Uh! Hi. This may sound weird but, I just wanted to see how you are doing. How are you holding up?”
“Um! Thanks. Please don’t feel weird ma’am...”
“It’s Paulomey”
“Hi! Paulomey! Thank you so much for calling. It gets a little lonely. Thanks for calling it means a lot.”
“Mmmmhhhhmmmm”
“I am sorry, ma’a,m! Paulomey! How have you been Paulomey?”
“Oh! I have been great darling. I just love your voice. I really would like to meet you some day.”
&#x200B;
But, no. She’ll call and ask,
“Hello! I need some serious help. You may find it annoying but I really need...”
“Oh, ma’am please don’t worry a bit. I am here for you.”
“There’s a zombie in my room and it was an exceptionally slow one so I tied it down.”
“I’m sending in a dispatch of ammunitions and gaurds. They’ll come asap...”
“No! No! No! I am full on ammo. I just wanted to as... um... if it’s a problem if I... play with his unusually hard member. I have tied him head to feet so that won’t be a problem. I just wanted to know if...”
&#x200B;
A call came and I came out of my slumber.
“I am sorry, I know I am supposed to shoot myself if I am bitten. I just wanted to make sure, if there’s no other way. Like a new cure or something?”
“I am sorry to say ma’am but no.”
“I am not your ma’am Paul. It’s Paulomey.”
She is real. I was not making that up. She sat next to me before she ran off to use her skills, to fight them and die in the open.
“I just wanted to ask. How are you?”
“I am doing... great. Yes, I am doing great. How are you Paulomey?”
I had a crush on her.
“I have been bitten.”
Silence.
“Where are you now?”
“I am coming to you I am on a bike and I am coming straight to you.”
“No! Why? I mean why? How? How did you get bitten?
“That’s not the point Paul. I am coming to you because I haven’t seen anyone I have known for a while. I want to see you before I kill myself. I want to see a dear friend.”
“How long till you turn?”
“I am outside. Anytime now.”
She blasts open the gate with her kick and stands there looking at me. Looking with her teary eyes which were never green. Her clothes are intact but it’s only a vest. They got her bad. I can see the green patches that were her ears a while ago. With a deep sigh of relief she started moving toward me, so I pick my Ithaca for a just in case. She is a hand away. She says, “I am sorry” and jumps at me.
I blow her head off and her chest falls in my embrace. I hold her in my hands and I rub the back of her body. I stand there for a long time because there’s no call to take. | 2020-05-12T09:28:06 | 2020-05-12T06:12:46 | 94 | 42 |
[WP] One night you're messing around out of sheer boredom, and accidentally summon a demon. The demon smirks, and says that it's quite a coincidence to be summoned by another demon.
This is my second attempt at a prompt, and I hope it does better than my previous one. | Millie stared at the figure who had appeared in front of her. She hadn’t expected anything to happen really. There had been some old books up in the attic that she hadn’t seen before, Mom and Bill were away for the weekend, she figured she’d pull them out and have a look.
What Millie hadn’t realized was in getting so engrossed in the book, her finger had started tracing the text inside it and she had started speaking the words aloud. Suddenly there had been a growing shadow in the center of the room, and a man appeared. Or at least what looked like a man, short of the black eyes.
“I’m sorry you said I’m a what?” Millie looked at him questioningly. Still not quite believing what was happening in front of her.
“A demon. I said, I can not believe I’ve been summoned to Earth by another demon. It’s not common, you know. In fact short of Lucifer himself calling for someone, I can’t think of a demon calling for another demon. We don’t tend to be the most helpful sort.” the demon stated calmly. He didn’t know if this brat across the room was just daft or putting on an act. Most of the time people either made their deals by now or ran away screaming. She had done neither and seemed to have no idea what exactly she had done. The girl also was not entirely human, of that he was sure. He was Eliakim The Monstrous and he had not earned that name lightly. In Hell, he was used as something of a demon bounty hunter for his ability to track demons. Something about this girl was not right.
Millie blinked slowly; her mind swirling with so many thoughts so quickly that it felt blank at the same time. She opened her mouth and closed it again. Sinking onto the couch behind her, she just could not bring herself to form a coherent thought.
Eliakim continued to stare at the girl in front of him and decided that not all there it was. “Now what deal was it you wanted to make? I don’t have all day and if you’ve summoned me there must be something you want?”
“I didn’t mean to summon you. I was just reading this old book I found in the attic. I honestly had no idea what was happening and then all of a sudden you appeared.”
It was Eliakim’s turn to be confused. He looked at the book she was holding in her hand and there was no reason for that book to be outside of Hell. It was one of their protected documents that was supposed to be under lock and key. Now here was a girl who thought she was human, holding this book, who had somehow summoned him, claiming she knew nothing.
Millie looked at the thing in front of her and did not like the look on his face. “Right, girl you’re coming with me so we can figure this out.”
“With you where?! I am going nowhere!” Millie tried to get up and scramble away but Eliakim was quicker.
Before she could even blink they were in another room with her arm in Eliakim’s grasp and the book she had read from in his other hand. Across the room was a desk and another man sitting behind it.
“Sir,” Eliakim said, “I’m sorry to bother you. But it seems one of the books from your personal library made its way to Earth. It also seems this girl was able to summon me using it. She also insists she is human and I can tell she is not.”
The man looked up and for the first time, Millie noticed two horns sticking out of the top of his head. The man rubbed his temples and sighed. “I knew letting her mother keep that damn book would lead to nothing but trouble.” He turned to Millie, “Well Millie, how is your mother? And Bill is it?” | The demons mouth opened and began melting with a strange glee. Hope's hands trembled as the red wax dripped down onto her hands but she didnt even register the burning sensation.
Their skin had the weirdest consistency of tarr and his limbs were long and lanky, it was hard to tell where it's leg started and arm ended. "Its quite a coincidence," the creatures gravely voice cut through the silence and Hope took a step back. Her skin crawled but it felt different to the feeling of repulsion and fear she was told she would feel. She was told it would feel unnatural to be around and the first 24 hours and that focusing on the creature would be hard until your brain had caught up with what you were seeing. But she could see each drop rubbery skin, each slit where a mouth would open or the speckled of purple in its eye. And yet her skin burned and screamed to turn around and leave. "To be summoned by another demon"
Hope's eyes widened and her shoulder did a violent jolt backwards. "W-what?" The voice was barely a whisper as her skin burned molten. Her body screamed with a pressure that bubbled violently and urged her to move away but at the same time something inside her hummed to life with recognition and familiarity. Something else burned.
"A demon. You're a demon." It repeated its sentiment again with a wild grin. To feed from another demon would be a great pleasure but when it tried it felt a block.
"I dont understand. I'm a human I have human memories oh my god I can't be a demon-" The demons grin fell. It couldn't feed and its summoner was freaking out enough to sustain them for a long while. How the summoner got stuck on earth with no memories was already a pressing question but the fact that they were so protected that they couldnt even be fed from was concerning. This was far more than a simple banishing. This was calculated. The sheer amount of planning alone was enough to marvel at but the magical skill needed to carry out such complicated runes and spells could only be carried out by true masters of the craft. Few demons or Angel's would be able to pull something off of this magnitude.
"Who are you?" The demon demanded and the summoners freak out halted.
"I...I'm no one. No one special." Hope replied meekly. The demon snarled and took a step forward. She took one back.
"No one goes to this much trouble to hide a nobody. So I'm asking again. Who are you?"
"I-I-Im H-Hope Sunderl-land and I uhh I dont know what you're t'talking about!" She tried to explain but the pressure was almost unbearable and her skin felt like it was crawling so hard it was trying to escape from the bones and run in the opposite direction. The pressure became too much for her and she turned around to bolt for the door.
The demon didnt even have to move much, raising its long arm quicker than the human eye could register, and grabbed hold of shoulder with vice like grip.
The moment contact was made the burning became molten and Hope screamed in pain. The wax melted off of her hand as if it had turned into water and pooled onto the floor. The demon let go with a harsh hiss and brought its hand close to its chest. Looking up all its eyes widened and it took a step back. No wonder it burned so violently that Hope was rendered a crying mess who could barely move.
Along her skin was intricate angelic runes carved deep into her. They swirled and burned with angelic magic, warding off any ethereal creature that dared to get too close to touch. The demon had never seen such craftsmanship. It was beautiful to behold but stronger than anything it had seen in real life. This was the type of magic that was talked about in stories. The golden burn withered but the faint glow on the summoner skin remained. To survive such magic would require the runes canvas to be a strong demon themselves but most importantly to be there willingly. Hope asked for this. Went to an angel for this. Went to great pains to hide every aspect of herself and mark herself by an Angel's hand. But why? The demon couldn't think of any reason someone would hide from even themselves to this extent.
Hope looked at her hands. At the runes that burned. She didnt know what was going on, what this meant or why she was here but deep down she understood everything. It felt familiar. Like a distant sound echoing from your past in the back of your mind. Wide tear stained eyes looked up to the demon who stood there watching in clear shock. But her eyes travelled to what stood behind the demon. A large mass of eyes and wings and energy raised its hand and effortlessly cut through the demon. It melted onto the floor and mixed with the deep red of the wax.
Hope should be afraid. She was only confused. The distant feeling in her gut surged forward with a desperation and she followed it without question into the eyes and wings. She felt relieved but she didnt know why. She felt like the urge that drove her to summon a demon was sated. Memories fizzled in her brain as a mass of presence enveloped her and held her close. She didn't understand and her memories were quickly slipping away. She didnt yet know why the pressure in her released with a content sigh. Her skin stopped crawling but instead glowed with affection. Confusion melted away.
Who was she? She was Hope. | 2020-11-21T15:57:58 | 2020-11-21T15:34:49 | 128 | 51 |
[WP] Everything you heard about magical and mythical beings is wrong. Witches are actually taking children away from irresponsible parents. Cerberus is a big, three-headed hell puppy, and dragons are just trying to protect their life savings from thieves. | “My daddy said you dance with the devil!”
“*Mine* said you’re an evil witch who poisoned the town!”
The old woman sighs, and looks beyond the garden full of herbs of every color and size.
“I don’t do much dancing anymore, and certainly not with devils. You’re safe, children. I have charmed this place and no one can harm you here. You may go whenever you wish or you may stay with me here and I will hide you from their sight and hearing or, for you older ones, I can take you to a friend who can help you start a new life elsewhere.”
“You don’t *look* like a ‘crazy old hag who eats babies’.”
“Mommy said your crooked nose means demons live inside you.”
“I was born like this, dear. Plus, the villagers beat me severely and ostracized me when I cast an enchantment to make the town’s well water drinkable. They don’t understand magic, they think it only comes from the Dark.”
“The Dark is scary!” shrieked a little girl.
“They *ostrich-sized* you?!” A little boy looked at her with eyes the size of coins.
The woman chuckles and pours the child another ladle of soup.
“They said I can’t come back home anymore, so I made my home here in this forest, far away.”
“That sounds mean.”
Several of the children nodded in agreement.
“Why are they scared of you? You seem nice.”
“People will always fear that which they don’t want to understand, even one another. They project their own personal insecurities upon - sorry children,” she winks at two of her older wards, “they make up bad stories about anything that’s not like them. And that gives them power. Dark power to hurt others or to make them go away. You see, my little ones, the Dark isn’t something caused by magic; it’s what humans create when they are afraid.” | Think of something you're sure you're an expert on; maybe music, painting, busting alien ass on Halo. Now I want you to think of how certain you are of the rules and logic of that subject, which notes blend best together, the best brush strokes to get the most desirable colour blend — and now, imagine how you would feel if you found out that *everything* you've ever thought you knew about them, was completely false. Maybe you'll understand how I feel right now.
For starters, the introduction: my name is Henry Hathaway. I'm a simple high school nerd from a simple high school in a very simple part of California. Pretty simple, right?
Might sound so, but my life took a pretty complicated turn just a few weeks ago, when I was jokingly reciting a few spells that I'd read in an old spellbook that had been gathering dust in my attic. Beside me was my best friend, Ezra Hawthorne, burly, blonde, jock-ish dude. You wouldn't think so at first glance, maybe because he could just sweep you up with his rugged good looks and tree-trunk-sized muscles, but Ezra is kind of a dork. Anyway, we'd been cosplaying enemy wizards because we were bored out of our minds, and to make it more realistic we thought we'd try actual spells. Neither of us actually thought we'd end up creating an actual portal. But we did, and we were sucked in and dropped unceremoniously off in a random magical world.
It was *insane*. There were dragons, trolls, real life wizards and all of that, but this is where my little anecdote earlier comes in — our entire perception of magical culture was hilariously bad. Like, laughable.
Seriously, when we first encountered a gigantic, vicious-looking dragon, after wandering through a forest, cold and hungry, for hours, he laughed at us when we wondered aloud why he wasn't trying to kill us. (Not our finest moment, but still).
"Witch" over here isn't a derogatory word. Its a term for brave (beautiful) women who practice arcane arts and use their powers to rescue innocent children from irresponsible parents who'd be willing to trade them for half a pint more elf's mead. Dragons are actually quite civilized, and well-learned in the subjects of astronomy and philosophy, and will go on and on for hours talking about higher forces as long as you didn't try to steal their (legally obtained) belongings. Even Cerbereus, three-headed, ferocious guardian of the Underworld was nothing more than a cuddly, oversized pupper in desperate need of a belly rub (don't ask me why we were in the Underworld; what happens in Erebus, stays in Erebus).
Really, Ezra and I quite enjoy living here. In fact, I don't think either of us actually miss our old lives at all. I mean, at first Ezra definitely felt sad for his old girlfriends at home (yes, plural), but after he met the mermaids down the beach from our new place? Melinda, who? Stephanie, who?
All in all, summoning that portal was the best mistake we'd ever made, and I don't regret it for a minute. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with a hot lady elf from down the street.
r/MysticScribbles
Wow, this is the first in a long time I've written a prompt, and in first person too. I hope it wasn't too awful :) | 2020-12-22T08:00:31 | 2020-12-22T07:03:41 | 91 | 61 |
[WP] You were cursed to be perfect. Perfect test scores, perfect health. But everyone finds you unnerving. “No human is that perfect! They’re probably a psychopath!”…”I only invited them because I was scared!”…” I wish I wasn’t related to that creep” That was the conversation you walked in on. | No one is born perfect, but apparently, I was. My mom gave birth to me exactly 9 months on the dot when they, you know. The doctors said there was nothing wrong with me, which is good when you first hear it, until you hear over, and over, and over again.
I was the perfect kid growing up, eating their veggies, being active outside, even making friends in and outside of school.
At least. I thought they were my friends, until...
I always had a smile, because I always had a reason to be happy. At least I Thought I HAD a reason, until....
My friends, my family, they all loved me and I really thought I felt it with in them everyday, until...
Nobody is born perfect, at least, that’s supposed to be the case. But here I am, perfect student, perfect health. Perfect... Family...
At least, that’s what I thought, until...
.....
Everything about Me, is perfect. Until I was shown the truth... Until I was shown the truth, of my family’s, perfect lie.... | Many of the cousins seemed to loose it, acting surprised to the perfectly paced walk of my coming. They all dressed as smart as possible, so many things were out of place. Since my face kept its calm expression the elderly put their hand against a broche marked with a crucifix. Even in the confusion I keep my cool, walk towards my belongings and run out of the house: the small town had a feel for the bizzare, always talking of someone who did whatever else along their dreadful routine.
Getting home was easy, the sound of the bike and my heart at the same beat. A bakery worker waves, his car full of bread and pies for the party I've just left.
" Take the baked pies out, they're not good for aunty Jo. " I say, taking a break from the constant contact with the pedal and cobblestone streets. He keeps them out in the counter, slightly awed by my appearance. " If you keep looking people's word will change on you... I'm bad news 'round good normal people."
He doesn't listen to my warning, handing out a slip of paper. I smile, too afraid to say thank you. His number, his personal number always available was good news. His handwriting was unknown, the paper smells like bread and syrup. The windows pass by me, the green slopes come as if knowing of my needs to run home after such horrid experience. Once in my small container home, with its own pool, vegetable garden and water fall that brought so much joy I close the gate, unlock the door and collapse onto the bed.
" Where were you?" My only friend saw the pain in my eyes, just as always talking to a cream coloured cat. " They come home early, almost crying and yet refuses to say it's her family... What comes of the curse if it takes them out of a bad place? Feels like a blessing, not a bad charm."
" Good or bad, it came from a bitter letter." I say while taking a light blue coat off my back. " As a proper unearthly being the Godly cronies put out their best prayer." I joke, uncovering the single braid pinned at the nape of the neck.
"They got themselves an angel and see a devil, hope for a blessing and receive a curse. Seems right in comparison to the way of the land." Her laugh, bright and beautiful, always cheered me up. A cup of lemon water awaits near my drawing board, ready for a new project and the work around it.
"Shall we make the mayor a new hospital? It'd be a shame to loose time, as you see." The cat jumps down, following a steam powered toy train. " Holding the pencil gives the feeling of being like all normal flawed people, even if I keep no credit for their comfort." | 2021-01-30T20:52:58 | 2021-01-30T20:51:03 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] “If you’re Death, then shouldn’t you be off collecting souls or some shit?” The woman snapped her shotgun shut before blowing another zombie clean off its feet. “Well, dipshit, I don’t know if you noticed, but I think it’s pretty obvious that I don’t have a job anymore.”
Have at it. | “If you’re Death, then shouldn’t you be off collecting souls or some shit?”
The woman snapped her shotgun shut before blowing another zombie clean off its feet.
“Well, dipshit," She said acidly as She scanned for more shambling bodies. "I don’t know if you noticed, but I think it’s pretty obvious that I don’t have that job anymore.”
"Wait, what?!?" I shouted loud enough to be heard a block away.
A rational person in a rational situation might have had reason to thing this woman a raving nutjob but She'd established her bonafides the night before.
"Come on," She said as She turned back towards the Walgreens we were looting. "Lets get what we came for and de-ass the area before three square city blocks of the living dead converge on your whiney voice."
Was it still looting if there wasn't an owner to object or a government to apply the rule of law? Maybe scavenging was a better word choice.
"Oh, right, because I'm somehow louder than a 10-gauge shotgun with an extra hot load of double-aught buckshot."
We hurried inside and moved straight towards the pharmacy counter at the back. We quickly emptied the shelves haphazardly into one of those giant olive green military surplus duffle bags. It would have taken too long to read each label in the limited illumination of our flashlights so we just took everything that wasn't in the safe or freezer.
On our way back out, She paused briefly at the rotating stand of reading glasses and pitched a bunch of them into a grocery bag. She repeated this at the opposite end of the aisle where the contraceptives were located.
I Spock'd an eyebrow at her.
"Step one is stabilizing the population," She explained brusquely as we started moving again. "After that, we can start growing it again. Trust me, we don't want to be weighed down with somebody's crotch goblins before we've got safe shelter and a stable food supply. The big ass upstairs did too good a job of wiring most of you to preserve the fruits of your various looms and it will just get everyone killed."
I just shook my head as I followed her back to the mall-crawling brodozer She had rescued me in the night before. The thing had probably never seen anything more difficult than a parking block before She'd found it. But, it had a huge motor, big lift, huge off-road tires, and the dude-bro that made it all happen had done it right. Or maybe paid somebody to do it right.
We roared off just as the first group of shamblers reached the truck and flattened a few of them in the process.
"So, you have some more survivors stashed somewhere?" I asked. "Or do you know something I don't about how to restart a population with fewer than a hundred people?"
"Hmph," She grunted in what I thought could have been construed as approval. "Not as stupid as I thought. We could do it with 80 using some social engineering and a carefully designed breeding program, but I'm hoping to gather closer to five hundred so a single minor disaster doesn't wipe everyone out."
I sagged back in my seat, the adrenaline finally wearing off. I blinked my eyes closed to clear some dirt and only opened them when She nudged me from across the cab.
"Billy, wake up, we're almost at grandma's," She said.
I shook my head to clear the fog and looked up. I must have slept for a few hours because we were up in the mountains. I saw a sign indicating we were nearing Big Bear Lake.
"Huh," I said thoughtfully as the lake came into view. "Never been here outside of skiing season."
"Don't get used to it," She said as we pulled into a Holiday Inn parking lot. "We're going to be a little nomadic for a while. This is as good a place as any to stop for the summer."
A small crowed started to form around us as we descended from the truck.
"Meds," She said handing the duffel bag off to a spare middle-aged woman.
"And a new mouth to feed," said a guy who was the spitting image of the cowboy narrator from The Big Lebowski. "Any good in a fight?"
"Better than you," She answered. "Not as good as your daughter. But he's not here for fighting."
"Oh?"
"Electrical engineer," she said.
"Good, Bill needs some backup," he said. "Come on, son. Lets get find you an empty bed."
Evening meals were evidently simple, rigidly rationed, and communal affairs. We all gathered in the hotel lobby to get our food and most people spread out into loose groups. I ended up eating with Her, Cowboy, Cowboy's daughter, and... I did a double-take. Betty White.
100 fucking year old Betty fucking White.
It was imminently clear that Betty did not approve of Her.
"So, still trying to clean up your mess?" Betty asked irritably.
"Her mess?" I asked through a mouth full of baked beans.
"Yes, that bitch Lady Death or whatever the hell she calls herself," Betty replied. "If she'd just done her job..."
I aimed a questioning glance at Her but she answered it by steadfastly looking in any direction except mine and Betty's.
"Yah, She won't talk about it but She was the last straw with the Big Chungus upstairs," Betty said after finishing her bowl of beans. "Refused to reap somebody and that was the last straw. He was having enough time getting humans to do the right thing and having to force Her pushed him over the edge."
"I couldn't," She said softly.
"It was your job," Betty said in a tone of firm authority. "You were supposed to execute the final step in the process."
A tear rolled silently down Her cheek.
We were silent for a while before my resolve to not pry failed.
"So, uh, who was it?" I asked.
"Me," Betty said.
And I just lost it and doubled-over in gales of laughter.
I mean, come on. The zombie apocalypse happened because Death refused to take Betty White to the afterlife.
Not Umbrella Corporation at Racoon City. Not tainted meat. Not amoral scientists tinkering in their labs. | I am Death. Capital "D". My job is to collect the souls of the dead and usher them on to their reward, whatever that may be. For centuries, it was routine, I did my work. While living people feared me, I really was impartial. I was transportation, a concierge for the dead, guiding the way that you have chosen during your time on Earth as a mortal.
One day, the pull to collect souls of the dead started to slow down in the same place human life started, the central part of the continent of Africa. There were no human deaths for a day or so I believed. I continued to collect souls in other places around the globe like normal. (You have no idea how many people die DAILY, so yeah, I was still busy) Over the course of a few weeks, the circle of spreading lack of death migrated like the spread of the humans across Asia and Europe, crossing over to the Americas and one day, NOBODY died. I assumed my physical form and headed to a remote locale where the last human souls I had collected was. I expected quiet, I did not find quiet.
I saw a woman holding a shotgun shooting at what appeared to be, other humans, but they were shambling walking in an odd gait, like they were sleep walking or some such thing.
"Um, Excuse me miss", I tapped her on the shoulder which caused her to jump a bit.
"Jesus H. Friggin Christ! You can't sneak up on a person with a gun, especially dressed like that!", she exclaimed genuinely frightened by my appearance.
She loaded two shells in her shotgun and blew the heads off the two closest shamblers and grabbed my arm pulling me toward a gate in a fence. "If you are who I THINK you are, we need to CHAT!"
She threw her gun to a man on the other side of the fence and told him to not let any get close, and pulled me by the arm into a house on the property.
"Who are you, Really? They don't see you, so you aren't like us."
"I am Death. I am here because well, I have nothing to do..."
"If you are Death, shouldn't you be off collecting souls or some shit?"
"It appears, *I am out of a job*..." I watched as the shamblers kept getting mowed down by the people on the fence, until they were all gone and it was quiet again. "What are those things that look like men, but aren't, because they have no soul?"
"Wait, this isn't YOUR doing?" She asked, leaning forward in her chair. "Why don't you ask your boss where the souls are?"
"I'm speaking to ... Well, Okay, So, I work for you humans. I collect your souls and carry them on, at the time of your separation of the Soul and Body. I have done this for a few thousand years. A few weeks ago, in the land where humanity began, my work, ended. Make no mistake there are cities there now, but I was not called to ferry the souls of the dead any longer. Before you ask, No, I do not work for God, or the Devil as you human minds have constructed them. My job is to ferry the soul to the next life. Around here I ferried the last one a couple of days ago. I came here to see what was happening. When I do my work, I don't see the mortal realm as you see it. I see the energy of the souls."
"Well, that explains some of it. A few weeks ago, there was an outbreak of what they were calling the next strain of Ebola. Usually, when that happened, the scientists worked quickly to quarantine the people and get things sorted to fight the disease and cut the spread. Things looked like they were working, then a media blackout hit. We heard nothing about it. Like it hadn't happened. On the Internet, people started talking about Zombies, the victims of the virus dying and then reanimating to attempt to infect others through a bite or scratch. Some victims were eaten down to the bones by the infected, others simply bitten and left alone to change. It started there, but quickly spread amongst people in ever expanding radius. Some of those bitten actually healed after the bite, only to bite others, or eat others once they had traveled to a different area. " She lit a cigarette, "Yeah, I know these things will kill me..." and looked out the window. "My grandpa died 2 days ago. Natural causes, peacefully in his sleep. We hadn't seen any of the infected here yet, thank goodness. Where did you take him?"
"I took him, on to his next life, his reward." I couldn't tell her that his life meant he believed he wasn't deserving of a reward and had chosen an afterlife of toil and pain to atone for his believed sins.
"Where are the souls?"
"I don't know. Nobody told me. I don't communicate with... *them*." I pointed up and down to illustrate the 'them' I was referring to. "I am and have always been, impartial."
There was a knock on the door, it was a polite knock, as a moment after the knock, it opened and two men walked into the house. The first of them looked like a cross between a deli worker on any NYC street corner, and the other looked like a slick televangelist in a sharp charcoal colored suit. He spoke first.
"Ah, we thought we'd find you here. Considering this was your final assignment. We are here to relieve you of your duties. You've been... " He looked around and smiled. "Made redundant."
The other man spoke up, "Don't worry, we aren't here to destroy you. You are going to the next level. I know we don't talk, it's part of the design to help keep you impartial. But you have done fantastic work and you've earned a bit of a rest...."
"Hey, he had 2 days off, that's like years of vacation..." the guy in the black suit spoke up.
"We discussed that, be quiet, he'll learn more when he gets his packet as the humans say." He smiled at me and pulled a folder out of his pocket that couldn't possibly have fit in it. "This will explain everything, but don't open it until you go outside, which will not be the same outside you came in."
I got up and took the packet. I shook his hand, and at the first touch, I felt complete warmth and peace. "This is what I gave my clients, I imagine."
"Yes it is. We'll take it from here." He put a warm hand on my back and lead me to the door, it felt so familiar, and yet alien.
The woman on the couch spoke up, she had silently watched my conversation with the two, beings. "What is going on here? Where is he going? "
The man in the charcoal suit looked at her with a little contempt and pity mixed together, "Well, Deloris, you've got to protect your community, right? We've got you covered. "
"You're going to get rid of the Zombies?"
"Oh, heavens no.... We're here to collect your energies and shut this place down. We left just enough to finish the job." He turned to look at me, "Don't you worry. You just go outside."
I walked through the door, what awaited me on the other side included colors and smells I had never experienced. Then I opened up the packet. On the first page, it said, "Welcome to your afterlife." | 2021-03-15T09:11:50 | 2021-03-15T08:46:22 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] A party of adventurers has hired you to "raise their spirits". You're wondering when to break the news that you're not a bard. You're a necromancer that plays the harp as a hobby.
EDIT: Great submissions everyone! If I missed giving you an updoot for it, the fault is with me and not your story. | "Draken you dog! We survived another raid! I told you that you'd be a great addition to the team!" Dalen laughed as he pulled the warhammer from the dead goblins head.
"Uh... yeah, you know. Just doing bard things. Playing my harp and casting my... you know. Magic?" I lied, with an unconfident smile.
"You know I just can't remember the last time that I met a bard that could heal with just a flick of their wand. It feels like we are invincible with you!" Anna said as she wrapped the arrow wound on her leg. It had been a good fight, and a long one. When you ambush goblins you expect to fight... well... goblins. Not this.
The goblins gear had been fashioned from a town militia's armor. Sigils from surrounding towns emblazoned their makeshift shields and leather armor. Each one's weapon was stamped with local blacksmiths. Ones that had an unfortunate string of robberies and or bandit attacks.
"Goblins are never this organized..." Edward said as he examined the corpse of one of them.
"It.... is odd." I mumbled to myself.
"What is there to worry about. We kill them then get paid. Just like the last two jobs. Who cares if they've got armor or they are a little smarter this time. No one can stop up!" Dalen roared thrusting his warhammer skywards.
It seemed almost fitting when the crossbow bolt struck him in the head.
"Fuck!" I yelled as I dived behind the closest tree."Archer!" yelled Anna as she knocked an arrow and fired towards the direction of the bolt.
"Edward! Get Dalen!" I yelled as I began to strum my harp. As the noise filled the surrounding words I whispered a spell under my breath. Dark and hideous words filled my mouth in a way mortal tongues shouldn't bend and I could see. It was more than sight though. The eyes of the dead were mine. Their dead goblins eyes shot open and began to search for a shape. A movement. Anything to tell us where they were....
"Anna behind the oak! The one by the goblin stuck to it!" I yelled.
I could see the arrow shoot past the dead goblin and strike something.
"Aah!" a voice rang out.
"Brothers! Move! Don't let them get away!" the voice rang out.
Two more men appeared from either side of the woodline. First held a mace and a shield with a heavy set of armor. The kind that no mere bandits could afford. The second wasn't wearing much armor but the his clothes were stamped with a red eye.
"God's Eye delivers!" I hissed under my breath.
"Edward behind you!" I yelled to him. He looked between the two men and dropped Dalen to draw his blade. He stood tall in a defensive stance ready for the larger of the two to approach. The other man stepped forward, ready to rush in from the side.
"Not likely." I whispered under my breath as I reached out to the goblin corpse next to him. I pushed deep from within. Feeling myself reach out from the corpse of the goblin. I could feel the man's soft leather boot as the goblin wrapped a clawed hand around his ankle. Could feel his panic as he tried to shake it off.
Next to him, another corpse sprang back to motion. Its hand slamming the ground in front of it. Dragging along the earth to meet him as he kicked away at the dirt beside him. "Fucking undead!" the man yelled as he kicked free of the first goblin.
They weren't enough to stop him but they were enough to distract him. I rushed out from behind my hiding spot as soon as I heard the first clash of metal against metal. Edward could hold his own against any swordsmen but what we needed right now was numbers. And I meant to give it to them.
I slid next to Dalen's body. The arrow stuck from his head like a unicorn's horn and his pale lifeless eyes starred at me. Almost accusingly.
"Don't worry. I got you. Just like last time. Just like the time before that. I won't let you die. I won't let you die." I said wrapping my hands around his head.
I could feel life pour out from me and fill his body. Bringing someone back to their body isn't like moving a corpse. You've got to build the bridge. Brick by brick and each time it was a little harder. But I had to. I promised. I would raise their spirts.
The rogue broke free of both the goblins and I could feel him approach as I laid the pathways to Dalen. I'd gotten used to it by now that I could have found his soul in a sea of goblin souls. It was fierce, fiery and it felt like holding hot coals when it passed from one life to another. Just like him in life.
"Draken!" Anna screamed as she loosed an arrow at the rogue. I didn't need to look to know it missed. I could feel him now. His soul was slick like the skin of a snake and he was going to strike. Dalen's soul warmed my skin as it found the bridge once again and roared past. Life returned to the cold dead eyes as they glistened with a milky-white hue.
"Ha Ha! Battle!" Dalen said, launching to his feet to face the rogue.
"I did it.... I did it again." I laughed to myself as I looked over to my friends. Dalen had hardly noticed the arrow in his head. Edward didn't seem to mind that he'd been missing part of his jaw. And Anna... well I don't know how much of Anna was left that was her other than her head but the stitches seemed to be holding well... | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 3, Part 2: Skullduggery v.s. Over The Table)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"When I said we needed allies,"** I grumbled, "I meant *political* allies. News stations. Governors. I'd even take an angry mob at this point."
"And that's all well and good," Tupperman said, ruffling my hair. I slapped his hand away; he nearly tripped over a snake den hidden in the grassy plains. He swore to himself, hopping on one foot, and even Janice cracked a faint smile at his antics. He caught up to me after a moment. "But here's the thing: I haven't the foggiest flying fuck of a clue how to go about getting you any of those. What I *can* get is a friend who won't sell us out to the Feds—and let's be honest, those are coming at a premium right now."
"...Look, Tupperman, you're one of the best people I know, but... you're talking about connecting with criminals. It's just... out of my comfort zone."
Tupperman grinned. "Hey, that's okay. Being on the run from the Federal government is out of your comfort zone, too, and you seem to be doing just fine. Think of it as an adventure," he said.
"An adventure," I repeated flatly.
"Yeah! I can be the party's wizened and ancient wizard, who knows a thousand and one magical spells." He gestured at the horizon, materializing Tupperware boxes from thin air like confetti.
"You have exactly one supernatural ability," I deadpanned, "and it is to summon Tupperware. Hardly a thousand and one spells. Also, you're thirty-four years old."
"Ancient!" He said dramatically.
"I'm thirty-five."
"You can be the shriveled old crone. Every good adventuring party has one of those."
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling despite myself. When Tupperman got like this, there was no stopping him; the only winning move was to beat him at his own game. "What kind of adventuring party has a mom bring her teenage daughter along?"
"She can be the steadfast, silent dwarf," Tupperman said. Both of our eyes flickered to where my daughter plodded along behind us, head down beneath the beating sun. Normally, Janice would have looked up and shot a wisecrack right back at Tupperman.
But now she just kept on walking, staring at her feet. I suspected we could've stood aside and let her walk to the ends of the Unified Sovereignties, and she wouldn't have even noticed.
Tupperman lowered his voice. "Besides... Janice is in bad shape, emotionally. Has been, ever since she..." Tupperman grimaced at my expression; neither of us wanted to be reminded of that day. "We need to lift her spirits before she develops... problems. I think I know a guy."
"Alright. Lead on, O Wizened Wizard," I said, raising my voice again.
He bowed gallantly, walking forward as he did so. "As you command, Shriveled Old *gak!*"
He tripped on another snake den; I caught him before he faceplanted. We both burst out laughing, our mutual shock and hilarity thrumming through our clasped hands and reinforcing each other.
Janice kept walking forwards, head hanging low, expression unchanged. When she reached us, she looked up and quietly asked, "Can you please keep moving?"
The laughter died in my throat as I saw the empty, hollow expression on my daughter's face.
Tupperman cleared his throat and extricated himself from my grasp. "Yeah. Let's—let's keep moving, shall we?"
\###
Tupperman's friend lived in the middle of absolutely nowhere, which quite frankly was convenient when one was on the run. None of us wanted to risk drawing the attentions of the Federal government by veering too close to a city; the odds that a spy drone would pass over this random section of Arizonac Territory plains were minimal.
We arrived at a pleasant wooden house next to a wide farm—more trees must have gone into its construction that I'd seen in the entirety of the Arizonac Territories. A couple workers in the back plowed fertile fields. Faint sounds of a harp tinkled out from inside. I cleared my throat, then strode forward to address one of them.
"Excuse me?" I asked.
The worker gave no response.
I frowned. "Do you speak English?" I tried.
The worker reached the end of their row and turned around, still ignoring my voice.
I leaned forwards. "Hell—*ohmygod*." I jerked backwards as soon as I saw the face beneath that wide-brimmed straw hat.
It was a skeleton, stripped to the bone. It calmly continued plowing, ignoring my shocked expression.
