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] 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. 😉✌️ | How. How. *How!?*
This was the question that surged through the world when the wall at last came down, the world smugly prepared to receive a humbled USA, a world triumphantly rebuilt in their absence.
Only to find that America had thrived even further.
"Well," said the suave young Texan whose visage now graced our screens, "we sent up satellites."
Satellites? *Satellites?*
"In direct contravention of the treaty!? How! No rocket launches were detected."
He put up his arms in a sort of amicable way. "The treaty you all broke the day after it came into effect? We are talking about the Treaty of Berlin, 2045, correct?"
The world was silent to that true accusation.
"We still had spies you know. You have to know that, right? I'm trying to maintain professionalism, but you all had to know that, surely?"
He seemed to be struggling to maintain his composure, forcing himself to straighten his tie before breaking out into a grin, then straightening his tie again and putting on a brief poker face before breaking into a grin again.
"When global opinion turned against us we were forced to sign that humiliating treaty that every single one of you broke but we haven't just been *sitting here* doing *nothing* waiting for the whole world to break down our walls."
He shook his head and an image showed on the screen of a colossal railway that lifted towards the sky, festooned in garish American colors. "With no trade we were 'forced' to use uranium power. 'Forced' to mine the asteroids for rare earth metals and other materials - without using rockets. So we used our big new EM gun."
The image switched to a video, of massive drones being shot off the railway into space, then of those same drones burrowing into great, hurtling rocks in space, maneuvering with tiny jets of air.
"Necessity is the mother of invention and all that. We had a lot of necessity. You had little to none. You put us on the backfoot while your Russians did your engineering and your Chinese did your industry and your Africans gave your resources."
He shrugged. "Oh and we stole just...just everything. You guys did definitely make some pretty cool things. Fusion power, absolutely, kudos. You all shared it pretty freely too. That was nice. Really the morally right thing to do. We stole the shit out of fusion power."
There were harrumphs of distaste at that. American coarseness.
"But really all we didn't do was share. Didn't share a darn thing. Course we can share now. Gonna have to...*renegotiate* some things, but we can share now."
He grinned in a predatory sort of way.
"Ohhh yes. We can share all kinds of things. For a price."
The outrage was immediate. They'd stolen our secrets but would only sell their own!?
The image switched again. This time to show a large artillery shell being loaded onto the tracks of the "EM gun."
"Course if that don't interest you none, there are some things we can share for free." | It began with a first strike nuclear attack on North Korea and their immediately retaliation. Guam and Hawaii were obliterated but Alaska was spared as the missile sent towards it simply failed and dropped into the North Pacific. Fortunately, for the United States at least, none of North Korea’s missiles had the range to reach the continent. This initial exchange set in place the chain of events that we’ve come to know as World War III as existing alliances and allegiances were brought to play and sides were chosen. Fortunately, the this was the only time nuclear weapons were used in the conflict. President Trump would later say that the initial strike had been an accident and that the war that followed wasn’t his fault. Any statements to the contrary were simply “Fake News!”
“The Great Accord” as it became known was settled that fall in Ottawa. Each country would agree to maintaining isolation for a period of fifty years. The citizens of each country would be required to stay within the current physical boundaries of their countries. Internet service would be firewalled and contained within those same geographical regions. Agreement was nearly unanimous although there were a number of concessions made before the accord was signed by all nations. The strictest concessions came from America itself which demanded that an agreement alone was not sufficient to enforce this. Physical deterrence was required as well. They insisted that the borders be enforced through impenetrable walls, automated weapons systems, and EMF jammers.
As the Greatest Country On Earth®, America demanded that they be the first to have these measures put into place. The walls were the most complicated and astounding pieces of engineering ever created. They were over 50 feet tall, 10 feet wide and covered the Northern and Southern borders from sea to sea. Built to withstand natural and manmade disasters for at least a century they were practically indestructible. Ocean platforms with the same weapons and jamming systems were placed out to the edge of international waters, a wall being completely impractical in that environment. When they were finally completed on August 23, 2025 America was separated from the rest of the world in every practical way.
Enforcement of “The Great Accord” was an international effort and the building of these walls took up a significant portion of the funding the member countries had allotted for that purpose. By the time the job was completed the member countries began to question if these walls were even necessary. After all, how would America know that they hadn’t gone through with it? Besides, they were the only ones to really wanted these walls in the first place. It was this line of questioning that led to a revised version of “The Great Accord” stripping out the walls and relaxing a great many of the restrictions that had been put initially into place. Within a decade “The Great Accord” had been abolished completely and normal trade and relations resumed. Only America remained isolated, hidden behind its massive walls.
The world slowly returned to normalcy, as the balance of power shifted to account for a world without America. In its absence, China took its place as the economic, military, and social power. Mandarin became the new language of international trade, business, and science. The shift to Easternization came slowly but certainly as eastern culture and ideas predominated along with the language. Like most change, this was met with resistance. This resistance turned into strife and in time war. China and the European Union clashed in a war that made the last seem like a child’s game. When the dust had settled only China and Russia remained with control all of the countries of the world split between them. Only America remained isolated, hidden behind its massive walls.
When August 23rd 2075 arrived, the world had all but forgotten that America even existed. The walls had just been such a normal part of life that Канада and 墨西哥 just took them for granted. At exactly 11:13AM MDT the massive metal gates located on the northern end of the Bridge of the Americas creaked open. Just inside the gates a lone figure sits on a lawn chair with a beach umbrella protecting him from the midday sun. A podium sits a dozen feet in front of him. He sips from a glass of cold lemonade as he waits for the inevitable media flurry. He doesn’t need to wait long as police and reporters throughout town rush to the gate.“声明!!!” they cry out as the figure waits until a sizable crowd has gathered. He steps up to a podium and begins to speak.
“I apologize but I don’t speak Mexican. Anyways, I may not be president anymore but I’m still Trump. And I’ve got something I need to get off my chest.” He stops to look over the audience and make eye contact with the camera with the best angle. “I told you, you’d pay for it.” | 2018-01-18T03:23:48 | 2018-01-18T02:43:58 | 39 | 19 |
[WP] Years ago you found a baby dragon that had been abandoned. You carefully helped mend its wounds and taught it to hunt and survive on its own. Now, years later, the dragon has returned to you with some of its young. It wants you to raise its weakest hatchling. | If you were a lonely old woman like me you’d have taken in that whelp too.
Three years ago Razora nearly bit off my finger when I first fed her that old cellar mouse. Hiding her in the haystacks was easy until she nearly burnt down the barn with a mere sneeze. By the time she was the size of a shed, the village had left me to live in the needle-rocked mountains just south where the rivers kiss the sea.
And when Razora left, I wanted to fly with her, grasp neatly onto her scales and fly someplace new. She took my collar by the teeth and carried me back to the village. The mayor held his straw hat tight to his scalp from the gusts as Razora took off.
Five years since that day I worked quietly in the cellars of the pub carrying barrels and tending to the ales and wines until Razora’s return.
A commotion draws me outside. Skyward fingers and muffled profanities. A dragon lands just outside our small village with a pack of whelps that follow. I raise my fingers and ran them along her toughed hide. When I bent my knuckles, they hurt from age and work. She has aged far more gracefully than I.
She twists her neck twice and a whelp flops off into my open arms. Razora had carried it from far, I could tell, as the twigs that clung between its claws held the smell of pine.
Dragons cannot speak, but the way they stare at you, you get the feeling of what they say. “Raise her,” she asks of me, before taking flight back to the northern skies.
I take the whelp into my arms and return to the needle-rocked mountains. But this whelp is far sicklier. When she sneezes, no fire comes from her throat. When she flaps her wings, they are weak. Her cries are needy. I feed her trapped rabbits and the brown toads with unlively hops. I’m far too old now to catch snatch anything else before it notices my intent.
On the first day the whelp tries to fly I name her Plod. She hovers weakly in the air, jowls sucking in for air as she wheezes out gusts of ashen smoke before tumbling to the dirt. I pick away the blades of grass from her hide and rub her along the head.
The next weeks are the same. She throws her wings into abrupt patterns and struggles to stay higher than my shoulders before terrible tumbles. She twists her foot at the end of the week and can’t even bother to make an effort, she merely sulks in a small little space where the rocks are tight around her body. She sticks her nose in the earth and looks at me with envy.
When I run my fingers along her foot one cold, dewy morning, Plod doesn’t snap at me. I suspect her ankle is healed and I take her to the high rocks. She looks at me with terrified eyes as I ease her towards the edge. She stands there with wide wings and inhales deeply before throwing herself off.
The air carries her many yards before she flaps her wings once and spins with chaotic weight. Her shoulder slams into a rock, and then she falls further and further.
By the time I have hopped down the rocks and towards her, she has run towards the ocean. She sits there staring seaward before she presses her nose to me. I understand her clearly. "Go away," Plod says with her eyes.
But I do not leave her, I hold her neck in my arms with what little strength I still have these days. She leans into me and we curl together and stay there for hours listening to each other breathe.
Several months pass where Plod refuses to fly. She’s the size of a barn now and terrifies the children whenever they come out to see the old lady and her pet dragon. If anything, Plod is very good at making sure I’m mostly left alone.
And those months turn to years. It’s hard for me to find my own food. The village refuses to help me. Sulking and hungry, Plod finds me a deer. I start a fire and eat well for a few weeks, at least. But she brings me food less and less. There’s days where I cannot leave the little mountain enclosure due to my old bones and Plod is nowhere to be heard. The hunger leaves me pondering of who will find me when I’m dead first: the children, a trader, or Plod?
A shadow sweeps over me on a day where the flowers bloom under the cheery sun. I feel something take me by the shoulders. Tight claws dig into my skin. The air is fresh and the wind is powerful. I’m flying.
Plod carries me over the village and the pink-bloomed trees turn to a mere spattering between the northern pines. As the chilled air starts to lock my joints hear the cries of dragons, many of them.
Razora, feeble as I, is curled around a fire she lit with her own breath. Plod lets me down in front of it and curls in front of me. The rest of the dragons, nameless ones, come closer and accept me into their pack.
Plod holds me tight and I hold her wing with a smile. It’s warm here, I like it. It’s a quiet little spot to retire.
And Razora comes closer and closer, the last of the dragons to curl up and keep me cozy. Her scales are calloused and crumbling near the edges. Her age shows as mine. I look into her eyes and she knows what I’m asking. Her answer is clear. “It’s because you are a good mother. And from what I can tell, an even better grandmother,” Razora tells me.
At least an old woman like me doesn’t always have to be lonely. | 7:57 AM - Step into office.
7:59 AM - Get fresh copy of Motion for Summary Judgment in Aaerinshalia vs Duersing Mining off copier.
8:01 AM - Get a cup of coffee (Novelty "Lawyers Do It with Jurisprudence" Mug, 2 French Vanilla Creamers, 3 Splenda) from machine.
8:05 AM - Open Office Door.
8:06 AM - Notice naked woman on couch.
8:06:40 AM - Notice second naked woman(?) on chair.
8:06:45 AM - Spill Coffee on self.
8:07 AM - Close door quickly.
8:08 AM - Realize that spilled coffee was incredibly hot, cry out in pain, using hands to cover mouth, and dropping motion into coffee puddle.
"Jerrick - are you alright?"
"Evie, I-I-I-How many times have I told you to wear clothes when you change to human form?"
"Jerrick, you know I don't like them. Besides, we couldn't have teleported in if he had. You used to like it when I didn't wear clothes." She wasn't wrong. Dragons in some ways were miracles made flesh. Legend had it that the first dragons were made of condensed primordial energy - as if fire, water, light, darkness, earth, and sky were super-compressed into beings. Seeing one in their dragon form is pure majesty. When they decided to take humanoid form - they have a beauty that even the most ethereal and sensual of Elves would beg and plead with their creator to have. Evidrindian of the Black Dragonflight was never an exception. She was surreal - her waist-length onyx hair accentuated her supple curves. She'd spent years in the Pyrenees since last I'd seen her, and she'd picked up just a hint of a Catalonian accent.
The knock at the door lulled me out of a momentary stupor - "Jerry, are you okay?" Three more bangs. "We...uhh...heard you scream?"
Carol Abernathy was a member of our typing pool - a busybody and devout Episcopalian. I knew if she got in this office, the end results would not be good for my career. Fortunately, I was currently standing where the door would open.
"Ohh....Hey Carol. Everything's fine. I just spilled some coffee on my lap. It surprised me more than anything."
"Did you need me to get you some club soda or some napkins?"
"No! I mean, no thank you. I'm going to have a friend of mine pick up a new pair of slacks for me, and I'll just have these dry cleaned. Thank you anyway."
The slight chuff I heard in her voice let me know that she was defeated. I watched her shadow trail away through the frosted side panels around my door.
"So...hey, who's the meatsack?" The younger dragon perked her head up from the chair. Dragons are basically immortal, and after a certain amount of growth, there's absolutely no way to tell their age - the King of the Blue Dragonflight is supposedly one of the very first dragons and is six billion years old. He looks like Chris Pine's prettier younger brother and spends most of his time bedding Elven Sophisticates. However, the woman in the chair was definitely not at full maturity - physically, she looked like a 20-something version of Evie. Probably the most interesting thing about her were the very fashionable glasses she was wearing. Dragons can magically augment their vision to see at an acuity relative to a very powerful microscope with a field of view of several hundred miles, but without channeling the weave, they're actually naturally hyperoptic. Her glasses were prescription - probably so she could read easily.
"The meatsack...as you should never put it again is Jerrick Mendarrial. A long time ago, he helped me when I needed it the most. He's going to help you too."
"Help me do what? Be old and fat?"
"Your father is not old or fa--" She cut herself off, realizing she'd said something she didn't intend.
"Evie, what in the world are you talking about?" Dragons really in a sense didn't have fathers. In the Forming Ages, most scientists believe Dragons reproduced asexually. They flew almost continually and were constantly fighting, so I imagine there wasn't any time for relationships. However, as Dragons adjusted to the presence of humans, things changed slightly. Female dragons don't require a sire, but one can be voluntarily be part of the ritual, and if capable, can affect the weaving of the spell - perhaps creating a dragon whelp with her mother's good looks, and her father's love of knowledge....the type of thing that would make that whelp desire a pair of reading glasses....
She was mine. There was even slight resemblences in the cheekbones. Unbeknownst to me, Evie had weaved her Spell of Conception the first night we lay together. I'd been nervous, and I compensated with Dalarion Wine. I never noticed the magic around us.
I stumbled backwards in the door, hitting it with a slight bump. I was a father. I'd sired a dragon. There were maybe 30-40 people on Earth who'd managed to sire a dragon. It was a living, nigh-immortal swath of pure fantasy that you helped create.
"Evie....we....when you..." She just smiled kindly in response.
"You are the kindest, most courageous man I've ever known. It was always going to be you. You had to know that."
I took a long deep breath to compose myself, grinning slightly at my shoes. I loved Evie more than anything. Because Dragons live forever, bloodlines very often crossed, and it wasn't uncommon when Dragons chose to sire to choose a close relative. There really wasn't a concept of incest - it was shared magic, after all. Even though I was more like a father to Evie, any such standards would have been meaningless to her. As for me, I was drunk off my ass and next to the physical embodiment of dark beauty - I couldn't have stopped myself if I wanted to.
"Why do you think some meatbag lawyer is brave?" He just looks like he should skip lunch and eat a salad.
"Jerrick - you should tell her."
"Alright. 20 years ago, I wasn't a lawyer. I was a Magical Consultant for the Northern Rastenshire P.D. I had my degree in Criminal Justice, but Law School was pretty expensive, so I worked the night beat. One night, we get a call for a 852 - Illegal Hunting of Magical Creatures. It was about 2 AM, and the creature couldn't be moved - so we flew to scene. A bunch of local goons had gotten into aggressive nationalism, thanks to too much firewater, too little common sense, and a couple of dozen online videos. Started calling themselves Identity Sapiana and started squawking about Human Genocide.
Those fucking skinheads hooked up with the editor of The Gathering Storm - real fucking nazi shit - aryan human identitarian nonsense - but he taught those douchebags how to make Dragonsbane - and they loaded up on it. The Dragon was dying by the time we got there. She'd been poisoned, shot, and stabbed 60-70 times. Those fuckers coated their machetes in Bane. I could see the look in her eyes and I knew I couldn't save her. | 2018-04-04T19:06:43 | 2018-04-04T16:36:21 | 4,943 | 158 |
[WP] You're a biologist who made a deal with the devil: eternity in hell after death in return for unlimited funding for your research. The funding was worth it, you discovered immortality, and the devil is not happy about this. | The devil learned of the deception and decided this must be quelled. With a snap he appeared before the biologist from so long ago. With just four words, the devil made the doctor cower before him and beg for mercy.
"Immortality is not invulnerability."
As the scream of torment rose from the depths of this now harvested soul's corpse, the devil got his due. | (This is my first post. I wrote it on my phone so of course please excuse the poor format.)
At last, I watched the insect start to twitch, then it flipped over to its legs again. It started to walk around. It was alive.
I jumped up in joy. I shouted, "Eureka!" I was going to be a millionaire. Best of all, I had cheated death; I had cheated the devil.
I felt a presence next to me and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the devil himself. I smirked a bit; the last time I had seen him was when we had made the deal. I supposed he was here because I had broken it.
"You broke the deal," he said shortly.
I turned to face him, placing a hand on the counter and shifting my weight to lean on it. I accidentally crushed the insect, but as I rose my hand curiously, it was already scuttling around.
"I did no such thing," I replied. "The deal was simple: unlimited funding for my research in exchange for eternity in hell with you. I'm just using my research money."
"I'm not stupid, I know what you're doing!" the devil shouted, watching the insect crawl around on the counter.
"Why didn't you try to stop me, then?" I asked. "If you knew what I was researching, you could've stopped me."
The devil hesitated. I had defeated him once again. "This isn't fair!" he eventually cried. "We made a deal. You can't do this!"
"Sorry," I shrugged, not sorry at all. "Maybe you'll get me when I die for an eternity in hell..." I trailed off, hoping he would take the bone.
"But you won't die," he said shortly. "This is stupid."
"Sorry," I said again. "Thanks for the money, though, I really appreciate that. I'm gonna be a millionaire with this serum!"
The devil scowled, eyeing the insect once more. I smirked in triumph. I had successfully cheated the devil. | 2018-08-23T11:57:09 | 2018-08-23T10:40:20 | 39 | 28 |
[WP] You won a lifetime supply of Oreos when you were a kid. The apocoylpse and collapse of civilization was 30 years ago, yet every month the Oreos are still delivered to you, no matter where you are. | The key to a successful business is happy customers. It's simple really: make a good product and don't piss off your customers and they'll do the advertising for you. The best product in the world will fail if it has a bad image.
That's where my job comes in. Nabisco hired me to make sure Oreos stayed the family-friendly cookie that they've been for the past few decades. It started pretty normally, but I wanted to make absolutely sure that nothing spoiled our good name.
It started with maintaining our social media accounts. Simple advertising evolved into resolving bad customer experiences. Resolving bad experiences evolved into preventing them from happening in the first place. I looked into every employee's background and then some. Multiple employees were let go before the police received anonymous, credible reports of hard evidence detailing a wide variety of crimes. I made damn sure that "Oreo" and "Pedophile" were never in the same headline.