Tupperman laughed as he passed. "Don't worry. They're under the control of Skullduggery. They won't bite unless you piss him off—and *please, please* don't do that. Let me do the talking."
I frowned. "Skullduggery—you mean the *necromancer*?" I paused. "Wait, when you said that he would raise our spirits, did you mean—"
"No, although now that you mention it that's a hilarious joke and I'm retroactively pretending I intended that all along. It's just..." Tupperman lowered his voice. "Skullduggery has a nice place cut out for himself—and his information network spreads pretty widely. We'll be safe here, even from the Feds, for a little while. And... having somewhere safe to sit down and rest seems like it might be what Janice needs."
I looked back at my daughter. She hadn't stopped in her constant onward march except to sleep; even when eating, she just kept moving ahead, forcing us to eat on the go with her.
"Yeah," I finally said, "it might be."
Tupperman smiled. "Alright. Then let's go meet our new best friend, eh?"
The two of us walked to Skullduggery's front door; after a moment, Janice followed with that plodding, unresponsive march of hers.
She would've fit right in with the skeletons.
I clenched my fist. Of all the things the Feds had done, breaking my daughter was the one they'd pay for the most.
I'd bring her back, no matter how many necromancers I had to associate with, or how many other lines I'd have to cross.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/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. | 2021-04-10T10:42:09 | 2021-04-10T09:11:02 | 41 | 19 |
[WP] You have drunkenly been discussing the Dark Lord with other tavern patrons, insulting him to no end. When someone storms up demanding you stop as he is one of the Dark Lords students. Strange thing is you don’t remember teaching this kid. | "The trappings of fame," thought the Dark Lord as he rode into town. "Wenda's ale is worth the trouble."
He placed a simple glamour over his face. He could handle any would be heroes, but he didn't care for the annoyance. Tonight he was again Todd, the traveling merchant.
Todd entered the tavern and was greeted with an uproar. Visitors were rare in this town. He chatted with the locals and sat at his usual table.
Wenda, the tavern owner, placed a tankard in front of Todd.
"Your usual, I assumed." said Wenda.
Todd replied, "Wenda, they could write songs about your barley ale."
Todd took a large swig and winked at her. His drinking companions laughed. Erick, the smithy, and Colin, the miller were simple people, but a welcome reprieve from the dark nobles.
Colin asked, "Todd, any news? We haven't seen you in near a moon's turn."
Todd drank deeply and said, "Pox in the Northern hamlets. The bridges over the river have been closed. A massive she wolf has been spotted in the coastal woods. They say it has a thirst for children. The bells are ringing in the capitol. The duchess has given birth to a son."
Erick looked around nervously and asked, "Any word of....the Dark Lord?"
Todd smiled, "Oh yes, he killed King Allen."
Erick spit out his ale. Todd laughed heartily.
Colin replied, "That's not funny."
Todd composed himself and said, "Seriously, no confirmed sightings in two months. Some say he's a coward. Some that he's lost his magic. He's been with the Dark Empress for two years and no children...if you get my meaning."
They laughed and ordered another round. The door opened and a stranger stood in the doorway. He wore all black. He was tall and pale. His eyes were dark with make up. The tavern went quiet and all eyes were on the stranger.
The stranger spoke up dramatically, "My name is Carrow and I have been sent by the Dark Lord. I don't want to hurt any one. I am here for coin, jewelry, and other valuables. Do as I say, or else...."
He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it into the fireplace. It flashed a bright green color and then subsided.
Todd stifled a laugh. This was no true magic. The tavern patrons began producing coin purses in fear. Carrow moved about the tavern collecting his prizes. He stopped at Todd's table.
Carrow asked, "A merchant? What have you for me?"
Todd stood, "Leave these simple people alone. I have spices, cloth, and grain in my wagon. Leave these people alone and it's yours."
Carrow smiled, "You dare defy the servant of the Dark Lord. I could curse you to a slow death."
Todd opened his coin purse and produced a large ruby. Carrow's eyes grew wide. Todd raised the ruby with his left hand and deftly reached for his dagger with the right hand. He drove the dagger quickly into Darrow's side. Carrow screamed as the blood flowed.
Many of the tavern patrons fled. Others began to pray. Carrow cried foul curses until he died. The tavern went silent.
Wenda screamed, "Todd, you will bring the Dark Lord's wrath on our town!"
Todd replied, "This is my fault. I will dispose of the body."
Colin and Erick helped load the body into the wagon as Wenda cleaned the blood on the floor. Todd rode out of town.
The Dark Lord talked to Carrow as he rode, "Carrow, you might have been a good student of the dark arts. A shame. You shouldn't have come into my bar like that. I'm not done with you. Perhaps in death you might make a proper servant."
The Dark Lord chanted as he rode, and Carrow's finger's began to twitch. | Jaren sat in his chair and swayed. He eyed the mug in front of him and huffed a sigh of disappointment at the slightly stale ale he'd been trying to finish off. It tasted like piss but it was doing the job of getting him drunk."
The bloody bastard really should fuck off shouldn't he," Jaren tossed at the whispering commoners who had been talking about him. Jaren threw his head back and laughed at their irritation and fear as he openly belittled that which their worst nightmare. It was plain on their face how horrified they were he would dare so openly challenge the thought of the dark lord.
To be fair they they didn’t know HE was the dark lord so no ill will would come to him. All they saw was a drunk idiot trying to get himself killed. In all actuality he probably was trying to get himself killed, though he never lingered to long on that idea. Everyone died eventually after all. Some just more painfully than others.
If only they knew who sat amongst them. Oh they would piss their pants for sure. Jaren laughed even louder at the though. He’d seen it enough to know exactly what it would be like.His myth was growing day by day. The more they feared him the more “un-holy” powers they gave him. As his moniker passed from each pair of lips the more fantastic the stories became they spread them around. He was a dark god out for vengeance. A demon sent to harry them for their mis-deeds. A boogyman in the dark that could hear them call his name and destroy the family that dared to utter the syllables he was known by. How stupid they were. He was nothing then a mere mortal given a self appointed quest to teach them all a lesson.
Jarens lips quirked up in a smile as he listened to the whispers around him once more. Setting his mug down he motioned to the barkeep to fill it again. Hushed tones full of hate, fear and even some healthy respect. He loved it. He loved it all. How hard he’d worked for others to fear him it was good to listen to them quake. They were cowards all of them. Each and every single one of them would talk a big game but when push came to shove they would stand by and do nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Half these fools would stand and spectate as horrible atrocities were done. The other half would turn tale and run. The rare few just might stand up to him. Those he would spare. Those deserved respect in their own right.
Too bad not a single one of them had stepped up to challenge him. Not yet. Soon one would grow a pair enough to truly be a threat to his rule. He honestly looked forward to that day. Until then he’d keep on his fight. He’d march his army to one town after another until he ruled this continent. The cowards deserved nothing less than to live in the filth they created.
“The Dark Lord and his bloody minions. Pox on them,” he tossed out just to watch the people flinch and flinch they did.
“Stop. Stop speaking ill of him. I’ll not have you slander My Lord,” A young voice sounded to his right.
Jaren paused with his mug halfway to his lips and turned his head slowly to regard the young buck that dared interrupt him. The boy was barely 15 years old. His face dirt smudged and pimpled. His voice cracking as he spoke. The boys clothes were worn and stitched haphazardly to keep the thread bare pieces together. Jaren raised an eyebrow at him. Taunting him.
The boy continued to clinch and unclinch his hands as if wanting to strike him but knowing it would be futile. Jaren was no small man. Sitting at just above six feet and muscle built over hours of hard labor he turned his full regard to the boy.
“Your lord? How is he your lord? You look like you’ve barely kissed a woman much less met the Dark Lord.” Jarens voice had deepened as he considered the young boy who had paled as Jaren faced him.
The boy swallowed twice before he managed to speak again but his voice was surprisingly calmg given the subtle shaking in his hands.“You don’t understand him. Why he does what he does. Don’t slander what you don’t know,”
“And you understand the Dark lord’s motivations do you?” Jaren let the false merriment drop from his face and regarded the boy with all the dark emotions swirling in the pit of his stomach. The boy went to take a step back but caught himself. “And what prey tell is the Dark Lords motivations?”
The boy drew his spine straight and even managed to puff out his chest a tad before he spoke. “To teach others a lesson in humility. To break them until they build themselves back up. To remind them to stand together and remember to help their fellows,” He boys voice grew more confidant as he spoke. Though he deflated slightly as he ended his statement. Confidence was not this ones strong suit. But the boy had spirit. Heart. That was rare.
The boy spoke as if he knew Jaren though had never seen him before. He’d have recalled this sort of mind within his ranks. This boy was a surprise. He would never have guessed that insight would come from one so young. A child barely old enough to know how to shave had figured out what most grown men couldn’t see. This child held promise.
“Come with me son. I have a proposition for you,” Jaren stepped off his stool and pulled the boy to his side. Confidently striding to the door with the boy tucked under his arm, the confusion evident on his face but he followed.
Yes this child would fit well within his ranks. | 2022-01-14T17:41:26 | 2022-01-14T16:16:54 | 186 | 134 |
[WP] You have the ability to see into the past. You can only observe past events, not change them. You're helping the police solve a murder. As you're describing what happened, the killer suddenly turns around and seems to look you straight in the eye. "I know you're watching". | As I awoke, I fell to the side. Beads of sweat careened down my forehead as I gasped for air. I struggled to push myself back into a sitting position as one of the officers came over to help me up.
“Did something happen?” He said.
I felt the swirling and spinning of my mind begin to slowly subside. The single bulb in the room flickered and crackled as my senses slowly returned to reality.
“Yea. Yea.” My mind flashed back to the moment. It was like any other case I had worked on. Well, it had been. The man’s body had come in yesterday and I simply had to follow it back and watch the murder. But in the room, as his wife, well I assumed his wife, slowly lowered the knife to the ground, not caring about the blood dripping down her arms, she turned to face me. Something looked familiar. Fiery red hair draped her face.
I shivered. “She looked at me. And spoke. She said ‘I know you’re watching.’”
“Did you see where she went?” The officer said.
“What? No. I stopped instantly.”
“Why? No ones seen you before. It’s impossible.” The officer shrugged his shoulders.
“Me being able to see through time is impossible,” I said. The officer opened his mouth to speak but quickly shut it as I stared at him.
“Well, what do we do now?” He said.
“I can give you her face?” I scratched at the back of my head.
“Or you could try and follow her for us?” The officer nodded at his partner who locked the door. I shuddered as the partner held his hand mere inches from his baton.
“Can I at least call my family and say I’ll be late for dinner?”
“No.”
I sat back down on the floor and crossed my legs. My heart pounded in my chest as I took some deep breaths.
Hopefully Katherine wouldn’t be too mad about having to look after Jamie alone tonight… I smiled as the picture of her crossed my mind. Tiny tufts of red hair has just started to grow in.
I refocused on the task at hand and slowly, the all too common swirling washed over me. The room faded away and it felt like I was falling into a void. As suddenly as the drop began, it vanished however.
I found myself on the street outside his house. A few moments later, the woman emerged from the house, all cleaned up. She skipped outside and once again turned to me. Again, the familiarity struck. But I couldn’t pick it. I hadn’t seen her before. Anywhere. Had I?
“Are you coming along?” She said with her arm outstretched.
“How? How can you see me?”
“Oh I can’t.” She chuckled.
“Hear me then.”
“Nor that.”
I was ready to scream at her.
“Oh, stop making such a stupid face. I’m a time traveller. So are you. Kind of. More you’re a time surveyor? I don’t really know the term, that’s simply what you call it.”
“But I’ve never…” I began
“Will call it. Keep up.”
“So what are you doing here? Why him?” I said as I began to walk after her, though hesitantly. She spun in circles as she spoke.
“Well, he was going to die from an overdose in like an hour. We haven’t *really* adjusted the timeline too dramatically. You said it was fine yourself. In fact, you called it the safest moment to crack.” She paused for a moment as passers by looked at her with a side eye. She simply smiled and wiggled her fingers dramatically at them.
“As for why I’m here. Well. Dad, I wanted to say I love you. And everything’s going to be okay. We’ll find you.” She turned to face me. Tears in her eyes. Her eyes… they were the same as my daughters. She was my daughter? And her hair… The same red as mine, but hers was still to grow in properly. She wasn’t even one yet. But she was at least… 25 years older if not more. She wrapped her arms directly around where I was standing. I tried to hug her back but it was like grabbing at a ghost. And in a flash of light, that’s all she was, as she disappeared.
I woke up.
“I couldn’t find her.” One of the officers brought his arm towards my face. I flinched, although he never made contact.
“That’s okay. New orders.” He said and lightly tapped my face as he pinched my cheek. The stench of cheap aftershave mixed with twisties emanated from his fingers.
“What new orders?” Before I could even finish, something thudded into the back of my head as everything went black.
Only one thought filled my mind. One word.
Jamie? | A blur, and Jane falls into a sea of ink. The ink fills her mouth, her lungs, and Jane drowns into the past.
She wakes up spitting on red sand. Beyond the beach, where the murder happened, yesterday. It is Ademar the husband who called the police. He had found his wife savagely murdered in the kitchen, a monstrous carnage while he was away. He himself is a man without story, a naturally happy husband appreciated by the entire neighborhood. Even the worst policeman felt empathy when understanding how deep the bond went between Ademar and his wife Celine.
Jane walks through the past defined by entropy, what shines new today is inevitably crumbling yesterday. From sand, Jane goes onto a treacherous and broken road. Mountains of dust hand from the red sky, the sun is old and feeble.
A house stands remote in the Spanish village, overlooking a downward verdant slope and inviting to spend a lazy afternoon in the present. This is before, the plants have rampaged through the garden, the fence is bust and the clear wooden door has grown, tendrils encroaching upon the walls.
Jane pulls with both her arms to get it open. The effort made her sweaty. As with hay or compost, decomposition gave off heat, and the past was uncomfortably warm.
The door creaks and Jane swears. She must remain discreet, she is a force of renewal in a time awaiting the end, her presence is anathema and will not be taken kindly. But she has to risk breaching the rules, for the living, for the memory of those who still were not so long ago.
A sob in the kitchen.
Celine on the chair has cried all her tears, her eyes are dry. Ademar is having a panic attack on the ground.
Jane remembers the corpse of a lively young Celine, the killing would happen soon. Yet only her husband is present. Something doesn't add up.
Jane feels strangely cold.
Ademar.
Celine.
No door opening, no window, no entry.
The sobs turn into a hysterical laughter, husband and wife are losing it together.
A shiver, a twitch of the nose. They both suddenly look around, they sense a presence, Jane's presence. Despite watching through her on many occasions, they cannot find her exact spot.
"This can't be," Jane whispers.
Celine and Ademar turn to her.
The door creaks, a root digs up the concrete floor and enters deep within the earth. Jane's time is getting short.
"I know where you are," says the man, "but I don't know when you are."
"This is our chance!" the woman is suddenly rapturous, "she could help, she may even help herself."
They exchange a look.
Jane is cold. Her fingers go numb and her breath turns to white smoke.
"What are you?" asks Celine.
"Jane."
"Not who. What. I will be dead soon, I have no need for your name."
"I'm... a policewoman."
Celine turns to Ademar with a savage smile. She gets up, opens a cupboard, hands her husband a knife.
He looks at the knife, then at Celine, and shakes his head.
"My love, you have to. To bring Jane here. And if I'm already dying, it might as well be in a way I want to. By your hand."
Jane approaches to lay a translucent hand on Celine's shoulder, finds she can't.
"You feel it too, don't you?" asks Ademar, "the cold."
Jane's body is overtaken by a tremor, sweat pours down her face, the numbness of her fingers turn to searing pain. Frostbite, hallucinations. She has to go, has to run.
"Yes," says the man, "run, return to your time, and find my wife, once you do, find me," he doesn't look at Jane, only at Celine while he raises his knife. "It will claim you like it claimed her, and then it will find the next, and the next, and the next. But who knows, with luck you may even save yourself."
Jane stumbles out, her left leg gives way and she crawls. A crimson point appears in the sky right above her, the tip of a mountain starts its descend. It is angry, it's hate paints the world in fire and ashes. Behind Jane, the wet, sharp cuts of repeated stabs throughout the arms, the legs, the chest, and the words repeated by husband and wife again and again,
"I love you."
Ademar would call the police, Jane would come. And she would find herself the day before, in the known dampness of the old times, disturbed by the unnatural cold.
The colossus from the sky is nearing the intruder wriggling on the ground towards the black sea, roofs and streetlamps shake and break by the presence of the mountain of loathing and age, it breaks the world by way of its HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HA...
Just before it finds little Jane, she manages the last push and falls into the ink, into the nothingness.
A breath, a shock, agent Stalford holds Jane by the shoulders. Stalford is nearing retirement and has seen everything, meaning he is absolutely fine with Jane's peculiar methods and does his best to help her.
"Where is he?" she croaks between coughs.
"Who?"
"Ademar, the husband!"
"He went to get some cigarettes down the street, wh..."
Jane leaves the house. On the street, she takes a moment to fill her lungs with fresh air. The sun is warm, the wind fresh, the street quiet and peaceful. No time like the present.
A chill. Goosebumps. An icy hand wraps itself around her heart and squeezes. The warm world goes dark, Jane's skin freezes up and she can't move, she loses balance. Her petrified body falls, for a second, a minute, an hour. An unending chute into oblivion, but oblivion never comes. The ice remains, the painful, blood-chilling cold, dead and forbidden to go on, trapping her in the great nowhere.
She catches herself before hitting the ground. There she is again, in the sunny street. The hand on her heart retreats.
But it remains near, somewhere and somewhen.
Jane runs.
Jane runs to find Ademar, runs from the ice, from the cold.
Jane runs for her life and the next. | 2022-02-12T07:45:37 | 2022-02-12T07:14:50 | 170 | 56 |
[WP] "I don't believe in heaven. But I desperately want to believe in hell." | I have an unusual view of the afterlife. There can't be a heaven, not from what I've seen from the scum that walk the earth. If there is one, it's empty. Not even small children in there; they all turn out to be scum anyway when they grow up, so what's the point?
I look at the world, all those helpless women and children ruthlessly murdered and tortured, and I can almost laugh. Almost. They're helpless, sure, but if they could fight back, they'd show that they're just as bad. Just as sick. That's what they are, a disease, a plague upon this perfect world. There can be no heaven for them. Not one of them deserves it.
But hell? Now, there's an idea. A pit of eternal fire crawling with the souls of the damned, all the murderers and thieves getting what they deserve, right there next to the women and children getting what they would deserve had they ever been given the chance. Scum, all of them.
The world needs a hell. It needs a punishment for all these sickening, twisted souls. At times, the thought that there isn't one has almost driven me to suicide. The only thing holding me back is the thought that I might be right. It sends chills through me, that the world might never see proper punishment for their horrid sins.
The girl behind the screen is finishing up. It's been quite a list this time. And here's the worst part. My line. The lie I have to repeat every time these sick bastards stumble in here, fighting their hangovers and their well-earned shame. "Say ten Hail Marys, child, and you are forgiven in the name of our Lord." Disgusting. | Alan kicked forward, knocking the breath out of the man in the chair, which fell backwards.
"How does the other end of the ropes feel, you ugly fucker?" he screamed, but only the sounds of rapid breathing answered him.
Alan fought to contain his anger, and continued, in a nervous voice: "Hiding in plain sight works *in the movies*, William."
The rapid breathing caught.
"Yes, *William*, I'm not calling you Ricky anymore. We know each other; why not be honest with our names?"
The breathing from the fallen chair slowed down.
"I should have killed you on the first night. Fuck you, Alan, *fuck you*!" he finished his words yelling and fighting against the tight knots surrounding him. Some of the ropes shifted, but there was nothing he could have done in less than hours.
"And how would you have done it, William? Tell me. I'm curious."
William remained silent, but a sharp kick to the side of his head shook him enough to motivate his speech:
"I would have choked you on my dick, that's what I should have done. I would have peeled your skin off and stuffed it in your throat, or just fucking stabbed your stupid little kid face!"
Alan squatted on the floor, next to his captive's head.
"Yes, I was a kid. But I've grown up. I've grown up in the years you kept me here, but I've also grown up since I escaped. I've gotten stronger, William, and you're going to taste that soon enough."
He stood back up and started walking away, his back to the man who had killed the child in him.
"Where are you going? What the fuck are you doing, I'm going to kill you!"
Alan did not answer, instead picking up a small syringe from a stool on the other side of the damp basement. He closed his eyes and ignored William's screams, and the memories of five years spent on the chair behind him came back, trickling bits of pain and sorrow: fuel for what he was about to do.
"William. William, *shut up*!"
Silence reigned again.
"I could have gone fancy, and done anything you would have, or have, done to me. But I'm a good person, William; just a little injection, and it'll all be over."
William struggled with enough strength to make the heavy, sturdy chair fall on one side. "What the fuck is in there? Answer me you fuck!"
"Calm the fuck down," he said with the patience of a man dealing with a child, "and let me answer you." Alan removed the cap of the syringe and examined it for flaws.
"This, to be honest, is poison. You are going to die, in worse pain than you have ever dealt anyone, William, and let me admit something."
He squatted once again, in the same spot, held his head still with a gloved hand and placed the head of the syringe on his throat. William froze.
"I don't believe in Heaven, but I desperately want to believe in Hell, because that's where I'm hopefully sending you."
The syringe pierced his skin and his Alan's thumb pressed the liquid into his victim's blood.
"Goodbye, Ricky." He said, through he was unheard; his rapist's screams were drowning out every sound in the damp, sinister basement.
| 2013-10-23T09:19:52 | 2013-10-23T07:52:27 | 139 | 30 |
[WP] A society where loneliness is encouraged and social interaction is looked down upon. | "Wow. That's a long time. I didn't last that long." Sarah says as she shakes her head.
"How long did you last since the last time?" Nate asks.
Sarah's eyes fill with tears. "Six days. Six tiny days. I know they say it takes a week to 'get over yourself and into yourself', but I couldn't do it. I felt another second would cause my mind to unravel into nothingness. That's why I snuck over here. I knew you'd understand."
Nate nods. "Yeah. It's bullshit. At least the adults get to go to work and turn these pendants off. Sure they maintain silence, but at least they are around people. Even if I could just watch people, I'd last twice as along. This isn't natural."
Sarah grasps her pendant with both hands. "I know right! How is being alone going to 'calm our minds' and 'make us better people'?! It doesn't make sense! I mean we don't even know who or what a better person is! I can tell you I've never met one!"
Suddenly both of their pendants began to slowly flash.
Nate sighs deeply. "They are going off faster each time it seems. We better separate quick before they find us Sarah. I'm sorry."
Sarah refuses to watch as Nate disappears into the thicket. | *Email the report by the morning.*
Rob knew he had a lot of work to do, but luckily he had already picked up his Starbucks delivery from his front stoop and his wife was in her room working. No distractions meant optimal work conditions.
The report was coming along smoothly, when at approximately 9:15 someone knocked at the front door. Rob looked up from his notepad, confused. He put his pencil down and waited to see if the knocking would cease. It did not. Standing at the doorway, peering out into the hall, the mystery figure could not be identified through the lace curtains. He looked to his right towards his wife’s room. Nothing. He knew she would likely ignore it indefinitely.
Rob walked to the door where the pounding was still occurring with a steady rhythm. With a turn of the knob, Rob swung the door open. He locked eyes with a very average looking man. Nothing special about him. No uniform. No delivery truck behind him.
“Can I help you?” Rob asked as he looked around for anyone else.
“Yes you can. I just moved next door and wanted to say hello. Thought I’d get to know my neighbors a bit. How do you do?” The man appeared to be very outgoing and somewhat invasive all while displaying a huge maniacal smile on his face.
“Ok? Nice to meet you. I’m really busy working so I should go. Bye.” Rob closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief. *What a weird guy*, Rob thought to himself. I hope he doesn’t make a habit of stopping by.
Just then, a thought struck rob and he ran over to his phone. He dialed the police and told them what he just happened.
“Police.”
“Yes, I’m sorry for calling, but there is a guy next door who came over to my house just to talk. He was very polite and quite personable.”
“Ok thank you. We’ll send someone over.”
Later that week Rob read a news article that took place on his street. It occurred to him as he was reading it that it was written about his neighbor.
*Earlier this week a man was arrested on Clark Street where he had just moved. After further inspection it was determined that the man had a number of mental deficiencies and is being detained for further examination. Initial reports state that the man had been an avid listener of some controversial artists such as Jason Mraz and Miranda Lambert. It is being speculated that the songs of these artists led to the erratic social behavior of the suspect. It is likely he will end up remaining in the Washington Penitentiary so as not to pester any other citizens in the future.*
Rob sat back with a smile on his face knowing he did some good for once. A window on his computer screen lit up at that moment. It was an instant message from his wife in the next room.
*Good job, babe. Just read the article.*
| 2014-07-23T09:34:18 | 2014-07-23T09:03:53 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Everybody has the ability to bring another person back to life, at the cost of their own life. You are a suicidal celebrity who can't stay dead because of fans constantly sacrificing their lives to resurrect you. | They debate who will get to die for me next. Don't want to kill two people when you could only lose one.
That's how I feel. Like I'm a killer. It doesn't really help the suicidal ideation. I've had it all my life, this tugging that I'm not good enough.
The first time I decided to end my life I didn't think anyone would care. Like, yeah, I'm a pop star. But barely. I'm a one hit wonder, some mix between a *Call me Maybe* and Miley Cyrus after the going insane. Sure, I had some fanboys.
But I never thought I'd be worth a life.
I didn't think I was worth my own life.
And yet there I was, lying in a pool of my own sick after a drug overdose that should have - I guess technically did - killed me.
"Oh, she's awake!"
"Thank God!"
"Welcome back, Emerald!"
It takes a while to get back to normal after death. There's that relief that comes with suicide. That final realization that it won't hurt anymore. For me there was no regret that first time. Coming back from that was like finding out they'd gotten the terminal brain tumor but the radiation caused leukemia.
It sucked.
And someone else was dead. For me. Someone who had this long, wonderful life because they were only twelve and twelve-year-olds don't have the mental capacity to realize what they're doing.
It was a few years before I died again. It was everything. The guilt, the depression, the pressure. Storms came and went and I found myself unable to do anything. Then suicide came again, and with that idea I just felt free.
So I left a note.
*Please don't bring me back.*
Of course, celebrities don't belong to themselves. It didn't matter what *I* wanted.
Then I had two lives given up for mine.
I should be in jail. Suicidal, famous, responsible for two deaths.
But they don't call me a murderer. They just cheer that I'm here, and call those two who gave their lives for me heroes.
If only they knew. If only they believed me. If I knew no one else would give their life for me, I'd be gone in an instant.
But that's not the case. I perform, I hate myself, I wish constantly for the release of death.
But my life is a show. And for now the show must go on.
----
Thanks for reading. Check out and subscribe to r/Celsius232 for more stories | I won a Grammy yesterday, or so my manager told me - I didn't give a shit. I hung up on her, like I always do. With every award I win, every platinum record I release, every single that shoots straight to the top of the charts, I can only sink deeper into the darkness. Because praise brings fans, and fans adore you and everything you could ever possibly do. They love you when you despise them and yourself even more. And worst of all, they idolize you so much that they just won't let you fucking die.
I'm standing in front of the mirror now, shaving for the first time in a month. It's hard to see myself through the shards of broken glass left over from when I threw my face into the mirror, but I manage it well enough. The shaving isn't really the point of this, anyway. It's just busy work while I think of how I should kill myself today.
I've lost count of how many times I've done it by now, but it has to be somewhere in the hundreds. Guns used to be my favorite. Fast, simple, and bloody as hell. But that was unoriginal and got boring after a while, so I switched to letting others do the killing for me. I'd run into traffic or throw myself in front of a train, whatever got the job done and seemed interesting at the time. But that didn't work either after I remembered that cars had young, impressionable children inside them, and parents who didn't want my guts and severed limbs scarring their precious children for the rest of their lives and staining their brand new Mercedes.
After a while, I didn't care how I did it, I just had to do it. And every time I did it, my fans only seemed to love me even more, so much that they were willing to exchange their lives for mine. They think they're heroes when they do it. They think that this time, I'll come back and be happy, like they've always wanted me to be, like they think *I've* always wanted me to be. What they don't know is that every time they bring me back to life, I'm even more dead than I was before.
I've been standing in front of the mirror for far too long. I need to pick something and do it fast, before my manager gets here and stops me. I look around the room. Soap, shampoo, plunger, medicine, razor, toothbrush... there's a knock on the door. My manager says something, jiggles the knob, and starts yelling for me to unlock it. Shit, guess I'm out of time. Okay, I got it. I pick up the razor and run it straight through my throat. Warm blood trickles down my neck and onto my naked body, and I fall lifeless to the floor.
I wake up in a hospital, fully clothed, to see her sitting at the foot of the bed. She looks disappointed, but not surprised. The same look she always has. "It was a 16 year-old this time. From England. Smart. Funny. Very promising future. He wrote you a note."
I don't answer.
"Why do you do it? Just why? I don't understand. You're killing other people when you do this, don't you know that? It's never just yourself. I get that you're depressed. Who the hell isn't? But you know it won't work. It will *never* work as long as your fans love you as much as they do. And you know they always will."
I don't answer.
"Are you listening to me? Do you hear what I'm telling you right now? No, of course you don't. Why the fuck do I even bother anymore?"
She was wrong. I heard her, every word she said. She just didn't hear herself. She said it right there, plain as day. She gave me the answer. How I can end it all, do it for real, and let it be forever this time. She was right: it will never work as long as my fans love me as much as they do. So, I just need to make them hate me as much as I hate myself.
"Yes, I hear you," I say, with a feeling I haven't experienced in years: excitement. "Now let's get to work." | 2016-07-06T21:27:22 | 2016-07-06T21:24:08 | 1,116 | 92 |
[WP] Hundreds of years in the future, nerds fondly over-romanticize the late 20th/ early 21st century in completely historically inaccurate and anachronistic festivals akin to modern Renfaires. | "Allah Christ!" cried the calculator technician. "Your calculator has so many bacteria on it, I'll have to defraggle the motherdisc."
"But won't I lose all the knowledge stored on it?" asked the customer, fearfully.
"Have you been performing regular hoedowns?"
The customer frowned. "I don't think so... That's in the Hoedown and Renaissance section of my Doors 11 settings page, right?"
"Yes, that's correct," said the technician. "I can make a hoedown right now if you want, but it will cost a bit extra because I'll have to manually bing all the documents you want to save. I don't want to hoedown any bacteria and have them wind up on the new version of Doors 11!"
"Well, OK, as long as it's less than 50 zorkmids..." | "You have offended M'Lady, JB! I challenge you to a Pokemon duel!" - the man in fedora cried out. Despite being relatively fit, he was wearing a fake belly that sagged under his clothes, and under his chin hung a relatively untended fake beard.
His opponent, his peer in a tight jersey, baseball cap that he wore backwards and the narrowest shades in existence of ugly orange colour crossed his hands on the chest: "Pokemons are the foul beasts, pets of those who cannot let go of their once glorious past! Such bestial fights are not to be indulged by such a fine lad as I, for I truly know: the Big Brother uses thoust interests to watch thee! I spit on you, fool! The PvP fight it is, no Estus, bro!" - the man said, coming forward while stretching his arms out.
The audience was watching a spectacle in awe: before them, the glorious battle of the past was taking place.
"I never knew that 'Console Wars' were so interesting!" - one man whispered to another.
"Yeah, but I heard there are historical inconsistencies in it: the SunBro should be riding a pony" - his partner replied.
"Don't rush it, there's still The Third Act ahead".
The opponents pulled out their Estocs and started measuring each other, looking for an opening in each other's defence. The classical music - an undying hit of Katy Perry - suddenly changed to dubstep as the man in shades pulled out of nowhere a giant two-handed sword.
"The Legend Never Dies!" - he shouted as he charged at his opponent, only to be stopped by a skilful combo - 7 identical pokes of a rapier - of his enemy.
The audience gasped. "What a curbstomp!" - somebody whispered.
"Let it be known that on this day the nerds prevailed in an honest fight!" - the bearded man shouted. The audience cheered, only to gasp again as the man in the green mask of a frog walked onto the scene. "Your Facebook posts shall not be acknowledged" - the creature stated. The light slowly faded out, and as the curtain was dropping, the audience erupted in cheers: the third act was sure going to be interesting.
_____
To get my releases ahead of everybody else and get your hands on Advance Reading Copies of my books, subscribe to [r/Scandalist](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/comments/4n4iu6/authors_message_welcome_new_readers/)! | 2016-07-21T13:33:41 | 2016-07-21T11:03:00 | 43 | 23 |
[WP] You are trying to politely ward off a very anxious Jehovah's Witness that keeps insisting that God is coming. He/she finally looks down the street, and says, "seriously He just turned the corner!" You look and see a glowing white Cadillac with dark tinted windows.
Wow, can't believe this got that many upvotes. I got lots of reading to do now. I hope you all enjoyed it. | "He's coming! He's right around the corner!" The Jehovah's Witness exclaimed, his face in terror and looking like he hadn't slept in days.
'I told you, I really am not interested. I just want to go back to sleep.' I replied, it had been a long night of watching movies, I finally got around to seeing Bruce Almighty.
Suddenly, from around the corner a white Cadillac with windows so dark I could barely make out who was in there. It came to a halt right in front of him.
The man dropped to his knees in prayer, muttering something about forgiveness.
The door opened with a flash and out stepped... Morgan Freeman? It couldn't be.
"Wha?" I managed to get out.
"You must be Dave." He said in that smooth dulcet tone that I was so familiar with.
"We have many things to discuss, after all. Seeing as you know everyone, I've got an offer for you." | It was 10 pm. I've never seen any Jehovah's witness at this time of the day and thought that this guy had dedication. I was a little bit drunk and didn't want someone bothering me especially a guy asking to believe in God. So I waited the light to turn red to cross the street. 2 minutes. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. As I waited, the Jehovah's witness became more and more anxious. I wanted to cross the street even though the light was green but there were too many cars and just wasn't able to do it.
I finally accepted my fate and started walking down the street. When I come closer to him, the Jehovah's witness relaxed a bit and asked me if I believed in God. I didn't say anything hoping that he let it go but he didn't. He blocked me and said "you need to believe in god". I replied that I wasn't in the mood for that and needed serious sleep. As he kept insisting, I didn't even try to convince him to let me go and turn to the left in a street without exit.
He didn't follow me there. Instead, he turned his eyes to the sky and said "he got to the corner". I laughed. How a man can think he has a special connection with God himself? But then, a big cloud appeared. Light came from that cloud and the man panicked : "I'm sorry, God I'm sorry, I didn't know what to do! I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!" he yelled.
For a second, I thought alcohol was the cause of all this or maybe I was dreaming it but it was all too real. I came to him, turned my eyes to the sky and said "I believe him please don't hurt him, please!" I cried. I have never been so scared in my entire life.
Then, I heard from the sky a deep and hypnotic voice saying "please, tell him he has to stop drinking". "You have to stop drinking" repeated the man. I was in total disbelief of what was happening but acquiesced hoping that it was the only thing he'd ask for. But then, I could hear with the same deep and hypnotic voice "Chill! It's just a prank, bro!".
**Edit: OK I completely forgot about the Cadillac. I was too absorbed in my story. Also, not English speaker.**
*Edit2: accepted my faith ==> accepted my fate
Also, feel free to give a feedback. | 2016-10-04T07:31:04 | 2016-10-04T05:56:58 | 74 | 50 |
[WP] For many years, Canadians have maintained their inhuman friendliness by channeling all of their animosity into their geese. Now though, something is wrong. | *"Minster of Environment and Climate Change, Catherine McKenna, declared today that the Canada Goose is no longer protected under the Migratory Birds Convention Act."*
Brian looked up at the wall-mounted TV broadcasting CP24's breaking news and nearly dropped the cup of double-double Timmies he was warming his hands with. "It's about time!" he muttered to himself. "Asshole birds who think they own the road..."