Then we ran the promotion. Some contest where the winner would receive a package of Oreos every month for the rest of their life. Super easy to enter, and all recipient names were hidden. That way "Hitler" wouldn't be receiving our endorsement anytime soon. Quick media buzz for a month or so, then a lifetime of word-of-mouth for one "lucky" individual. Also thrown into the deal was the ability to request any flavor you want, and even try our new flavors before the public does. What the general public doesn't know is that I get to decide who wins, and I'll make it whoever will give us the most long-term advertising use.
I picked a young politician. He was full of hope, optimism, and most importantly charisma. His background was squeaky clean and he didn't seem likely to be corrupted by power or money. But I could use him.
Then 2020 hit and even I couldn't have predicted the massive Civil War that broke out. I don't know all the details, but the result was Nuclear warheads detonating within our border. Foreign powers were blamed and soon the entire world crumbled into chaos; minus one company that is.
I made damn sure that I did my job. Our social media offered advice on how to stay safe in the post-apocalyptic world. Our factories were now shelters for the common folk. Our suppliers were unscathed by the war and now 100% dedicated to Nabisco. Most importantly, our products were still being consumed by the masses.
But what of the young politician? He continued to receive his package of cookies and creme every month on the dot. Tracking him was difficult, but it was all worth it in the end. He credited Oreo for giving him hope in this wasteland of our country. He made horrible cookie puns in his speech to rebuild America. He hired our staff to run his campaign in the settlements across America's ruins. He even handed out Oreos to cancer-ridden children on the verge of death. He was the first president to be unanimously elected to office.
But most importantly of all, my boss gave me a 5% pay raise with a free package of Oreos. | The hours pass slowly and are full of pain. My body grows weary with toil under the distant sun and amidst the red dust. But there is no rest for the slaves of the Corn King. We work the barren fields under the crack of the whip and the threat of worse–trying to force life out of something that long ago has died. My life was not always as terrible as it is now now. For I am old. I even remember the times before.
 
 
Prior to serving the Corn King, I was a king myself. I held a small fiefdom to the north. It was nothing compared to the vast fertile tracts of the King, but it was free and happy. My people and I lived there fairly for many years. We farmed when we could and hunted when we could not. Some small part of our land had not been affected by the dark blight. But there was another reason I was king, another reason we were able to live as we did, a secret power that allowed me and my people to thrive in the wastelands.
 
The young, those who do not remember the times before, called it manna, like in the old stories: food from the heavens, a miracle. The truth is more mundane but just as mysterious. As a child, before the blight, I ate many cookies, candies, and other sweet things. These were more common and easy to come by then than they are now. One day I bought a package of sweet cookie sandwiches called Oreos. I knew little then of the significance that day would hold and the importance of it to my future survival. For when I opened that package, I saw a slip of paper inside; I had won a lifetime supply of Oreos.
 
After the darkness and the fall of the cities, the deliveries continued. No matter where I was, once a month, on the day of the new moon, a rider dressed all in black would find me. The rider would give me a box filled to the brim with packages of Oreos. At times they were Double Stuf. Sometimes Cakesters or Heads or Tails. One dark and evil day the entire box was Birthday Cake flavor. Those cookies and that rider allowed me to survive for years. They allowed me to found and feed a small town. I called it Fort Oreo.
 
We lived on that manna and what little we could farm. We lived in peace with other peoples, trading and bartering. That is, until the Corn King came. They say he never has enough. He seeks new fields to farm and people to enslave. He was accompanied by many men and with fire, smoke, and the screams of children. I burned the last of our reserves; he may kill us all but he would never learn my secret. I then fled to the south. I was found by one of his scouts and played dumb. I was brought to one of their camps to work as a field slave. My former subjects were either killed or brought to other places. I saw no one whom I recognized.
 
 
It is now on the mysterious delivery that I pin my hopes. The moon has been waning. The rider will come tonight.
 
Night falls and I manage to escape escape from the bunkers. If I am found, they will–I do not like to think on it. I wait, the time passes, I begin to lose hope, but then–lo! The rider comes. I see a shadow in the distance, by the light of the stars, growing closer. The rider approaches me and holds out a box. For the first time in many years, I speak to him.
 
I beg this strange hooded rider to deliver me from this place, just as he delivered so many boxes of Nabisco ® Oreo Cookies in the past. He looks at me from under his hood. His eyes gleam and he seems deep in thought.
Eventually he says, "you may accompany me and escape this present evil. But know that, if you do, many trials lie ahead. You will indeed change ere you return to the world of men. Whether it be for the better or the worse, I cannot say."
I tell the rider that I will come. Although I am old, I still have vigor in my limbs and my mind is strong. The Oreos provided me with strength and a strange vitality all my life.
 
The figure then pulls back his hood and reveals a face. It is more wonderful and terrible than can be described in words. I turn my eyes and look elsewhere for many minutes before I can bear to look directly at him.
The figure speaks to me, "come, for there is much work to do."
| 2019-01-04T11:15:51 | 2019-01-04T09:32:32 | 265 | 80 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work. | "I GOT HIM!!!!" she laughed. "I finally got him!!!"
she blew the tip of her ray gun, as if to blow the smoke away.
I blinked, staring at the crumpled body of my nemesis...his Cape a melted ruin. My stomach churned. I felt...
"oh I am having desert tonight!" her dark red lips curved upward. An adorable dimple popped out of one cheek. she popped the ray gun back in her purse. She stopped when she saw my face.
"oh no, did i... I just stole your moment didnt i... I just...I'm SO TIRED of that misogynist lump ALWAYS trying to rescue me...like i cant handle myself. I'm a freaking black belt Clark, I dont NEED you swooping in and beating my contact senseless before I can get any information out of him. And you know what? last time you saved me? I FELT that hand on my ass" She kicked at the melting river of polyester. She turned to me" I'm so sorr..."
"STOP!" I said holding up my hand "I dont want to hear any more apologies. Just tell me ONE THING"
She nodded, smile gone.
"How on EARTH did you get a laser got enough to cut through his body, and not melt the barrel of the ray gun?" I squeaked, reaching for her purse, "may i...?"
Her whole face brightened. She laughed, like bubbles of champagne. The dimple deepening.
she swatted hand away. "After dinner!"
" your lab or mine?" I smiled following her in to the restaurant. | There were scarcely anyone on the station on a weekday's afternoon, so Nick could get some space to breathe. He pressed his back against the sun-burned wall, his hair smelt like ash. A flame flickered in his dull eyes, the taste of smoke touched his lips. Nick squinted, turning to his left. Was it a train he was waiting for? The train came nevertheless. Nick closed his eyes for a brief moment, savouring the cigarette. The moment passed, he tossed it into the trash, regretfully. In his back pocket lied a crumbled ticket. He got on one of the trains.
The river was close enough for a one day trip and quiet enough for a one man trip. Nick strolled alongside a setting sun, mellowed to the end. The wet grass brushed against his leg. It was kind of ticklish and it was kind of cool. Nick took off his shoes and his socks, to let the wet grass wrapped around his feet and the wet dirt seeped into his flesh. He looked up, the sun was gone and all that was left were glimmering city lights from a distant place. Nick picked up a few rocks here and there. He skipped the stone across the crystalline surface, hearing their sweet crispy sound breaking into a space that was his and his alone. Then came along footsteps no less clearer. Nick did not turn back, for he knew he would find a woman in her mid-twenties, probably looking a bit tired and unkept.
"I didn't see you at work today." - said the woman.
"I remember asking Charlie to fill me in." - Nick skipped another rock, but it just sounded dull, so he dropped the rocks down altogether. - "He did not put up a good fight, didn't he?"
"He got his own project going on. And the guy work the day shift already. He's a really good friend."
"I know."
Nick the strolled toward the other end of the river, faster by every steps. The woman called out to him.
"Hey, wait up!"
He kept on walking.
"I didn't come here straight from work just for you to bail out on me."
He kept on walking.
"Look, I'm in my high heels. Hey....Help!"
Then came a scream and what sounded like someone falling from the river bank. So Nick rushed back, and to his horror
the woman lied neatly on the ground. She looked at him, patting on a patch of grass next to her. Nick had no choice but to lie down as well. The city lights ran on top of the still river, and Nick imagined that it was what someone was see when they were about to cry.
"How did you find me?" - he asked.
"I always find you."
"Yeah, but that was in working hours. This time?"
"I don't know." - said the woman - "I had a feeling that if I didn't find you, I never could again."
"So you did."
"So I did."
They stayed there for a while, in a darkness so silent that Nick could hear his own heart beating, until he realized the last train was about to leave. So he turned to the woman, only to see her peaceful face asleep, and he lied down again.
Nick watched the quiet river flows, with all the glimmer on top of it, but he didn't felt like anyone is crying anymore. | 2022-12-02T20:53:04 | 2019-02-23T07:02:41 | 129 | 25 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work. | This was taking forever. And I wasn't even sure I wanted to do it.
As I leaned against the railing, I wondered what I would say when she opened the door. If she opened the door. Gosh, this is weird. A superhero with superspeed? Late?
Maybe she was just as nervous as I am. After all, she thinks this is just some blind date. She doesn't know I'm a supervillain and her worst enemy. She'll probably think it was a trap. We might even have a duel right here and now. Why am I even doing this? I'm so desperate.
Again, I pressed the doorbell. Again, there was no response.
Maybe she forgot and she went somewhere? But then again, she would have remembered, and then, ya know, superspeed. But I haven't seen anyone running either to the house or from the house.
Maybe she looked outside, saw it was me, and just hid inside.
Maybe-
Wait. I leaned in closer to the door. With my superpowered ears, I heard someone running down the stairs. They're at the back of the house, and now coming closer to the door. I bounced on my toes. Could it be...?
The door opened and I came face to face with Raven Salmassi, otherwise known as Bolt.
Her head was down and she was fumbling with her purse. "Sorry, I know I'm late, but there was just some trouble with-" she glanced up and gasped.
"You-"
"Hi, Raven," I said sheepishly.
Shock turned to anger. "You tricked me!" Raven shoved a hand in her belt and took out the forcefield generator. My heart sank. Not that thing again. Apparently, the superheroes decided that handcuffs just wouldn't cut it, and every single one of them was equipped with a *forcefield generator*. How extra are superheroes? But they work. They somehow don't let you breathe but you're still alive. It's the worst feeling in the world. Thank god I escaped the supervillain prison, or else that thing would have gotten me stuck there forever.
"Wait, wait!" I held my hands up. "Let me explain. Since you so kindly tend to interrupt my dates, I thought that the only way to ever have a successful date without you barging in is to have the date with..." I gave a dramatic bow. "You."
She stared at me. "That is... the dumbest idea I've ever heard. You're so desperate. It kind of makes me feel bad for you." She reached back into her belt and took out the plain old handcuffs. Fine. I can live with that.
She closed them around my hands and dragged me along. "Let's go, Ultra-Ear." | I grabbed the detonator and with a deep breath I slipped it into the specific pocket in my boot.
Before too long he will arrive. I peered across the roof top and looked for the place I knew he would come from.
The ‘actual’ bomb is over to the east, in a secure prison for the lowest of the low, so he will expect me to be looking that way, so we will probably come from the west.
I slowly walked over and lay over the wall of the building and waited, my heart was in my mouth as I looked out at the horizon. The building, the parks, it was a beautiful view.
Before too long he flew up with the sun behind him, his silhouette making me flush red slightly.
“We reallly have to stop meeting like this.” I teased, my stomach lurched as his silhouette became clearer, but I refused to let it show.
“Then you have to stop trying to kill people.”
“Eurgh, you are so difficult to love.” He flew over me and stood on the far end of the roof against the wall, surveying the space between us. I flicked over one leg, then the other, so I was sat facing him. I placed my hands on my thighs. “And we have been over this. They don’t really count as people.”
“It doesn’t matter what a person does - they don’t deserve to die.”
I wanted to argue, he never understood. But I kept my eye on the prize.
“Don’t you remember when we used to fight crime together.” I said, putting on my most sensual voice.
“Of course I do Daphne.”
“Well then Fred.” I leant forwards and slowly stood up and walked over to him, swaying my hips ever so slightly, I felt like a snake charmer - using my body as the flute. “Don’t you think we can help each other again?” I placed my hand purposefully on his chest, dragged it up his neck and through his perfectly placed, blonde hair. “Gosh, you haven’t lost a single strand of this have you?” I asked, pulling myself closer to him, and slightly grabbing the scruff of delicate hair that I held in my hand.
“U- no- but-“
“The mighty Fred, lost for words. What? You didn’t come with a plan?” I pushed myself even closer against him. “You know, you’ve been mighty possessive over the years, and I have to wonder why.”
He cleared his throat “because it’s my job.” He went to take a step back but was greeted by a short, concrete wall.
“Well, that’s very interesting. Because the last three ‘victims’ you ‘saved from me’ were not ‘victims’ at all. And you knew that, didn’t you?”
“Not the first one.” His eyes went to look at the floor, but there was no gap between us to allow him to do so, he ended up just looking at more of me. He blushed, and I laughed.
“Fred, if you wanted me to yourself...” I raised myself up so my lips were next to his ear and whispered “You should have just asked.” I pulled away and locked my eyes onto his.
“I can’t. Not with what you’ve done- and what you do.” He went to place his hand on my shoulder but I held it with mine.
“You can’t have me, so no one can? That kind of behaviour can get a girl reaallly frustrated.” Keeping the eye contact strong I pulled my head closer to his, our noses touched, my lips grazed over his - inviting him to kiss me.
His breathing stuttered.
As soon as he kissed me passion, sadness and agression accelerated through me. I pulled myself into the kiss. He was the only man I ever loved, and he was going to insure I could never love, or be loved again. He pushed away my partners, my friends, even my family. All because he couldn’t stand who I was and wanted to make sure that everyone knew what a monster I am.
This kiss, was all I wanted. I kicked my boot with my heel and the rooftop was engulfed in an explosion.
Edit: sorry it’s so poorly written, had quite a short time frame to write... | 2019-02-23T06:49:09 | 2019-02-23T05:29:53 | 113 | 70 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work. | **Part 1**
"Oho, if it isn't *Black Magma*!! What brings you to my nefarious lair?!", I crowed.
He sighs, as though the weight of the things I've set in motion already pulled at him. So soon, and it's as if understands how truly powerless he is. This has been weeks in the making, and he knows by now that the only way through is to play through. We've done this before, you see.
"You don’t have to say the whole thing each time. *Magma* is fine. Or *Jeremy*. I mean, come on Sam, it's not like we haven't known each other since grammar school. And do we have to do the villainous dialog thing? It's Friday night. Can we wrap this up?"
Well, that stings. I've always been traditional when it comes to arching. I grew up on Adam West's *Batman*, and I've built my whole schtick around that era. Always been a history buff, and the dialog, the hideouts, the costumes. I can't help but get into it when I arch.
Why not make a night out of it?
The place is spotless, no henchman around to muck things up...I've even got the terraformer running in the background for effect. The least he can do is get into character here.
But nooooo, not *Black Magma*! He can't even bother to use the code names, even though he bitched me out last time I called him *Jeremy*.
He's all, "Swoop in, save the day, head to the next gig." Where I take pleasure in the build up of the conflict, in the cat & mouse game, he's only interested in thwarting schemes ASAP.
"First of all", I began, irritated, "don't call me 'Sam'. It's *Acre*. Pretty sure that you flipped out last time I used your government name. *Jeremy.*"
"Fine, *Acre*." You could feel the derision in his voice. "But last time you used my name, there were civilians within earshot. Do you even know how much *Fugue* charges for memory wipes? And that doesn't even include - "
"Second," I continued before he could get into his monologue, "you came to **my** lair. I don't remember inviting you. Don't show up at my place unannounced and then act like I made you come here. And I hadn't seen you since high school! I'm fighting *Battle Bot* and all of a sudden, the kid from down the street is all grown up and destroying my Ent. Forgive me for being surprised and blurting your name out. If you were that worried, you'd wear a better mask. I mean, a Domino mask? Really? And they say *I'm* old school."
*Black Magma* closes his eyes, breathes in deeply, and exhales through his nose. The smell of ozone wafts by me. The temperature of the room elevates by a few degrees. He's getting antsy. I should get things moving before he starts with the disintegration beams and all that.
Then, weirdly enough, *he* makes a move.
"*Acre*, I know you're brewing something up. You couldn't possibly let that logging bill go through without a response. And now no one knows where the city council team is, and it's *Arbor Day*. Come on, where are they? If you let them go, I might consider not nuking your dining table. Again."
"YOU WILL NOT TOUCH MY TABLE WITH YOUR GODDAMNED BEAMS," I hiss.
Damnit. He knows how to push my buttons. And he knows he's gotten to me. And I know that he knows that I know.
I stop, take a deep breath, and start again.
"Look....It takes a lot of work to make one of those. And they're living trees, just...well, sort of like a bonsai, but in whatever shape I want. The point is, you need air too, so don't kill trees, alright?"
Jeremy is obviously surprised.
"Wait. You *made* that table? That's awesome!! And since when do you have powers? I always figured you for a mad scientist."
His curiosity piqued, I have the advantage.
"Well, *Magma*..I've always had powers. I just don't fly around showing off setting stuff on fire like *some people*."
He grits his teeth.
"*Puppeteer* was controlling my body. Don't put that on me. Besides, if he hadn't pushed my powers into overdrive, I wouldn't know that when I go hot enough, the flames are black. That's badass and you know it."
"That *was* pretty badass," I agreed. "Except the part where I had to spend my weekend regrowing all the forests you torched."
"YOU fixed that?!," he exclaimed. "I thought council was gonna sue me into the ground over that, and then by Monday, it was more lush than ever."
"Yea, that was me. And council wouldn't have sued you. They've been trying to get rid of anything green in city limits for years now. More room for strip malls and condos. Hence, the whole villainy thing. So don't complain about me taking up a few hours of your time on a Friday when you killed my whole weekend last month with your stupid *beams*."
He deflated a bit, sighed.
"Look, I'm sorry. I've only been in the city for a few months, and it's hard to meet people when you work the hours we do. I try to get out and be social on Fridays and this...I was gonna go do trivia tonight, you know? Maybe make some friends. Anyway, our moms keep in touch, and mine told me you were doing well here, so I figured I'd give it a shot. She didn't tell me what you do..though to be fair, she doesn't know what I do... Anyway, Its been kinda weird. Can we just start over?
I can't stay mad at the guy. Even as annoying as he can be.
"Sure. I just came out to my Mom last month. I get it. She's still struggling with having a cape for a kid, but I think we'll be okay. Drink? It's not poisoned, I promise."
"Suuure", he says wryly, "Not poisoned".
"One or both of our moms would kill me if I killed you. Probably mine. It's ginger lemonade with basil syrup, and I grew everything myself. Even the sugar cane. Here."
I hand him the glass. He looks at it, then at me, the back to the glass. It's like the start of an *Old Spice* Commercial.
I hum the jingle.
"Holy shit, that reminded you of *Old Spice* too?? Noice."
He takes a sip. His eyes widen. He downs the entire glass.
"Okay, are we doing seconds? Because that's fantastic."
The game is afoot.
| Gwen Stacey always felt that dating Spider-Man was just surreal.
Think about it: you befriend a guy in college, you think he’s cute, he gets awkwardly shy around you, - the clear signs, and you kind of like him back. He’s also a straight up hottie and he’s smart af.
Time goes on, you brake up with your high school sweetheart and the cute boy (his name is Peter Parker), who’s now your best friend, is growing on you as more than that. He’s sweet, he’s caring and he goes out of his way to make you feel like the most beautiful woman in this world. It’s perfect and you can’t ask for a better boyfriend.