Last summer, Brian had nearly lost his job because a flock of the patch-faced shitmachines decided it was a great time to slowly herd their obnoxiously yellow goslings across the 401, bringing the busy highway to a complete standstill. During rush hour. Needless to say, there were a lot of very disgruntled Torontonians that day. As the minister talked about culling measures that the Canadian Wildlife Services would began enacting in the spring when the birds returned, Brian turned to daydreams of a Toronto whose sidewalks would be free of green, slimy goose droppings. The double-double tasted sweeter than normal.
------------------------------------
*Is Justin Trudeau the new Harper?* wondered the front page of the Metro. Brian raised an eyebrow at the stack of newspaper and reached to grab one...only to get bowled over by someone with a huge bag. Swearing, he caught himself and turned to glare at the back of the retreating bag owner.
"Not even an apology. Kids these days!" he huffed to himself.
----------------------------------
Spring arrived, and the geese returned from their winter spent in warmer climes. As was now customary, Brian steeled himself for the angry hisses that the neighborhood geese couple greeted him with every time he walked within 100 meters of their nesting area. It wasn't his fault they chose to nest so close to the sidewalk, damn it!
He turned the corner and witnessed a miracle. Kids were playing near the geese, who were quietly swimming with their goslings in the park's small pond. A neat pile of droppings was arranged under a tree. Brian stopped and stared in pure disbelief at the sight. Somehow, those geese had turned into proper, polite Canadian citizens.
"EXCUSE ME!" A voice said angrily to him. Brian jumped about a foot in the air and came down to face the red-faced woman. "Are you staring at my kids, you pedophile?!"
"I'm looking at the geese, you cunt!" Brian snarled back. "Not at the pack of screaming monkeys you call your kids!"
After he got home, Brian reflected that maybe he didn't need to go for a run that evening.
------------------------
Several months later, Brian cheered when he picked up the morning's Globe and Mail to read:
*PRIME MINISTER TRUDEAU DECLARES WAR ON THE USA* | they call me the conduit. i always thought something more sci fi sounding would be better. like the medium. or the link. maybe just link. nah that sounds like a video game character.
doctor rajesh said i should record everything in this journal every day. it's getting harder to concentrate so i'm glad it's all voice and i don't have to type or nothing.
at first it was little stuff. people being cross with each other like they'd missed their morning coffee. then people weren't saying sorry if they got bumped into by someone else. they started glaring like... like.... americans.
it's so shiny. i know it will work.
i tried. i really tried. i focused my energy on the geese like i always did. taking all the negative energy from the people and putting it into the geese had always worked; they flew south, broke a few snowbirds arms with their wings and bit a few people, and a nation's collective frustrations were gone. but i couldn't reach them.
doctor rajesh says there are less of them now. they fly south and some of them try to cross the new wall and get zapped by the field. i push and i push but there are less and less of them to put the energy into. its building up.
that's why i need it. i can keep drawing the energy out of the people and into me but one little push and it will all come out and into the air and float up and not hurt anyone. it will be better than the geese.
i need one of those fancy rooms like that bald guy in the wheelchair. then i could push harder. get the energy out. then the people won't be so mad all the time. but doctor rajesh says that's just in comic books and the only reason i'm a good conduit is because of the accident. they don't know how it works and can't ample- ampplif- can't make it stronger.
so i'm gonna do it myself. one push and it's all out. like a lightning rod.
i'm so glad doctor rajesh's wife got him that new shirt. they don't let me have sharp things but a sharp thing is what i need to push. he didn't even notice the pin still in his sleeve but i saw it shine when it fell to the floor. it's nice and long. perfect for what i need.
the geese are happier now but the people are mad. i gotta do this so the people can be happy.
it looks even sharper when you look at it straight on. like looking down the barrel of a gun but all pointy.
this is gonna hurt.
i gotta do this.
all the people are mad and it keeps getting worse.
i'm the conduit.
the link.
all this energy is going around in my head and i gotta get it out. this will get it out.
i wish i had two then i could do both eyes.
oh jeez. oh god. aaaaah i keep blinking! i can't blink or it'll go in crooked. hold the lids open with one hand and push with theooooooh god this hurts!
i could feel it pop through the clear part. nnnngh... just push. gaaaah ithurtsithurtsithurts... i can feel stuff coming out now but it's just liquid not the energy yet.
maybe if i go faster like taking off a bandaid. aaaaaaah its so shiny even inside me now i see all kinds of spots and starts and stuff maybe it'll be like that when the energy comes out like in some kids show just whoosh a beam of sparkles and light and aaannnnnnnngh! it won't go why won't it go it... it... it's stuck on my skull just gotta work it around a bit find the nerve hole 'cause the energy is in my brain gotta make a hole to my brain and i only have a third of it in gotta push harder
unfff... there's the hole. gah. ow. oh fuck the light is spinning is that me? no its the alarm. they're coming. they're gonna try to stop me. they see the blood and think i'm hurting myself but i just want the energy to get out. from them through me and out to the sky it'll work it's gotta work and the geese and people can all be happy and push harder now they're coming pushpsupushitburnsohgoditburnsnowtheshoveand -
*recording ends*
| 2016-10-31T09:01:12 | 2016-10-31T07:41:33 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] Upon dying, you, a serial killer, are sentenced to experience the lives of all those that you killed.
Edit: Thanks, all, for chiming in and upvoting. Or downvoting, since this is apparently something of a common concept. Sorry about that. Would you believe me if I said I didn't mean to be a reposting karma whore? Either way, it inspired the responders to write. Call me a fool, but I'm happy that so many have taken the time to read and write. | He knew what was happening. Of course he did. It was the universe either attempting to punish him for what he did to these girls, or a just and merciful devil who fucking finally got him and was presenting the ultimate reward. He didn't know or care which, because all that mattered was that, in the end, it would end up the latter. A chance to live it all again, even after goddamn Officer Friendly put a bullet through his skull... there was no greater heaven.
Suicide by cop was turning out to be the greatest choice he had ever made.
And so, despite his revulsion for being in the spectator's chair in the mind of a little girl, he waited. Waited for the chance to see it from the other end. This girl was his first, and his favorite. He remembered it so clear: pinning her down, telling her what she did to deserve this, watching the brilliant moment when innocence died and the dawning realization that there was no escape from her own mortality...
He practically salivated thinking of it.
So, he waited. Even as she grew. Even as she met her future husband. Even as she birthed her first child. Even as she grew old. And it was only as she lay on her deathbed surrounded by friends and family that he finally broke and accepted the truth.
All in all, he had taken eight, before his own death. All eight, he would have to sit back and watch the future he had taken from each of them. He would live his worst nightmare, his true hell - he would watch them be happy.
It was a very long time before he stopped screaming. | "Michael McKenzie, you have been found guilty of the murder of Sophie Garcia in 2039, by a jury of your peers. I am obliged as laid out by the Recollection and Repentance Law of 2025 to add her killing to your sentence. This will run concurrently alongside your other sentences. There will be no reduced sentence for good behaviour."
Peers? They're not my peers. I smirked as I was led away towards the holding cells. It had been a long week of trials for the jury. Yes, trials. Once the police caught me for one murder they managed to piece together (no pun intended, but I am rather witty) some of the others, but not all of them. Idiots.
Anyway, it's been an amazing week for me. Thanks to the NeuralNetz it had been challenging to remain anonymous whilst killing. The network registered everything the user experienced, the user ultimately deciding what to keep and what memories to delete. Initially developed for the militia in an attempt to decrease PTSD and share battlefield experience, they'd rolled it out to everyone meaning you got to see every fucking boring baby picture ad infinitum. If you'd chosen to link a NeuralNetz to share you could share the emotions. It meant during the trial I got to see what it was really like to see me at work. Let me tell you, It. Was. Awesome. I mean yeah, the judge and jury were disgusted but for me... I didn't even try to hide my erection.
That's the other thing about the Netz, it made porn fucking mind blowing because of the shared 'emotions'. Porn companies were raking it in. So were the snuff sites, but they were too expensive for the shit they offered, a brief glimpse of what it's like to get hit by a car because you're too fucking dumb to look at the road? It would be a split second of 'something', and that's a piss poor excuse for a near death experience.
So that's how I find myself here. I'd hoped to get more experiences lined up, but the retards caught me at 12. So I had to 'confess' to the other 5 they'd missed. I mean I'm doing half of their work for them at this point.
I've ensured I was as dislikeable to the jury and judge as I could, which to be honest was quite difficult, because really I'm a nice guy. Very likeable. And witty, but you know that already.
They've handed out the 'maximum' sentence. I have to have my own NeuralNetz linked to my victims. Then I've to spend a period of time for every day of my sentence, living and feeling the fear and despair they felt as I killed them. For repentance until I've shown contrition and repentance. Fucking unbelievable, such morons.
That was the whole point. I can feel myself getting hard again, Sophie's death was the best I think. I really took my time with her, really stretched it out. She was begging by the end. Stupid cow.
Time is passing so fucking slowly here. I just want them to start the link up so I can go through it all again. Again and again and again.
| 2016-11-13T14:42:36 | 2016-11-13T13:03:43 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] One night, something grabs your hand as it hangs off the edge of the bed. You give it a firm handshake. "You're hired," it whispers. | I don't know why Alan Sugar was hiding under my bed that night, he probably had his own reasons.
Perhaps it was his visual likeness for Sid James that inspired him to be naughty and hide under there in anticipation of seeing something he shouldn't.
"Do you often do this Alan?"
"You're hired!"
"You said that already Alan"
"You're hired!"
That was the last time Sugar was allowed out of the nursing home that year.
Poor Lord Sugar. | and so such was life now. an endless chore for an unknown employer. nothing was ever needed again. nothing was ever needed to be done. existence was the job. each and every day played out just as the monotony of a dayjob. and each day was a shift in a dayjob. each day carried the burden of dread, of uncertainty of purpose. rarely was a day fulfilling, but when it was, the following one was that much heavier a burden.
the days all began at 8:35 am, an alarm sounding. at 8:45 a shower was taken with coffee to be drunk at 8:55 which had begun to brew at 8:40. and every day began so.
the in between, the 9 to 5, was never clearly defined. there were no guidelines for his position. "you're hired," the words haunted him. every day an attempt to fulfill obligation unbeknownst to all except that which he had shaken hands with.
mhis life from the night of january 18, 2016 was to be this: an exhibition observing what a man would do when he had no idea of what to do. every day he would try to appease his employer, which provided him with all the food, clothing, and money deemed necessary. the man never went hungry, never dressed as a person of poor means, and never came short when a bill was due. all he needed was provided. the man was simply to live. and this produced a man who felt unworthy of life.
the man never struggled. comfort was an anxiety. what had he done to deserve this, he thought, what was he doing? the conceivable answer was nothing. simply put, the man had done nothing. and in this he felt not a great shame, but a great sense of duty. he must earn what he was being given. he must, if not for himself, do something for the greater good. this was what the undefined 9-5 was to be: work for the greater good, but, as all wise women and men have said, the road to hell....
| 2017-04-29T01:30:39 | 2017-04-28T23:00:16 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] Reincarnation is a known, common, and expected result of death. You are a bounty hunter that specializes in tracking down people who have committed suicide to escape debts or a jail sentence. | "What is that?"
"It's your wife."
"It's a fucking frog!"
I looked at the fat, muddy brown toad sitting at the bottom of the cage. "Yes, a frog that was once your wife."
"How do you know that's her?" the man crossed his arms and adopted an accusatory tone. "She wouldn't become a frog. She was a woman!"
"Look," I rubbed my eyes. "Just let me come in, we can discuss it."
"She should be human! At least! She wouldn't be a fucking FROG!"
"I know it can be difficult to accept, but trust me. I've been doing this for eighteen years. This is your wife," I raised the cage so the husband of the amphibian could look straight into its bulging eyes. "And not a frog, sir. Technically your wife became a toad."
"Bullshit."
"Sir, could it be that your wife wasn't quite the saint you thought she was? I mean, granted, it's not often that a human reincarnates as a toad." *She must have been a real piece of shit.*
"What-what do you mean?" he said, staring into the toad's eyes.
I could see it slowly dawning on him, the inescapable realization.
"I mean that, as you know, the incarnation ladder goes either up or down. The direction a person goes comes down to their character, how much they did or did not grow as a--"
"I know that," the man spat. Then he softened. Tears welled up in his eyes and his bottom lip quivered.
"The first thing I do when tracking somebody down, is determine whether they've moved up or down the ladder. Most people move up, but for most people, the move up is fairly small. They become another human, usually with slightly better life circumstances."
The man broke eyes with his toad wife and looked into mine.
"Your wife, I found out, wasn't exactly destined to move up the ladder. In fact, I went to great lengths to ensure I had the full scope of her life. I interviewed you extensively, as you know. I talked to her friends, her acquaintances, her co-workers. She rated at a negative twelve on the Reinhurst scale. That moves a human down to amphibian. I searched locally, since most negative twelves reincarnate within three miles of their death. There's a swampy gully at the end of your street. I played her favorite song. You said it was Thunderstruck, right? ACDC? She came over within the hour of continuous play. And here you are."
The man looked back to the toad, verging on tears.
"Look." I rested the cage on the ground and opened it, swept the fat toad out and tipped it over. "Her birthmark." It was a small music note shape near the groin.
"OH GLORIA!" The man grabbed the toad and hugged it, tears streaming out of his stupid, sobbing face.
I backed away down the stoop. "I'll bill you."
*Goddamn*, I thought, heading back to my car. *I hate these filler side gigs...* | Brutal world we live in, I tell you. I can't help but feel a slight pang of pity at the sight of the criminal I'd apprehended being strung up by his arms, his bones practically popping out of their sockets as they strain to support his body. He's a dodger, no doubt about it, but he's been apprehended for the wrong crime. He doesn't seem to object, though; his head instead lolls lazily to one side, his eyes glazed over in an almost catatonic state. I'd be willing to bet on the fact he's been drugged senseless. It's a common precautionary measure used by jails nowadays, to prevent people from killing themselves and such.
Poor bastard.
The person beside me shuffles impatiently. Although his face is mostly masked by a black balaclava, I can make out tufts of dirt blonde hair falling from underneath the mask. The cover also does little to conceal his rapid, almost frantic, breathing. He rubs at his arms, and I can see now that he's incredibly nervous.
"Is this the one?" I ask him gruffly, jabbing a finger at the drugged man.
He shakes his head, his fingers digging into his forearm. "No. Too tanned."
"How did your guy escape again?"
"Knife to the wrists. Managed to steal it from the kitchen. Three days before his hearing as well."
"Nasty."
I walk up to the criminal, my eyes giving his body a quick once-over. His entire person seems to be covered in a plethora of scars, all intertwining and connecting across his bare body as if drawn onto him. I scratch my stubble, frowning.
"Well, this certainly complicates it."
My employer freezes, his eyes desperately looking to me. "Wh-what do you mean?"
"This could be your guy... or it might not be. He's definetly done this a number of times, and he's got the scars on his chest to prove it."
"I'm telling you, it ain't this one!"
Seems he's not having any of my bullshit. This is a man on the edge, so no point pushing him off it. I nod, conceding the point. "Right. Well, may as well send him off anyway. I'll check later to see if he can tell us anything about the target. Once he's sobered up."
"O-ok."
I bite the inside of my cheek, placing a firm hand on my employer's shoulder. "Look, we'll get him. I'm the best for a reason. Wether it takes ten months or ten years, I won't stop."
"You promise you'll find the man who murdered my wife?"
"I swear it."
Although it's a hollow statement, it does seem to reassure the man. He gives me a shaky nod as I turn my back on him, walking off to my trailer. As soon as he's out of view, I roll up the long sleeves of my overcoat, itching the raw, barely healed skin underneath. See, to beat these trackers, you've got to play at their own game. I'm a patient man, and if dancing deathly close to my tracker is enough to eventually cloud my scent, I'm willing to do it.
So, how to do myself in this time? I don't want to screw up my chest anymore than it already has been.
I settle on something relatively quick and painless. A gun, straight to the temple. From my coat I pull out an antique magnum revolver, spin the chamber, and press it to my temple. With this, I can set them down the wrong course again.
How'd I get myself caught up in this mess? One murder leading to another, one identity to the next. Four hundred deaths it took to be reincarnated as something that was able to get relatively close to the person tracking me without arousing suspicion but, hey-o, it worked, didn't it?
For sure, my 'employer's' wife had been a doll, but she caught onto me rather quickly when we started our fling. I doubt it was all worth it, just for a night of passion. She knew I was going to off myself again as soon as we were found out, so, of course, I had to tie up loose ends before she ratted on me. Elizabeth had always had a big mouth like that.
This'll make for the five-hundredth time I've done it then. Oh joy, it's an anniversary day. Cheers for this Liz - I hope we won't be seeing each-other anytime soon. I bet you've reincarnated as a whore.
With an exasperated sigh, I lean my head into the barrel of the gun. As much as I'd like to stay like this - pretending to be a bounty hunter - I doubt it'll pay off in the long run. Someone'll find out eventually. Without further hesitation, I pull the trigger.
---
/r/coffeeandwriting
| 2017-07-09T10:24:06 | 2017-07-09T09:43:14 | 5,471 | 192 |
[WP] Whenever you are about to die, your main consciousness switches to alternate universe in which you survived. This makes you conscious only of the longest possible life. Uppon death, you are shown all the ways you would have died. | Hell.
*"Death 36,288,753,580: Branch snaps while climbing tree. Neck broken in fall."*
I'm in Hell.
*"Death 36,288,753,581: Branch snaps while climbing tree. Impaled on broken branch upon landing."*
I'm sitting in a white room with a small TV. It's showing me all the ways I *could* have died in my life, but didnt.
*"Death 36,288,753,582: Branch snaps while climbing tree. Arm broken in fall. Complications from infection."*
Sequentially.
*"Death 36,288,753,583: Branch snaps while climbing tree. Back broken by a lower branch during fall."*
I vaguely remember that tree. The branch did break, and I fell. But I didn't die. Had a nice concussion though if I remember right.
*"Death 36,288,753,584: Branch snaps while climbing tree. Skull fractured on impact."*
I was 7.
*"Death 36,288,753,585: Branch snaps while climbing tree. Head contusion resulting in brain hemorrhage."*
It's going to be a long afterlife...
| Ever heard of Déjà vu?
Most would describe it as a feeling of "being there" before. A sense of familiarity to a scene that you are sure you have never experienced. Some attribute it precognition. Others think it's a trick of the mind, a mental anomaly. Past mixing with present. They're both wrong. The phenomenon coined as Déjà vu is nothing more than a defense mechanism to preserve your human self.
Switching, which I will dub this phenomenon, is used to make sure you survive. For example, let's say you're walking out of a cafe. You're walking down the sidewalk heading towards your destination when a car barrels towards you. In this situation, you only have seconds and yet you freeze and the car slams into you ending your life. In another world you do the same thing but this time it flashes you that sense of familiarity. You shift and the car barrels past you killing another pedestrian. You cry out. You fall down but you're okay. You're alive.
Some things to note that this mechanism is purely self driven. If other people die in the vicinity, the switching wont occur. But if your life is danger then the switching. This also make us quite immortal in a way. To avoid unfortunate deaths and live long lives. But there are some questions that it brings up.
What about the people around us?
Do we live forever?
Just a few of the questions that it brings up. To my understanding of the subject and some research, I subscribe to Hamilton understanding the human exist alone. While we may occupy the planet together and interact, we are truly only ourselves. Everyone are mere ghosts, imitating humanity as far as the universe is concerned because switching prioritizes self preservation. Each person lives in their own universe. If you want to learn about this and explore more of Hamilton's theory, I urge you to check out Grey Hamilton's *A Universal Constant* if you want to know more.
On the second most asked question, the answer is no. While it does give you conditional immortality and immunity to death, it is not immortality. Everyone dies. That is the reality. Some experience their life "flashing before their eyes" which is another phenomenon we talk about in depth next week. For now think of it like a highlight reel that shows what happened and could of happen all truncated in a few seconds. And others, nothing. We all succumb to death much like the universe will when all the stars that we look out to over a billions of year all die. Its a sobering thought surely but such is the reality.
And with that in mind that is the basic overview of the Swithing.
Now we are going to discuss its implications. For the next couple of weeks we discussing the psychological, economical and scientific applications of switching and how it could be used to help humanity.
I hope you are all ready. Class begins now. | 2018-02-15T06:21:54 | 2018-02-15T06:04:17 | 3,171 | 40 |
[WP] You are a cosmic being that likes to terraform planets as a hobby. Galactic law permits creation of life up to Class III. Noticing the creatures on your latest planet are getting close to Class IV, you flick an asteroid at the planet. Some time later, you realise you didn’t check for survivors | I recline in my seat, looking at the planet in front of me. Fifth from the sun, in the habitable zone of its star, the planet looks well and healthy. Vast bodies of water can be seen, interspaced with landmasses filled with life, lush and green. A species on this planet has managed to gain ascendancy, taking over the planet. As I watch, yet another massive cruiser leaves their atmosphere, joining a rather large congregation of similar ships, all heavily armed. The various armaments are all pointed in a rather unfortunate direction, that being, right at my worldship. The owners of these ships are rather angry at me, and they quite frankly, have a good reason.
You see, there can only be so many incidents of a created species growing a bit too powerful, cultivating an unhealthy amount of hubris and rising up to challenge their creators. After the 8th time, an accord was made, saying that no created race shall be allowed to surpass Class IV, or in other words, that shall not go beyond their planets. And so, it was with no small regrets that I redirected an asteroid, straight into this planet, around 150 years ago. I watched as it slammed into the planet, sending vast tremors ripping through the surface. I watched until the massive clouds of dust, whipped up by the massive forces at play, finally obscured my view of the planet. I remember leaving the planet, satisfied that nothing could survive that, that no life could possibly escape what I had wrought.
I was wrong. I underestimated the sheer stubbornness, the will to survive of the race I so carelessly attempted to wipe out. They survived, and in the galactic backwater in which their star system was located, they flourished, unnoticed and unhindered. It was then, with a century and a half behind me, that I decided to revisit this area of the universe, and I came across a large cluster of emissions. Intrigued by this sign of sentience, in a supposedly unpopulated area, I sallied forth to investigate this peculiar phenomenon. When I saw their planet loom into view and their ships gathering in defensive formations, I knew that they were my progeny. I could feel it, a hum in their life forces that matched my own. And at that second, I would have bet my godhood that this same primal hum would be reverberating through their own bodies. They would know that I was their maker. And they would remember that the last time they, felt this, their planet had been plunged into decades of war and famine, their culture obliterated and their race was driven to almost near extinction.
I looked at the scene in front of me and felt a tinge of pride. These were my creations, I had made these beings, I was their progenitor.I felt energy signatures spike as the weapons on their ships began to charge in an attempt to blow me into oblivion. I smile sadly as I gather my energy, twisting the essence of space and time itself as I spin conduits of energy from a billion lost stars, a billion forgotten supernovas, and I prepare to eradicate my greatest achievement. This time, however, I won't miss.
This is my first story, so people please don't hesitate to leave any feedback. Hope someone enjoys this.
| Scrolling through my text logs, I read the title “Terrestrial World N9C74B Extinction Event: Success.” A slight grin came to my face, knowing I had personally dodged an asteroid. Ha. See, my hobby is creating planets, and sometimes the life that evolves on these worlds becomes too… advanced for it’s own good. In the particular case of N9C74B, they had touched the threshold of immortality and space travel. The combination of these advances allows for them to stick their noses where they’ve no reason to be. Thus, we must schedule annihilation events to prevent them from going any further. When the event occurs, we must double check our work, file that it was successful, then send in our report to the Higher Council. The Higher Council is a group of 7 entities that are in control of all life in the multiverse, with each delegate in charge of specific universes within. But, I digress. Usually these extinction events render the planet uninhabitable and destroys all life forms. Then, I go back to my blank canvas and create anew. Cyclical and beautiful process, thus my attraction to it. It had been a long, long time since this extinction event, and I decided it was time to start the process all over again.
I travel to the planet known as N9C74B, excited about my work. I had made mental plans of landscapes I would like to incorporate, one in which I was particularly excited for was that of the Titan Fungi Sea. I had in my possession some spores from another planet which is known for its mycelium and sentient fungi. My plan was to have these spores sprout beneath the sea, rising up out of the depths. It would be a sight to behold. I might even win the Terraforming Association’s Ingenuity award, but I may be getting my hopes up. But, I digress. Upon arriving at N9C74B, I’m greeted with a world that.. Should not be. Light pollution. Forests still taking up a large portion of the world. Then I see it. A small black hole in the center of a small desert near the southern pole. The asteroid I had ordered to strike hit a largely uninhabited area, and not only that it appears that I had ordered the wrong size. A colossal mistake. This is not good. All of a sudden my ship rattles as if it has been struck by something. I take my gaze off the planet only to see that on the radar, I am surrounded. I’m not sure if this could get any worse.
Well, now I'm sure it could get worse. My energy shields fail from the persistent barrage of at least 12 ships. I have to act and I need to do it fast. I hit the cloaking device and have a sharp boost up, trying to disappear from these violent creatures, then it dawns on me that the best place to hide will be the most dangerous. I set my course for N9C74B at extreme speed, straight for the forest. Behind me the fighter ships are flying in all directions, trying to discern where it is that I had gone. Ha. They still hadn’t reached Class V, but were well in to class IV. A great oversight on my part, from now on I will be checking my work. This almost cost me my life. I understand now why these protocols were in affect. It wasn’t to be annoying and have data, it was to prevent an event such as this. Lower life forms are so hostile. Ha.
I descended in to the trees, taking out a nice circular pattern beneath my ship. My plan is to order another extinction event for N9C74B, the correct size this time. Oh, and for the moons as well. No telling where all they had begun to inhabit after achieving space flight. I would browse through more of the planets in its solar system and some adjacent in signs of life to make sure none would be left behind. The Higher Council will be aware of me filing a second extinction event without having ever filed a new creation event. It will raise some questions, maybe a reprimand, but in the end it will be the right thing to do. With the event ordered, I began my ascent and started my search for survivors. I would hang around for awhile to make sure the job is done properly this time. These extinction events happen suddenly, so there will be no way for them to evacuate in time. That just leaves the in-transit survivors, which I will have to personally render lifeless. Hopefully there will be few to none. Destroying individual ships is my least favorite part of my hobby. Annihilating a whole planet, there’s no guilt. All will perish, there’s no emotion behind it, just the way things are. But a single ship? It’s too personal for my taste. | 2018-04-14T19:09:16 | 2018-04-14T17:14:08 | 81 | 29 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | PeculiarPete was scrolling through /r/Jokes when he realized something.
He took his idea and went over to another subreddit and began scrolling back through some old prompts when he saw something that captured his fancy.
*"Writing Prompt[WP] Humans blood gets darker the more evil we do. One day you are suspected of murder, they draw your blood to test if you are truely a murderer. You blood is a clear white. You realize that you can get a way with almost everything now, seeing as to how you actually did commit the murder"*
"What a novel idea!" Pete thought to himself, and suddenly realized he need only reverse the characters Plight.
He began to write *"[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip."*
As he typed his dog came up to him and gave his skin a little nibble, when a peculiar thing happened to Pete, his skin was broken but his blood did not drip. Darker than jet black it looked as if his wounded flesh had ceased to exist. He reached over and took a sip of his
Fanta:Black, when we see the F fall off to reveal a V.
A story to truly fit the name "PeculiarPete"
| I still remember the screams. "Demon!" "Evil!" "How dare you!?" "Trickster!"
That was ten years ago, now. I once lived among the rich elite, high in the sky, in the tops of the towers of New, New york. What a naming scheme... Knitting hats for the homeless is just a scam, you know. Keeps us looking good in the cameras. Until I handed a pristine white one over to the cameraman.... with my filthy black blood all over it.
You see, white and black blood is just the 23rd century version of white and black _skin._ Though, instead of the "N-Word", we now have the "B-Word". Blackbloods. Doesn't come off the tongue as easy though, does it? Of course, it all comes down to control. people with light blood spend their lives being as painfully nice as they can to everyone around them, and dark bloods go into undercities. Because who doesn't enjoy living in dank, flooded, 21st century cities where everything is halfway collapsed and the power works... maybe occassionally?
But, well, that ends tonight. They thought they could ban me? I'm one of them! I'll SHOW them! They thought I'd bend right over and take it, but I had plenty of things ready for just so a situation. Like money. Weapons. Bombs. All hidden in an old warehouse down here in old york... so, quietly, under the radar, outside of the view of everyone else, I've told everyone. We're all working together, unlike you blasted money bloated elite.
"Sir, we're ready, the bombs are set and everyone has evacuated outside of blast radius" Came a voice as the dusty door to my small office opened. A wicked grin spread across my face as I said, "Then, shall we show our excuse for a world government what it's like to live down here? If we're lucky, we might even be able to keep the new city"
I walked outside, into the warehouse. Inside, sloppily-thrown-together flying cars waited for me. It was easy to steal a proper car from above, strip out the fancy crap, and weld it into an older car. And, well, older humans knew what they were doing- this thing they call an expedition can hold an entire pulse bomb, and the hoverpads do give it quite a nice look.
Tonight, we start life over! The right way! Perhaps I am a sort of Demon, heh.
~~sorry I gave up like partway through but I didn't wanna waste all the words I typed so I slapped the rest together, inspired by [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/94k0gv/wp_our_blood_is_naturally_clear_it_thickens_and/e3lsxwj/)~~ | 2018-08-04T11:11:45 | 2018-08-04T11:02:34 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | One day James was sitting with his wife, he was cooking dinner for school children while she was knitting beanies for the homeless, when she cut herself, James sprang to his feet, "let me help you with that" he said. But upon reaching her, his eyes widened, her blood was pure black, he immediately begun to yell, "what have you done" he yelled, "I torrented some music once" she said, "oh yeah" James responded "totally forgot that was illegal", And they laughed it off and carried on with their day. | It was my 21st birthday. Like every other birthday, I decided to spend my day helping out the homeless. Usually I’d do the soup kitchen but a friend of mine decided to come along insisting that we join in on the beanie knitting project.
My friend called me a natural at knitting since it was my first time and my first beanie looked immaculate. After the second one we began to turn the good deed into a competition. Who can produce the most beanies?
Lucy said she had been knitting since she was a young girl. Compared to my beanies, hers were better looking but I could produce faster. After a while we were both on our tenth beanie. She caught up after having three less then me. This prompted me to ramp up my production. There’s no way I would lose to Lucy.
I shifted my eyes from my work to Lucy continuously, making sure that I outpaced her. As my eyes swayed from my hands to her, I accidentally jabbed myself with the needle. The needle was embedded deeply into my middle finger causing a wound of considerable size to open as I pulled it out without caution.
“God damn”
A devilish grin was on her face as Lucy gazed upon my wounded finger. There was jet black material slowly escaping from the wound. The dark material was my blood. Everyone knows that blood is naturally clear but darkens with each impure act. I was raised by the church and couldn’t remember partaking in any acts that would cause such a thing. I was the last person that anyone would expect to be impure.
“Finally”, Lucy yelled as she stood up. I was flabbergasted and couldn’t understand what was going on with her or the state of my blood.
“My child, this is your true nature.”
The voice that was coming from Lucy didn’t sound like the friend I had known for years.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s simple” she said. Her appearance began to change. A handsome man stood before me. “The church stole your memories and replaced them with shit that never happened. What you think you know and believe to be your life is a lie.”
“Who are you?”
“You May know me as Lucy, but my name is Lucifer”, he said with a smile. “But you can call me dad.”
| 2018-08-04T10:33:21 | 2018-08-04T10:32:26 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | I felt disgusted, wondering why. The confusion invading my mind....
Years of having this Gallery to bring happiness and joy through art to those around me, and even more years of helping the less fortunate throughout the Great Depression.
I sought to find a reason, asking myself « why would I have black blood pouring out of me? ». A single event, after a long day at work at a particularly difficult time in my marriage stood out: I remember I sent this young artist packing, didn’t even offer him a chance and let him show me his work. I even berated him on his lack of technique... Adolf was his name. | It was my 21st birthday. Like every other birthday, I decided to spend my day helping out the homeless. Usually I’d do the soup kitchen but a friend of mine decided to come along insisting that we join in on the beanie knitting project.
My friend called me a natural at knitting since it was my first time and my first beanie looked immaculate. After the second one we began to turn the good deed into a competition. Who can produce the most beanies?
Lucy said she had been knitting since she was a young girl. Compared to my beanies, hers were better looking but I could produce faster. After a while we were both on our tenth beanie. She caught up after having three less then me. This prompted me to ramp up my production. There’s no way I would lose to Lucy.
I shifted my eyes from my work to Lucy continuously, making sure that I outpaced her. As my eyes swayed from my hands to her, I accidentally jabbed myself with the needle. The needle was embedded deeply into my middle finger causing a wound of considerable size to open as I pulled it out without caution.
“God damn”
A devilish grin was on her face as Lucy gazed upon my wounded finger. There was jet black material slowly escaping from the wound. The dark material was my blood. Everyone knows that blood is naturally clear but darkens with each impure act. I was raised by the church and couldn’t remember partaking in any acts that would cause such a thing. I was the last person that anyone would expect to be impure.
“Finally”, Lucy yelled as she stood up. I was flabbergasted and couldn’t understand what was going on with her or the state of my blood.
“My child, this is your true nature.”
The voice that was coming from Lucy didn’t sound like the friend I had known for years.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s simple” she said. Her appearance began to change. A handsome man stood before me. “The church stole your memories and replaced them with shit that never happened. What you think you know and believe to be your life is a lie.”
“Who are you?”
“You May know me as Lucy, but my name is Lucifer”, he said with a smile. “But you can call me dad.”
| 2018-08-04T11:29:17 | 2018-08-04T10:32:26 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] Earth is doomed in a matter of years, but you are bestowed with a mystical dagger that causes anyone killed by it to instantly resurrect on an alternate Earth that does not share the same fate. In one world you are revered as a hero, on the other the most notorious serial killer of all time. | It is surprisingly hard to kill a great amount of relatives, friends and acquaintances without inevitably ending up as a person of interest. Somehow, being the only common denominator doesn't fare in your favour when the people you unite all manage to die by being stabbed with, according to the newspaper, a museum artefact.
I wonder how the DI would react to my explanation if I would end up being caught. 'Yes Sir, this dagger transports people from one reality to the other because, like, earth is fucked? Oh an insanity plea? I'll take it thanks.'
Don't accept daggers from old, crazy-seeming ladies, that's the life lesson I'm taking away here. When an old woman approaches you and asks you to support saving humanity, you expect to gift 50p to Greenpeace and make an offhand comment on global warming. Not a mystical dagger that serves as some kind of portal.
Why the fuck did it have to be a dagger anyway? Nuclear bombs, now there's efficiency. Guns, when talking a bit simpler. I would prefer a gun over this stupid thing anyway.
It's also stupidly heavy. Like really fucking heavy, making it impossible to finger for loose coins in a pocket when there's an unwieldy, glowing, probably cursed dagger taking up too much unallocated space.
"Let me help you out," a voice interrupts my stream of thoughts, and I turn away from the too-bright Railcard machine screen. I smirk, briefly, not without shame. He probably thinks I'm lost. Or a tourist. Or, well, ... poor.
"I'm not poor you know," I tell him, but it comes out a bit too fast. I make a mental note about needing to work on people skills; what with saving humanity and all.
He's got a real nice smile, but I barely have time to fully register it before he hands me a ticket.
"Here, should bring you to the central station. There's probably an ATM there." I like his voice. "With you being so not poor and all."
"Oh look, a comedian." I retort, shoving the card into my dagger-free pocket.
"I prefer Good Samaritan in this case. People like me are too good for this planet."