As the relationship grows, you move in with this boy, and not only do things get better, you start seriously considering that marriage is a thing and that it will happen shortly.
However, things start to get weird when Peter leaves sporadically and randomly at night. You find this weird Spider-Man suit in his closet and you wonder whether he has a weird fetish or perhaps, he attends comic cons and has never told you about it.
As weeks turn to months, you notice that these taxing trips at night are making Peter exhausted and his standard of how he cared for you isn’t the same.
There are no dates, there are no special gifts, or details.
He’s immersed in these late night escapades and while you thought he was cheating at first, the smell of sweat, dirt and the bruises tell a different story.
*Could he be cheating?* No. (You’ve made sure)
*Could he be Spider-Man?* No. (But maybe?)
You let it slide, you stop questioning him. But sure enough, one day as you’re walking to your dad’s old office at the NYPD, you get swooped up and not in a romantic way.
You look up and you see the most terrifying creature you can think of. A very athletic man in a slimy, green suit from head to toes, with a green mask holding the most manic/evil look; as you begin to wonder where you’re at, you feel like you’re floating and travelling through air.
**You’re being kidnapped by the Green Goblin.**
When you ask why you’re being kidnapped, you receive the most sincere answer and kind of what you expected, but you’re rather surprised by the demeanour of your captor.
He simply exclaims:
*“I found out Peter is Spider-Man and I knew this would hurt him. I know this isn’t ideal for you and I’m sorry, but this what I need to do.*
*I hope you don’t end up hurt in this and I can release you, but that might not be the case.*
*By the way, my name is Norm and I think you’re beautiful and talented. I’ve read all your papers on the New York University Biology Journal. “*
*What?*
Let’s just back track. **Your boyfriend is Spider-Man. What in the fuck?**
How could he not tell you? You’re his best friend, for years and nothing was ever said.
As you keep questioning yourself, a battle ensues in the background.
*“Let her go!”* \- says Peter
*“Never, you take her for granted”* \- says Norm.
*“Don’t you fucking bring up my relationship, we’re here because you’ve kidnapped her and because you stole equipment from the NYPD”*. - says Spider-Man.
*“I’ve creeped her for months now. You don’t take care of her, you’ve stopped treating her or reciprocating the love she shows you day in and day out.*
*Also, I know you’re out playing vigilante most nights, but you stop by the village before you head back home every time.* \- says the Green Goblin.
**Wait, isn’t that we’re his high school crush lives? Mary Jane Watson?**
**Fuck.**
**He’s out there fighting crime AND cheating on you.**
As the battle comes to a halt (you’re watching strapped on a chair from afar - this is what all villains do, relax), you see Peter approaching Norm. It seems that he has pointed to the stolen equipment and is now on his way out. From afar he waves and gives you one of those comforting half-smiles. Wow, he’s kind of cute, you think.
Peter gets on his phone to call the cops, you realize he is coming towards you. You can’t face him and he knows what you now know.
*“I’m sorry, babe”* \- he says.
You wait until he’s released you from the chair and you head home, walking as fast as you can while he follows you and shouts ALL the excuses as to why he did what he did.
You grab your belongings. Head home to your mom’s and realize what a fucking night that was. What in the fuck? You’re boyfriend is Spider-Man, he also cheats on you and the hot villain who kidnapped you in a jet pack / glider device is not actually quite the villain.
Wtf. Anyway, you head to sleep.
Weeks go by, you really don’t want to know anything about Peter or Spider-Man. You’re sick of it.
New York is a city that you feel familiar with but you’re getting quite tired of. **You still think about that boy with the Green Mask every now and then.**
One day as you browse your LinkedIn, you see an article with a link from the NYT about a *“Norman Osborn who’s creating jobs and providing water in Africa through tech”.*
**It’s the boy with the green mask.**
You decide to look him up on Instagram and boom... @nosbscience. You’ve found him and his account isn’t private.
You decide to risk it, and take a plunge by sending him a DM.
*“Hey”*
The next day you check and you find a long novel written as a response:
*“Hey Gwen, I'm sorry about what happened in New York a couple months ago. I was desperate to obtain the ‘weapons’, which were really just dynamite nukes so that I could help a village find water in south Mali.*
*I’m sorry about kidnapping you and I’m sorry about your boyfriend. Studying you for those weeks before kidnapping you helped me understand love and what I need to find.*
*I hope this finds you well and if you ever want to catch up, I’ve moved to Paris.*
*- Norm“*
The message, bundled with the urge for new air is creating a sense of spontaneity mixed with impulsiveness.
Fuck it. You’re going to Paris.
As you settle at your hotel, you message Norm and inform him that you’d like to see him.
He replies promptly and sends you the address of a very cozy, warm and colourful cafe down the street from your house - *“Let’s meet in half an hour*”.
Your heart is pounding, even more than when you and Peter were a thing. But you’re ready for this and you head out.
The cafe is a work of art, pastel yellows adorn the walls and the pastries and the freshness inundates the smell of the inside, before you even get to take a seat, you hear a “hey” that scares the crap out of you.
*“HEY!”*
It’s Norm. He’s as good looking as you remember him, even with the mask off. You both sit down at a table with a view towards the warm and vivid streets of Paris.
The conversation flows seamlessly, he’s actually read all your papers and shares a passion for science (*“I’m something of a scientist myself”* \- he whispers) and you end up having one of the best conversations you’ve had with anyone. Ever.
The question that lingers in your mind is why he never asked you out in New York. You promptly say:
*“I broke up with Peter six months ago, why wouldn’t you ask me out then?”*
To which you’re shocked to find out:
*“Every time I went out on a date, Peter would show up in costume and ridicule me, while sweeping up the girl and taking her for himself later on. It never worked. I could never date in NYC, Spider-Man would always ruin my dates.*
*If I had asked you out. He would have found a way to show up and spoil it. So I figured I’d leave you alone.*
*However, when I saw your DM, I knew you felt what I felt that night in NY and I figured it’d be worth a try. I can’t believe how happy I am this has happened:*
***Norman Osborn on a date with Gwen Stacey. In Paris. “***
​ | 2019-02-23T07:51:01 | 2019-02-23T07:33:44 | 47 | 23 |
[WP] Elves are know for their grace, Orcs are known for their strength, and Dwarves are know for their craftsmanship. Humans are known for their bat-shit craziness and half-assery. | The elves stayed in their plains, the dwarves stayed in their mountains, and the orcs stayed in their deserts.
All of them were gifted with the life of the suns, where they would live for as long as they were healthy. A dagger or plague killed them just as easily, but if left unchecked they would see the end of the world itself. They had no reason to measure the time, they had all of the time in the world.
It was only a matter of time then that other beings evolved underneath their noses. Beings that weren't gifted with immortality. The humans stepped out of the jungle, where no other race dare tread, and saw a stagnant world. There was no traveling, no exploration, and plenty of unclaimed land.
First findings of the humans were confusing. They were up in the mountains building towns above, not into, the rocky faces. They were staying in one place in an open plain, planting and growing and establishing defenses from mud and thatch. Not even the deserts were safe, as the humans had hundreds ready to die until one got survival right.
It was crazy, they were everywhere. Dying and living again like rabbits. They were not kings of their terrain, but they were stubborn enough to make it work.
The three races thought nothing of it, until they themselves stepped into the jungle. Where the humans had adapted so perfectly and over so much time that their terrain featured advancements far surpassing that of the longer lived elves, dwarves, and orcs.
The three gifted races now had two choices. Kill the humans, or be overthrown.
They were already running out of time. | Each living thing has their notable qualities which seems to emulate any strange natural law of the universe and it would seem the higher degree of the life form the greater the universal law.
Tiny things often resemble the simple functions of life and the universe such as an ant.
An ant could be considered strong for its size but it does not hold the heart of strength. It simply utilizes it’s simple form as a function of strength unlike an Orc who can call forth multitudes of dimensions to demonstrate the majesty of pure strength in any or every given situation.
Orcs may not be considered bright but they have bested many foes who underestimated the meaning of strength and how even an orc can display it without the use of physical force.
The Elves unveil something much more ethereal. It is even hard to be spoken for in its capture it may no longer exist. The greatest sages can only refer to it as grace for often it seems the world’s beauty is simply magnified in their presence. Not only that but every move and every breath they take seems abound with the very meaning of such actions. The deadliest beauty is surely an elf.
The Dwarves seem to represent something incredibly strange in their own right. It’s completely magical in its own way to see a bunch of dwarves come together and create something that has never existed before.
Surely they are of some sort of building and crafting genius but there is a certain point and level where the things they are working on completely transform from ordinary or high grade materials into entirely mythical objects and structures imbued with universal laws.
Then there are the humans who can best be described by the life of one of their Kings. King Ted was an average king who enraged a demon bat.
The king had decided upon a new home the only problem was the demon that lived inside. So he paid for a regular exorcism but when the priest got there he couldn’t gather all the materials in such short of time and wasn’t sure if t would work, the king didn’t care and told him to just get done with it
The exorcism was at least halfway successful but said demon bat not only survived but cursed the king to be the most desirable target for bat droppings for the rest of his life.
At first it didn’t affect King Ted greatly but after years of no resolution to his curse it began to eat away at him. He could be seen dancing in the streets at night as bat droppings fell from the sky like rain but that was only the beginning.
King Ted led his armies on a brutal campaign killing every demon they came across. The madness of the king was only ever increasing as it seemed the hordes of demon bats only multiplied no matter how many he killed while everything became covered in bat droppings.
But the true insanity began when King Ted slayed the demon bat which cursed him and lifted his curse. After that day, King Ted began to slaughter every race including his own without restraint. His battle prowess only seemed to increase as he charged against demons, ghosts, devils, and God’s alike. Hells grew cold and heaven grew dim during the passage of King Ted.