A huff escapes me, but, briefly, the idea of killing him pops into my head. Because filling up alternative earth with people I don't know and only find faintly attractive sounds... terrific?
Reminding myself I need to lay low for a while, I flash a cool smile and turn around, making my way to the escalator down. The wind of an arriving subway ruffles through my hair, and apparently it's loud enough to cover up the telltale thump of footsteps.
"You know," his voice sounds from behind me, "you could at least thank me."
"And you're following me n-"
"Least you could do is stab me with the fancy glowing knife."
Oh great. I'm going to have to kill him.
Jesus didn't have to go through this.
Not able to decide whether to go for incredulous or offended, I find middle ground in a meaningless mumble.
"How do I know? Well-,"
There was no need for him to finish that sentence. The glow emanating from his jacket's inner pocket as he opens it tells me all I need to know.
A part of me is furious when he tells me it's a gun.
| The dagger shines in the light, gleaming as the moonlight trickles down to the ground. I sheath it back into its holder, the mystical item glowing as always. *Blood dripping silently down my hands.*
The Earth was always doomed. From the start. Ever since the rise of humanity it was already degrading. While the earth slipped into the cracks of demise, we humans plundered it, not knowing the repercussions. Some argued for us to stop, it was not to late to save the planet, to save humanity from it’s own demise. I was one of those few good people. I told others to listen.
*They did not.*
I run swiftly down the street, eyes darting around, searching for the next person to liberate.
*Or maybe my next victim*
It seems weird, the feeling I mean, of taking a life. The question of morality lingers at the back of my head.
It all seems surreal, how this happened to me, a simple archaeologist. One day I had a dream, a vision of the dagger. It’s smooth razor sharp edges calling me. On my next expedition, I found it buried underground in a burial room. Ancient runes adorning the walls. I picked up the blade, still sharp after all these years.
The dagger does something to a person. Does something *otherworldly*, as if the *soul itself is sucked out* and teleported somewhere else. I don’t know where, but I do know it’s somewhere better than earth.
I don’t have any reassurances, maybe I’ve done all these killings for no purpose, maybe it’s all been in vain, but I *feel* this is the right thing to do. I *know* it is. Humanity must be saved, and that saviour is me.
My footsteps quicken as I hear another person. In this small town on the outskirts of Europe, It’s not hard to find villagers I can save. After the years, I learned to limit the people I brought to the new world. The rich and greedy have nothing to contribute to the new world.
The numbers are a blur. How many have I killed?
*Hundreds?, Thousands? I don’t dare ask myself *
I crawl around the back of one of the houses and peer through the window. I see the man now, late 40s, averagely tall, brown hair with saggy dark eyes. I wonder to myself whether this man has a family, has friends, perhaps children. Perhaps I am unrighteously taking away his life from them. *Does it even matter?* He seems to be working, and I glance closer. He is sketching, a drawing of a child. I force myself to keep looking. He is turned away from me now, an opportunity which I take. In one swift motion, I climb through the door, unsheathe the dagger, and stab him in the back.
No sound escapes his body. Eerie silence fills the night. The man stays upright for a split second, still conscious.
*A second that echoes into eternity*
The man slumps down. Dead.
Another life saved.
The dagger doesn’t need to kill the person. It sucks the life out of them anyway. That’s how it saves. That’s how I save.
*Saving?, is that what you call the mass genocide you have done?*, The whispers in my head growing louder and louder, like a cyclone of emotions, filling every crack in my mind, until they all stop, and all I hear is deafening silence.
I can’t bear to live with the pain I’ve caused. The lives taken. All I can do is take one more life, one more person. The people on the other side may see me as a hero, but here I am a fugitive. A Criminal. A murderer.
*Maybe the ones I’ve saved don’t even realise I’ve saved them.*
All these atrocities I’ve done, all the lives lost, are actually lives gained, I try to tell myself. But even though I know I am doing this for good, I still feel in the wrong, ashamed.
Women and children, saved by my hand,
*Women and children, slaughtered by my blade.*
Perhaps maybe the dagger hasn’t sucked the life out of the ones I’ve killed, but maybe it’s been sucking out *my life*.
I feel the earth tremble, realization striking me. *”This must be it”* I whisper silently. The earth was doomed from the start, but perhaps I’ve made my mark on the lives of others, and this world.
I look down on the blade, glimmering in the moonlight. I don’t even know if all I’ve done was worth it. I don’t even know why I did it. It’s all a blur.
Buildings are starting to crumble as the shaking grows more intense. I almost stumble. Pulling out the blade, I prepare for the worst.* “It’s time”*
* I toss it aside*
I bring out the pistol in my holster, and shoot myself hit the head.
==========================
This is my first time doing this, comments would be appreciated.
Thanks for reading. | 2018-10-15T06:42:48 | 2018-10-15T05:18:12 | 220 | 45 |
[WP] You die and appear before the Devil and seven other individuals. They applaud you and the Devil exclaims, “finally, an eighth deadly sin!” | *The light grew dim above me. "We're losing her!" a masked man yelled, pumping my chest as another forced something into my mouth.*
*It was all so tiresome.*
"Well, you've done it. After two thousand, six-hundred, and forty one years, you've done it." a voice exclaimed excitedly.
As I emerged from the cavernous hall, the group seated about the table turned to look at me expectantly. Three women, five men, with expressions varying from amused, to disgusted, to downright hostile.
The silence stretched for an eternity, before the speaker cleared his throat and continued. He was beautiful, soul shatteringly so. "We've waited for you for, well, thousands of years. You're my eighth. I almost thought I wouldn't find another, but you... You are *exactly * what is eating away at humanity now."
I stared at him as the man in the Armani suit snorted. "Please, she's just a new face for sloth." At his words, the drowsy looking man to his left became alert, his large Bassett hound eyes taking on a wounded look. He opened his mouth to speak...
... Only for my soft laugh to interrupt him. They fell still, eyes burning into mine. They knew of my mortal sin, that I had taken my own life. But I doubted any of them truly understood the why.
"Sloth? No." my voice whispered like snakes over dead leaves. "I am not Sloth. I am the Darkness into which light will not shine. I am the Cold that never warms. I am the Emptiness never to be filled, the Nothing that will become everything. I will consume all, until the light of Creation itself is darkened." Silence met my words. The silence of the gathering storm.
I spread my hands out, like a preacher at prayer, beseeching those before me. They looked almost... Nervous.
"I am Nihilism. And I am the End."
**authors note: I'll probably flesh this out more later, when it's not 0000.** | A woman dressed in black lace sat across from me, her smile a flat caricature of human emotion. I had been coming to the pub for weeks now, hoping for answers. I had been given a small apartment, some money, and a message to return to Death's Door every evening at 10 PM.
No one seemed to want to tell me anything. There was no internet, not library, no tourist trap visitors center. It was just endless streets full of endless people.
No matter how many miles I walked, at 10 PM I would find Death's Door on the corner, welcoming me inside. When I left, at 2 AM, I would be right back out on Lime Street, two blocks from my apartment. It was frustrating, but not horrific.
I enjoyed the food and there was always live music. I had always been a lazy person, not really interested in pursuing anything too hard. So when I was met with a wall of nothingness, I went with it. I wouldn't find out anything until they told me.
Tonight, though, things seemed a little different. When I walked into the pub, no one was there. The lights were on, food was cooking, and the music was playing. The sign beside the stage promised *Luxuria and the Chastity Belts at Midnight*.
I sat at my usual table and played with the menu. It must have ten minutes before someone peaked their head into the dining area and saw me. They didn't scream at me to get out, they just smiled and disappeared back into the kitchen. Another twenty minutes passed before the "manager" came out to talk to me.
He was dressed as if he had somewhere else to be, another life he wished he could have kept living. He had torn jeans and thick-soled black boots. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail. But he was wearing a name tag and an apron over a Harley Davidson shirt and jean jacket. I could see the familiar logo, my Uncle Coop used to work there before he killed himself drunk driving.
"Welcome to Death's Door," the man said. "We are closed tonight for a special meeting. I hope you are understanding."
"I'm not sure where else I am supposed to be," I said. "I have been coming here every night for weeks. 10 PM, just like the message said. So, I am not sure where else to go."
"I... I will be right back," the man said. He paused. "My name is Avery, I am the manager here at the Door. Is... Let me go get the owner actually. I will be right back."
Avery returned moments later with two women. One woman introduced herself as Temperance Gula, acting manager of the Door. She asked my name, wrote something down in a little notebook, and disappeared out the door.
The other woman, Acedia, sat down at the table and asked me if I had any idea why I was here. "Like... not to be rude, but Morningstar doesn't usually work this hard to get people to stay here. She has been working overtime to keep track of your soul. It took weeks. So, do you know why you're here... Miss?"
I watched her run long fingers through even longer hair. She was pale, with a very Morticia Addams vibe. She yawned and rested her chin on her flat palm.
"No."
"I'm.... Sloth. That is the official title. You have met Avery... Greed. He's greed. And the woman who rushed off, that's..."
I interrupted with a cough. "What am I doing here? Hell? What the fuck is going on?"
"Well, my dear, sweet, Ariel... you are here to apply for assistant manager," Avery said.
| 2019-01-12T17:16:59 | 2019-01-12T15:32:21 | 261 | 72 |
[WP] You die and appear before the Devil and seven other individuals. They applaud you and the Devil exclaims, “finally, an eighth deadly sin!” | *The light grew dim above me. "We're losing her!" a masked man yelled, pumping my chest as another forced something into my mouth.*
*It was all so tiresome.*
"Well, you've done it. After two thousand, six-hundred, and forty one years, you've done it." a voice exclaimed excitedly.
As I emerged from the cavernous hall, the group seated about the table turned to look at me expectantly. Three women, five men, with expressions varying from amused, to disgusted, to downright hostile.
The silence stretched for an eternity, before the speaker cleared his throat and continued. He was beautiful, soul shatteringly so. "We've waited for you for, well, thousands of years. You're my eighth. I almost thought I wouldn't find another, but you... You are *exactly * what is eating away at humanity now."
I stared at him as the man in the Armani suit snorted. "Please, she's just a new face for sloth." At his words, the drowsy looking man to his left became alert, his large Bassett hound eyes taking on a wounded look. He opened his mouth to speak...
... Only for my soft laugh to interrupt him. They fell still, eyes burning into mine. They knew of my mortal sin, that I had taken my own life. But I doubted any of them truly understood the why.
"Sloth? No." my voice whispered like snakes over dead leaves. "I am not Sloth. I am the Darkness into which light will not shine. I am the Cold that never warms. I am the Emptiness never to be filled, the Nothing that will become everything. I will consume all, until the light of Creation itself is darkened." Silence met my words. The silence of the gathering storm.
I spread my hands out, like a preacher at prayer, beseeching those before me. They looked almost... Nervous.
"I am Nihilism. And I am the End."
**authors note: I'll probably flesh this out more later, when it's not 0000.** | As I lay on my bed, I reminisced of my frequent fears I had felt on a daily basis, often times using them to justify inaction. I never did the things that I truly wanted to do because I was always too afraid of what people might say.
I was twenty-five years old and had been dealing with depression for the last two years of my life. I lived at home with my parents who were reluctant to put me out on the streets, and my days were only growing grimmer. I had some sort of social disorder- I knew it to be true even though I had never been diagnosed. I saw the way people were in social settings and it was as if they had something I felt I could never achieve. The internet was suggesting I could have something called "Social Anxiety Disorder".
After digging deeper into medical explanations, I also came to the conclusion that I am most definitely a sociopath. I was a notorious people pleaser; all of my relationships centered around me playing to others' harmony in order to maintain emotional comfortability or gain material goods such as drugs or money. I could never keep a job for long and always preferred sweet isolation.
I felt a sense of security knowing exactly what it is that is wrong with me, and I continued with these new beliefs despite my disagreeing parents. As I felt myself drift off unto sleep, I was awoke with a sudden gasp and pain in my throat. I couldn't breath! I began inching over to the corner of my desk to attempt a self-Heimlich when my body instantly rejected, and I hit the floor.
I awoke on a red marble floor to the sounds of cheers and applause. I look up and see a group of people standing next to a smiling monster. "Finally! An eighth deadly sin!" the monster said. I rose to my feet and walked toward the seven people, assessing no physical threat from them.
"What is going on?" I asked.
"I lifted the curse, is what is going on!" the demon said. "Relax, you don't have anything to worry about now. You're dead though- that is... you are dead, that is a fact."
"Is this Hell?"
One of the seven men spoke up, "No, this is De-" until the demon interrupted:
"Don't you make that hacky Detroit joke, Darrell- I will burn you for eternity, do you understand?" the monster put an arm on my shoulder. "Look. I'm Satan, you're dead, this is Hell. We've been waiting for the first man to die from the eighth deadly sin for millenniums!"
As frightening as the realization and acceptance was for me, I felt completely at peace with no anxiety present. I had felt the best I probably had ever felt in my entire lifetime.
"So what's the eighth deadly sin?" I asked.
"The living all have the power to create before them any future they can imagine. With patience, persistence, effort and faith, any man can achieve anything. The human brain is wired to take self-beliefs and register them as facts. If one believes they are at peace, they shall be at peace. If one believes they are lonely, they shall remain.
The demons in Hell have been trying to lift the curse but the living are too caught up with their escapism. If humans use external vices to escape their negative self criticism, then they shall live on as a breathing yet miserable soul.
We lifted the curse, and now all those Label themselves critically shall see watch their depths of misery unfold, until it becomes their demise. The eighth deadly sin- appellation."
&#x200B; | 2019-01-12T17:16:59 | 2019-01-12T14:52:38 | 261 | 58 |
[WP] It’s been 2 years since the zombie apocalypse has started, and you haven’t seen anyone alive in a terribly long time. The only reason for your survival is that the zombies don’t care for you at all - in fact they all seem to be avoiding you. All except for one. | The horde of zombies parted like the Red Sea being parted by Moses.
W-was I really that repulsive?
“Hurrr! Hurrr!” They babbled and moaned nonsensically to each other as I approached, pointing at me with their rotting fingers and then ambling away hurriedly.
It was strange. Almost as if they could understand each other.
I gave my pits a sniff and noticed that even the ones crawling on the floor picked up their pace, afraid that they would be left behind and eaten alive by the only living human on planet Earth.
Yes, that’s right. I am the last human alive on Earth. That’s what I think at least because I haven’t seen another human that wasn’t a rotting corpse for -- two years? I’m not quite sure anymore. I’ve lost count. It might be more. Does it matter? Probably not.
More importantly am I really the last the person on Earth? Maybe. It seems likely so far.
Not like there’s anyone alive to tell me different.
As I came closer, the throng of decaying bodies threw themselves over each other in an attempt to get further away from me.
“Hurr! Hurrr!” they shrieked as I came closer, becoming more frenzied, scrambling over each other for dear life.
They were piling up high like a wall on each sides of me now as I strolled down the street. Suddenly something hard fell on my shoulder, bouncing off and plopping down in front of me. I looked down at the severed foot.
It looked up at me and then scampered off.
“Really?” I asked aloud.
I’ve stayed bunkered in my basement for most of the years, only coming out for small scavenging trips but this was the first time I’ve run into a horde this big. And for some strange reason these damn zombie wanted nothing to do with my ass. It was almost as if I had unceremoniously released a toxic fart deadly enough to kill them all a second time.
“Come on guys, this Isn't funny.”
Suddenly, I noticed something small near my feet. I looked down and spied a cute little zombie Chihuahua. It was missing one eye and one leg.
“Awww,” I knelt down and reached out with my hand.
The little zombie Chihuahua hesitated, flinching back away from my hand then after seeing that I was harmless, trotted closer. It took one sniff of my hand and scampered away.
“God damn it!” I shout in frustration. Even zombie dogs were avoiding me? What was I to live for? Has my life become meaningless?
Then I noticed it. Among the horde of scrambling zombies, there was one that stood still, starring me down from down the street. He wore a nice black tuxedo, holding a bouquet of wilting flowers in his pale green hand.
As I came closer, he kneeled down on one knee and raised a ring with his free hand.
“Marr. Marr,” he moaned as he looked up at me with one eye and it was hanging out of the socket.
I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Not you again!”
-------
--------
/r/em_pathy | He's hunting me, I'm sure of it. But I don't know why. And he never actually approaches closer than a few dozen paces, always hanging back at the periphery of my awareness. Last night I saw him through my binoculars as I scavenged for preserved food in an open-air market, skulking behind stalls and the big pavilion's concrete pillars.
I don't like scavenging indoors, there are almost always zombies and although they shy away from me, I can still hear them, all around. Moaning. Shuffling. Belching gases, making movement-sounds that are always too wet or too dry, sort of an auditory Uncanny Valley. And of course I don't like seeing them, who would? There's too much humanity left over, even if their eyes stare past everything, never really focus.
Except his. His do. Maybe he's just watching me. I mean, if he really were hunting he would probably have had a chance to catch me by now, right? I have to sleep, after all. Sure, I rest careful, always in a place that seems secure, with locked doors and boarded-up windows. He's never tried any of them, never rattled a knob or banged on sheets of plywood. Neither have the others, to be honest, they seem to know I'm in there, wherever it is I'm in, and stay away.
It's a lonely, easy life, for the most part. The whole thing happened so fast, there wasn't really time for a lot of destruction. Not the disease itself, or whatever it is, that actually worked pretty slowly, something like 72 hours incubation, during which time you got real gregarious, even if you'd been a shut-in before. Passed by simple contact. Not airborne, but didn't need skin-to-skin either. Even just brushing against one of the infected was enough. By the time people really started to turn, hit the second phase, it was too late. So it wasn't like there were big sieges or undead hordes rampaging through places. Everything's just kind of...there for the taking. It's not like the zombies need anything. They don't eat, not anymore, ran out of humans a long time ago. Except for me, and I guess I'm not very appetizing.
I don't know what keeps them going.
I'm guessing there are survivor enclaves here and there, but there's no way to know for sure. One of the earliest discoveries was that the zombies can "hear" radio waves, and are driven into a frenzy by them, attacking the source until it goes away. So it's not like there are broadcasts. My personal theory is that this is also why they're so...restless all the time, why they seem like they're suffering constant psychic pain. The universe itself has a background of radio waves from various cosmic sources, and they never stop. Sometimes at night a walking corpse will just stand beneath the starlight and look up, slack-jawed, making breathy little sounds of desperation. That's what I think they are, anyway.
I have a lot of time to think. Too much, maybe. It's not like it's peaceful time. He's always there, if I look. Hunting me. I don't know why.
I've never killed one of them, if "killed" is even the right word. Never had to. I do carry a rifle, and I know the basics of how to use it, and sometimes I wonder, why don't I shoot him?
But I'm afraid to shoot anything that looks human, that's the honest truth. Not if it isn't an immediate threat. Even though I think he's hunting me, even if I can't articulate why I think that, he's still not, you know, attacking me.
So I keep on kind of drifting through this moaning, shuffling, lonely world. I assume at some point I'll get sick or break something or whatever and not be able to take care of myself anymore, and that will be the end of it. Humans aren't meant to exist alone, and I say that as someone who was practically a hermit before all this happened. Sure, I didn't talk to people, but I ate the food they made and prepared and shipped, I could go to a doctor if I came down with something, I had a car that other people made, I lived in a building other people maintained, and on and on and on.
But now it's just me, and if something goes wrong, there's no help. I try not to think about that, even though like I said I have time to think, maybe too much time, and always with that...thing nearby. Except is he really a "thing?" He seems to be capable of a lot more thought than the others, even though I've never really seen him actually *do* anything.
Until today, when he pointed at me and screamed.
<continued below!> | 2019-05-26T07:44:40 | 2019-05-26T06:46:40 | 425 | 292 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is the first human to die, and had taken it upon himself to walk the deceased to the afterlife so that they do not have to feel the loneliness he felt. | "You want to know why I do this?" He sighed and leaned back. "Ya know no one actually has to, right? Like there wasn't originally a human psychopomp."
There was the clack of a piece on the board as Zora made her play. Sweat beaded on her brow. She was glad the small talk got his eyes off her. She was a damn Go CHAMPION, but she hadn't counted on how playing for her life against the grim reaper was going. She couldn't see his eyes, or anything about him, really. She KNEW he was male, tho. Just like she could FEEL when his gaze was on her and when it wasn't.
"Really? What was there?" she asked. She needed to keep his mind ... wherever it was. Just not in the game.
"I don't really know how to describe it. I was a bit ... distracted. I had just died. Not only that, but my brother had killed me." There was a dull thud as the Reaper placed his piece.
"What?" Zora asked, shaking herself to look at the board. This sounded familiar to her.
"Then there was this ... it was simultaneously a pillar of fire and a GIANT human like thing with 8 black wings and ... oh, yeah, I love Cain. He's my brother, but emotional control was never his strong suit. That's why I became the sheep herd, y'know? He was too sensitive to both raise and slaughter them. He got so attached.
"It's your play, Zora," The Reaper reminded her gently.
Zora started again. She'd gotten lost staring into the shadows of his robe. The more he spoke, the less he looked like a grinning skull, and the more it seemed the visage of a person was concealed in the shadows of the robe.
"Wait, you're ABEL!? Like Cain and Abel from the BIBLE!?" She exclaimed.
"Just the one," He said kindly, "And it's still your play, Zora."
"Yeah, you right." Zora took a deep breath as she studied the board. She started to see a pattern. She thought for a minute and placed a piece with a gentle clack.
"You said he IS your brother? Not was??" She asked as Abel reached for his piece.
"You're correct. He's still alive. Cursed to wander the Earth til its end. I was angry at him, at first. I first stayed to watch his suffering. To enjoy his punishment. But then the next person died. And I saw that impassive giant appear again, and I knew I couldn't let another soul deal with that. After a while, though, I started to realize how much he was hurting. How terrible his punishment is. And how much I miss him. Now I'm glad to do this kindness to the many, many strange souls passing in the world today, while I wait to be reunited with my big brother. We'll leave this world together when it is done." There was another thud as he placed his piece. A clack as Zora placed hers.
"That's a LOT," She said, "I don't know if I could do that for my brother, and he didn't even kill me."
"It took me a LONG time to feel as I do, Zora," Abel said softly. "A lot of seeing how cruel humans would get to one another. A lot of seeing my brother build himself up only to topple himself later."
Zora's heart was beating in her chest as she tried to keep her attention on the board. There was a thud as Abel placed his piece.
"YES!" Zora exclaimed as she placed her piece - cascading the board as she circled his position. She'd won! She'd beaten the Grim Reaper to keep her life!
"Good play, Zora! I haven't lost at this game in a century!" Abel laughed as he started to clear the board. "Do you want to play again?"
"What? NO! I want to go back to my life!" Zora shouted as she stood up quickly. "I want to go back to school tomorrow and prep for my next tournament!"
"Oh," Abel said softly, sadly. "It doesn't work that way. I don't control who lives or dies. I just guide you on your way when you're ready. I'm happy to play until you're ready to go, though. You know I'm not in any hurry now." | I was weary. It’s hard to imagine someone who is dead still being able to feel, but maybe the constant exposure to extreme human emotion had allowed me to still feel. I had wallowed in immeasurable suffering, but had also bathed in the light of someone surrounded by family, going to meet their god. I didn’t know what was on the other side myself. I was the first human to die after all, betrayed and murdered by my brother, Cain. The centuries had worn away any resentment I could possibly still harbor. I wasn’t prepared to die then, how could I have been? It hadn’t happened before. Life was strange and lonely enough, my parents were always speaking of some powerful being they used to commune with in some garden, but we had no idea what they spoke of. Maybe that was the source of the light I saw when I died...yet somehow I knew that, although I was the first, I wouldn’t be the last. And surrounded by the still fresh sensation of a brother’s betrayal, how could I abandon those who followed?
And so time went on. I could still see the material world to an extent, as I was drawn from one death to another. I saw it change and mature, and was excited for the future of my species, for we had come so far. And yet, we still had so far to go. Pompeii had shocked me to my core, it was difficult to transition all those souls to what lay beyond. So many at once, confused, unaccepting. It was always easier for those who were sick and knew they were dying, but this was unprecedented. And again later, uncountable battles, hundreds dying within minutes. If I was still bound by physical laws, I might’ve tired, but I persisted, and guided them all, eventually. What I yearned for was the solution to my loneliness, but I knew that it would never come. The best I could do was to serve my kind, and ease their transition.
Until I met Brandon. I was first drawn to him one night when he almost committed suicide. I could sense his impending death, but he decided not to at the last moment. But what I saw shocked me. Brandon was truly a kindred spirit in loneliness. I could see that he had no living family, and no friends to speak of. Although time does not pass the same for me as it does for others, my free time is still limited, but I always found time for Brandon. I watched him, rejected by society for his mediocrity. Not smart enough to do overly well for himself, he was the definition of scraping by. Not charismatic enough to make friends or meet lovers, he scrolled through the routines of his life with minimal joy. Brandon went to work, went home, played some video games, made a sandwich or a microwaved dinner, and went to sleep to refresh his body to repeat this hell for another day. I was truly appalled. The variety of experiences I had glimpsed in his world, and here he was unwilling, or possibly unable, to see anything beyond the bleakness of his existence.
Brandon’s time inevitably came. I greeted him as a friend as his soul left his body. He looked down at it for a moment, but came to terms quicker than most.
“What got me?” He queried aloud.
“Heart attack. Microwaveable meals and takeout are not the healthiest of diets. I’ve seen this before, unfortunately you’re not the first.”
“Huh.” That was it, his entire reaction, possibly summing up the futility of his life, as he stared down at his lifeless body.
“Well, I didn’t even really feel it, or, I don’t remember feeling it.”
“A mercy that many in history have not had the some fortune to experience, believe me. Are you ready for what’s next?”
Brandon stood, silent for a moment. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
“I was the first, so long ago. I stayed. Truthfully, I’m not sure I realized what happened to me. It hadn’t happened before you know. I didn’t have the luxury of experiencing death second or third hand, and slowly accepting its inevitability. As to why I do this, all I truly remember was my loneliness here, in this place of transition. Not attached to the material, yet, unarrived at the final destination.”
“What is the final destination? Pearly gates, or maybe more of a courtroom judgement setting?”
“I do not know. I cannot cross and find out. Perhaps that is my curse, but these people need someone. You accepted quicker than most, but perhaps that is because you had considered treading this path voluntarily before. Those who die unexpectedly are much more difficult to handle. Everyone goes eventually. I can only hope I’m leading them to peace, and not torment.”
Brandon didn’t even seem phased by this, he just stared through me with a strange expression. I could feel light and warmth behind me, the sensation that always precedes a decision to pass on from this transitional state.
“You should go,” he said. I started to move over to lead him before what he said sunk in.
“That destination is not my path, but yours. You must go.”
“No. My whole life, I was unable to do anything for anyone, not even for myself. My existence was bleak, but not truly miserable. I often felt misery, and sadness, but more than anything else I know your loneliness. I’ve been immersed in it my entire life. I’m just the quiet guy who works and goes home, only to show up the next day. I never could figure out how to make friends without bothering people, never could find the desire to even go out and try. But here…this place...this feels like home.”
I couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. It made sense, but simultaneously felt like a dream, and I felt myself gliding backwards into the light. I realized Brandon was guiding me now, just as I had guided others. As the light began to surround me I looked back at him, this man who never did anything with his life, who couldn’t, but in death, was able to free the one soul that in the millennia of human existence, had never found it. | 2019-07-10T12:38:09 | 2019-07-10T11:52:12 | 76 | 28 |
[WP] The nightmare has come true; you've woken up back in sixth grade with your memories and knowledge of everything that happened since then intact. You start staring at your classmates around you, aware of how they end up. Your teacher asks you what's wrong as you start weeping. | I couldn't stop crying. It was too much, too unbelievable. It was as if the last 10 years had never happened. The attack. The First Night. The Hordes. The war, all of the death and destruction, it was as if it had all been erased. Somehow the Elovians' gambit had paid off and I was back in this familiar, yet entirely alien time and place.
I was suddenly aware of my right hand. I could \*feel\* my right hand gripping my desk. I looked down, afraid but hopeful, and it was there. It was the hand of an eleven year old, but it was there. Whole, unblemished, and still attached to my arm. I flexed my fingers, feeling each one on the fake wood as I did, and took a breath in a small gasp. I had my hand back.
The rest of the class had turned around in their seats to look at me, confused as to why I had suddenly burst into tears. The teacher (Mrs. Skinner? I couldn't remember.), had a look of concern on her face as she asked again what was wrong. Still crying I just shook my head. I was too shocked to say anything. She put down the chalk she had been using, the math equation she had been writing only half finished on the board, and started walking down the aisle of desks towards me.
Suddenly a girl a couple of rows over stood up and gasped, knocking her seat over as she did so. She had a look of surprise on her face as she looked around the room.
"How is this possible?", the girl said. She started trembling and tears started to slowly leak down her cheeks. I didn't recognize her, but her face looked vaguely familiar. Amy? Amanda? Angie? I hadn't thought of anyone from my school days in years. I had bigger problems to deal with. We all had.
The teacher stopped and turned to the girl. She looked back over to me, suddenly unsure which student she should turn to first.
"Jimmy, Amy, what is the matter with you two?", the teacher said, looking back and forth at the two of us.
Suddenly there were several more gasps from some of the other kids, until each and every one of them became of aware of where, and when, they were. Some started sobbing. Some were obviously in shock.
The teacher (Yes, it was Mrs. Skinner.) sat down hard on the floor, one hand against her chest.
"What am I doing here? They said there was some kind of attack. I saw lights in the sky, and... I think I died?" Mrs. Skinner started gasping, as if she couldn't get enough air.
I started getting myself under control, my training kicking in as the class started descending into chaos. I started to slow my breathing. Maybe it was seeing everyone else suddenly falling apart that helped.
I got out of my seat and went to Mrs. Skinner. "Just breath. It's OK. You're alive. We have time."
When the Resistance leadership told us that our alien allies could send us back in time I hadn't believed them. But it worked. The Elovians had done it. Everyone was back, and everyone had remembered what happened.
Five years. Five years until the First Night. Five years until the Horde poured out of the night sky. Five years until countless millions died.
We had a lot of work to do, and not much time to do it, but we now we knew what was coming. Humanity had a second chance.
We had to prepare. | This was the last time I ever saw them -- will ever see them I suppose. I can't remember what stupid reason I had to be crying before I woke up, but now the tears are real. I didn't necessarily like all of them, but it's hard to care about petty school squabbles... Even the worst of them don't deserve what I know is coming. Even now I can make out a gentle rumbling that is getting ever louder by the second. The sound of angry shouting from the courtyard below makes its way into the classroom through an open window. On queue, the alarm begins to scream from the hallway. I become aware of the teacher standing next to me as she shouts over the alarm to get the attention of the rest of the class.
&#x200B;
"Please stay calm everyone. I wasn't told of any fire drill happening today so we should assume it is real until told otherwise. This is no reason to panic, just do the same thing we've done in every drill, double file please." Tentatively everyone gets up and heads to the door, but I remain frozen. The piercing sound of the alarm has me paralyzed in horror as I desperately try to hold on to every second and stop the inevitable. But the seconds keep passing. Time keeps rushing on. I realize the teacher is shaking my shoulder, telling me that I have to go. My mind is elsewhere and my feet decide to obey the teacher's plea's without argument.
&#x200B;
We slowly make our way down the staircase to find that the rest of the school has already been tightly packed into the courtyard. I see some students lifting their friends onto their shoulder to get a better view and see when the principle will release them back to the relative comfort of the air-conditioned classrooms. The principle doesn't seem to be paying the least bit of attention the crowd however, as he's too busy shouting at the uniformed man who's sight instantly fills me with dread to the point where I think I might throw up. My teacher turns to me, clearly doing a bad job to hiding the nervous look on her face, "Wait here." she says. "I'll go find out what is going on." and with that she disappears into the crowd.
&#x200B;
The argument is getting louder now and I see small groups of soldiers trickling into the courtyard, forming a line a few meters behind the principle and the officer. Suddenly there is a collective gasp as the principle is thrown to the ground and the officer begins to strike him with a baton. Within seconds several of the older students rush forward and step in front of the principle while another group drags him back into the crowd. As he passes by me I catch a glimpse of him as he passes by me and have to immediately turn away to stop from puking. His face is almost completely unrecognizable with all the blood now covering it. One eye is shut and leaking what seems to be a mixture of puss and blood.
&#x200B;
I turn back to see the officer ordering the soldiers back, and can almost hear a sigh of relief coming from the entire crowd. Everyone seems to think they are safe now -- can't they realize that rumbling is still getting close? Finally my voice comes back to me and I scream at the top of my voice, "RUN!" But I'm not the only one screaming. The tank is finally in view.
&#x200B;
A great panic overtakes the crowd and nearly everyone is running back towards the main building, but as I look back there is a soldier standing behind the glass entrance doors, looking smugly outward as he fits his metal baton in between the door handles, blocking anyone from getting in. People are pounding on doors, begging them to break, but I know they won't make it in time. Only a minute more and the shots start. Every single time it's the same. I've never learnt whether anyone besides me makes it out. I know theres nothing I can do to stop it, but I'm tired of running. I take one last look at the path that takes me out, then turn away and head towards the soldiers.
&#x200B;
As I push my way against the crowd, several other students catch my eye and must realize what I'm doing because they also turn back and head towards the soldiers. Within the minute I make it out of the crowd along with a dozen others who have joined me and together we face down the line of tanks that have formed up opposite us. Out of the top the center tank I see the officer that beat up the principle. He shouts an order and the line of tanks begins to accelerate forward.
&#x200B;
I look down the line of students that has formed up next to me and a few of them nod back in understanding. As one we link arms and turn to face down the advancing row of tanks. If this is to be the end of democracy, we'll go down together, in defiance, not with a backs turned trying to flee. This must the reason I kept being brought back to this moment. The officer's eyes meet mine and we hold each others gaze for a second -- then he shouts a final order and the last thing I hear is the roar of the machines guns as they let loose on the crowd. | 2019-08-18T08:35:17 | 2019-08-18T07:28:26 | 177 | 54 |
[WP] Canada has suddenly gone dark. No communication, no trade, no activity from within. Nothing for days. Alaska, now cut off from mainland US, is slowly ceasing in contact with the US federal government until a final correspondence is given: "Leave us. Reinforce the border. Don't ever open it." | It had been fifty years since the call came in. "Leave us. Reinforce the border. Don't ever open it." The US government had acted swiftly and decisively, sparing no expense and using the latest technology to errect a nigh unpenetrable wall across the border. Standing twenty meters in height, encampments were stationed at regular intervals along it's length, equipped and staffed with the military's finest.
After the half century of preparation, the US government had finally approved of the first expedition to assess the situation. The brave men and women who volunteered for the operation stepped onto Canadian soil for the first time in their lives, fully expecting not to return.
As the group approached the site where Vancouver used to be, they mentally prepared themselves for whatever creatures may lurk within the deserted city. Except... It wasn't deserted.
People, human people, strolled around clean streets, eating donuts outside Krispy Kreme and sipping coffee as they commuted to work. Understandably, the confused expedition crew radioed back to HQ, who further relayed the message to the Grand President, who had remained in office for 50 years by claiming national emergency to halt elections.
It was then that the Grand President realised that they weren't protecting themselves from anything. Canada had simply wanted a wall across their borders. And the US had paid for it.
Edit: Thank you kind stranger for the silver!
About the donut shop not being Tim Horton's... Oops I guess my bad. | Nobody thought of it at first, as less and less flights started to come in and out of Canada, to eventually none. Car travel slowed until it too eventually stopped, Canadian TV and Radio networks going dead within a matter of hours.
To be completely honest, nobody even noticed it at first, until for the first time in a week radios were lighting up left and right, a broadcast from Canada “L..sten, c...tures” it was really choppy, poor signal, almost nothing could be heard until all of a sudden it was crystal clear. “Whatever you do, do NOT open the borders. Close them. Reinforce them. Never let it and it’s friends escape!” The signal could be heard for a few more seconds before a shriek could be heard in the background, then the signal went dead.