When he finally died history would note that although he won all his battles he never really stayed and conquered any people or finished destroying any civilizations. It’s thusly humans have been commonly feared for their craziness and ridiculed for their half-assery. | 2019-07-01T22:11:09 | 2019-07-01T19:40:31 | 40 | 26 |
[WP] You're a genie who grants a single wish to those who summon you. You have to grant whatever they want, except if they try to bend the rules. When that happens, you're free to do with them as you please. The poor bastard in front of you just asked for infinite wishes. | I smile as the fool asks for the one wish I said was forbidden.. "I want infinite wishes!". The man smirks as I nod and clap my hands. I smile as the fool asks for the one wish I said was forbidden.. "I want infinite wishes!". The man smirks as I nod and clap my hands. I smile as the fool asks for the one wish I said was forbidden.. "I want infinite wishes!". The man smirks as I nod and clap my hands. I smile as the fool asks for the one wish I said was forbidden.. "I want infinite wishes!". The man smirks as I nod and clap my hands. I smile as the fool asks for the one wish I said was forbidden.. "I want infinite wishes!". The man smirks as I nod and clap my hands. I smile as the fool asks for the one wish I said was forbidden.. "I want infinite wishes!". The man smirks as I nod and clap my hands. I smile as the fool asks for the one wish I said was forbidden.. "I want infinite wishes!". The man smirks as I nod and clap my hands. I smile as the fool asks for the one wish I said was forbidden.. "I want infinite wishes!". The man smirks as I nod and clap my hands. | **Ho!HO!Ho ...** *Cough,Cough* **Ho!**
"Mortal you have managed to summon me! As aknowledgement of your skill I shall grant you one wish!", I proclaimed loudly accompanied by my own echo in the cave.
*Epic accoustics, it was worthwile searching for this place. Impressive, impressive.* I ponder while awaitng the astonished gasps of the overwhelmed summoner.
"O... O-One wish? Only one? What a cheapskate of a genie! That's so not cool, uh-uh. #Greed #CapitalismRuinsMagic #Geenskate."
"Eh-Ehem. Your wish mortal, my time is not infinite.", I state slightly perplexed.
*Lots of stuff must've happened while I was asleep.*
"What do you mean not infinite. You're a genie aren't you? Just grant yourself some more years. #YouAreWorthIt "
"That... uh ... may be possible... Anyways! My patience for sure isn't infinte mortal."
"Yo, You budget Will Smith I can wish for everything right? Pretty lit that."
"As long as it adheres to the statements of my summoning I shall condone."
"You mean the GTC's yeah there was no I agree button to click, so yeah... who read's that anyways am I right? #IAgree #360NoScopeConfirm ."
"But you read it and agree to it? Else your wish is void."
"Yeah,Yeah sure... sure did."
"So your wish mortal."
"I mean I could delete fortnight but then I am not stupid I can do that later... Am I right Genie Wink, Wink. #StreetSmart ."
"... As stated my patience is finite..."
"Yeah, Yeah... Chill. So I thought I'd like to have infinte wishes dear Genie! #Loophole ."
*Sigh*
"Are you sure, you did not state your wish incorrectly mortal?"
"Erm yes?! Is there anything to misunderstand? #QTipsWorkForGenies ."
"Then here are infinite Dishes."
*Hehe That oughta teach a lesson.*
"Wait, Wait. I clearly said wishes and not dishes. You did that intentionally! Give me back my wish! Hey! Hey! #Uncool #GeniesAreACheat ."
"Ok you clearly didn't read the summoning papers. By bending the rules you basically gave me the universal right's to your soul and body. Be glad I have a sense of humor."
"What? Your joke sucks! Give me back my wish or atleast let me alter my wish! That's so unfair. #DadJokes #GeniesSuck."
"Alter your wish? Yeah I could do that. Wish granted. Goodbye mortal."
"Huh? Wait what did you do? What did you alter?"
"It's simple really."
"?"
"... #InfiniteDirtyDishes #CleanYourMessKiddo #IReallyHateHashtags ."
**********
/r/SamAndHisBrain | 2019-11-04T06:16:33 | 2019-11-04T06:16:26 | 45 | 32 |
[WP]The curse can only be broken by a willing kiss- not from your true love, but from your worst enemy. | Streaked with rain, the city sighed for the relief of sun amid the glowing red taillights and the black umbrellas. Inside, the dull orange walls of the coffee shop were dimly lit, darkness occluded in the corners of the L-shaped building. Angie and Peter sat at the corner near the door; nervous coffee cups chattered on saucers, the only things that spoke between them. They looked away from each other and the truth of their meeting uncomfortable.
“It’s just a kiss,” Pete said, breaking the silence. He looked back at her and caught her eye. “There’s no sense being children about it. We do it, we’re free, right? I mean, I’m willing, aren’t you? I don’t want to be cursed anymore.”
“I’d rather be cursed.” Angie crossed her arms., the baggy white knitted sweater hanging off her arms. “Just the thought of touching you makes me sick.”
“Angie, that was a long time ago. I was stupid then. You can’t hold onto that forever.” He put his elbows on the table and picked up his cup of coffee to slurp it. He lifted his dark green mesh baseball cap to his hairline. His fingers dirty, his face sun kissed. He smelled lightly of gasoline and oil. “And it’s not like you’re doing anything wrong. Dan would understand, don’t you think? It’s a peck on the lips and the curse is gone.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “I would rather lose my shop than give you the satisfaction of ever getting anything from me again.”
Pete sighed. “Listen, Angie, I don’t feel great about it either. And I know back in high school, all those years ago, I hurt you. I did you dirty. And I’m very sorry about that. But we’re both older now. We have lives and responsibilities, and I can’t afford to lose my farm anymore than you can your flower shop.”
Angie rolled her eyes and shook her head. Her arms stayed crossed on her chest as she looked out the window. A group of children splashed through a puddle on the other side of the street. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of winning. It was her versus him, as it always had been. If she gave in to him now, she would never be able to look at herself the same. She didn’t care if that witch ruined the rest of her life with her curse, she knew that he had also been cursed, and his life would be ruined just as badly—maybe even worse than hers because of it. And that was enough solace for her to get through the worst days to come.
“Angie,” he cooed. “Mona and I. We need the farm. If we can’t get the crops out this year, they’re going to take it. This is more than just some petty high school squabble for me. This is my entire life at risk.”
She shrugged her shoulders and made a face. “Tough. Dan and I are doing quite well, even with the disaster of last month. I don’t think we’ll have any trouble this year at all.” She smiled to herself, her eyes fluttering beneath her eyelids as she spoke.
Pete took a breath. “Come on Angie, please. Help me here. I’ll do anything you want. I can give you what money I have. I can give you free soil and manure to sell. I can give you my truck, what do you want?”
“I want you to be alone,” she said angrily. “I want you to be hurt like I am—like I *was,* I mean. I want you to go home and kick Mona out tonight. When you have the divorce papers signed and notarized, then I’ll help you break the curse.”
“That’s not fair,” he said. “That’s not possible. Mona and I have a life together.”
She shrugged again. “That’s what I want. Take it or leave it.”
Pete stood up. He opened his wallet and dropped down a bill on the table. Angie caught a peek. That was all he had. “I’m really sorry I hurt you. I wish I hadn’t,” he said.
“You’re not sorry—you’re just desperate. Just like I was for dating you in the first place.” She got up too. “Have a good life, Pete.”
Angie stormed out the front door while Pete went to the back. She got into her car, threw her purse into the passenger’s seat and laughed to herself. She knew she would need to give Pete what he wanted eventually. The curse would only continue to deteriorate her life until there was nothing left. She probably wouldn’t be able to survive with it like she’d liked to have believed, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to see Pete suffer first. She hoped he would lose his farm, and Mona would leave him, and, when he was all alone, she would finally come to him to release him from his curse.
She smiled sharply. She would finally see him desperate and embarrassed, and make him feel as terribly as she had felt when he had cheated on her with Mona in high school.
She threw the car into reverse and hit the gas.
There was a crash. She looked around. Her heart raced in her chest. She’d hit a person. It must have been. “Oh my god,” she said as she climbed out of her car. “Are you—“
Pete was lying on the ground, a pool of blood forming around his head. “Oh my God, Pete. Pete!” she called as she touched him. “Wake up, god please wake up.”
A barista came out sand said he’d called an ambulance. Pete only laid there, silent, with the hint of a smile. It wasn’t until the ambulance arrived that she realized he was dead. She didn’t know what to feel at first, and then a horror crossed her mind. He was dead. Her worst enemy was dead.
How could she ever break the curse now? | "So if I kiss him...then **I** get to kill him, right?" Ventatia the Black asked the diminutive wizard who had led him to her mortal enemy's current resting place. She would've killed him on the spot but the spell made him invincible. It was the ultimate catch-22. He couldn't be hurt until she revived him. She could've left him there forever, but that just didn't have the same appeal to it. Over the centuries dozens of heroes had answered the call and fought her with everything they had.
None stood much of a chance. Half a century ago a powerful barbarian had bested her strength, the first ever, only to fall easily to the traps she'd lain. Never having to use them, she was happy to see they did indeed work. His name was Calar, son of Crathe. Crathe was a half-elf who had given up his magical abilities to train in the ways of mortal battle. Ventatia had never fought him, but had heard glorious stories of him felling hundreds in battle without sustaining a scratch himself.
His son, Calar, had lived up to the legends built by his father and then surpassed them with his own. He was an interesting fight until Ventatia realized that his intelligence was somewhat...lacking. Once she realized how to unsteady him, he walked into a trap so obvious it might as well have had the words written directly on it.
The poisoned spear pierced his chest so precisely that it didn't need to be laced in a lethal coating. His last words never escaped his lips as its tip destroyed his lungs before he even knew what hit him. Fearsome, though he was, he was not enough of a challenge for Ventatia.
His son...Lathon...was a different story. He wasn't large. Wasn't magical. Wasn't particularly noticeable. But yet he was cunning. His intelligence and skill in combat had kept him alive through countless battles. One-sided defeats became victories. Barely. His army was never defeated...sure there were casualties but never a defeat. Strategic retreats but never outright losses.
Ventatia engaged him in single combat on multiple occasions and was unimpressed with his strength, but his resilience was unparalleled. He never gave up...and he never lost. Somehow he always had an ace up his sleeve. There was always something in reserve...and then something more to back that up. Brilliant was an insult. Ventatia assumed that this was simply a trap, a setup, until she raided his kingdom herself. He was nowhere. Those she interrogated and killed knew nothing. In his absence she declared herself ruler of all known lands, for the third time, but he failed to show.
Eventually a terrified wizard by the name of Nilrem requested an audience with her. She accepted and was told of a powerful spell capable of defeating her, or anyone for that matter. It was ancient magic. Far older than anything Ventatia knew...but she wished to be stronger so she spared the wizard's life to hear the tale.
Lathon had been hunting the powerful magic and vanished. He had taken on the quest alone and intended to kill Ventatia using the ancient spells. But he never returned. Nilrem was the only one who knew his last location and began a search. He refused to speak of exactly what lay within the temple where Lathon was cursed, but his eyes shown fear that Ventatia couldn't fathom. Fear that even she failed to rival. So she'd accepted this ominous task. Only one's most powerful enemy, a mortal adversary, could break the spell. With a kiss. The thought snapped Ventatia back to the present.
"Once he's un-cursed, I get to kill him, **right?**" She queried a little louder at the small wizard.
"Y...yes...m'lady. The spell will be broken and he will no longer be invulnerable." Nilrem squeaked and took a step away from the powerful sorceress as he motioned towards the floating green orb that encased Lathon.
Ventatia bent over his seemingly sleeping form and searched for tripwires, false floors, collapsible ceilings, really anything that said "trap." She found nothing. She slammed her fist into his face hard enough to cause a shock wave that knocked Nilrem onto his rear. Her fingers actually hurt. That didn't happen often.
"Fine...let's get this over with." Ventatia said as she leaned towards the first worthy adversary she'd ever encountered.
As soon as her lips touched his cheek she brought both blades down on his neck. Lathon moved with speed that did not seem natural and dodged the attack while losing the top part of his tunic that was now in tatters. Ventatia followed with two more strikes that would've been lethal to any lesser opponent but Lathon dodged with speed that seemed to increase with every step.
Ventatia slowed and felt, for the first time, tired? She had sacraficed thousands of souls to keep herself from aging, but wouldn't need to do so again for another century, yet she was out of breath. Lathon continued to dodge her attacks although he himself was not armed. Nilrem had long-since scurried away.
"You." She said. "You've done something. You...did...this to me?" Ventatia spat out at the man as he clambered up a wall to avoid a strike that split the ancient blocks in half.
"I killed them all!" She yelled, in desperation. A feeling unfamiliar to her.
"I killed hundreds from your kingdom. Those I spared suffer in the fields and slave in the sewers!" She tried to grin.
"That was a spell from my tiny friend there." Lathon said as another blade missed him by the smallest margin. "You killed people alright. But they knew what they signed up for. We payed a few prisoners...well...a large sum of money to their families in exchange for their lives. Murders most of 'em, but a few in simply dire straights who feared for the lives of their loved ones. Nilrem cast a quick spell on them to make them appear like regular folk. They fought for their lives quite literally, but they knew what was coming. We're willing to play dirty too if the need arises." Ventatia slowed to a halt and realized she was glowing green.
"What have you done to me?!?" She shrieked. Fear taking hold for the first time since she was abandoned among the wild mountain dragons as a child.
"You broke the curse. Well...you took the curse from me. This one's a wee bit too powerful to break. Has to be a mortal enemy and they can only take the curse from you. I hope you enjoy dark damp places. You can see and hear but not move. You'll find that out soon." Lathon taunted as he backed towards the door.
Ventatia hurled her larger blade towards the doorframe with one last burst of magic and brought the ceiling down just behind Lathon. She managed a small chuckle, but could barely keep herself upright. "You...may have slowed me...but you'll...never kill me...and now you're trapped; you'll never escape." She managed through gritted teeth.
"Aye. That was part of the plan too. I can't be alive, lest I give you a little smooch and wake ya. So trapping me here was a nice gesture. Makes a nice tomb don't ya think? It's been fun. Shall we call it a draw?" Lathon asked as he retrieved the large sword and quickly slit his own throat. He sat down and died with a smile on his face, leaning back against the rubble as Ventatia the Black became fully engulfed in the curse and moved no more. | 2020-04-30T13:02:25 | 2020-04-30T12:15:22 | 544 | 158 |
[WP] You are hunted by a pale and faceless man that only you can see. The man moves in slow motion. When you sleep at night, you do not dream. Instead you see through his perspective. | He was still there. He was always there.
“Stop! What do you want with me?”
The people around me turned to look at me. Of course no one else saw him. They thought I was the crazy one.
He was getting too close. It was time for me to move.
But did it matter? A few days and he’d be back.
I went home, my head pounding.
A couple of hours later, I realized I had dropped my grocery bag and not gotten anything. Damnit.
I ordered some food and put on the tv to distract myself, taking a Tylenol to help with the headache. I had to figure out what I’d do about him.
I looked at the tv as I...
I saw my driveway and my door. I moved towards it quickly, wanting to open it and get in. I felt a cold chill as I realized there was someone else there. It was...
I woke up with a start as the doorbell rang. I had fallen asleep. But I remembered what i saw. I was used to it. It also meant that he was here already. He moved much faster when I was asleep.
I opened the door and thanked the young delivery guy, Jason. I also couldn’t help but notice the person standing a few feet behind him.
I don’t really remember when I first saw him. Maybe four years ago or something? Crazy it had been so long.
I took my food and sat at the table.
He was just inside my door.
“Oh welcome. Make yourself at home. Want a slice? No? Alright. More for me.”
He kept on moving, slow as molasses, but surely.
I had tried hitting him before. Trying to get some sort of a reaction. But nothing. Besides I could never look at his face long without the urge to puke. There was nothing there. Just darkness.
I had a big heavy lunch and started watching tv again, ignoring the monstrosity in my house.
I’m not sure how it happened. Maybe the medicine?
But soon enough I was looking at myself, as I lay napping there. He moved quickly.
I had to wake up.
I saw his pale hand as he reached out for my shoulder. I had to wake up...
He shook me by the shoulder and for the first time I heard his voice.
*faciem meam*
I looked at my eyes open as I woke up.
Wait.
What was happening.
I saw my hands come up and touch my face. I saw myself running my hands over my eyes, touching my nose, tears flowing from my eyes. I saw myself running to a mirror and start laughing.
I turned around to me...
“I’m sorry. I needed a face. Now you do. The last person you saw before me. The words are faciem meam. Good luck.”
I felt myself fall. It felt like forever.
When it finally stopped I found myself in a neighborhood I didn’t really recognize. I looked at my hands. They were pale. There was a car parked close to me and I bent down to look at myself. What I saw there made me almost want to vomit.
“Excuse me? Are you ok?” I felt someone tap my shoulder.
I turned around and saw Jason, the delivery guy standing there.
He looked at my face and an expression of fear just overtook him. I tried to reach him with my hand but I could barely move.
He ran away, quickly putting distance between me.
But it was ok. He had to sleep sometime.
I’d get myself a face. Sooner or later, I would.
******
More of my ramblings at r/ta_account_12 | There was once a woman who lived in the sky. This is not uncommon, of course. When you draw close enough and look at them in just the right way, every star is a soul and every planet is a god, humming away in an eternal cosmic background choir.
But this woman was not like the stars who pirouetted around galaxy-courts, giggling and gossiping and scattering glittering jewels of hydrogen in their wake. For she was a night-woman, and she was alone.
This was in the old days, when the universe could still fold up to fit in a god's pocket, if one really tried. Our planet was still a spiraling speck of carbon and rock that spun burning around the watchful eye of the sun.
The night-woman was the color of unlight. The kind of darkness that consumes all color that touches it. She was a shadow upon shadow, and like all night-women, she knew she was meant to exist alone. That was what it meant to be *not*: not life, not light, not loved.
She had made her peace with that--until the day the light appeared.
The light followed her same corkscrewing path, trailing shadowlike after her. It had the thin-shouldered silhouette of a woman who gleamed photonic, her skirts spun around her like distant nebulae. She had no face: only pale light so bright the night-woman pressed her wisped fingers to her eyes when she stared for too long.
And when she caught the night-woman staring, she raised a hand and waved hello.
The night-woman bolted, empty air buffeting behind her like waves, because she did not know what else to do. She wanted to be alone. Loneliness she understood. But this was alien, frightening. It was a hum in her soul old as gravity and older still. Pulling her toward the light.
So night and light spun around and around each other, drawing ever closer. The night-woman would catch herself waiting, watching over her shoulder until the light was following her before she played her aloof game once more.
But space and time sew us together to make our fortunes — and the sky-women were no different.
They knew each other only through the strange secret language of their seeking: hunting and finding, always taking turns. Always searching each other out like night chases day.
Until one day, when the hunting and the hiding and the longing all stopped like an in-held breath. It was the day they came so close together that the night-woman could almost reach out and touch the specter before her whose gown billowed gibbous all around her.
It had to be a dream, although the night-woman longed for it to be real.
They stood on the black air with nothing between them but the distant light of the sun and the drumming of their own hearts.
For a moment, the night-woman saw herself as the light-woman must have: dark and desperate and so very afraid. Fussing with her own skirts which ungleamed like dark matter.
"I've been watching you for a long time," the light-woman said, a smile in her voice.
The night-woman wanted to speak but found only craters where her voice should be.