Within just a couple of hours the president had ordered almost all troops to the Canadian border, sealing it off completely with tanks, almost every gun in the country, drones, everything. Nobody was about to take a chance with whatever is there.
After the troops deployed it was, for the most part, calm at the border. Nothing was happening or had happened, until a few soldiers off in the distance see a shadowy figure, kind of tall but not really, just standing there, it was about 9PM at the time, it had been getting dark but it wasn’t quite there yet. They start alerting everybody that someone is out there, and they all start staring at this creature, until they hear this ear piercing screech as hundreds of them pop up from the forest, getting down on all fours and booking it towards all the soldiers. At that moments everybody opened fire, shooting any of them down that they could, but it wasn’t enough as they started jumping up and attacking the soldiers and mercilessly mutilating them.
After that sections of the border slowly began to fall, until there wasn’t a single surviving soldier out there. They soon overran the US, destroying the country in a matter of days, soo Mexico, then South America. It wasn’t long before the creatures learned how to swim, but the Eastern part of the world had prepared themselves, and with the collective force of everyone’s navy they were able to wipe out each and every one of the creatures, they brought a few aboard to perform some tests. It was pure black with the shape of a human, but there wasn’t anything to it or it’s face, no eyes, no mouth, no nose. Nothing, they poke around at it and find the body isn’t even purely solid, it had almost a gelatin type construct. After running multiple tests it all came down to the same result. Ink. Normal ink that comes out of a ballpoint pen.
Nobody wants to accept this, that whatever it was, was just ink, one of the scientist feels it out with its hand, before it slowly starts creeping up, enveloping his entire body as it completely changed him, to become one of those creatures, it wasn’t long after that he was killed of course, and all test subjects were tossed overboard. Never to be seen again. | 2019-08-25T19:56:15 | 2019-08-25T19:45:28 | 725 | 72 |
[WP] You have narrowly avoided death dozens of times by sheer coincidence. Later, you learn it wasn’t a coincidence, you are so vital to history, time travelers have been doing everything they can to keep you alive. | When I look back on it, the view from the top of the hill wasn’t anything special. Probably in every town in the state, there was a hill like that, probably with a grand old tree with a tire swing barely hanging on it too.
I didn’t have that many friends when I was a kid, but Anna was one of them. I couldn’t exactly figure out why she hung out with me so much. I wasn’t very funny, or clever, or brave, and I wasn’t cool at all in school, whereas she was. She went to a different school, on the other side of town, so maybe that’s why.
“I was two footsteps away,” I said.
She walked to the edge of the cliff, and looked down, far longer than I ever could. The drop wasn’t much in distance, but it was rocky and steep.
“One footstep away.”
I got up to check.
“Wow,” I said. “You actually did it.”
“So you’re buying the Slushies today?”
“Wait. When did we decide you won?”
“You said whoever does one footstep first.”
“Well, I can do no footsteps away.”
I have always been scared of heights. But I don’t look at the drop. I look at my feet. One step in front of the other, slowly to the edge.
Just then, a strong gust of wind comes, and a bird cries above. I look up, and lose my balance just for a second…
She grabs onto me, and pulls me back. My foot hangs off the cliff as I fall.
“H-how did you know that was going to happen?”
“I didn’t. I just didn’t want you to go.”
“Why not?”
She looks at me for a long time before speaking. “Because then we wouldn’t be able to hang out anymore.”
\-
There are a lot of papers on my desk. Flyers for clubs on campus, papers I’d stayed up all night writing that the professor could easily tell were written in one night, advertisements and bills from the mail. But tonight is the last night I'll ever have to look at the mess.
I pour out two pills from the bottle. It was a shame. I’d paid for the whole thing, but the guy had said two would do the trick.
I called my mom a few minutes ago. There was no one else I could think of talking to…
The phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hey!” I’d recognize that voice anywhere, the bright, scratchy tone.
“Anna?” In spite of myself, of everything, I smile. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m in…” her voice cuts off, but I assume she’s telling me she’s in some exotic locale, with a bunch of stories to tell as soon as I ask.
“So, what’s going on with you?” she asks.
I stare at the pills, idly sitting on the desk.
“Nothing much.”
“Lame. There has to be something.”
I shake my head. “It definitely can’t compete with whatever you have, globetrotting like you always do.”
“Well, I’m coming back next week. And this time, I’m going to get the truth out of you.”
“There’s really not much to tell,” I say.
“You know I don’t believe you,” she sings. “The school year’s ending soon, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, why don’t you come with me this summer? We can backpack through Europe like we always wanted to.”
I look out the window, trying to see something in the dark light. “Maybe. So you’re really coming next week?”
\-
I’m nervous, but not as much as I should be. A wedding is nothing compared to what I’ve been through, even if it’s mine.
“Is everyone here?” I ask my best man.
“Mostly,” he says. “Waiting on anyone?”
“The table with my mom. Is it full?”
I’ve been asking about this one all week, if everyone at that table is confirmed.
“Let me go check.” And he leaves the room, leaving me all alone.
But I know what the answer will be. I suppose she has her reasons, but it still hurts that my oldest friend can’t be here.
“Is it over already?” a voice asks. I turn around, and there she is. “You look so sad, it has to be over.”
“Anna?”
She walks over, and gives me a hug, a hug so warm that I almost forget everything I found out about her.
But then she pulls back, and looks down.
“I know you've been asking around about me.”
“Yeah. I found out...some things. You never lived in New York?” Or any of the other places she had told me about.
She shakes her head. “I do. But...not yet.”
“I don’t understand.”
She smiles, and pinches my cheek, like she always used to. “I know you can make it from here on your own, so this is the last time I’ll be coming to see you.”
“What?”
“But don’t worry. We’ll see each other soon. Well, for me, but not for you.”
I stare at her blankly. “What’s going on?”
She hugs me again. “I don’t have time. But I left a letter in your mailbox.”
She walks away, but turns back once she is at the door. “I’m proud of you, Dad.”
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | "Oh shit!!" A blairing car horn and a woosh fly past me as I step back from the edge of the street I was about to cross.
"John! You okay?" Paul asked as he stood behind me witnessing the entire thing.
"Yeah, I'm fine...." I said while regaining my composure.
"You've got to be more careful man." Paul said as we started to cross the street.
A month before I was nearly T-boned by a semi on my way to the beach with friends. The light turned green then red again, so naturally I stopped. Just as I did the semi came barreling through the intersection. Paul knew about it and joked with me about being "lucky", but I just chalked it up as coincidence.
"Man, first the semi truck, now this? You should go buy a lottery ticket, John!" Paul said jokingly and patting me on the back.
"Yeah, well things just happen man, what can I tell ya."
"You know..." Paul said.... "if that were me I'd be real out of sorts right now. You seem oddly comfortable, what gives?" Paul asked. He was right to ask. Normally people who have close encounters like that are a little rattled. Not me, and his concern was completely reasonable.
"Well I don't know... I guess I'm used to it?"
"Used to it!?!?" Paul was surprised, "that's not something that people get used to, John. How many times has this happened?"
"I don't know.... as long as I can remember? I just thought it was normal." And I did. I mean shit happened every day, most just don't give any thought to it.
"Really? Like what?" Paul asked.
"Well when I was 5 I fell off my bike and was almost hit by a car, but the driver suffered a gun shot wound and hit a tree before getting close to me. Then when I was 8, I was in school and took a book off the library shelf. The shelf ended up falling over but not before I tripped into the hall way and it fell behind me. Those are a few of them." I said to Paul.
"John, you got to be the most luckiest person alive man!" He said.
I didn't believe it was that, nor did I think it was by chance. In all honesty I thought these things were just normal occurrences people experience in life. I just haven't given attention to it.
Later that day I was sitting at work. Looking at the glowing computer screen flickering in my office. I always day dream about fun things, like Zombies, the apocalypse, anything. I just like to let my mind run wild for a minute or two. It takes most of the boredom out of the day. That's when it hit me. Every experience I had like that, I was miraculously taken out of harm's way.
I say "taken" because like in the library when I was younger, I tripped over nothing. From what I can remember, even the month before, when the traffic light flickered. Then my boss walked in and the subject was put on hold. The rest of the day it was extremely hard to work with that on my mind.
The day is over and I'm walking home. Street packed, the city congested as usual. So I decide to take a short cut. Down this ally by the parking garage. That's when she showed up.
"Its not just luck." A womans faint voice was heard from behind the dumpster, and instead of walking faster away from it I stopped and turned.
"Excuse me?" I said peering around the dumpster.
A woman in black with body armor and military weaponry stepped out.
"Oh shit!!" I exclaimed.
"Relax, I'm here for you." She said. "My name is Sadie."
"So what, you want my money or some shit?" I asked with hands up near my chest, palms out as if to show I am unarmed.
"No John, I'm here FOR you." She said and handed me a paper. "Here, look."
"What's this?" I took it and opened it, fully expecting some wacky note but was mistaken. It was a picture of me. In armor like hers. I was in what appeared to be a briefing room, talking to everyone sitting down and she was standing next to me on the other side of a clear plastic board with glowing blueprints on it. "Wtf is this? Why do you have a picture of me and why is it like this? Who are you?" I asked.
"You need more proof? Here." She tossed me a metalic bar with a handle on each side. "Grip the handles and pull out." So I did.
It was a bendable plastic board with the same design in the picture she showed me. This time it was playing a video of me in the picture. It was me. I couldn't deny it, but how?
"John, I'm here for you. I'm not here to hurt you, but I need you to come with me." She said.
"Your going to explain what the fuck is going on right now before anything." I stated to Sadie.
"I'm from the future. I was one of many who were sent back by you, to protect you from anything that may threaten your life. All those instances that happened in the past were us being sent back to keep you alive and all those things weren't by chance. They are trying to kill you to stop you from stoping them." Sadie said.
"Who is 'us' and who are 'they' you keep talking about, and you know how bullshit that sounds?" I said trying to poke holes in her story to prove I'm not crazy and I'm not imagining these things.
"We are what's left of this country, John. This city is going to be destroyed by 'them', the enemy. They are a faction of different political parties in the country with backing from external countries trying to destroy us from the inside. At first using our own political system against us, then when they couldn't they started a civil war." Sadie said while rifling through her bag.
"So then what do I have to do with this?" I asked, now entertaining this nonsense.
Sadie continued to search her bag, "we have to go back." She said.
"What do you mean?" I asked again.
"You're coming with me, it's the only way to keep you alive and fiture you is dead. This is the only way that I can think of with the time I have left here!" Searching more and then exclaiming "found it!" Throwing a metalic spherical object with a glowing blue stripe on it at the wall which then burst and splattered creating an oval glowing ring that was foggy in the center.
"Your serious aren't you?" I asked pointing dumbfoundedly at the wall.
"Yes, now take my hand. We have a world to save." Sadie grabbed my hand as we jumped into the portal into the near distant future. | 2019-10-04T09:57:53 | 2019-10-04T09:22:59 | 58 | 15 |
[WP] It's been ten years since 'The Gap' when everyone on the planet just lost an entire year of their lives. Completely unable to recall anything that happened during that time-frame. We know life went on, but no one can recall anything. Then, you find one half-burned book and know why we forgot. | One night, ten years ago, I fell asleep on my friend’s couch after a night of heavy drinking.
One morning, ten years ago, I woke up on an airplane, 38,000 feet in the air.
We called it ‘The Gap’.
When humanity woke that day, we found that a year had passed. Somehow, our bodies had kept moving, our lives had continued - but we remembered none of it.
Researchers and scientists devoted millions of manhours to the search. There were no records of that year, no artifacts that could tell us what happened. Everything, from internet records to personal journals, that contained information from that year was destroyed.
Well, almost everything.
One morning, two days ago, I found it.
A half-burned journal with the events of 2020.
Massive fires. Locust swarms. A pandemic that spread across the world. As the year went on, the events grew stranger and stranger. The pandemic worsened. The climate changed faster and faster. A series of solar flares wiped out most of our electrical infrastructure. It was as though the universe itself had been trying to wipe out humanity.
People started to go missing, whole cities at a time. Others started acting stranger and stranger. World leaders became erratic and unreliable, especially in the wake of the solar flares. Nobody opposed them.
A dozen secret organizations revealed themselves. Fighting broke out. The Illuminati won out against the Collective, but were in turn defeated by the Foundation.
Ah, the Foundation.
Unlike the others, they didn’t want to rule. They didn’t want anything besides the preservation of humanity.
They told us that they’d been protecting us for years. That one of their Reality Anchors had failed, and that the universe itself was warping.
We could see it happen. Street lamps twisted themselves into knots. The earth warped and twisted beneath our feet. Skyscrapers appeared in the middle of fields. A jungle sprouted up in Manhattan. The sky rippled and twisted on a daily basis. Some days, we had to wear gas masks just to go outside.
Continents moved like sailing ships. Pangea came again in the space of a single week. Anything not under direct observation by a set of human eyes could, and did, change. Coffee turned to gasoline. Gravity would invert itself in a single city block, then be entirely normal in the next block.
We rallied behind the Foundation in a global effort never seen before. They built a machine - a reset device, they called it. It would calm the ripples in spacetime, bring us back to where we were. The catch?
Well, none of us would remember a thing. I suppose the Foundation was happy about that.
The Reality Reset took place on December 31st, 2020. It wiped everything two hours before a meteor was due to strike the surface of the Earth.
The Foundation destroyed any records of that year. They said it would be disruptive to the fabric of society. I suppose they missed one thing.
Or I suppose they didn’t.
As I write this, I see two vans pulling into my driveway. I’m not expecting guests.
But before I go, I should record one last thing. One thing the book mentioned.
2020 wasn’t the first time reality reset.
And it won’t be the last.
---
*Like this story? Want to read more? Subscribe to /r/OneMillionWords* | Greg sighed and closed his eyes. It had been a long day. Moving really was the worst. But, with the last of his boxes unloaded and Cheryl on her way back with pizza and cold drinks, he could finally relax.
The move into the house was a big deal. After a decade of hard work of getting their lives back together after everything fell apart. They finally had started to feel like a family again.
They weren’t the only family that suffered during The Gap. Certainly, everyone experienced losing a year in their own way. Suddenly waking up a year into the future can do that to a person. People woke up with new jobs, living in new cities, and some living with completely new people. A change of a year can do that to a person.
But for Greg and Cheryl, they didn’t just wake up with new things in their lives. They woke up missing a huge part of their old ones. For you see, on the day the world leapt forward, Cheryl was pregnant. And when they woke up, she wasn’t.
They knew a few other people that were pregnant when The Gap happened. Friends of a friend, a distant cousin. But all the people they knew woke up to cribs and babies and diapers as if they had grown over the past year. Cheryl and Greg woke up alone.
Years of therapy later, doctors had convinced them that, like many couples, they must have had some kind of miscarriage. But they never really got a chance to experience that loss, that pain. So instead they lived in uncertainty. What if their daughter was alive but woke up with a friend or at a daycare they didn’t know about? It really was a miracle that Greg and Cheryl were still together. He smiled, thinking of her. IT was her, really. Her strength. Her determination kept him going.
Greg groaned as he stood up and decided to carry a few boxes to the basement to clear room on the table for dinner. HE clicked on the light has he made his way down the narrow staircase. The house was perfect. They had been dreaming of buying it for years as it sat unsold. But, he had to admit, the basement was creepy. Unfinished and old with a low ceiling, it kind of felt like something out of a horror movie with bad lighting.
Greg ducked his head and walked towards the back wall enjoying the cool damp air on his face and began to place the boxes on the ground when suddenly, something caught his attention.
On the ground in the corner was a small book barely visible under dirt and grime. He stooped down and flipped it over only to see the book was half burned away. However as he turned it in his hands it became clear what it was. A photo book.
He wiped the cover with his shirt and saw written across the top in bright happy letters the name Emily. His heart leapt to his throat. That was going to be.. her name. His daughter. What an odd coincidence.
Curiosity got the best of Greg and he opened the book and began to look at the pictures. Half of the pages were charred and burned beyond recognition but a few photos remained here and there. The first few pages had a baby girl who was smiling and laughing at the camera. It wasn’t until the third page that Greg saw something that made his stomach drop.
There, on the third page, was Cheryl. Holding the baby girl and smiling. Right at the camera. It was like a dream, just as he thought his life was supposed to be but instead he had lost everything.
Greg’s mouth went dry and he collapsed to the floor, but he could not stop flipping through the pages. Picture after picture was of him. His family. His baby he never held. Greg couldn’t understand, what happened? What WAS this.
As Greg got to the last page, he saw a baby almost a year old smiling on his lap with his wife standing over his shoulder. But something was off...not quite right. He leaned in over the photo obsessed when he realized that the skin of Emily, his little girl, was not quite right. The color looked a bit grey and dull compared to the rest of the picture. And what was that in her eyes? At first he thought it was the flash of the camera but leaning in closer they seemed to burn with almost fire red.
Then Greg felt a hand on his shoulder.
“OH Greg, you fool. You weren’t supposed to find that.” Cheryl’s voice sounded light and playful, but carried a heavy calm he had never heard before.
“Cheryl, wha...what is this? Do you know where our little girl is?” He could barely get the words out. His hands began to shake and tremble.
Cheryl’s other had come down and pressed something cold and sharp against Greg’s neck. Out of the corner of his eye, Greg saw some kind of needle.
“Well of course, darling.” Cheryl’s voice was now cold and without emotion. Looking down, Greg saw her hand had the same cool grey color as Emily did in the photo.
“She will be back soon. She’s preparing for the invasion.”
Greg felt a sharp pinch in his neck, and his world slowly faded to black. | 2020-07-08T14:23:40 | 2020-07-08T13:52:51 | 4,285 | 768 |
[WP]The heroes confront you with the legendary mystical weapon that can defeat you. Unbeknownst to them, it's actually the one thing you needed to conquer the world. You were having trouble finding it, so you started the legend of the weapon yourself, to get some poor schmuck to find it for you. | Picture this, you are a great evil magician, well not really evil since my last evil deed was 278 years ago bailing the tab in some seedy establishment for something they call "food", but you get the picture. Ironically this was also the last time I have seen my Magic Wand. Now after I got tired of searching for it I just decided to spread the rumour of the "Ancient staff of the Devine" that is supposed to be strong enough to stop me.
Well lucky me some adventures are blasting fireballs with said staff at my door right now. I'm really glad I invested in that heavy magic protection for my tower. I'm looking down my window drinking my afternoon tea waiting for them to get tired. "Hello fellow adventurer's!" I called them. "What's the matter? Is my door to strong for you?" I cackle while I almost choke on my tea. "Foul Wizard! Hiding in your tower! Come down and face us!" Shouts the oh-so obviously dressed party leader in his shiny blue armor.
I set my tea aside and let myself fall out of the window. Before I hit the ground I slow my decent with a little bit of magic landing just a few feet away from the adventurers.
Just when I landed the rogue charges me with his double daggers all while screaming like a barbarian. A simple shockwave spell knocks him out cold.
The Hero uses my staff and blasts a fireball into my direction. It splashes harmlessly off my magic mantle.
With a flick of my wrist I rip the staff out if his hands as it gracefully flies into my hands.
"Honestly I'm surprised you made it this far. But you aren't nearly prepared enough especially now after I got my staff back. Before I kill you tell me where did you find the 'Divine Staff'?" I asked as I prepare lighting to get rid of this nuisance.
The Hero takes a step forward. "We found it in a seedy establishment not far from here, the owner gave it to us under one condition: That we ask you to pay your tab before we kill you."
"Fuck" | It actually had a scent, I was pleased to discover. Like lilac...or maybe it was honeysuckle?
The stone pulsed and radiated power, like a heartbeat, throbbing throughout my body, only surging from beyond my own flesh.
It was no bigger than a AA battery but it contained more power than a sun...full of dark magic...and it was meant for me...
Created for me...
*Fallormiel*...
The Death Stone.
I knew it’s true potential. I and I alone knew it’s true potential...
The foolish, headstrong group of do-gooders, brought it right to me. The “legend” I, myself, put out into the world would be their undoing. They had fallen for my plan. I wanted to thank them for doing all the footwork, but that might be counterintuitive. They had always defeated me in combat. Time and time again. Of course, they outnumbered me 7 to 1, but I was more powerful than any 6 of them combined. 7 was just a perfect number. They simply outnumbered me in every fight. Now, they stand before me, grinning like monkeys. Proud of *their* stone. They believe they have me beaten. They really believe they have me beaten. Ha! “It’s over,” said Captain Truth, “we have the stone!”
“So I see,” I replied, feigning insecurity.
“Give it up, its over,” exclaimed Doctor Justice.
“I’m afraid I can not do that,” I scoffed. I could see the group jerk in anticipation. They knew. They knew I had something up my sleeve. This wasn’t as easy as they originally thought. “Although, I am afraid, Doctor, *this* is indeed...over,” I said, reaching my hand out.
The stone leapt from Captain Truth’s hand and smacked in to mine with a satisfying *thwack*.
The group flew into action, leaping toward me and my giant, armored frame...
But it was far too late...
“*Quie jai fala thrill*,” I spoke.
The stone became too hot to hold; I released it from my grip against my will; unable to contain its power. As if in slow motion, the stone fell toward the rain slicked street beneath me!
VVVVVVVVVRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSH!
Silence.
I opened my eyes.
Black.
Nothing but blackness.
White specks began to fall, like snow backlit on a field of lightless midnight. It took me a moment to realize it wasn’t snow. It was of course not snow, it was July in New York. It was ash. Ash and cloth. Captain Truth wore white.
It was all that was left of him...
Flakes falling from a cloudless sky. He, and his ilk, had vanished into a rain of ruin. They were beginning to form small piles where they once stood. Slowly the city in the background came into focus and I realized it was over. The distant honks of cars and buzz of metropolitan life came to the forefront of my attention.
The war was over. Not the battle. Not the fight... The entire war. No one dare stand against me now. I had won. And if the Truth and Justice Team couldn’t beat me who else could?
No one.
The world was mine to conquer...
And conquer it I would...
Soon.
This was something I would savor. The screams, the cries of mercy...
The fear.
My armor clinked as I stepped forward.
There was no other sound. No one yelling, *stop, villain!*...
No, it was just me. Me and the helpless masses of mortals.
I would savor it all... | 2020-07-25T14:18:03 | 2020-07-25T13:39:50 | 24 | 14 |
[WP]Your father comes from a long line of superheroes. Your mother comes from a long line of supervillains. Every year, against your parents wishes, your relatives come together to celebrate your birthday. It's your eleventh birthday and the city's evacuated as your relatives start to arrive. | I ignored the "against your parents wishes" bit, but here's what I got.
&#x200B;
\----
&#x200B;
The sirens rang out. That was par for the course. He could smell the smoke even before he could see the lazy spirals drifting upwards.
Luke laughed, eyes bright, as the first of his relatives began to arrive.
His mother had made a call to the mayor early that week, demanding that they evacuate the Easttown Banquet hall, lest some ‘bad luck’ befall the Mayor’s youngest daughter. His father had made a follow up call, declaring that he would put a stop to any evil schemes his wife was preparing-- but confirming that they’d need the hall most of Sunday and that it was really best to alert the city to the oncoming flood of villains that also happened to be his most regrettable inlaws.
Lucky for the people of Barneville, the V-team would also be there to stop any trouble. Luke was glad. He’d missed his Grandma since she’d retired from crime fighting last fall. His father had assured him she would be there, if only to make sure the bingo hall wasn’t put out of commission again.
Luke knew both sides were eager to see what he would become. His mother’s side had been gifting him poisoned daggers since he could barely walk and his father’s side could really chill with the capes.
They could wait a little longer, Luke thought.
Mom had said that Uncle Chris was going to be late, but he saw the distinctive blue of his long boots just before the fire hydrant exploded. Luke took a few quick steps sideways to make sure he didn’t ruin his new slacks. Mom would be furious if he messed them up before family photos.
“Uncle Chris!” he cheered.
“My favorite nephew,” Chris cooed, rolling backwards to avoid a swing from his cousin, Mara.
Mara nodded to him briefly before crying out, “I will stop you yet, Doctor Egregious!”
Luke beamed at them both as they tumbled through a nearby storefront. “Make sure you don’t miss the cake!”
They both snapped up to look at him. “Who made the cake?” Mara demanded.
Luke hesitated. “Um… Aunt Laura did.” His mother’s youngest sister had been very insistent.
Mara let out a stream of words that honestly wasn’t very hero-ly of her. “I’ll deal with you later, scum,” she declared, racing towards the banquet hall.
Chris brushed off the broken glass and prowled toward Luke. Then, he wrapped him up in a big hug. It would have been more comfortable if the gadgets in his belt were slightly less pointy, but Luke had missed him, so he tried to ignore it. “You made it! Mom said you wouldn’t.”
“My sister needs to have a little more faith. I would never miss your birthday. Also, there is a new exhibit of rare art downtown.” Chris patted his head a few times and drew a small gift from the bag tied loosely to his belt. It was unusually heavy for its size. “Don’t open it before your Grandma Helen comes.”
“It’s a bomb, isn’t it.” Luke stated flatly.
Chris smiled widely. “I cannot confirm or deny that. The real question is, what are you going to do with it?”
Luke grinned back, “Wouldn’t you love to know.” | My mother was checking if the lasagna was ready, when there was a knock on the door. I quickly went and opened the door. Standing in front of me was a tall, muscular figure. At first, I thought he had a cape on, but it was probably the sunset behind him blinding my sight.
It was dad.
"Hey kiddo!" He said, before he hugged me and put on a birthday hat. "Happy birthday, son!"
"Thanks dad. Now, let me down."
It's my eleventh birthday. Yes, I get it. Kids need treasure every moment before the grow up. They should play outside. But, on the other hand, I've got some gaming to do and the last thing I want is to lose that time.
I grew up with parents who are... let's say above average.
Okay, maybe not above average.
Okay, My mom's a villian and my dad's a hero.
And today's my birthday, which means their parents are going to visit the house. And let me tell you, if you wanted an all-out war between history's greatest villains and heroes to have ever lived, it turns out all you needed to do was hold a birthday party for their grandchild and let them come.
For years, since my birth, my Father's family wanted me to join the heroes side. They'll give me some remarkable story about how they saved countless lives by stopping a villain on the loose, or how they saved the world by stopping X person. My Mother's family, on the other hand, told me how the world was "Destined to be cleansed" or "Deserve a punishment". They each wanted me to either join the dark side or the light.
My parents, on the other hand, had different goals. My mother wanted me to stay away as far as possible from her parents. Same goes for my Dad, and they both tell me that they want me to live a normal life.
Jesus. When you can run and move faster than mach 500 without ever scratching or even damaging yourself, you know you can't **live normally.**
My dad put me down gently, and asked where's mom. I pointed him to the direction of the kitchen, where my mother was currently cooking.
We both went in to check on mom. As we entered the kitchen, I saw an ominous figure right in front of the countertop, standing as if they were about to murder someone. Turns out, it was mom, cutting carrots.
"Hey Katie, how's dinner?"
She lets out a sigh.
"We're a bit late, but otherwise fine."
Dad moves closer to mom, as he opens the fridge to get a bottle of beer.
"You need any help, Kate?"
"It's fine, Jim." She smiles, and kisses him on the cheek. "Thanks for the concern."
\-------------
It's past 6, and Mom just finished preparing all the food. My dad had just finished rearranging the chairs on the living room to accommodate the families. I had also just finished arranging the dining table, so we decided to sit down as a family.
As we turn on the TV, a news flash appears.
"City X officials have officially evacuated all civilians into City Y, as news of an armada of Villains approach the city. Meanwhile, A number of heroes have been spotted approaching City X, presumably answering the call of aid our defenseless city needs.
Mom and Dad look at each other and turn off the TV.
I know that look. It's time to prepare.
Moments later, we hear a loud crack in front of our house. Dad slowly stands and goes to the door.
"I'll get this one, you get the others on the backyard."
Mom lets out a deep sigh. "Do they really need to come like that? They're disturbing the city."
"Well," Dad replies. "They are family, you know."
"I guess."
Mom and Dad then tell me to stay put. "Just relax, honey. We got this, okay?"
Dad opens the door and you could hear some yelling outside as he greets them. Words like "You bastard" and "Dirt" come to mind. All I could hear dad say was "Sorry", "I apologize" and "Please come in".
Mom on the other hand, probably had it easier. Though, there was yelling too. One guy apparently screamed "In the name of Justice, I shall save David from your evil grips!". My mom just laughed and calmly said "It's okay, he's my son."
As they both enter the house, I could hear rushing footsteps into the room My Mother and Father peek at the room, and silently yell "Get ready!" as my relatives enter the room.
"Happy Birthday, David!" everybody screams, as they enter the room. I smile and say thank you to everyone there, as Dad and Mom hold my hand. I look at them both as they cautiously watch each and every move their parents make.
I let out a deep sigh, as I know what's coming next.
**Looks like this is gonna be a long, long night.** | 2020-08-04T00:16:39 | 2020-08-04T00:02:29 | 98 | 68 |
[WP] It was a strange thing to see the love letters I’d written her centuries ago now housed under glass in a museum. | "This is my favorite one. I only hope I find a love like that in my lifetime."
"They're very rare," I said. Looking towards the voice. She was an older woman, dressed in the muesem attire, I recognized her from the pamphlet as the curator of the exhibit.
"Have you ever felt a love like that?" She asked, staring through the glass.
"Once. A very long time ago." I could feel my voice catch. I never thought I'd see these again. The delicate pages holding the weight of my world between the lines.
"Would you like to hear about them? The author is still unknown but she was a well known woman at the time these were written."
"They fell in love at a time where it was highly improper. He was a wanderer, she was set to marry someone else. She pushed the boundaries of what was societally acceptable and accomplished so many wonderful things." My voice came out soft, wistful.
"Yes," the woman looked to me and smiled. "So you know the story?"
"Yes, it's one of my favorites as well." | I don't remember that one. Lurid feet? Is that what that says?
A little girl parked up beside me. She scanned them again, like decoding a puzzle. I stared anxiously.
"Phew."
Phew?
"I wouldn't give him a day in the sun." She turned to me. "Why doesn't he ask her out? Is he a puh-see?"
I winced. Must be Page One on the colouring book. "I don't know. But to me it seems like she's not that interested."
She huffed, then mounted the display. Presently, the girl began:
*It's so great to hear from you, Inga. My time in Athens is hard.*
She reads well. Though that name still drives a rivet through my head.
"Pay attention." So strict. She continued,
*I realise this is my first letter in two months. Please know that I haven't been avoiding you. It is only that your last message left much to be desired. I'm a jealous man, Inga. And that I cannot change.*
I wasn't jealous. I was stubborn.
*When you write to me of ballroom dates it rings my heart indeed. I know you're finding love elsewhere, for me there is no need. The pay here is good and the board is getting better. I think I will stay.*
"*Enjoy your life, Inga,*" I finished the eulogy. "It's very straightforward," I told the girl. "I don't know how you could argue."
She hopped down. "That was it - the last one he wrote."
"Yes." Rather, the last one I *sent*.
"It's strange then, how he forgot to mention his massive head injury."
"Excuse me?"
She flicked back the pages of the laminated binder. It housed near a hundred letters of previous dialogue detailing the Enlightenment's first real lovers. "She poured her heart out to him, as he did to her. There is miles and miles of love in here. The only reason he'd choose not to turn it into reality, was if he bashed his head on a rock and forgot all about it!"
"But the pay was good, you read it yourself!"
"Pay?" She looked past me to where her class was gathered, particularly a dark-skinned boy with a navy vest. "He could've worked for a thousand years and he still couldn't have afforded the love that was waiting for him when he got home."
Just then I felt my heart give up. The girl sulked off and I stared at the printed page.
I won't be afraid, now. Guilt has sustained me long enough. The next time love knocks on my d—
I expired on the museum floor. | 2020-11-01T08:34:00 | 2020-11-01T07:58:48 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] Healing magic is considered a holy gift, yet it holds a dark secret. For every bit of healing used, some of the caster's life force is taken. How do they stay alive then? By taking it from their enemies. After all, healing and necromancy are two sides of the same coin. | "So, healer, necromancer, they are both just basically the same thing?"
"More or less, yes."
"They never told me that!"
"You aren't supposed to know until it's already too late to go back."
This was me and my pupil. I brushed my long ponytail aside, it's jet black aura shining in the moonlight. My new student seemed to be in her 20's, Her unusually silver hair illuminated by her bright ocean green eyes. The unusual pairing of hair and eyes were topped off with tan skin, but thank goodness it actually looked natural.
"Sable, correct?"
"That's my name, yes." came her very cautious answer.
"Do you know why they are the same thing?" I said in a more teasing manner. I had gone through this exchange time and time again. It was nothing new to me. But I still didn't let my amusement show. That's the worst thing you can do.
"Not at all. One heals, one sickens. How are they supposed to be the same being?" She was getting really uncomfortable now. But now, time to ease it.
"Simply put," I began, "the Law of Life simply states one thing. Life can not be erased nor destroyed, only transferred."
"I don't get it." She wasn't as disturbed, but now there was confusion in her tone. Good. Now for the bombshell.
"To heal someone is to give someone life. But as stated by the Law of Life, you cannot just create it. For someone else to gain life, another must lose life in exchange. Healers give up their own life to heal others, and Necromancers give themselves more life to draw from by draining from others. In this way, Healers and Necromancers create a balance, a cycle. In order for you to practice one art, you must practice the other. There is no other way around this."
Her face went from shocked, to scared, to solemn.
"So they are hypocrites. They condemn those practiced in Necromancy, yet dabble in their arts."
"Correct." She now understood. As all should.
"So, why do they condemn you?"
"Because they want someone else to look like the bad guys instead of themselves. Yeah, we do some pretty questionable acts of magic, but once again, they do it too. Everyone has used dark magic at some point in their lives, there's no escaping that. But when it becomes noticed, everyone wants someone else to blame but themselves. It's human nature."
There was a silence, followed by a question that I hadn't heard in years.
"So you guys aren't that evil as they say, are you."
"Propaganda is a bitch." I stopped sounding cryptic, because honestly it was just more annoying than getting straight to the point.
She laughed. "You guys really get the short end of the stick."
"Always." I had gotten used to it.
"Could you teach me as an apprentice?"
"Why?"
"I'd rather be honest than a hypocrite."
"Fair." I could get behind that. We don't pretend to hide the fact that we practice dark magic. It's in our very name. What is there to hide? | Maxwell McBride would be charitably described as a sycophant, and uncharitably as an obsequious human parasite to which one’s social immune system unfortunately lacked the necessary resistance. He had no real friends in the conventional sense; those who still remained closest to him were simply the objects of his most egregious cons and leeches; who were not discarded because the benefits of the cumulative growth of their relationship had outweighed the benefits of a fresh host. Those who managed to eventually see through the veil of flattery and lies that spewed from Mr. McBride like a fountain invariably promised some sort of revenge, because once he had escaped with their money, power, or reputation the only thing that remained that he had not stolen was their anger. And for the first time in his miserable parasitic life, Mr. McBride had angered a host capable who proved able to exact that revenge.
&#x200B;
“If you’ve got time, you should try to visit fifty-three dash four. We haven’t had an interview with him yet.”
“Of course,” I replied, taking the patient’s clipboard. “I’d hate to deprive Mr. … McBride of my lovely face,” adding at the end a sarcastic exhale. Flipping through his information, he seemed well on his way to recovery. Good for him. Not eager to waste time, I headed to Ward 53.
The room itself was more or less identical to all the others. White, grey, and pastel blue walls, machinery, and lights completed the standard clinical feel. Mr. McBride was sitting on the bed, quite alert and idly examining the hairs on his left arm with a detached disinterest. Considering what he’d been through, he looked good. His greying hair clung to his scalp, and his eyes were slightly bulbous, languidly bounding from hair to hair. A pair of golden-colored reading glasses sat on the table, within arm’s reach but undisturbed.
“Mr. McBride, I’m Dr. Williams. How are you feeling?” I gave a genial but restrained smile and readied the clipboard.
“Oh. Much better, thank you, Doctor. I daresay I’ll come out of this better than I did coming in.” He spoke in a flat monotone, and he had this manner of pulling his lips back with each syllable to expose his teeth.
“It says here you were in a car accident - blunt force trauma into internal bleeding. The other doctors tell me you’ve made quite a miraculous recovery.”
“Oh, I think calling it ‘miraculous’ is really doing them a disservice, Doctor. No, I doubt I would have survived if it wasn’t for their … expert ministrations. This is truly a remarkable facility you have here.” The feeling I got from him was strange. On the one hand, his words were apt but they seemed almost rehearsed, like an actor reciting lines a bit too perfect to be convincing.
“I hope you understand the sanitization procedures we’ve put in place. We think there might have been some communicable disease transmission in this ward, and we want to take precautions for the safety of both the patients and our staff.”
“Yes, one of the nurses informed me earlier. There have been some … deaths, correct?” His concern seemed only half-genuine.
“Well, Mr. McBride, that is the unfortunate nature of a hospital. But some of the circumstances have been abnormal, so we think it’s important to take those precautions.” He nodded gently, maintaining eye contact.
“Well, Doctor,” he replied in that same monotone, “I trust you’ll do your best.
That’s all any of us can hope to do, right?”
“Of course.” I scribbled down my last observations on the clipboard. “Well, if there’s nothing else--”
“Could you get my glasses for me?” He pointed towards the table, towards the reading glasses which were clearly within reach.
“Sure.” I walked over to the table and picked up the glasses, placing them gently in his outstretched hand.
&#x200B;
During the two weeks that Mr. Maxwell McBride spent in Ward 53, he was the only patient who walked out the door using his own power. This was not because he was a particularly healthy individual, no, this was because Mr. Maxwell McBride was a parasite, and like all parasites, his rejuvenation comes at a price. So, if you’re feeling a bit tired or sickly, look around and see if you can spot the dull visage of Mr. McBride. Did he stub his toe? Slice his finger? Or are you perhaps straying a bit too close to Ward 53, where there *was* an infection, all right.
&#x200B;
*If you'd like to read more of my things, head on over to* r/DaeridaniiWrites | 2020-12-05T20:04:33 | 2020-12-05T19:00:47 | 48 | 31 |
[WP] "Boss, it's been 15 minutes since he started having a flashback about his "challenges" and how much he loves his friends. Can't we just attack him already?" said the henchman. "No, no. We have standards." said the supervillain. | Common courtesy and standards.
You don't interrupt inner monologues, epiphanies and eurekas. Be it superhero or supervilain. It made the stories better for kids and schools and reduced internments in psych wards due to unfulfilled dreams or destinies or whatever.
20 minutes.
"Boss..."
"No."
The recknoning was about to come, the fate of the world, transcendence or obliteration. You didn't throw it into the balance because you were late for the yoga course.
"Yup!" excalimed the hero, "I'm good."
"Are you?" asked the vilain.
"Hell yes!"
"Well then..."
The vilain looked up to the sky, his eyes went to glass as he contemplated the way he had gone to arrive here. The sacrifice, the loss, the resolve. They would remember him as a monster, but he had only the best intentions at heart.
"My friend, can we just...?" asked the hero's sidekick.
"No! We do'nt attack while he has his final conceptualization on existence and fate, have you no manners?"
"But..."
""There is no but."
Half an hour later, the vilain came back to earth, ready to fight. But now the hero had to do the same again because in the meantime, he had another illumination.
Two hours later, the sun had gone down and the light was shit.
"That's not a good setting for a showdown of ultimate destiny," said the vilain.
"Agreed," replied the hero.
"Same time next week?"
"Sure."
They parted ways.
Under his breath, the henchman was muttering.
"Next, and then the next, and then... Shit's been going on for twenty years, I can't take it anymore." | The Rookie: “Sir, if I may, this whole situation seems a tad bit ridiculous. This whole community seems to just run on television logic.”
The Magnificent Bastard: “Are you complaining? We have been given special gifts which allow us to punch through buildings.”
The Magnificent Bastard smiled as he twirled his beard and watched the start-up hero. His suit gleamed in the light of his mansion, the light of which reflected off near spotless and shined furniture imported, expensively, from various locations across the world. Beside him, the Rookie shifted his weight across his feet.
The Rookie: “Sir, he is RIGHT there! I fail to see why we must wait under such a ridiculous code!”
The Magnificent Bastard rolled his eyes.
The Magnificent Bastard: “We are not animals. The code ensures we have a city to rule after we clash with heroes.”
The Rookie: “Yes I understand that, sir, but I, once again, fail to see why we can’t just cast a blind eye to the code just this once. This cretin has been causing us trouble for the last month!”
The Magnificent Bastard: “Yes, trouble I allowed him to have. While I suspect he will have some sort of ‘plot armor’ power boost, I always have my way. Use of force would just be me getting greedy.”
A bead of sweat rolled down the Rookie’s cheek. He swallowed. Then he flicked glances at the hero, frozen in place then to his master. Slowly, he reached down for his bowie knife.
The Hero broke out of his trance.
The Hero: “Now, face the end by my... hand...”
The Rookie tried to scream through the hand slowly pressing its thumb into his carotid.
The Magnificent Bastard: “I thought I told you to stand down and wait. But no, you have to ignore the code I actively enforce on all supervillains, didn’t you?”
The Magnificent Bastard allowed his follower to fall to the floor as he whipped out a handkerchief from his coat pocket. As he wiped his hands, he slowly paced around the Rookie.
The Hero: “What are you...”
A finger waved in the air, silencing everyone in the room.
The Magnificent Bastard: “One moment, I have to attend to some formal matters first.”
The supervillain glared down at the Rookie curled into a fetal position.
The Magnificent Bastard: “I hope you’ve learned your lesson, cretin. Now I want you to leave, take your belongings, including that fancy piece of jewelry I was going to enchant as a teleporter you hid away, and turn yourself in to the proper authorities. And don’t you dare even take a second glance when you walk out of these mansion doors, lest you wish I show you what I can really do.”
The Rookie slowly sat himself up on his knees and looked up at the glowering superior.
The Magnificent Bastard: “I never want to see your face again. The next time I do will be the last day of your life.”
There was a clamoring stumble of footsteps as the Rookie ran for his life. Meanwhile, the Hero nervously watched as the Magnificent Bastard calmly sat back down in his chair. He straightened his tie and smiled at the Hero.
The Magnificent Bastard: “My deepest apologies. You were saying?” | 2021-05-21T00:16:46 | 2021-05-20T21:02:42 | 73 | 53 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I’d been in line for hours. The regime had brutally destroyed the backbone of the resistance last week, and had set up these kangaroo courts to “process” the remaining prisoners.
It was all crap, anyway. They’d stolen the present and the future, and now they were all set to wipe out every remaining threat to their eternal reign. All that was left was to hoodwink them by their own systems, somehow.
Ahead, the box beeped. “Citizen Jenkins, submit your final request.” The man ahead of me grinned, triumphantly, and requested death by old age. The box beeped again, and the audience in the courtroom laughed as his flesh shriveled and he toppled over.
Well, there goes that plan. At least it was one of the less painful selections I’d seen.
We’d had lovely full-color holos to watch everyone else ahead of us, and there’d been so many deaths. The box could, apparently, function to provide any manner of death. If a prisoner tried to run, or fight, or do anything but specify, the box would default to some horrible torture that lasted less than thirty seconds and always ended the same way.
As the guards prodded me forward, a thunderbolt hit me. The box could do anything in the service of death.
Anything.
The box beeped at me. “Citizen Porthos, submit your final request.” My lips drew back over my teeth. I knew it was a wild, feral expression, that my captors were no doubt interpreting as panic, but my words were clear and controlled.
“Eight gigaton thermonuclear fireball.”
I had a fraction of a second to appreciate the absolute pandemonium that erupted in the courtroom.
Then everything ended. | You breathe. Slowly, softly, barely there. It's going to be your turn soon. Soon. Just one more in front of you.
"Garelea Ordenssen," the voice of the Judge calls, echoing through the cavernous waiting room full of intricately carved stone walls. The man in front of you takes a deep breath, displaying confidence.
With a gait that can only be described as *smug*, Ordenssen struts into the courtroom through the small, open archway. "You stand accused, Garelea Ordenssen..." You breathe, tuning out the rest of the Judge's slow diction and syrupy voice.
"Guilty," a cacophonous sounding of voices calls. It's so loud, even out here, that it startles you out of your thoughts of nothingness, of anxiety pooling in your gut.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells him.
The man smirks, you can see that much. "Old age," he drawls. As soon as he gets the words out, *it* happens. *It* being the instantaneous change – his skin wrinkles, becoming visible more worn; his back, once tall and sturdy, slopes into a hunch; teeth fall out of his mouth like a waterfall until there is nothing but blood and gums dripping onto the floor.
And then he dies.
There is no fanfare, no discerning moment. He just...falls over. People dressed in dark purples and blues come to collect the body. You don't know where they are going to put it.
"Harley Matisnal," the Judge calls. Oh. Well. *There goes that plan*, you think, just a tad bit hysterically.
Who are you kidding? Very hysterically.
On shaking legs, you step into the courtroom. It is large. Not just in square footage, no. It goes up *very* far, so far you can't even see the ceiling. The walls are stone, but they glitter like gold; they even have its coloring.
There are several arches built into the wall, each colored like gems – maybe they *are* gems, but you're only really going off of color, here. Each archway holds spectators, but you're not sure whether they want to see people die or if they decide if you're guilty.
"You stand accused, Harley Matisnal, of the crimes of Larginnally and Evading the Law. Your trial was several months ago. We have just now received you. Of both, you have been determined to be–"
"Guilty," the voices ring. It is loud, especially now that you're standing *in* the room instead of outside of it. Your head is spinning so much that you can't tell left from right, down from up, whose mouths are closed and whose are open. Who said that? Was it the people? The Judge? You can't tell.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells you.
You flounder for a moment. Fuck. *Fuck!* What are you supposed to say to this? Nothing?
...Fuck it, you're gonna go with nothing. See what they say to that! Can't kill you if you don't say they can, right?
"Nothing," you say.
And then you are.
Like you never even existed in the first place. | 2021-06-24T10:14:19 | 2021-06-24T08:08:07 | 5,663 | 22 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "John Smithson," said the executioner, calling out the name of the identity that I had been using when I committed my crimes. "How would you like to die?"
"I wouldn't," I reply immediately, trying to buy myself another few moments to think.
"That is not an acceptable answer," says the executioner. "If you do not provide a preferred means of death within the next two minutes, then you shall be beheaded."
"Right. Right. Um...... I would like to die....." *How can I make a logical paradox out of this? What are my options?* ".....ummm....."
"One minute remaining."
*At my own hand? No, they have mind-control systems, they can do that easily. Ah, wait, I have it!*
"...of my own volition."
The executioner sighs. "Not *again*," he murmurs. "I swear, there's one every decade... alright, someone go and fetch my Wand of *Crucio*, please? Let's see how long we need to torture *this* one before he asks for death..." | Ah well shit. There goes that plan. Think Bart think. You've got time to think
of an alternative. I guess this is why they don't let people witness the
executions. Think.
"The next on the docket is Bartholomew Wright, found guilty of 5 counts of
theft, 2 counts of arson and 6 counts of assault." The judge is reading out my
list of crimes already. Crap. Think!
This is like one of those monkey paw stories. The last guy thought he could
beat it the same way I wanted to but ended up an instant old husk. The guy
before that's bright idea went from a pleasurable orgy into something I'd
rather not think about again.
"It's time buddy." The guard next to me is poking me in my back, insisting I
step forward. "Choose wisely mate, it's the last choice you ever get to make."
This is ridiculous! All this because what? I stole some cash, burnt down a
church and beat up a bunch of guys as I made my escape? Surely there's a more
reasonable sentence I could have been given?
Think.
Bah! Anything I think of will be twisted by the court and it's monkey paw. This
is hopeless! I might as well ask for something quick and painless. Instant
obliteration. Or to go in my sleep.
No. That's loser talk, I can think of a way out of this. Just think. I am
slowly walking to the dock now. There's still time to think.
"Mr Bartholomew Wright, you have been found guilty of the aforementioned crimes
and have been sentenced to death by your own choice." The judge began his
speech, I still have time, this will go on for a few moments. Think!
"It's no small feat to choose the form of your own destruction but the gods
have deemed it the fairest form of execution..." He was droning on. Maybe I
could take him out with me in a devastating explosion? No I'm not a murderer,
even in death I can't take another's life.
"For a hundred years this method has served us well and for a hundred more may
it do so. Bartholomew, your choice, keep it brief:" He holds a jade skull
towards me pointing it's fiery eyes at my own. I can't help but stare into
those eyes and see hell. I don't deserve the eternal punishment, if only I had
more time to repent more life to live and show the better part of me. If only I
had lived a better and longer-
"Life." I blurt my thought out loud, tears forming in my eyes.
`IT IS SO.` Came a thundering voice in my head. The world dissolves into white. | 2021-06-24T10:00:08 | 2021-06-24T04:09:04 | 1,590 | 158 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I always thought I would die from being stabbed in the back by a dirty, dull knife. Some sort of poetic justice, if you will, at least regarding the stabbing. My knives were always sharp.
When they brought me to court, they told me that it was magic--out of the realms of a simpleton rogue like me. They waved a wand at me and told me that I couldn't lie, even if I wanted to. So when they asked why I did what I did, the answer was simple and truthful:
"Because it paid well."
Though a little half-hearted, it was with no less candour. Gold was necessary for survival, but it's a little strange how the most important thing in my life wasn't necessary. In demand, but not needed.
I was sentenced to death. I had no letters to send, no people to speak to. That suited me just fine. This was already more dignity than I was used to.
I thought the end of all that would be a noose. A vial of poison. The swing of an axe.
"Sybil Harper," the burly man in a black hood pointed to the woman in front of me, who stepped forward with impunity. "How would you like to die?"
"Of old age," she said.
The executioner brought out a wand, comically undersized in his large, meaty hands. But he was learned, magic-touched--and with an incantation and a bright streak of purple, I saw the half-elf's hair go from black to grey to white, her ears drooping, her height diminishing, and her confident poise hunchbacking.
With that, old Sybil Harper hobbled one, two steps, before collapsing onto the floor. When they turned her around, there was a toothless smile on her face.
"Ged Ruell," the headsman said now, and I gulped, my mind turned around in an instant. "How would you like to die?"
"Doing what I love," I said.
The wand came out, once more, and this time, a fiery red beam unleashed itself upon me. I struggled with its power, forcing my eyes entirely close, but eventually, calm washed upon me like familiar ocean waves lapping at my feet.
I opened my eyes, vision lit again, slightly obscured at the sides with black, and with the sight of my dead body on the floor. It was dragged away swiftly, without honour or respect.
I could not hear my own thoughts. Now, it felt like I was drowning, my thoughts swirling into a perpetual maelstrom, unable to keep my head above water, oppresive dark cloud and shrieking thunder blackening every sense.
"Elliot Cobbett," the words came out, not entirely of my own volition. I watched my hands point to another man in the line. "How would you like to die?"
"Quickly," he replied.
The hand dropped once more. Instead of a thin wand, the hand encircled a familiar, leather-wrapped handle. And in a stormburst, the clouds cleared, and one thought rang true.
"With pleasure," I said.
---
r/dexdrafts | "Unjustly" I said, as loudly and clearly as I could.
The presiding justice was an elderly man - probably in his late 80s, maybe even older. He blinked at me with steel grey eyes that despite his advanced age were as sharp and penetrating as any I had encountered.
"Unjustly." he replied, curtly. "Yes. You heard me correctly... Your honour" I hurriedly added. I didn't need a contempt of court charge dropped on me. It was bad enough being sentenced to death after all.
The rest of the panel started muttering between themselves. It was a good sign that they didn't appear to have an immediate answer to this reply.
The presiding justice put down his gavel and stared at me pointedly. "You are aware, are you not, that you pleaded guilty to all counts before this court?" I tried my hardest to show no emotion. "I am, your honour." "And you are aware also that the penalty for those charges - including the reckless misuse of magic causing the death of a mundane individual - is death?" keep the face impassive. Remain calm. "I am, your honour."
Some of the other members of the court had started producing law books and were engaged in pointing out various paragraphs to one another.
"It does not seem to me" The Justice continued "That 'unjustly' constitutes a _method_ of execution, so much as a moral standpoint, and is thus somewhat outside the terms of procedure for this sentencing."
The muttering to his left was increasing in intensity.
"Your honour, may I please reference the case of Barris Infernis VII vs The Court - 1682..."
One of the justices started jabbing a bony finger at the book in front of him and waving it under the faceless, hooded figure to his right. Clearly he had the case law right there.
"Your point?"
"My point, your honour, is that he requested to die 'with honour' and the court accepted that request. His life energy was transferred into healing the wounds of his surviving victims by the court by way of penance for crimes committed."
The book had now been passed along to the presiding justice and he paused to read the relevant passage.
I thought this was probably the best chance I had to make my case so I spoke up
"If I may continue your honor?" he didn't look pleased, but waved a hand at me in a way that suggested that I should carry on.
"If I am to die unjustly, then this court has sentenced me incorrectly. I would be due a retrial under the terms described in the revised judicial procedures act of 1939 section four paragraph twelve." Now he really did look cross.
"I think we all understand exactly what it is that you're trying to get across. However I would point out that you pleaded Guilty On All Counts. You have not been tried. You have been convicted entirely by your own admission, and this is merely a sentencing hearing. I would further mention that this court is entirely used to people attempting to use procedural trickery to escape their sentence and that it has, to this date, a precisely zero percent success rate over the eleven hundred year history of this fine institution."
He snapped the book in front of him closed with obvious annoyance.
"The defendant will return to his seat!" he barked to the room at large. A susurration spread throughout the gallery. I was "The defendant" all of a sudden. Anyone who stood at this podium for sentencing was referred to correctly as "The Condemned." and this court was nothing if not famously thorough in it's application procedure.
More notes were being passed back and forth between the other members of the panel, and yet more books were being hurriedly brought forth by the attending clerks. This was going as well as I could have possibly hoped for. After what seemed like an eternity The bailiff called for attention.
"ALL RISE!"
The entire panel got to their feet, along with everyone else in the - now extremely tense - chamber. Surprizingly it wasn't the presiding justice, but one of the panel of five that spoke. The voice from the apparently empty hood was dry and dusty, and somehow as if from very far away. It seemed likely that the apparently empty robe was infact just that, and this esteemed member of the court had been called from The Other Side to form part of today's panel of justice.
_"Thisss court is now in recessssss. The defendant will be returned to hissss ssssssell. Prosssedingsssss will resssssume tomorrow at firsssssst light."_
I did everything I could to avoid punching the air in delight. Remain calm. Have to remain calm. I'd bought myself the required time, now all I could do was wait for the others to play their parts. | 2021-06-24T09:55:49 | 2021-06-24T07:50:17 | 803 | 457 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I take a step forward. The line to the High Magister grows shorter by the moment as the people befor me are tried and executed on the spot befor the Grand Court of Wizards.
The reading of crimes is honestly the longest part, the crimes are listed for each of us and given a unanimous guilty verdict on the spot.
Cant say I blame then really, the coup didnt go quite as planned.
I'd love to say I was the mastermind behind everything but truth be told I'm little more then another cog in machine of revolution, one that broke quite handily when our silver tongued leader mysteriously vanished.
We just wanted non-magic folk to be taken more seriously, to be treated like actual citizens.
I take another step forward. I shake my head of the thoughts, pointless to think about it with more impending matters. Third in line now. I watch Andrew take centre floor. He used to be a cook befor getting caught up in this mess, cant say we spoke much but still a shame just the same.
The High Magister repeats the same phrase that everyone befor him heard last. "Choose your method of execution". There is a moments pause befor the old cook smugly replies "Old age". Cheeky sod read the same story I did.
With a wave of his hands the Wizard casts a spell and to my horror I see Andrew rapidly ageing till he is little more then a dead emaciated old man. "Bugger, there goes that idea" I mutter to myself.
"Next" The high Magister proclaims, waving his hand dismissively as a pile of dust blows away that used to be Andrew. I didnt know the woman in front of me but she looked like she had been through the ringer.
I take the time to think, my brain working as hard as it can to think of something, anything at all.
"Choose your method of execution" I snap from my thoughts and look up to see what she picks, maybe it will help. "Without regrets" she replies, little vague and not really a method but hey the Court seems to accept it. There is a quick flash of light, I turn away instinctively and blink away the sunspots left behind.
When I look back she is just stood there, not moving an inch. "Next." But... she is still alive? I walk to the centre and my crimes are listed off, I dont pay attention, I know what I did. I get a good look at her and wish I hadn't, her eyes, her face, her expression. They lobotomised her. The body might be there but there is nothing left inside.
I clench my fists tight, I'm angry but not at my situation. I'm angry that they seem to revel in punishing people who they think are trying to be clever.
"Choose your method of execution"
Well that was fast. I relax, no point in fighting it after all. I look up to The High Magister and smile, my body trembling but my mind set. I know how to beat this.
I open my mouth and give the one response I can think of that will work.
"Instant"
A small wave of the hand. I dont even get to hear the "Next" | Okay. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I know what I'm doing, I tell myself as I await my turn on the docket.
The man in front of me is pulled from his place in live and led roughly up the small staircase to the platform in front of the judge. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" she recites calmy, looking at some papers in front of her. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
"Old age," drawls the man, smugly. I snap to attention, extremely curious as to how this turns out. This request has been my plan all along.
"So be it."
The man gasps and writhes, grey hair sprouting out of his head. His demise is comically grotesque, and within a minute he is nothing more than a withered corpse, still and silent.
I'm not gonna be okay.
I start to panic but my panicking is cut short by the guard grabbing my arm and pushing me up the short staircase to the platform, which has now been cleared of its grisly contents.
It's my turn. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" I stare dumbly. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
Need more time. Need more time. If I don't choose something, I know that something will be chosen for me, something quick but decisive.
Time is behaving strangely in my hazy state of desperation. Has it been a minute? Or ten seconds? I street to hyperventilate and I know in that moment that I will be unable to choose something.
"Your sixty seconds has passed," the judge tells me somewhat sympathetically. "As such, your method of death will be--"
"Excuse me!" huffs a voice from behind me. "Excuse me, Your Honor--"
"You are not excused," the judge says coldly. "Do not interrupt the proceedings or you will be removed from the premises."
A man appears below me, at ground level. He is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and far more papers than he should be. He is sweating and disheveled, as though he's run a great deal today. He waves some of the papers and looks chagrined. "A thousand apologies, truly, Your Honor. Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. Apologies for the interruption, but--" he shuffles through his papers, dropping several, then pulls out one in particular "--I have a writ ordering the immediate cessation of these executions."
"Approach." The judge puts on a pair of glasses and snatches up the proffered document. She scrutinizes it for a minute, her face screwed up in concentration and annoyance. I hardly dare breathe. Is this really happening?
The judge raises an eyebrow and looks back at Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. "This writ argues that the language of the execution order is unconstitutional?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yes your honor, it is. I represent the MCLU, who contends that asking a condemned prisoner how they would like to die is unconstitutional, on the grounds that no prisoner would LIKE to die." Mendicus is gathering steam now, standing straighter and becoming more animated. "Furthermore, choosing a method of execution for a prisoner who has not stated how he or she would like to die negates the purpose of asking and therefore negates the validity of the proceeding."
The judge grumbles. "Well I don't know about all that," she says, "but it's signed by the Second Circuit Court of Magical Proceedings and Governance. It's the Magical Civil Liberties Union's problem now." She turns to me. "Stay of execution granted. Remove the prisoner."
I start to cry as I'm led from the platform. What just happened?! I'm never this lucky!
"I'm never this lucky," I babble at Mendicus as I'm led away.
He puts out an hand and stops me, briefly. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he says. "Talk to your mother. She'll explain."
Before I can ask anything more I'm jerked forward again, through the doors and back into the holding cell. My mind reels. I haven't spoken to my mother in years, ever since... But it seems she's helped me cheat death. Maybe I owe her a call. And she owes me an explanation.
Edit for grammar. | 2021-06-24T10:08:14 | 2021-06-24T06:11:19 | 255 | 23 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
I had originally been banking on using old age as a loophole, but watching that other guy wither into an old man has proven it to be very much not viable. So here I am, I need an escape plan. Scratch that, it's impossible, what I need is a loophole.
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
I could try using paradoxes? No, that wouldn't work. Act of God? Well, Gods. One of them anyway.
"YOU HAVE 30 SECONDS TO GIVE YOUR ANSWER"
Damn. I guess if I am to die, I'll try to take them all with me.
"20"
What could take them out? Magic wouldn't have any effect, they're all the most skilled mages in existence.
"15"
Ooo... that's an idea... existence.
"10"
"Save your countdown, I know how I'd like to die."
"HOW DO YOU WISH TO DIE?"
"I wish to die by being swallowed up by the expansion and death of the Sun itself."
If I am to die, they're ALL coming with me. | Ah well shit. There goes that plan. Think Bart think. You've got time to think
of an alternative. I guess this is why they don't let people witness the
executions. Think.
"The next on the docket is Bartholomew Wright, found guilty of 5 counts of
theft, 2 counts of arson and 6 counts of assault." The judge is reading out my
list of crimes already. Crap. Think!
This is like one of those monkey paw stories. The last guy thought he could
beat it the same way I wanted to but ended up an instant old husk. The guy
before that's bright idea went from a pleasurable orgy into something I'd
rather not think about again.
"It's time buddy." The guard next to me is poking me in my back, insisting I
step forward. "Choose wisely mate, it's the last choice you ever get to make."
This is ridiculous! All this because what? I stole some cash, burnt down a
church and beat up a bunch of guys as I made my escape? Surely there's a more
reasonable sentence I could have been given?
Think.
Bah! Anything I think of will be twisted by the court and it's monkey paw. This
is hopeless! I might as well ask for something quick and painless. Instant
obliteration. Or to go in my sleep.
No. That's loser talk, I can think of a way out of this. Just think. I am
slowly walking to the dock now. There's still time to think.
"Mr Bartholomew Wright, you have been found guilty of the aforementioned crimes
and have been sentenced to death by your own choice." The judge began his
speech, I still have time, this will go on for a few moments. Think!
"It's no small feat to choose the form of your own destruction but the gods
have deemed it the fairest form of execution..." He was droning on. Maybe I
could take him out with me in a devastating explosion? No I'm not a murderer,
even in death I can't take another's life.
"For a hundred years this method has served us well and for a hundred more may
it do so. Bartholomew, your choice, keep it brief:" He holds a jade skull
towards me pointing it's fiery eyes at my own. I can't help but stare into
those eyes and see hell. I don't deserve the eternal punishment, if only I had
more time to repent more life to live and show the better part of me. If only I
had lived a better and longer-
"Life." I blurt my thought out loud, tears forming in my eyes.
`IT IS SO.` Came a thundering voice in my head. The world dissolves into white. | 2021-06-24T07:19:48 | 2021-06-24T04:09:04 | 236 | 158 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "Death by Hubris!" I proclaim with a self satisfied smile.
"Hubris," the officiant responds, dryly. "That is your choice?"
"Exactly," I say, grinning at the old fool's expression. "Like in the tales. A hero is given a challenge, some trial to overcome. It's of course, not inherently impossible, but the hero fails and dies due to some human flaw, or other." I look about the room. Surely, the others in attendance must see my genius. Instead, I am greeted by the bored faces of a dozen odd functionaries, clearly unaware that they were witnessing the historic defeat of their ancient court.
"Very well," the leader of the group intoned, lifting his staff, and striking the marble floor. "Death by Hubris."
"You idiots!" I exclaim as the ruling is finalized. "Can't you see what you've done? You've made me immortal!" I start laughing, exalting in the ease with which I'd defeated the law. "You cannot kill me!" I continue, as they needed to understand my accomplishment. "I am keenly aware of my abilities, and unfailingly cautious. Even for this decision, I pondered for _years_ as you struggled to catch me! There is no challenge you can set me to where _I_ will be my downfall! I-"
I cut off, collapsing to the floor. Apparently, it had been hubris to believe I could survive this trial. | There went my master planof outsmarting the system.
Joey, my former impromptu partner-in-crime, laid in the room as his life slipped through his grasp, surrounded by hospital equipment.
Joey wheezed and coughed by old age, I was running out of breath as a knot started sinking in my gut. The room started getting hotter as the world blurred.
I was panicking. I was panicking and I had been utterly defeated, just like the last hundreds of thousands of prisoners.
Had he said something else? Had he strayed from our plan!? It was foolproof!
I looked at Joey once again, panic settling in his eyes.
No, he hadn't strayed from the plan. The plan was doomed from the start.
It was too late. I had been cocky, and I was about to pay the price.
Memories of years past, good and bad, flashed across.
Maybe if I had chosen another path, I would've lived a long fulfilling life.
Just as I thought that, my knees buckled and I sunk to the floor.
Joey was clutching his chest as he convulsed.
A smile broke across my face as I went over my last thought. A long fulfilling life.
The curtains were drawn forth as I debated whether to be specific or not. Joey hadn't been specific and that didn't turn out well. But would they give me enough time to detail the rest of my life?
The light above the door sprung green, an oddly cheery color for people walking to their deaths.
The big door slid open and two guards joined my sides, bringing me into the room. The room had returned to the drabby grey of concrete.
As I stood in the room, the weight of death growing heavier on my shoulders, yet my legs remained locked straight, a painful lump forming in my throat.
How do you want to die? They asked.
I opened my mouth and words began spilling out.
I want to live a long fulfilling life free of crime and full of happiness and being a paragon of goodness, and to repay the world for the crimes I have done, and to reform myself into a better person, and die after living that long fulfilling life outside this prison, with my loved ones at my side.
Their eyes bore down into mine, and my breath hitched as they spoke.
Sit down into that chair.
I opened my mouth but one of the guards plopped me into the seat, while the other drew the curtain.
My heart skipped many beats as a feeling of cold and emptyness spread throughout my body, my eyes being squeezed shut.
It was stupid of me to think I could outsmart a century old system.
And then a wave of warmth washed over my body, with cool wind blowing past me.
You are one of those who chose to repent and repay the world for your actions. Thus, as in the past, you will be given a new life. But you must change the worlds of those you meet for the better. As soon as you fail, I shall claim your life. | 2021-06-24T11:15:28 | 2021-06-24T11:02:13 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "Death by Hubris!" I proclaim with a self satisfied smile.
"Hubris," the officiant responds, dryly. "That is your choice?"
"Exactly," I say, grinning at the old fool's expression. "Like in the tales. A hero is given a challenge, some trial to overcome. It's of course, not inherently impossible, but the hero fails and dies due to some human flaw, or other." I look about the room. Surely, the others in attendance must see my genius. Instead, I am greeted by the bored faces of a dozen odd functionaries, clearly unaware that they were witnessing the historic defeat of their ancient court.
"Very well," the leader of the group intoned, lifting his staff, and striking the marble floor. "Death by Hubris."
"You idiots!" I exclaim as the ruling is finalized. "Can't you see what you've done? You've made me immortal!" I start laughing, exalting in the ease with which I'd defeated the law. "You cannot kill me!" I continue, as they needed to understand my accomplishment. "I am keenly aware of my abilities, and unfailingly cautious. Even for this decision, I pondered for _years_ as you struggled to catch me! There is no challenge you can set me to where _I_ will be my downfall! I-"
I cut off, collapsing to the floor. Apparently, it had been hubris to believe I could survive this trial. | "I would like to die of old age"
I froze, as those words resonated in my head, the realization that his nape would be the last I see of him quickly sinked in.
"*Why...?*" I murmured. Why would he do that? He's not that gullible as to think the Supreme Court of Wizardry would let him get away with that, he's the mastermind behind it all, for Merlin's beard! He's the one who found out about the breach in the treaty, the muggle camps in Stirling, he convinced us, led us, believed in us... We were so close to rid the world of that noxious titan of a minister, just that one droplet would have been enough...
&#x200B;
"Then, without further ado, for crimes against the Ministry, organising an uprising and for the theft of the sacred first titan Olaf's blood, we hereby sentence you to death, by old age, as requested." the judge's voice exploded through the hall.
His hair started losing its distinct red colour, exposing more and more patches of his scalp. Some weird black marks could be seen behind his curls.
I can barely contain my tears, I would've given everything for this man, as I'm sure he would've done for me also. He called me by his name, and yet this pitiful sight of him is all that's left...
&#x200B;
Some commotion could be heard in the otherwise silent chamber of the jury, as a minute man hurried through the crowd, causing turmoil. His wacky moustache really didn't fit the vexed expression painting his face, neither did his voice tone, as it echoed through the room, trying to sound solemn.
"Know that we will find Olaf's blood! Your existence will be notorious through the whole continent as nothing more than pointless, so wipe that smirk off your face!"
"*He's... smirking?"* Of course he'd be smirking... even facing death under the spiteful noses of these disdainful aristocrats his spirit wouldn't break. I look back at him, as I struggle to accept my own fate myself, and right there, right in front of me is the answer. Tattooed on the back of his head is an encrypted message, calibrated exactly to work on my lenses!
I'm once more shook, as his body begins falling apart, I can't stop my tears, nor my gratitude, he really did give me everything in the end. The dust settles, and I make up my mind, looking up.
"The choice is yours." finally the judge's sight lands upon me, scrutinizing me, digging deep into my soul. I concede him little time however, as my leader's last words paint a clear picture in my mind, I spout my answer loud and clear.
"I wish to stab myself with the dagger resting on my desk at home!"
&#x200B;
"So be it."
&#x200B;
*A droplet of Olaf's blood is enough to rid a titan of their life, and grant a human a second one. He was half human.* | 2021-06-24T11:15:28 | 2021-06-24T09:19:00 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] A princess learns her parents arranged to have her cursed as a way to attract potential suitors for her. | *Let her be as the shadow. The murky depths at the edge of a good man’s eye. The darkness that shrouds the world. Let her be unseen, unknown, and unknowable. Let the black be her only friend.*
For Eliza Dunn, the worst part of it all was that she actually liked her curse, though from the outside it was easy to imagine it a struggle. The third (and adopted) princess of the Palmyran Imperium lived with all the right trappings: the forlorn castle on the horizon, the empty, gilded halls, the quiet beat and echo of footsteps in a courtyard that had not seen another human soul in generations.
To the men who even now were girding themselves and polishing their arms to 'save' her, no doubt she seemed every bit the part of the lonely and distressed princess.
But Eliza liked her curse. There was a kind freedom in its bondage, the kind of freedom a lower princess might never find in a palace, crowded round servants and rules and expectations.
And above all else, the darkness liked her right back.
The shadows slithered up the walls. From moment to moment they formed themselves to the weave of the tapestries or slipped into the cracks in the stone. The whole hallway took on a dark, almost obscene cast, and when it reached the window Eliza stood before it swept up around, surrounding the point of light like an encircling force. It swirled and beat around the edges, and then it swept in and all was dark.
“Hello Eliza,” the darkness whispered.
“Hello friend,” Eliza whispered back.
Curses were funny things. When hers had been cast the people cried out in sympathy. Her sisters, even dour Elisabetta, had wondered aloud if perhaps the curse were too harsh. Her father, that dreary old bastard, had scoffed and asked “Whatever is the point of a curse that is not harsh?” Then he’d hauled out all Eliza’s commissioned portraits, especially the one’s where the painter’s hand had lent her face the slimmer, more classic beauty the poets always spoke of, and he’d had them hung on the wall of every major civic building in the city.
“Let them come to our Eliza,” her father had said with one of his rare smiles. “Let them come and play our game.”
“They come,” the darkness said.
“I know,” Eliza muttered. “I know, goddamnit all, I know.” Below her, the castle stretched all around her, cold and empty. To an observer it would have looked as if the window were simply black, a dark portal to a darker room, no observer to be seen. But the darkness enhanced Eliza’s eyes, and through it she could see all the way to the horizon if she wished.
A long line of mounted men stretched from hillside to hillside. She counted quickly, reached a hundred and then gave up.
“What do you think my father told them they would win if freed me?” Eliza asked.
“Riches, power,” the darkness supplied. “You.”
“Me last of all.”
The darkness contracted around her, slithered across the bare skin of her neck. A nod.
“I imagine he told them there would be a dragon. There are always dragons in the old stories, I think the men would take the quest just to slay so great a beast, princess or no.”
The darkness contracted again.
“But there won’t be a dragon, will there? There will be something else, something my dear old father never imagined. Darkness, what will you do when the knight reach our keep?”
And the darkness shivered. It wrapped itself tight to Eliza’s skin until she wore it like a second dress and when it spoke again its voice was a low, throaty murmur.
“Anything. I will do anything at all that you want.”
And Eliza smiled. It gleamed within the dark, an unnatural jewel. For Eliza Dunn liked her curse. She liked the darkness, her friend, and staring down into the courtyard with its profusion of wild growth and unkempt flowers, Eliza liked that too.
“Then perhaps there will be a dragon,” Eliza said, “if such things are what their nightmares are made of.”
A series of far off horns roared to life in the air and the line of mounted knights moved forward at the walk. Pennants flew proudly in the air, spear tips gleams, the sun glinted off their armor. Behind the knights their squires ranged across the valley on shaggy mountain ponies and sleek little coursers, and even from here Eliza could see their fear.
“I think I shall take breakfast in the courtyard,” Eliza said. “I trust you will greet our guests?”
“Yes,” the darkness whispered back.
In a moment the darkness faded away, spiraling off in little flows and eddies until there was nothing left nothing but the black stain of the void on the window sill. In time, that too faded.
And below, the princess sat down at conjured table to pour her own tea, butter her own biscuit, and live life freely for as long as she could. As it passed on its way to the castle gates, the darkness left her a book.
“Take care,” Eliza whispered to the departing shadows.
In its wake, the courtyard was far, far too bright.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
In a bit I may come back and add a bit of the knights' battle and a particular squire's struggle to this, not sure. | “I’m still your daughter. Mom… dad, please look at me.”
I hated how I couldn’t wash that memory from my mind, even with the powerful magic I inherited from that day. What’s the point of being powerful if you still suffer from the same mental anguish as the rest of the mortals do? I rotated the skull of a deceased advisor in my hand, admiring the complexities hidden behind the flesh it once had. “I hope this one provides more answers than the last three have. There was a traitor among the kingdom that day, one that cursed a young girl and ruined her life.” My grip tightened on the skull, nearly crushing it, having to hold back my anger.
“Let’s hope it does. Are you certain this will satisfy you? Revenge could lead to more pain. I understand how you feel. They cast me out of the kingdom to guard you. I share your anger, but you have a chance to use your powers for good. Necromancy is a dark art, but we can use it for good.” Gallart stood at my side, my personal guard as loyal as ever, even following my orders to kill the advisors closest to my parents, an order I didn’t expect him to go through with. At his comments, I raised a hand, tugging down the veil I wore to conceal my face, watching his head quickly turn away, trying to hide his disgust.
“Understand how I feel? Look at my face and tell me you truly believe that Gallart. I barely have any flesh left and the few spots of flesh that are left have gone rotten. I can’t taste or smell anymore, it’s a wonder I can even see and hear. We both lost our families when we were exiled, but do not compare my pain to yours.” My words seemed to get through to him, Gallart only whispering a small apology before turning to the entrance of my makeshift cave palace.
It might not have been as beautiful as the kingdom’s palace, but it held a certain charm to it. That charm mainly being its safety. The surrounding hills made it hard to lead an army through undetected and made it near impossible to spread out forces. Any mercenaries or bandits that wished to kill me would have to expose themselves, which made it easy to pick them off with my forces of undead.
“Revive, bring the soul back of advisor Tesila Filan.” A green orb floated into the room, circling the skull before the jaw popped open, letting out a ghastly scream. “Calm down now, Tesila. It’s your dearest princess, Erin. I have some questions about the curse, that I’m hoping you have the answers to.”
“Its awful, I can’t feel anything. Am I alive? Is this hell?” She said, unable to move anything but her jaw, limited by my restraints.
“You died recently. I brought you back momentarily. If you answer my questions and play nicely, I’ll return you to your slumber, if you don’t. Well, then we can throw you into a zombie and let you work as a mindless slave.”
“Princess!” Gallant shouted, not agreeing with my extreme methods of interrogation, but I knew they were necessary. Silencing him with a raised finger.
“Princess, that’s right. That awful face of the cursed child. They should have killed you when they had the chance. Exiling someone that uses the dark arts never works. They always want revenge.”
“I certainly want revenge; I just haven’t decided who against. Its amazing that a soul can see without eyes. I guess revival is just binding a soul to an object they were once attached to. Now, who cursed me? You must know something.”
“Heh, why would I tell you? I’m dead. It doesn’t matter what you do to me, you can’t kill me again. Loyalty to the Lestian empire.” She shouted, trying to remain somewhat dignified despite being a talking skull.
“Gallant, what happened when Captain Rhys said something similar to that?” I enquired, looking over to the knight.
Gallant coughed, staring at the floor below. “You… tore his soul into pieces and spread them to the pits of hell, so each part could face a different torment.”
“NO, you can’t do that. Please, I always did what was in your parents’ best interest. You can’t be so cruel. I know nothing about the curse, I swear to you, my princess.”
“My princess? Funny how things change. If you know nothing, I have no use for you. I promise freedom if you confess the truth. You have ten seconds; I know souls can keep track of time.”
She muttered a string of apologies and curses before stopping at the ninth second. “Your parents cursed you, they thought it would increase the potential suitors. Magic users are in high demand, they just didn’t know the magic you would inherit was that. Please, you said you would free-“
I crushed the skull, feeling the pieces drop through my fingers. “Being erased is a form of freedom. I kept my word Gallant.” I said, expecting the knight to have a problem with my decision.
“What will you do now? Now that you know the truth?” His hand sat above his sword, inching closer to the handle.
“I’m going to kill the ones who cursed me. It hurts to hear that it has to be my parents, but I can’t let this go unpunished. Is that a problem?” Before the words had even fully left my lips, Gallant pulled out his blade, attempting to decapitate me, the blade nearly reaching my neck, only to be blocked by the broken pieces of the skull. The pieces reforming into a small makeshift shield, blocking the blow.
When the sword bounced off, he scurried back, creating some space. A fatal error against a magic user. “I will protect the royalty of Lestia. I’m sorry princess, the king and queen come first.”
“I’m sorry too. I always felt you treated me the kindest of all those around me. Even if your kindness was forced due to circumstance. I won’t kill you Gallant, but I will make you work for your life.” He attempted to rush me, but the distance was too great. Getting caught in a whirlwind of magic, the spiraling winds cutting him with each rotation, lifting him into the air.
I pointed my hand at the entrance, sending the wave of air outside, throwing him out while the spiraling winds carried him. It would be up to fate whether he lived or died. The winds would eventually slowly drop him to the ground. If it didn’t cut into his vitals, he should survive. It was my last gift to him.
With Gallant removed, I leaned back into my stone throne, counting the number of bodies I had to work with. One hundred and fifty collected so far. Twenty-five of them still in good condition. I was far from winning a war, but I had the groundworks to build the army. I just hope the king and queen are ready for it.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-07-27T07:41:13 | 2021-07-27T07:18:27 | 104 | 31 |
[WP] As a person goes through his life, he is given three options at the end of each day, continue, restart day, or restart life. He has just lived through the worst day of his life. | Joel sat on his bed, and immediately the screen popped up in front of him. "Restart day," he said. There was no hesitation, no waver in his voice. He sat back in the empty bed and waited to begin the worst day of his life.
At 7, his alarm went off. She rolled over and reached across him, as she did every morning, to turn it off. It had been a race for the past five months. A race she'd won for the past five months.
"Beat you to it," she whispered in his ear. This was the true wake up. Joel paused to take in the feeling of her hot breath against his skin. He wanted to soak up the moment.
"You shower first, and I'll take care of breakfast," he replied.
"Deal."
He made banana pancakes - her favorite - and packed a mug of coffee for her commute. During breakfast she'd asked when he needed to leave, and he told her that he would work from home. His stomach was upset, and he didn't feel the need to test it. She nodded and kissed him. She left.
Joel didn't bother calling in his work to tell them he wouldn't be in. He didn't even clean the dishes - they would clean themselves. He just sat in his living room with the rest of the coffee and waited for the phone to ring. At 8:47 it did.
Joel had answered that phone call 145 times. When he tried to keep her home, she had a stroke. When he drove her, she was stabbed in the parking lot of her building. He couldn't find a way to make her survive the morning. After watching her die nine times he decided that the car crash was easiest. He didn't have to be there for it. She was dead before noon, but at least that way he didn't have to torture himself with watching the light fade from her eyes.
But he did torture himself with the brush of her arm each morning as she reached over him for the clock. He paused to drive in the pain of her whisper. His life was hollowed out by her simple words that she said every day, and for some reason he couldn't bring himself to leave the cycle. | When you're asleep it's like a dream. A man walks up to you, it's usually a man. Smart shirt, smart shoes, terrible hair. Always the terrible hair.
I'll say hello, he says it back. He's asks the same three things every time. Continue? Restart? Reboot?
Now. I've told him not to offer me reboot. I don't like the fact I could wake up as a baby, and grow into a different man. I love my life, I couldn't give that away.
He'll ask anyway, says it was in the contract my grandmother wrote up with him.
I say the same almost every time.
Continue.
I restarted my day the first time I learned I could do this. Then again the next day, and a final time the day after, as I couldn't live trough what id done on the second.
Sometimes the man lights a cigarette, he'll stay for a chat. He knows I don't take long with my decision, but he's odd, like your cousins old car which just decided to idle for no reason.
He tells me, now and again, about my grandma. She could of had this, restarted her life, Or her days, but she wanted this for me. He tells me that I should take advantage of this more, tells me that I shouldn't waste this gift.
This time, he's smoking already. I'm not asleep, but I'm not awake. This doesn't happen until I'm asleep.
He walks over, and like my cousins old car he's clunky with his speed, with jagged surreal steps. Before I say hello, before I think to say hello, he's speaking.
He's telling me that I haven't been awake for a full day.
He's telling me that I'd fallen asleep in the car, my wife didn't indicate. The windows only cracked, but that means water is getting in.
Slowly I start to remember, that feeling of stupidity that comes with remembering a great dream. "How could I forget something like this?"
And I don't remember how I woke up, except that my daughter was screaming in the back. The light was fading, we were sinking into water. You can hear the screams of panic coming from the bridge, from the man who hit us. But we don't know it's him.
The second before I become nothing more than the wrong pair of jeans in the washing machine, listening to some kid shout at his mother from inside this spinning wet trap, my wife turns to me. We look at kate, I grab their hands and kick the window.
Just like remembering a dream, the end doesn't come to me.
The man next to me hasn't moved, aside from his head tilting downwards to watch me descend to my knees.
But he apologizes, then again. He says he can't tell me what I don't know. I have to choose.
Like my cousin in my old car, he doesn't expect me to idle. He doesn't expect this to take long. His cigarettes out, crushed beneath his smart shoes.
****************************************************
He'll only ask twice now.
"Restart?" "Continue?"
His last "reboot" was 32 days ago. I guess he doesn't see the point anymore.
In the last 32 days I have been jolted awake every time.
I have had my ears skewered by the sounds of my daughters scream. Different every day.
I've grabbed my wife, kissed my wife, hugged and cried with her.
I've seen my wife die 28 times, two times on impact. I've seen my daughter being braver than me or her mother almost every time.
And I can't decide what's crazier. Watching your loved ones die every day? Or the fact that I look forward to my dreams so I can think about my real life.
And so I ask him for a cigarette.
--------------------
Extremely unhappy with how the end happened. | 2014-07-17T19:47:30 | 2014-07-17T19:07:07 | 68 | 11 |
[WP] The hero beats the villain by stooping even lower. | Professor Panic Cackled at the tied up Captain Chrono, "Now that I've finally defeated you, Nothing will be able to stop my plans!"
Chrono gasped, "Oh no! So you're going through with this?"
"Of Course! With my new army of undying robots, the forces of the world will be entirely at my mercy!" Professor Panic arched back and let loose a maniacal laugh, "MWAHAHAHA!"
"Well, if you're really intent on that, I guess there's nothing I can do to stop you..."
"Wait....Really? You always seem to have a backup plan. You aren't even going to try to break out and stop them or something?"
"Oh no. With these manacles, there's no way I can do anything. But then again, I'm not the one who's going to stop you..."
"What does that mean?"
"Well if you'll reach into the third pocket from the left in my bandoleer, you'll see what I mean."
Professor Panic thought about this for a moment before curiosity got the better of him. "It's...a cell phone?"
"Yup. Hit unmute."
As the professor did it, a shrill voice could be heard from the other line, "*Harold! I can't believe you'd do this*!"
The professor's face turned as white as a sheet, "***MOM?!?***"
"*honestly, I raised you better than this! Taking over the world... Why can't you use your degree to make normal robots, like ones to help those people in-*"
"Mom, can we talk about this later? I'm in the middle of-"
"*No! What made you think this was a good idea? Was it something I did when you were younger that made you want to take over the world?*"
"No Mom, you were a great mother"
"*Was it the divorce? Did that make you do this?*"
"No, that wasn't it either...Look, this is just something that I think I need to-"
"*No listen here, Harold J Karnagee! This is serious trouble you're getting into! First it's taking over the world, than it's blowing up the moon and declaring intergalactic war against the Zarbloxis! Now untie your future stepfather and get your butt down here right now!*"
"**What?**...***Future stepdad?!?***"
Captain Chrono cleared his voice, "Now son, we may not get along, but your mother and I are very worried about you. We wanted to break the news gently, but sometimes fate has other plans."
Professor Panic sat down in his throne and muttered, "I...I can't believe this is happening."
"Listen buddy, we'll get through this. We'll sit down, and talk it out like a family. Your mother and I think this is just a rebellious phase you're going through right now."
"My super villainy is not a phase!"
"You say that now, but I've known plenty of guys that started off on the other side."
Edit: Fixed terminology as /u/avianographer pointed out.
| I’m so sorry.
I hate myself for what I’m about to do.
I hate that I was pushed to do this but the world is full of villainous people and villainous lies and I’ve found that there is no way to defeat them. There is only the hope that my actions will soften the consequences on the innocent. There have been terrible terrible stories circulating, and I can’t help but feel like those responsible for the creation of these stories are as villains as the lies themselves.
..................
This morning I awoke and I dreaded leaving bed. My stomach hurt. I felt sick. ‘Today is not the day’ I told myself. Today I will cancel everything; I will stay in bed and hold my wife. I will watch horridly colorful children’s shows with Rob and Dee dee and eat Chinese takeout despite the fact that my doctor keeps telling me to eat healthier. He insists that if I don’t take care of myself for me, that I must do it for my family. I will drink some tea to still my stomach and I will not wear a suit. Not today.
And yet even as I thought this I found myself clumsily sliding out of my covers like a lame snake and shuffling to my closet. I hate these suits. They look like the type of clothes you die in. I got dressed and noted that I definitely have gained weight. I sighed. I really shouldn’t have eaten so much Chinese food. I really should have taken better care of myself. I’m not that old. Men my age still play sports and go out for runs. Perhaps I will cancel today and go for a run instead. But no. I haven’t the time. I have to stop being childish and put away childish things. Tomorrow will be too late.
................
I left the house. I barely remember seeing Joanne as I left and it was only an hour ago. She looked worried. She always looked worried now a days though. This is a worrisome world we live in. I wish she wouldn’t worry. I wish I stayed home with her. I wish I could tell her again how much I love her. I do love her. We fight too much. I wish I spent less time eating Chinese food and fighting and more time running and loving her. It was always just stress though. She always supports me when I need her most. I love her and I know she always knew.
And here I am at work. Here I am in a room full of people. To speak to them all and to deliver them their share of work. Yes, there were villains at work but it was not these people. If I am lucky they will, in fact, be the first instruments of many to expose the warts of this system and deliver it from evil. This is a battle I cannot turn away from and I will not turn away from.
On this day I will kill a false villain, a scape goat, an innocent, in order to expose a great, obscured villain. I wish it were just one man. He would be easy to catch. It’s so much harder when the villains live in the cracks. It’s so much harder when they are the cracks. There is no one to arrest. No one to destroy. Just slow and painful steps towards correction. Like the steps I took when I left my bed. An innocent man dies today and a Villain is exposed. It’s a terrible responsibility I find myself burdened with.
................
I step behind the podium and speak. Men and woman take notes, hold cameras, and watch. They look bored and confused and I’m sweating profusely and I’m scared they won’t understand. They must understand. That is the only way we will, in the coming months and years, develop a true Justice System here in the United States. That is the only way we will triumph over evil. If all is for not then the villain will reign supreme. I speak and my mind wanders. I continue speaking and speaking but my mind is not here and I think that maybe staying home was a good idea after all. I think that Chinese food sounds like such a wonderful idea. I think that I truly and dearly hope that the sacrifice of my life is not in vain.
And then I pull the revolver from my manila work envelope and I warn those around me to please stay back. They might get hurt.
I don’t want anyone else to get hurt but there is such an uproar in the room right now.
I am doing such a terrible despicable thing, but if they find me innocent perhaps we can begin, as a nation, to repair the cracks of the Justice system. Maybe we can start to destroy this villain.
I inhale like I’m going to plunge into water.
Bite the barrel.
Squeeze the trigger.
Refrence:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._Budd_Dwyer | 2014-12-04T15:55:49 | 2014-12-04T13:27:18 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | Everyone has these tags. These little buttons on their shirts with a number on it. Some in the hundreds, some in the thousands. Mine is number 1.
Pretty quickly people started to figure out that when someone else died, everyone with a lower number moved up. There wasn’t really much that this meant for the higher numbers, but for the lower numbers it was a bloodbath. The higher numbers started by trying to kill the numbers above themselves, but there was a reason for the rankings. 5 fell to 3. 3 fell to 2. Only number 17 managed to kill number 16, and even then it was with 18’s help. He still wound up hooked to a machine for the short time he managed to live.
Eventually they realized the better plan was to start killing the numbers lower than you. 2 killed 3-15, then 16 moves up, turns to 3. That 3 kills 4-73, 74 moves up and becomes 4. That 4 kills… and on and on. It led to huge gaps in power between the top ten. For all that time, nobody set their sights on me. I’m number one. Of course I am the strongest. Far and away. What can I do? Only a handful of people ever knew, and that’s all they are now, a handful. At least that’s what I tell people. Reality is always such a letdown.
I control the tags.
| Oh yes. I definitely remember, every single detail. He was wearing a red and silver striped tie, for example. How could I ever forget that day? I walked into his office as number 21,458. When I left, I had his number 1.
Quite a frenzy it set off, you know? At first, people didn't even know it was me. I remember the first reporter I ever talked to, after she'd discovered that I was on his calendar for 2 PM, right about when he'd died. First question she asked me? "Who else was in the room with you?" Thanks for the vote of confidence, lady.
Well, eventually they managed to wrap their puny minds around it. I was the new #1 in town, and I had the token to prove it. News organizations exploded: some nobody is now the most powerful person in town? No one had even witnessed what my power was! There was endless speculation and chatter about what I could do. I remember this one professor from the university, speculating that I could make someone explode just by thinking about them. All sorts of self-proclaimed experts came forward to discuss it. And don't you know it, all of them were pounding on my door for that exclusive interview.
Well, it became pretty clear that I wasn't talking. So then the challenges started coming. Who was first? I think it was that bloke who could control flames. Nice guy, bit of a hothead...
No? Nothing. Fine.
Well, I met up with him and accepted the challenge, but on the condition that we fight in an empty room, no cameras or witnesses. He agreed, and we found an empty gym on the outskirts of town. Well, of course you know what happened to him, and to that entire neighborhood. I made the same offer to any other challenger: I was taking callers, but only if we fought alone. Same offer still stands, you know, but it's been years since anyone has taken me up on it.
Once it became pretty clear that no one was going to take the number from me, or see me in a fight, then they tried other methods. You know how many women I met who tried to seduce the information out of me? Hell, that's why I'm *still* a bachelor: I just can't trust any of them. Then came the offers: money, jobs, protection, you name it. Every prominent member of the city wanted me as their bodyguard, but on the condition that I told them what I could do. I told 'em to shove it. Then, they went after my friends and my parents, badgering them for information. So I became a recluse. Bought this cabin up here, just me and Buddy. My only friend; dogs don't care what my power is. And that's been the story ever since. I'm no longer involved in the tournament scene, and I guess the city is just going to have be content with only having a number 2.
Now, if you'll excuse me, Buddy and I have some fish to catch, so I'm afraid this interview is over.
All right, one last question...
Yes, I knew this would be coming. Did you really think it would be that easy to get it out of me? Nice try. | 2014-12-18T12:36:19 | 2014-12-18T11:07:40 | 2,259 | 300 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | Rank was never that important to me.
The others fought. Endlessly. For some reason, their numbers were more important to them than their humanity.
I started with the lowest rank, and I've never moved up. I've never killed a soul. But I'm #1 now, because the others are all dead.
I'm lonely. | It is nice to be king. Maybe it would be better if everyone wasn't trying to kill me, but things could be much worse. I have a nice apartment, a beautiful girlfriend, some good money, and really what more does a man need to be happy? I suppose love, but we are in love, and honestly, no one else thinks she is beautiful, so I think we were made for each other.
Now, how did I reach this pinnacle you ask. Well, the answer is quite simple, my power is not all that impressive, actually it is rather bad. Same with hers, but together, it works out quite well. You see, you have to declare when you are going to kill someone of a higher rank, that way we know who killed them, and they know that they are being hunted. So when someone say that they are going to come gunning for me, I open up a video call with them.
A simple video call. Nothing more nothing less, but what I do on that call shows my power. No one knows what it is of course, I make sure of that by keeping the calls private. When I get them online I talk to them, and eventually I suggest we flip a coin. This is my power. I flip a coin with another person, heads, he dies, tails, I die, and no, double-headed coins don't count. Why would I use something so risky, you may wonder. Simple really, my girlfriends power is over luck. Playing poker and she says cards, that will be her hand. Call a coin flip, that is the way it will land.
Together we rose up here. It is really surprising that no one else ever thought to work together, but I suppose they really are just to power hungry to share anything. It is quite a shame. I am sure that there are better combos than this. Now I really must be going, and so must you I'm afraid, after all you know my secret now. "Sweetheart, you think it is going land on heads again?" | 2014-12-18T15:23:06 | 2014-12-18T13:27:32 | 243 | 19 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | Rank was never that important to me.
The others fought. Endlessly. For some reason, their numbers were more important to them than their humanity.
I started with the lowest rank, and I've never moved up. I've never killed a soul. But I'm #1 now, because the others are all dead.
I'm lonely. | Hi, I'm going to tell my little story here rather quickly as I am rushed for time. Being #1 makes a lot of folks very interested in killing me, so I have to constantly remain on edge.
If there were no ranking systems, most people would assume that I have absolutely no powers. My power is a much more subtle one. But enough tension building, I'll just tell you what it is right now. I have the power of deception.
Seems pretty lame compared to some of the other powers around here -- rank #2 has laser vision for Christ's sake -- but it definitely has its uses. I can make anyone believe or do anything I want. For example, today I convinced a man with acid breath to kill himself. Needless to say, that was a pretty dark moment for me, but I've done worse.
I like to think I'm a pretty charming guy. It helps me manipulate people when I need to. My girlfriend is rank #4 in the city and rank #1 for females. She sadly has the power to crush a man's soul. Ok that's not entirely true, but she does have supersonic speed. I hope you don't think that I accidentally fell in love with the most powerful woman in the city, I planned it. She is entirely convinced that I love her and that really comes to my advantage. She'll do absolutely anything for me, and that can really come in handy for someone as targeted as me in this city. In a way I guess I do love her. I love that she will do simple things for me like robbing a bank. And I especially love the complex things: like murdering her powerful, high ranking family for me. The poor girl can't help but to be infatuated with me -- literally.
Anyways, thats the gist of how I became #1 here. Call me an asshole if you want, but that's the type of personality you have to have to remain on top. It's survival of the fittest, baby. The strong survive and the weak die.
| 2014-12-18T15:23:06 | 2014-12-18T13:12:49 | 243 | 18 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | Am I the strongest? No, I wouldn't say so. I'm not quick, smart, tough. I'm nothing special. I don't have to be though, they do. They are too. All the people who got powers that you read in the comics. They were supers, meta humans they were calling themselves. I'm a meta I guess. The first time I used my power I got dizzy and confused. One minute a pyro was looking at my like I was a steak for the bbq the next I was looking at myself, like looking in a mirror. Cerebral hacking I call it. All I have to do is think about it and I'm in your head. It's what put me on top. My original body was lost ages ago. I'm in some hot shot teleporter who tried to get the jump on me back in July. Been cruising around in this meat suit ever since. Everyone is looking for number 1. They'll never find me though. I've disappeared a long time ago. | It was actually quite a simple one. Any one of these people could defeat me. They just didn’t know it.
Erik had been after my title for years. Had it not been time manipulation, his massive ego could have been a power in itself. Time manipulation was truly unique in the sense that he was Kronos incarnate. Speeding up time, slowing down time and stoping time all fell under the power, so long as the flow of time was forward. Despite the explosions and pure, vile weapons sent after him time and time again, they could never touch him.
Today was the third time this month that he was challenging me. We stood in the arena, the crowd swallowed in silence. We always squared off and started off with playful banter. Well, playful for me. I think it was going to make him snap some day.
"I've got a new trick this time! Today's the day I am crowned number one, you sloth!!"
Sloth? Maybe he really did run out of banter.
"Are we really going to do this again? You know you can't win, Erik. The crowd knows it!!!"
With that, they exploded in chants and jeered at Erik, some throwing bits of food that he made seem to phase through him.
"Whenever you're ready, Erik. Just remember, whatever speed you go at, you'll never be able to hit me."
In a blink, he was in front of me, throwing a punch that went faster than eyes can register, yet his fist flew only inches in front of me. He spun around and kicked at my face, the move also stopping short of a direct hit. One more attempt, a headbutt, coming in close enough for me to see the pores in his head, but no contact. The desperation kicked in giving me my chance. I concluded it with a single punch to the gut.
I shook my head.
"Erik. Please. Give up. I am and always will be the stronger person."
The hit to him hardly inflicted any pain on him, it was the mental drain that made him fall to his knees. The crowd left without much commotion, having seen the scene many times before.
Suddenly, the look on Erik's face came up again. The epiphany face, as I call it.
"Your power. It's... it's manipulation. You can contol people by making them doubt themselves or--"
"No, it's not."
The other familiar face, the face of utter confusion, now replaced the former. He got up slowly and walked out mumbling,
"Then what is it? I have to figure it out..." | 2014-12-18T15:24:09 | 2014-12-18T14:46:11 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Do you know what humans are? They are a small, bipedal creature trapped on a resource starved planet. Evolutionists would call this a typical case of a species made ruthless through internal competition. Not once in their entire existence had there been peace. Their 'civilization' began by throwing stones at 'Philistines,' and evolved to slinging lead. Yet, through this competition humans developed something beyond brutality...they developed creativity.
We're called "Greys," or at least that is what Humans called us. We had probed their planet several times, and our biologists studied them (including anatomy...I can only condone what our biologists did in their studies). We were looking for a warrior type species to help us against the fight against the Swarm. As our homeworld was besieged, we approached the humans asking for help.
Our council was afraid of giving away our weapon technology, but we were more afraid of being eaten. So, we struck a compromise where we would only give the Humans our designs for our Whirlwind FTL engines. What we were expecting was that Humans would build great ships with our engines and land on Swarm planets, just like what we had seen them do to each other. There will be a bloodbath, and two less violent species in the universe.
What we did not expect were Humans slapping our engines onto asteroids and embedding them into Swarm planets at nine-tenths the speed of light. Do you know what happens when a relativistic rock the size of a small moon hits a planet? Nothing pretty. Swarm planets fell, both warrior caste and worker caste. Nothing was spared, not even their larvae.
Just like before, the brutal Humans threw rocks. But now, they were creative about it. And now, we will reap the whirlwind we had sown. | We never thought it would come to this ...that they would make it to our final planet, our home. For years we fought out of protection, war was something that our race was not use to. It didn't make sense, why fight amongst your own flesh and blood when there are so many worse dangerous out there. Like that of the mek'lai, a very power hungry race with a very powerful army whom was now bearing down on our home planet of treknotki with intentions to take everything from us. But even the Mek'lai did not fight against one another, no known species in the entire milky way would wage war against its self. Except for one, they called them selves the human race. Born in war and surrounded by it constantly all they knew was war. Even at times of "peace" their leaders prepared for war and dumped more resources into being fit for battle. Sucking away every drop they could squeeze from there own home world with seemingly no digression for the damage they were causing. They moved through every planet in their system squeezing every planet dry. They would have kept going but luckily the equation for FTL travel evaded them, maybe it was luck, perhaps it was ment to be that way.... Which ever situation, we needed them, we needed their power, their experience. The only question to be asked, is it worth it. Should we give this species that is so infatuated with power it even wars amongst its self the power to move through the galaxies faster then ever before. The consequences could be untold, devastation to a level that has never been seen. The greed they have is unmatched, but it's our only hope in surviving the onslaught that is the Mek'lai. So we made first contact, they were extremely defensive at first setting up guns and missiles with in minutes of seeing us. But as soon as we mentioned the deal to be made, their greed showed and they become so very friendly as if they wanted us here all along. It's funny mention some form of payment and it changes there entire outlook on you. We gave them what they wanted and in return they set out towards the fleet of Mek'lai. Though the Mek'lai were strong they were no match for the ruthlessness of the human race. The humans not only accepted war but had a passion for it ..as if they yearned for it. It was a massacre on both sides but no matter how many ships or people were lost the humans kept fighting, in fact the more humans that died, the stronger they became as if pushed by a burning desire for vengeance and destruction. It's a mindset never seen before. Even the Mek'lai who were so hungry for power did not see the universe in the way humans did. They saw war as a terrible but important tool even they did not like it. ...but the humans, they seemed to have a natural affinity towards it as if they were made for it. The same way in which a cancer travels through a body killing everything because it wants to, because it has to, the humans did the same. The war has only been going on for a few months and they have pushed the Mek'lai back two entire star systems. The war will be won, but what happens when it is over?... it's not a question of IF the humans will fight, but rather of WHO.
(I'm working on two hours of sleep in the past two days and have been on three 3 hour flights so sorry about the shittyness of this story) | 2014-12-26T12:10:42 | 2014-12-26T10:30:50 | 130 | 55 |
[WP] Governments all over the world cease every space program. Ten years later, a rebellious group is about to launch into space and they finds out why space programs ceased. | "3......2.......1......we have a liftoff repeat we have a liftoff"
That's what they used to say, some guy at Houston or whatever would say it every damn launch. It always seemed a bit weird to me, not sure why, but then again the whole concept of space travel is pretty weird. Weird and cool, that's why I decided to start it again. I wasn't exactly qualified for the job of leading SR20, space rebels 2020, but if reality had been how we thought it was then everything probably would have worked. Of course that's not what happened at all, that would be nice.
So, I got together a crew of some of the brightest people I knew, we toiled for months to build a ship and plan our mission. It was difficult keeping the whole thing under wraps, but somehow we at least got that far. Then it was liftoff day. I decided to go in tradition of NASA and say the great words.
"... 2.....1....liftoff we have a liftoff "
As if that immediately meant success. I guess you could say we were successful, we found what was out there, but now I think we really should have stayed home. As soon as we left the atmosphere, we felt a feeling of pride and success.
Skip forward several months, we made it about half way to Mars. It would've been considered an amazing accomplishment even for NASA, let alone a group of rebels, to send a manned craft this far. Nobody had ever done this before. This is when things began to get weird.
We saw something weirdly familiar, and in the complete wrong place. We actually had noticed it in the months prior but ignored it knowing we would discover the explanation later. We did, but we didn't expect it to shatter everything we knew. As we moved through space, the stars seemed to move more than they should and on a seemingly flat plane. As we moved further on our journey we could see more details until it was absolutely undeniable. We were looking at pixels.
All of the sky, a bunch of pixels... A massive screen. So it became clear now we were made and monitored by something else, but why in this way?
It seemed the only solution was to break through. In case of government intervention, we equipped the ship with some weaponry which came in handy here.
The ship began to decelerate getting closer to the screen, until it was completely stopped. We fired, and a hole was created. We flew through, beyond the screen was what appeared to be a massive alien. The ship took a look back, on the screen a video game was visible.
"Human Space Program Beta .91"
I shit my pants, we're like kerbals. | "We made it."
Jason spoke to his team, firing the ship up as they filed in. He looked at the two of them, letting out a sigh.
"You look nervous, Tom," he said to the first. Tom's eyes planted upon his feet, sweat falling from his brow. "Just remember that we're doing the right thing." Tom looked up at him with a weak nod, and went to his station.
Dusting off the ship's controls, he kneeled down to the second. "Amanda," he started. "We need to do this. If the world won't let us see what's out there, then we have to find out ourselves."
They all cringed as static filled the ship. Finally, the comm system cleared up.
"*What the fuck are you doing?*"
The exclamation was almost the same in every language they broadcasted. Jason balled up his fist and stopped the system.
"Do you see?" He asked them. "This is why we need to do this."
Amanda looked at him, and started phase one.
"Do you think we'll make it further than anyone else has?" Tom implored.
"We'll have to see," Amanda replied. "We've got a long flight ahead of us."
All around them, a beautiful void, glistening with wonders. Their ship was simply one of billions of objects in this vast universe.
"Jason," Tom asked. "I found a bunch of tapes back here from the last flight, you mind if we watch?"
Jason shrugged and put one on. Static invaded the majority of their hearing, but they could still make out the important parts.
"*Day one, on the Villager.*" The man on the tape said. "*This is Captain David Allen, documenting our progress.*"
"*Day two,*" it went on. "*Things are about normal up here, still progressing towards Jupiter's orbit.*"
The tape cut to full static.
"Ugh," Tom started. "I'll go find another--"
"*Day forty-seven.*" The tape suddenly restarted, David's cheerful voice replaced by a terrified tremble. "*Three of my crew members are dead. The two that remain are mentally unstable. The rings of Jupiter, they--*"
"*Day fifty-three,*" the tape started again. "*We lost Jennifer Corvo today. It's just me and Briggs now. Of course, he's locked up downstairs for what he did to her.*"
"*If you're hearing this, you're most likely the scientists that'll review this. You sick bastards...if my--*". The tape relayed a series of coughing fits.
"*...if my death means anything,*" he started again. "*Then you won't send anyone else. I'm setting this ship to return to Earth, like they said. We pissed them off; the people of Jupiter want nothing to do with us. They see us as a murderous race, intent on killing all of them. Why the hell do you think they've kept us this far?*"
"*Listen, Houston...I need you to tell my wife and kids that I...Briggs, how did you get out? No, put that shit down, this--Briggs! Stop!*"
"*...*"
"*This is Lieutenant Briggs of the Villager.*" Jason and his crew looked at each other in horror as Jupiter came into their horizon. The tape coughed again, relaying a static getting louder and louder.
"*And we need to stay away.*"
The tape finally finished, leaving the crew in a state of shock. Their tense breaths were the only thing to break the silence that held over them.
"*Paging to Villager,*" the ship resonated with sound. "*You need to turn back now.*"
"Um, Jason..." Amanda asked hesistantly. The fuel gauge had drained, leaving them stranded in front of the planet.
"*Humans.*" The voice in the ship stated once more. "*You have three seconds to change course.*"
Jason grabbed the tape.
"First, I'm sorry for dragging my crew into this."
"*3...*"
"I need to let my kids know that I love them."
"*2...*"
"And...and that they might not see me for a while, but I'm here for them..."
"*1...*"
"This is Jason, Tom, and Amanda of the Villager."
He sighed as the gas filled the ship, and his vision began to black out.
"We made it." | 2014-12-28T08:45:41 | 2014-12-28T05:49:39 | 323 | 98 |
[WP] Your roommate is literally the Devil. Surprisingly, he is the best roommate you ever had. | The last thing I remembered seeing were headlights and everything went black. When I woke up, everything was hot. It wasn't too bad, more like a dry heat. As my vision returned, all I could see were flames burning in every direction. It felt like a nightmare, but after you wake up and realize you were dreaming.
"Hey, bud," a voice called from one of the flames. A tall figure emerged, sporting jeans, a white t-shirt, and red skin. "Welcome to Hell," he said cheerfully.
"H-hell?" I asked with a stutter.
"Yeah, bud," the red guy said, patting me on the shoulder. "Sorry to have to tell you, but you *died*."
"I'm dead?" I asked.
"Yep," he answered, looking at his watch.
"And I'm in Hell... Are you the Devil?"
"Yeah, pretty neat, huh?" the Devil answered with a smile. "Listen," he continued, leading me toward one of the larger flames. "Hell has gotten a bit crowded and we're making a little more room- you'd think there'd be more contractors down here- but for now we're having everyone share a space."
"I have to have a roommate in Hell?" I asked.
"Yeah, but guess what?" the Devil shouted as we reached the flame. "You're going to be *my* roommate. How *cool* is that?"
"Pretty cool, I guess." I pulled back as the Devil started leading us into the flame.
"It's ok," he said pulling me into it.
We were suddenly inside a large room, filled with furniture and several big screen TVs mounted in mid air.
"You want some pizza, dude?" the Devil asked as he dropped down to one of the couches and clapped his hands. Two large pizzas appeared on the coffee table in front of him as the TV turned on and started playing *Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure*.
I dropped down on the couch next to him, grabbed a slice, and chowed down.
"Hey!" the Devil yelled. "Use a plate, you animal."
---
Come hang out in /r/MajorParadox. You don't need a plate... but make sure you use a coaster! | Charles opened up the fridge to grab some milk for his coffee. He bent over slightly to put his head into the fridge and then paused when his eyes landed on it. Wrapped neatly and with consideration with cling wrap there sat an entire goats leg on the middle shelf. Everything that had been on the shelf had been moved to another spot and the fridge was still in order, only itscontents had shifted. On the leg was a note that read 'Property of Damien L. Wallace: please do not not take :)'.
"Why would I want to," Charles mumbled groggily aloud.
He reached and grabbed his milk and then shut the fridge. When he turned back just behind the counter Damien seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Charles jumped slightly and put his hand up to his chest.
"Jesus Christ, Damien. You gotta stop sneaking up on me like that."
Damien grinned slightly at Charles. His sharp features illuminated by the light from the kitchen.
"Sorry, man. Hey I didn't keep you up last night did I? I know the chanting can be loud."
"No, no I slept okay. I woke up briefly around 2 a.m. because I thought I heard a goat sound," Charles glanced back at the fridge, "guess at least I know I'm not crazy."
Damien laughed. His laugh was interesting to Charles. It seemed genuine and often they laughed at the same things. But there was something strange about Damien's laughter. Sometimes he laughed at really strange occurrences. Other times at stuff that was down right sad for other people. In a word it was 'weird' but it certainly wasn't the strangest thing Charles had dealt with surprisingly. There was, however, a strange pattern of lights sometimes flickering when he laughed.
"But I do gotta ask: what's with the goat leg?"
"It was part of an," Damien paused, "experiment, I suppose you could say. Though that leg is leftover. I'm gonna finish the prep for it outside and bring it in to cook later. I'm thinking stewed goat meat or maybe tacos."
"Tacos are always good," Charles said pouring his milk, "hey by the way can I get another check for the electric bill?"
"But I thought I gave you the check yesterday?"
"You did but the landlord is a stickler for blue or black ink. The red ink won't fly man, sorry."
"Ink...right."
Damien said trailing off. His gaze suddenly far off. Damien was always good with his bills. Always paid up by at least the 3rd of the month. In many ways Damien was the best roommate Charles had ever had. It had taken some getting used to. Coming home to a house lit only by candles, black cats looming around the outside of the apartment, the fact that Damien was a Yankees fan while Charles rooted for the Red Sox certainly caused tension during the season. But it was all in good fun. Except for that one time where the Sox scored a double and things in the apartment began to shake and levitate. Which was odd but worth it to see how mad Damien got.
"Oh hey by the way," Damien interrupted Charles train of thought, "I'm having some friends over later. You're welcome to join us but we'll mostly be in my room."
"Thanks for the offer man but I don't want to impose."
"No imposition at all! But the offer is there. Well I gotta get to work," Damien said producing a large black bag that he slung over his shoulder, "I'll grab the trash on my way out. Have a good day Charlie boy."
Charles raised his cup and nodded. Damien smiled and proceeded out the door, locking it behind him. Charles set his coffee cup down and walked to the bathroom, flipping the light on as he entered. He turned on the faucet and then looked up to see his reflection in the mirror. On his chest was a large painted star.
"Oh god damn it Damien, again?" | 2016-03-10T10:20:39 | 2016-03-10T09:49:42 | 71 | 39 |
[WP] The orbit around Earth suddenly fills with thousands of alien ships. Turns out the moon has just been made a stop in a galactic game similar to Pokemon Go. | "Damn all these aliens."
"What, they did a lot of good for Earth."
"Like what, clog up the sky so we can't the stars from ships?"
"I was thinking more like how world peace was established. People found newer better religions. Cancer was cured. World hunger ended. Those kinds of things."
"Yeah but look at me. I'm still stuck at my crappy job, trying to pay for my mortgage and tuition for my kids! How are aliens going to fix that for me huh?"
"Well maybe you should sell shit to the aliens instead of working your job," I retorted shrugging at him.
A week later I saw him at the bar again, this time with a huge grin around his face. "Let me buy you a drink ol' buddy!" he shouted as he sat down next to me.
"What's gotten you in a such a good mood?"
"I really took your advice to heart!"
"What did you do? Get a promotion after all these years?"
"Actually no! I quit my job the next day after you suggested that to me. Now I sell cheat codes to the aliens playing Pokemon Go! I'm making money hand over fist now!"
**"FREEZE, ITS THE INTERGALACTIC GAMING POLICE!!"** | "Oh! Oh my! Hurry, check your screen! Check your screen!", shouted the Tiny Alien #1 to his alien buddy, Tiny Alien #2.
"What? What is it... OH! OH MY! IT'S A DRAGONITE!", he shouts back while he jumps for joy in a space chair made for midgets.
"YAY DRAGONITE!" they both yelled in unison as loud as their tiny alien screeches could go.
All of a sudden, they hear their comm system beeping like crazy. At first, it was just a few beeps. Then after a few seconds, their headphones were bombarded with so many that each one blended together to sound like one constant beep in their baby alien ears.
"dude... please tell me you muted the comm system? Please, for the love of holy dragonite, please tell me the whole colony didn't hear that?" said Tiny Alien #2, as he gave his copilot his one and only evil eye.
"Well... I don't really know if I did mute it and we'll never be able to know anymore, so that's that. No one can prove anything" responded Tiny Alien #1, crossing his arms and flailing his head dramatically away from Tiny Alien #2's penetrating gaze.
"Screw it. Pump the hydroheliumthrusters and strap yourself in. We are heading to the human's Moon. Off to CATCH EM ALL. DRAGONITE TIME BABY"
"Oh, goody, goody! Dragonite here we come!"
__________________________________________________________________
*A few hours later*
"President, NASA has just informed us of a potential world ending threat. They said it was UFOCODE22422424ALIENAREA51"
"Oh, sweet Jesus... Why could it not be a UFOCODE22632426ALIENAREA51." he says, his elbows resting heavily on the desk while his face sits in his palms.
He looks up, his eyes that of an immortal war god looking to taste blood. ALL the blood.
"Nuke it. Just nuke the damn moon. Don't tell the media about it. We'll make it a cover up... somehow. Just tell them it was Aliens... people love Aliens."
"Sir, I don't mean to be counterproductive here but what about the fallout? I am pretty sure we will all die. You can't just blow up the mo--" says a random cabinet member.
"YOU SHUT YOUR ASS AND KNOW YOUR PLACE!", he snaps, interrupting the man while completely shitting on his ego.
"Nuke that bitch, suckas"
And the moon was blown to a billion pieces. Dragonite was said to have flown away. To this day, no one knows where Dragonite went but we for sure know one thing... He'll never be back to the moon ever again. | 2016-07-23T23:57:02 | 2016-07-23T21:15:39 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him. | The words flashed red, the letters engraving themselves into my skin. I read them again, still uncomprehending. What kind of purpose was *that?*
I tried to get up, to run away, to try make sense of things - but my father held me firmly down by the shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.
"Son, your mother and I are very proud of you," he said, beaming from ear to ear. My family and friends all gazed at me, everyone single one looking proud and exultant. What the hell was happening?
"I don't understand!" I shouted, meeting everyone's gaze. Nothing made sense anymore.
"Oh, honey, he doesn't get it," my mother said, looking at my dad with a flutter. He smiled back at her.
"Son, those two words don't mean what you think they do," he said to me, grinning.
I looked back at the words, staring at them, the red glow casting a dancing shadow all around us:
*END LIFE*
"They *don't?*" I asked, confused. "It doesn't mean I should kill myself?"
"Of course not," he replied, chuckling, wiping a tear from his eye. "It doesn't mean *your* life!"
Everyone laughed but me. "I still don't get it," I said, feeling completely lost.
He pointed upwards. "Up *there*, silly!"
I followed his gaze, and after a minute, it dawned on me. Suddenly, everything made sense.
"Oh, Christ, sorry dad," I said, embarrassed. "I get it now!"
He wagged his finger at me. "Remember, what do we say instead of 'Christ'?" he asked with a wink.
I looked up, smiling. The words flashed in the darkness, and I felt power course through my veins.
"*Anti-Christ*," I said, and the legions of hell cheered.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-15T17:51:32 | 427 | 256 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him. | It was 11:59 and while the whole family gathered around, my mother was no where to be seen. I expected that she would have joined us. After all, she'd been there for my older sister's reveal, and my brother's reveal. But instead she was watering the garden while it rained steadily.
C'mon, mom, I know I'm not your favorite, but you could at least put on a front this time.
"It's noon!" my sister squealed. "Pullupyoursleeve!"
A moment of dread shot through me. I can't say that I knew exactly what was wrong, but I knew that something wasn't right. There was no tingling in my arm, just a feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me something was going to be revealed today and I wasn't going to like it.
I pulled up my sleeve and no words appeared. Frantically, I pulled up the other sleeve, shoving it all the way up to my armpit. It had to be there. My sister tugged my shirt up, peeking under it. Not that the words ever appeared anywhere besides on your dominant forearm. "Where is it?"
"He won't get it yet," my mother barked from the sliding glass door. "He's not going to be 18 for another two months."
"What?" I yelped. "Today's my birthday!" My sister's hands fell and my shirt slid back down into place.
My mother shook her head. "You're father and I were separated, and I met a man..." she said quietly, her round eyes darting towards my father.
"You said the baby was mine! You said he was just early!" my father shouted.
She crumpled into a chair, her wet hair dripping onto her face. Her mouth wobbled and she stared at the floor. "He's not and he wasn't."
Two months and three days later, my parents' marriage was in shambles, and I walked into my sister's room, pulled up my sleeve, and showed her the words that had appeared the day before. "MARRIAGE COUNSELOR"
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-16T03:19:48 | 427 | 129 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | We had a pretty decent society, everyone thought. At 12pm on your 18th birthday you would receive your Calling. One word. It appeared on your forearm. Either "Creator" or "User". So engineers, artists, programmers, architects, chefs etc were Creators. They created stuff for Users to use. Users used their creations as well as possible. It was a pretty symbiotic relationship. My parents were Users. Dad a train driver and Mum a waitress. Made pretty good money. We had a nice upbringing, my sister and I. She was a Creator. 21 and a hit on YourTube. She had an an infectious optimism about her. I must admit, it did feel strange seeing her on the 40 foot vid screens that were everywhere, as I trudged to school each day. The internet is huge and fair. Everybody enjoys it. Problem is, its a little boring. Don't get me wrong, Creators do excellent work but if you've seen one dancing dog balancing an egg on a spoon in its mouth, you've seen them all.
My Calling is today. Well, in a few minutes, to be exact. Personally, I can't see what the excitement is about. It's either one or the other. I don't mind which, to be honest. Though I have an inclining it'll be Creator. Call it intuition or whatever. Then again, I'm pretty lazy, so maybe not.
Tick. My parents sit across from me expectedly, Dad smoking his pipe. The air is thick with the sweet smelling smoke that defined the happiest days of our childhood. Mum doles out sandwiches to friends and neighbours who gathered with us in our expansive living room. One of Dad's friends is running a book on my result and stands to lose quite a bit if Creator is my given Calling. I smile at the thought which Mum takes to represent happiness about the coming situation.
Tock. My sister is recording everything. We are live on her channel, which wasn't new but sometimes a little privacy wouldn't go amiss, though she'd probably be aghast at the very thought. One hundred and forty two million people must have something better to do, surely than watch our proceedings. Judging by the comments she was receiving, clearly not unfortunately.
The Calling Clock chimes its notes. The room falls to a deathly hush, all eyes on my arm. I wonder if it hurts. I'd been assured for years it didn't but could you really trust anyone who accepted their lot in life, without question? I look at my arm, catching the enthusiasm around me as infectiously as my sister's followers hung on her every word. Nothing yet. I glance at the clock. It's ticking towards 12.01pm. He was always a late developer, my mother announces. Smiles and chuckles break out amongst the eager throng gathered in our home. 12.01pm comes and goes, followed silently by 12.02pm. Still nothing. The chuckles turn to murmurs. Disquiet hangs thick in the air, almost like a mist. My Mother and Father have turned a strange shade of ghastly white. This is unknown. Its always automatic. By 12.01pm, your life is always mapped ahead of you.
Suddenly letters start to form on my skin. Unknown combinations. The room erupts into pandemonium. Nobody has seen this before, ever. What does it mean? Nobody knew. Somehow, though, I did. At that moment, I realised I'd always known. I lifted my phone and typed one sentence on my sister's comments. It's flashed immediately around the World, on billboards as tall as houses. On phones, TV's, computers, trains, planes, toasters. You name it. I stand, shove my phone in my back pocket and walk silently down stairs, to the basement, giving everyone the finger as I go.
I wasn't the best. I wasn't the most popular, as things turned out. But I was the first. As I lay here on my deathbed looking at the words that define me, I smile at the photo of the headstone that will stand over me very soon, emblazoned with my comment.
"You idiots are fucking losers."
My life slips away but TROLL. FUCK YOU. will be eternal. | It was 11am and the party was in full swing, cousins and uncles, aunties and nephews had arrived from all around to take part in my Naming Day.
In big cities it would be a purely family affair, San Fran York was not one of those places and it seemed like the whole village had turned out at the town hall to celebrate this day with me. I was nervous, beyond any amount of nerves I had ever felt before, more nervous than the time I had asked Isabel to the dance, she turned me down and I was heartbroken, the popular crowd in school had laughed at me for a while after that for trying but at least I knew. My mind returned to today with a "wtf are you thinking about that for" thought, but I didn't want to think about what my destiny would be. I had a lot to live up to, my brother was being flown out from the Halls of Rule, everyone had been ecstatic when his destiny came up as "Prime Minister", how on earth could I live up to that? My brain started imagining the worst things that could appear, pornstar would be bad, sewer worker was always a cruel joke among the other kids but I was more worried about something dangerous like army grunt. The worst I ever heard of was a "Martyr" that someone got once though right now I couldn't remember if that was a true story or some dumb rumor.
11:30am came all to slowly and time appeared to be slowing down and everyone began to sit down, it was like an old graduation picture I had seen in a history book except I was the only one they were here for, even the bullies had come to see but they were just here to have a good laugh when I got my "Slave" marking or "table" or something equally degrading, at least now it was time for me to get ready and I could hide away from everyone for a while.
11:50am
Time was definitely moving slower now each tick of the clock felt like hours. I decided to think more about the ceremony itself and what I would have to do, I was sitting in a small room inside the town hall and I would be the first to see my destiny, then I would walk out into the lobby where my family can see me, they would know next and finally we would walk out of the main door and onto the stage where I would show the Mayor and he would proclaim it to the town. There would be lots of congratulating or commiserations afterwards but always cake and alcohol, it is my 18th birthday afterall.
12:00am
It was time, at first nothing happened but this was to be expected as clocks aren't always 100% in time with random natural effects. I was worried, but if anything went terribly wrong I could always sneak out of a window and run away to live in the jungle and eat bugs and and... Then I felt it, a tingling sensation in my arm, like it had fallen asleep, I waited for it to pass and then with a deep breath I looked at my arm...
12:01am
"That. Isn't. Possible." I told myself over and over, but the word did not change no matter how much I wanted it too, I never imagined this scenario because it was entirely unheard of. There was a knock at the door and I heard my mother ask if everything was alright. I calmly got up and opened the door to see her face, she looked worried too but I guess if you know someone has just found out their destiny and was not jumping for joy then it wasn't a great one.
I showed her my arm and all the colour drained from her face, she grabbed hold of me and headed for the bathroom, her face was now filling with red anger and she almost threw me into the room. She turned on the taps and then rounded on me "How dare you write something like that, this is a serious matter and you choose now to joke around?" "Mum, I didn't..." but she cut me off in one of her 'Motherly Rants' that she had sometimes. I tried to explain but really I had no clue either.
After several attempts to wash the wording off me she realised that this was real, I hadn't been joking and now my arm was red and scratched except for the wording, that had remained clear as anything.
Together we headed out to the lobby, bypassing the rest of my family as we were already late for the next stage and everyone would be getting very worried.
12:15am
My mother pushed my forward up the stairs of the stage and I shuffled over to the Mayor, his smile had started to fade when he saw me, I guess I didn't look so good. I walked over to him and gave him my arm, his face did the same thing as my mothers, it was as if someone had applied a greyscale filter to him.
12:18am
We had been standing there for a while with the Mayor just looking at me, a mixture of confusion and terror had settled onto his face and there were murmurings in the crowd, but it was time, they all had to be told what my destiny was.
12:20am
The Mayor returned to the podium and cleared his throat, the crowd had gone silent. Even then the words came out horse and croakey when the Mayor tried to speak prompting him to clear his throat again and take a gulp of water from his glass.
"Good townspeople of San Fran York" he began in a shakey voice, "We have a new man among us, a new man who has discovered his destiny." his voice was getting stronger now but you could hear him faltering every few words. Gesturing to me he continued "Timothy has found his path in life, he is to be:" he paused again, a last chance before we all had to deal with this, a last moment for it to all be a bad dream and wake up "A Wizard!" he proclaimed... | 2017-03-16T02:08:33 | 2017-03-16T00:05:48 | 188 | 91 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | *11:59 PM*
My family gathered around me, silently waiting. We were all eagerly anticipating the Choosing, a lame name for a cool time.
*12:00 PM*
My mother smiled at me. She grabbed my arm and looked as the word as it appeared.
"What is it?" a chorus of family members asked.
She frowned. I took my arm back and took one hard look.
**Nudist.** | "Hey Elena, your birthday's next week right?"
"Yeah, Jason."
"So do you think it will happen?"
"I don't know. My dad's got a number like most everyone else but my mom has a number and a letter. We might be getting closer to figuring out what the birthday messages mean."
"My dad doesn't think they mean anything."
"I sort of hope he is right. I mean it just seems like it can't be good, right?"
"Well, let us know! See you after."
-----
Birthday Reveal
It wasn't a big deal in the Lazarus house. Elena had to stuff to do then anyway. They'd celebrate her birthday, but her real friends and her family didn't believe in worrying about (or all this carrying on) about some scar tissue. That's all it was really, this weird biological process that happened. It was like the patterns on butterflies. It didn't have to mean anything.
She was alone when it happened. She saw it appear. The number three. She could live with that. A perfectly respectable number. There were three people in her family. But there was more. A zero. That was unusual, but still that seemed fine. It was a little far away from the three but no big deal. Suddenly, she felt a blinding pain. She couldn't keep her eyes open anymore. She swayed on her feet. Then just as suddenly she came out of what felt like a long trance but had only been a minute to find two letters. L and V. Along with the numbers they did send a message. A message open to some interpretation but it seemed good: L0V3. She knew her life would change very soon and forever. She couldn't hide love. How could she? But this wasn't all good. There was no message that could be all good. She just hoped she wouldn't have to be willing to die for love. Was the world ready for an ambiguous message of love from a young, black woman? She was about to find out. | 2017-03-16T02:03:50 | 2017-03-15T22:51:26 | 71 | 39 |
[WP] You, a young scientist have discovered time travel. You think it would be a great idea to go to medieval times, share your knowledge and become king. On your first visit, you meet a king and he introduces himself with a polite fist bump and greets, "bro you discovered time travelling too?!" | "...Bro?"
Leonard stood at the base of the platform, arms crossed in frustration. He couldn't believe it. This sappy-looking, scrawny twit of a teenager had discovered what had taken him years - *years* - to figure out on his own. He had dedicated his entire life looking for a loophole in time travel, to get around the requirements of FTL travel and proximity to a black hole, and this idiot had gotten there first. What was more, instead of using his knowledge to benefit all of mankind, he had made himself king. *King!* How selfish could one person be?
The king, on the other hand, beamed down on him. "Yeah, bruh." He said. "How'd ya do it? It was easy for me. See, it turns out we're in...like...a simulation, or something?" He said. "I'm a little foggy on the details. Made the whole thing up while I was stoned...still kinda stoned, actually. They've got some wicked herbs here, man. But it all kinda just came to me, ya know?"
"It just...came to you?" Leonard asked. He shut his eyes, wishing he could forget everything he just heard. "It took me over a decade to figure it out. At least you had the sense to dress the part. You...*did* dress the part, didn't you?"
The monarch stared at him blankly. "...No? At least...I don't think so? They didn't have jeans back now, did they?"
"No. No jeans." He said, smoothing his tunic. "So where did you get the robes? Did the king just give them to you or something?"
The boy grinned wider. "Yeah man!" He said, showing off the purple cloth. "He just sort of threw them at me the second I showed up! Was yelling something about a prophecy, but hey. I'm not gonna complain - free stuff! How much you think this crown is worth?"
"You should really have planned a bit better you know, if you were trying to go into the past." Leonard said. "You could have gotten yourself killed!"
"Hey man. I didn't actually *plan* on anything." The teen said, frowning. "It just sort of...happened. One moment, I'm laying on my back, looking at the universe through my third eye and stuff, and the next, *woosh!* There's this big purple portal, and I land myself right in the middle of the courtyard, ya know?"
Leonard stared.
"You mean to say....you didn't actually do anything?" He asked.
"Nah, man." The teen said. "In fact, I'm not a hundred percent sure this whole place is real. But if it isn't, this is one hell of a trip, ya know?"
Leonard turned away, deep in thought. He, too, had seen the very same portal - though, it had been where and when he had been expecting it. Though, not exactly - if he was being honest, it had been a few seconds early. In truth, he wouldn't have stepped through it at all, had it not grown suddenly and launched itself at him like the mouth of an enormous worm. At the time, he had chalked it up to a simple miscalculation, but now he was not so sure.
"If you didn't mean to come here," He asked the boy, "and if I was brought here against my will...what on earth was that portal?"
"It was *my* doing." Said another voice, sonorous and deep. From behind the throne walked a man - old, with a white beard and periwinkle blue eyes that seemed to pierce straight through Leonard's heart. He wore robes long enough to scrape the floor, a pointed hat, and an expression that was equal parts sorrow and joy.
"I am Merlin." Said the man. "Leonard, Arthur...we have much work to do. I pray that we might start now." | "Be ye wizard or God of old?"
I stared blankly, looking into the face of a toothless, wizened hag, whose clothes hung off her frame in a ragged, baggy fashion. She stood with one arm out, placing her thin body between myself and a small toddler barely over the age of three.
"I," I began in a loud, booming voice. "Am Merlin, the greatest wizard who ever was, or ever will be."
"Be ye benevolent?" A younger man chimed in, waving his crudely shaped pitchfork in the air. He, unlike the crone, seemed eager to meet me, as did his younger sister, who strained to get a look of my unkempt face.
"Yes." I smiled, pulling a dehydrated food pack from a pocket. "You seem hungry. Come over here, I won't bite. You have my word."
The man walked over, jittery, as though he'd had a strong cup of coffee. *"Maybe I should give the little kids some,"* I thought jokingly.
"Do you have water?" I asked.
"Aye," the man replied, handing me a wooden bucket. A layer of algae coated the bucket's insides, home to some sort of insect, which swam in and out of the dense greenery. I retched slightly, disgusted. But no matter. It would suffice.
"Well," I said, grabbing more dehydrated food from my pack. "I can conjure enough food to feed this village. But first, I need some wood and a very large pot."
"Pot?" An elderly man wheezed at me, his face a picture of confusion. "What dost thou mean by 'pot'?"
"Sorry," I replied smoothly. "It's the magic word for cauldron."
"I shall get that!" A boy, nearing ten, shouted excitedly next to me. "It shall be my first quest."
"Good." As the peasants piled wood, I pulled a lighter from my back pocket, then stuffed it into a nearby stack of wood. The kindling immediately caught flame, eliciting oohs and aahs from my ever growing crowd of spectators.
"How didst thou light the flame? Ye hadst neither flint nor iron!"
"Magic," I replied, wiggling my lighter. I clicked it on once more then breathed, sending a plume of flame into the air; I'd drunk a bit of vodka beforehand. The onlookers flinched back, cowering before my might.
"Half dragon, he is!" An old crone shouted into the air. "And let it be known that Maggie hadst forecast the future!"
"Whoa, I want to be like him when I grow up," exclaimed a tiny child. As the crowd began to chatter, I pulled a small ball of weed from my sleeve, then slipped it into the fire.
*"They'll thank me later. Or maybe they'll just go on one heck of a withdrawal."*
As the water neared boiling, I grabbed a ladle from some fat man in the crowd, then began pouring water into each of the packets. By eyeballing, I assumed the town had about 100 residents. And each packet had a serving size of three. *"Yeah. I definitely have enough to feed them. And then some,"* I thought, eyeing the chubby man who, in turn, stared back, piggy eyes flitting to his ladle.
"Alright!" I shouted loudly, having pulled a megaphone from my pack. The peasants shrunk back, cowed and afraid. "Gather into groups of three. You'll have to share the food, but there'll be more than enough to go around."
As the groups lined up, bowls at the ready, someone shouted "The king hath come!" Peasants began scrambling, hiding their gold. The fat man ran, his belly rippling violently.
*"King,"* I thought, pulling out my pistol. *"I'll challenge him to single combat, then take the throne for myself."*
As the king approached, I hesitated. *"Wait...is that a WALKING DEAD t-shirt?"* The king, in turn, stared at me, his eyes scanning my baggy denim jeans and 420 blaze it sweater.
"Bro," said the king, dismounting, wearing a smile on his face. "You discovered time travelling too?!"
"Yeah," I replied, grinning ear to ear.
"So, what'd you tell them your name was?"
"Merlin."
"Duuuudeee!" The king clapped his hands with glee. "That's awesome! To them, I'm Arthur. But you, my dude, can call me Phil."
"Sweet ride, by the way," I said, pointing to Phil's massive dirt bike.
"Yeah." Phil glanced tenderly at the bike. "I just couldn't leave my baby..."
Phil trailed off, his nose flaring. He sniffed once. Twice.
"Yo, is that...is that weed?"
"Yeah man," I said grinning. "I got some pre-workout to give to the little kids too."
"Shit man, you got anymore? I haven't been high in forever!"
"Yeah," I replied, pulling out a couple of pre-rolled joints.
"Dude. Let's get high."
***
Liked the story? Support me by subscribing to r/Lone_Wolf_Studios, a sub where I compile all my stories and work on literary novels! | 2017-04-26T21:08:06 | 2017-04-26T20:26:09 | 973 | 166 |
[WP] Humans never figured out how to travel faster than light, but immortality was not that hard after all. As a consequence, space travel is possible, but very boring. | Most people sleep soundly during cryo-stasis. They board the shuttle, the shuttle blasts off, then after they've gotten their magnificent last look at Sagan's pale blue dot into the cryo-pods they go for the decades-to-centuries long journey through the stars to whatever planet their bound for. There are a handful of people, however, that cryo-stasis doesn't quite work on. They go into the pods the same, close their eyes the same, but cryo-sleep never comes. They'll toss and turn for hours, perhaps they might even fall into their regular sleep cycle, but they will always wake up long before journey ends.
"Checkmate.....for the 34,965th time."
Which why all shuttles come built with a lounge capable of providing whatever entertainment and distraction one might need.
"You evil shite. I swear one of these days I'm going to find out how you're cheating."
"I'm not cheating, you just suck at chess. Quit whining and git gud."
"That stale old meme? Really?"
"Don't you judge me Mr-I-Modified-The-Maker-To-Synthesize-LSD!"
"Don't act like you're better than me! Remind me who it was that was running around the ship screaming about bats and huge manta-rays chasing them when the last batch was ready!"
"I am better because I'm not the one who changed it in the first place! And of course I'm going to! You suck at chess, we've watched every movie in the database thirty times, listened to all the music and read every book! We've literally done EVERYTHING on this ship that there is to amuse ourselves! What else are we supposed to do?!"
".....Eat more LSD and screw?"
"For the 342nd time?"
"What else are we going to do? Another game of chess that you're going to win?"
".....Fine. I'm choosing the music this time." | "Unknown species send out probes all the time. That's gotta be what it is." Jim said with shaky confidence. *It could also be a planetary warhead* he thought, but he didn't see the point in mentioning that. Either way, this was not the ideal start to his barbeque.
The shuttle had landed right in the pool, and leg extensions could be heard scraping about under the water. Jim looked around at his guests, and was relieved to see that none of them were panicking.
"Can't escape work after all, can you?" he said amiably, gave a meaningful look to his wife, and turned back to his house.
"I guess that's a good place to call it quits." He heard Jess say to all of their neighbors. He was already walking into the kitchen, and toward the bedroom. He arrived at his closet and pulled out his suitcase. He rushed back out the door, trying to look nonchalant. The crowd was thinning out, and he could hear there shocked whispers as they left. It occurred to him that this might be a once in a lifetime event for some of them. Space junk doesn't just land all over the place. It was just his luck that it would land at his place, though. Wait till the boys at the station hear about this.
He snapped open the suitcase, and pulled out several scanners. His wife arrived next to him. "What do you really think it is?" She asked.
"I don't know." He answered honestly. "Maybe it's not even safe to be standing here. I just didn't want to cause a panic."
"I'll get out of your hair then, but be careful." She said meaningfully. He nodded back at her, already lost in his work. She sighed and walked back to the house.
"Let's see." he said to himself as he readied the equipment. Lights began flashing on the device, then it settled down. "No signs of life. Nothing particularly radioactive." He muttered, swapping scanners. "None of the seven deadly elements."
He sighed to himself. "Guess there's only one way to find out what's in this box."
___
"Hey dad!" Boyd shouted. Jim jumped.
"Oh. Hey there son. You snuck up on me." He looked back and noticed how much the suns had moved. It's been longer than he'd thought.
"How much longer is this going to be?" he asked.
"Well it's pretty primitive craftsmanship, so I've already put a dent in it. In fact," he continued, "I was about to open it up right now."
"Can I see?" the boy asked, his eyes beaming. Logic and reasoning couldn't compete with the tug inside him that came from seeing those eyes. He held out his hand. "Get in." he said.
"Awesome!"
Jim turned back around, and reapplied his torch. He finished off the rough triangle and the panel fell off into the pool. Jim waited, holding his son behind him. Nothing. It took his eyes a while to adjust to the dark inside of the pod, and when he realized what he was looking at, he thrust his son away.
"Dad!" Boyd tried to yell, but he was thrust underwater. Jim dove after him. The air began to ripen almost immediately. Jim came back up, shielding Boyd's eyes, too late.
"What were those things, Dad?" he cried. Jim realized that it was too late.
"I don't know, son." He replied. "But they're nothing anymore."
___
/r/Periapoapsis | 2017-08-15T08:50:47 | 2017-08-15T06:56:06 | 36 | 12 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️ | They said they wanted peace. They said they wanted to avoid a future where humanity wiped itself out. They said a lot of things. And then they said no more.
For fifty years we waited. We followed the treaty down to the letter, even refusing to contact our northern and southern neighbors. For fifty years we waited, as they spat on their supposed good intentions. We waited as peace broke down. We waited as war broke out.
There's a slight poetic justice to learning that the ones who were afraid of us, the ones responsible for this self imposed exile, died in a hellfire of their own making. They thought that we were the biggest threat. They thought we were the cancer spreading throughout the world, destroying everything it touched.
They were wrong.
We were simply a deterrent. A force of nature that none dared to cross. And with us out of the way, with nothing to be afraid of, the world tore itself apart.
We came out of our exile prepared to fight. We expected an army of nations, prepared to end us, once and for all. But what we found instead was the very world itself, wrapped up in a wintery bow, waiting for us to take it.
| 50 long years. Thomas rolled out of his bunk. Today was the day America was going to join the rest of the world. He was excited, but a little afraid. As an American, it had been schooled into him that what had happened 51 years prior was one of the largest wars known, World War III, and that America had been the first to strike. In 2028, the leaders of the remaining nations had all agreed, each country was to go into isolation. No trade, communication, or aid, whatsoever. America had agreed, and had built massive walls in the North and South. They had severed communication with all satellites, and cut all lines outside of the US. Alaska was given to Canada, and Hawaii was allowed to be its own nation once more. Puerto Rico had protested at first, but soon gave up. According to his grandpa, the US suffered the first couple of years. Technology development had gone down, with agriculture having a huge boom to support its population. Most people left the cities, leaving them to become ruins. The only cities that thrived were towards the center of the country. This made life very simple. You attended school until 12, and then you picked a specialization. There were three to choose from. You could be a farmer, which was the most noble and useful, a rememberer, whose job was to learn all of the old things, so when the walls came down, we could talk to our neighbors and work old technology, and soldiers, who were those who didn’t have what it took to do the other things.
Thomas wasn’t ashamed to be a soldier, he couldn’t grow a potato, and words and numbers annoyed him. Besides, he would be one of the first to see a Canadian. He grabbed his issued jackhammer, and headed for his station.
At midnight, walls started coming down. Within the next two days, they were nothing more than rubble, that was quickly being removed. Oddly, there had been nobody to greet them, but this had been anticipated seeing as how had caused most of the damage in the war. In the next three days, the American military had sent out ambassador convoys North into Canada, and South to Mexico, neither had found anything except countries being reclaimed by nature. Almost two weeks later, the rememberers had finally reestablished communication of the one satellite they had been allowed to keep in orbit. North Americas whole portion of the globe was dark. Thomas kept rereading the communal paper, surely they were not the only ones left? The next day, they got the answers they were looking for. Europe, Asia, Africa, and Australia were also dark. Thomas, and many other Americans wept.
Edit: Figured I would mass respond to this. The ending was left open to interpretation, kind of like a Miyazaki film. | 2022-09-12T17:39:07 | 2018-01-18T00:43:07 | 579 | 139 |
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