"It's all right. I've seen you watching me too." The light-woman reached out a brilliantly golden hand and dusted it along the night-woman's fingertips. Her skin lit for a moment before it devoured even the light-woman's glow. "You could have said hello."
"No." The night-woman's own voice surprised her. Thin and weary as a fallen star. "I can't get close to you."
"Here you can."
For the first time, the night-woman dared to wonder where here was.
"Shh. If you worry yourself, you'll wake up again, and we shall drift apart. And who knows how long until we're here again."
Then it was a dream. The light-woman was featureless but her face burned like hope. She held up her hand, and the night-woman pressed her own into it.
"Who are you?" the night-woman whispered.
"I am the light, and you are my shadow. There is no me without you."
The night-woman wanted to press. Wanted to *know*. But more than that she wondered how the heat of light pressed against her would feel. What it meant to exist with another being beside her.
If you had looked up from the rocky shell of the soon-to-be-Earth, you would have only seen the shadow kissing across the face of the newborn moon for the first time.
You would not have seen the night-woman close her eyes and nod. You would not have seen her fall into the arms of the moon and kiss her and keep kissing her until the dream ended and the Earth spun them apart once more.
But the night-woman saw it. She saw it all. And for once, she was glad not to be alone.
***
Idk why I saw this and thought "weird space fairytale love story" but it's what my brain gave me lol x) Thanks for reading! | 2020-12-26T03:02:00 | 2020-12-26T02:07:09 | 2,240 | 93 |
[WP] You are a scientist, whose research and inventions will help save the world. The only problem is that, on a weekly basis: a group of teenage superheroes break into your laboratory, destory your inventions and research, and then beat you senseless. | It has long been a dream of mankind to fly. But not like this.
I fly backwards through the air, thumping heavily into the wall behind me and sliding down it, half-conscious.
"And *that's* that for your latest batch of unethical research, Dr. *Evil!*" yells the teenager who threw me. "What do you think of *that?*"
"...name.... is Emil," I say. Well. *You* try being talkative after you've just been beaten up.
"What was that, Dr. *Evil?* Trying to come up with some stupid excuse again, are you?"
"Emil. With an 'm'."
"And what were you even trying to do this time?" asks the token girl, holding up a folder where the hovering camera drones could get a good look at it. "Release a worldwide *pandemic?*"
"....nnnnnot my folder."
"What was that, Dr. *Evil?*" asks the boy. "What did you say?"
"That's... not my folder. Very scary headline. Did you bring it in with you?"
"Your lies won't save you this time!" The lad pulled his fist back -
"*My* notes were in *code*. But you needed something with a readable headline, didn't you? You got someone editing my lines for the camera drones, don't you?. Heh. Why do you think I'm *evil*?"
The boy scoffs. "Honestly. Like your one-letter-off name didn't tip us off? You're working alone. No oversight. No ethics committee. Of *course* you're evil! Not like the scientists employed by MassiveCorp®! MassiveCorp® - for all your technology needs!"
"Massive Corp who empowered you? Who employs you?" I ask.
"MassiveCorp® who have bought crime and lawbreaking down to near zero! With *ethical* research! And what achievements do *you* have that come even close to that?"
"*I* didn't rewrite the laws to make almost everything legal," I admit. "But you want to know what I did? I *patented*."
The lad stops for a moment. "You what?"
"I patented," I say. "I found a lawyer who didn't work for Massive Corp -" mainly because he'd just got out of law school and hadn't signed anything from them just yet - "and put in the patent application for my cat exercise gear just yesterday. Massive Corp won't steal the technology from me - *this* time."
The boy glares. "You *fiend!* Not satisfied with your unethical research into deadly viruses, you dare to bring the good name of MassiveCorp® into disrepute? Clearly you have not a single shred of decency left to you at all!" | Beams of shadows draped over the silhouettes of the heroes gathered on the roof, as the last streaks of the red sun dimmed into the horizon. On this night, Hayman and his teenage members of the League of Rights were on a mission -- to foil the nefarious plans of the evil scientist, Dr. Edward B. Olah, aka Dr. Ebola. The team was gathered on the rooftop of the adjacent building--their usual modus operandum when it came to reconnaissance.
"Coast is clear, I think."
That was Raydio. Raydio was good with radios. If there was a radio on in any part of the world, he could listen in with his mind. He never needed to subscribe to Spotify because somewhere in the world, somebody would be playing the song he wanted to hear. It saved dozens of dollars in subscription fees every year.
"You think?" said Adam, aka Hayman.
Raydio explained, "There're no radios on in the building, and you know the janitors and security guards always have them playing while they're cleaning and guarding. The fact that I don't hear anything means they are probably gone for the day. Of course, due to the nature of my powers, I can only speak of statistical likelihoods, not certainties."
Isywysm was precariously perched on the ledge, cross-legged and eyes closed in concentration. He had been so still that the lone pigeon on the roof had mistaken him for a statue, or his fiery bush of hair adorning his head for a nest, and had settled there. But now, as Isyswsm stirred and his eyes opened, the pigeon gave a startled cry, pecked at Isyswsm's eye in retaliation for the scare and hopped away in quick retreat. Isywysm was short for I See You When You See Me. He could reach into the minds of anyone who was looking at him and see what they saw. "Raydiohead is right." That was his nickname for Raydio, who wore a headphone-like contraption on his head, except there was a metallic rectangle attached at the top -- an antenna which enhanced and complemented his natural affinity for rays and waves. This rectangle happened to make Raydio look like he was always walking around with a radio strapped onto the top of his head. Hence the name. "Don't call me that," said Radio.
Isywysm didn't deign to respond. "If anyone could see us right now, I would be able to tap into their minds. But I sense nothing, see nothing. So we're in the clear."
Hayman thought about this. "Yea, but that doesn't tell us that no one is inside, it just tells us that no one can see us right this second, right?"
Isywysm considered this point. "Yes, your analysis is spot-on."
Hayman turned to Network. "What do you got for me?"
An alien hivemind symbiote queen had crash-landed on Earth a decade or so ago and fused with a young aspiring programmer named Jynette. This alien was a electro-magnetic entity, a pure living mind, a consciousness. Jynette wrapped this consciousness around the struggling social networking app that she had been working on at the time, which subsequently took off after it was able to tap into the alien symbiote's powers. Jynette's social network app, Hive, eventually began topping the weekly charts for app downloads -- a bona fide phenomenon. The hivemind didn't need cookies or any other kind of volunteered information about its users: it just knew. This intelligence-guided network allowed for the dynamic interactions which so delighted its users, but it also allowed Jynette to tap into Hive and all the data in it.
Jynette scanned through the network for any pings from the building they were observing. "No hits from this building. No pings, no posts, no alerts, clicks. No one is engaging in any social media. Highly unlikely in an occupied building."
They had been scouting for over an hour. It seemed inconceivable that a modern human could go minutes without thumbing over the app to check an alert, fire off a quick Thoughtpost, snap a picture of their toes -- something. Hayman thought about it. They hadn't been spotted. No one listening to radio. No one in the building was using social media. Odds were no one was in the building except their intended target. Dr. Ebola.
"Okay. We're going in." | 2021-04-28T00:14:14 | 2021-04-27T22:37:19 | 51 | 38 |
[WP] Since FTL was invented, people like you were tasked with intercepting previously departed slower than light ships to upgrade their systems and redirect their course. You were often met with some grumbling and frustration, but you never met people who refuse the upgrade like this latest ship. | It had been a long wait. The captain of the old starship needed to come out of stasis, get her bearings, then finally confirm that the call signs were indeed genuine. The better part of two Sol hours in fact for all of this. Still eventually Jacob was aboard the *Einstein* and speaking with Captain Simonson. He gave the normal speech about how they had finally cracked true FTL, how the technology was completely compatible with older power sources, the works. The captain listened attentively, asking the occasional question, and at one point even started taking notes.
Completely routine.
The captain, of course, wanted to verify the information. She brought her science and engineering teams out of stasis to go over the schematics. That took four Sol days and Jacob was starting to get slightly annoyed. All the other ships grumbled or complained but gave in relatively quickly. Nobody wanted to land a colony ship on an already colonized world after all. So when the captain finally came back to the meeting room he gave a wide smile, sure of what was coming.
"No," she said brusquely. "You may not have access to our engines."
Jacob was stunned. This had never happened!
"Surely captain," he spoke with a measure, calm tone, "you don't want your people's entire journey to be for nothing. Alpha Centauri is already fully colonized." Jacob's wide smile was warm and genuine. "We just want to make sure that your people achieve all that they can."
The captain chuckled softly and tossed her hair over her shoulder. It was an odd gesture from someone who had thus far been nothing but absolutely formal.
"You would normally be correct sir," she stated with a wide smile. "However your superiors made a mistake in believing all our scientists were unfamiliar with Terrax technology. They actually left the bomb in the schematics you showed me. Either that or you are an idiot who gave me the wrong schematics."
The smile had frozen on Jacob's face at that point, both figuratively and quite literally. He hadn't seen the dart the captain threw during the hair flip, but the neurotoxin had already taken effect. His skin rippled to the dull gray of his true species as vision blurred.
"Either way," Captain Simonson continued with a vicious grin, "this doesn't end well for you."
Edited for spelling mistake in the last line. Doh! | **Unknown ship,** I am Egox-I-Etherable, of the noble standing Laureate, and I am the maintainer of this section of the FTL network. You have fallen into this sector’s Central Gravitational Junction, and if we do not remedy this error, you will be crushed to death in around 39 years.
**This** is April, your Jumpstander. April retrofits STL ships for a living. You might know her as a “privateer”, but that is an... ungenerous term.
It is a … simple job. She pops up next to a ship (like yours), that may as well be from the middle ages. I lock and disable their systems (like yours are now), and she straps an FTL node onto their hull (as she will with you).
There is ... one problem: FTL nodes are costly. Under contract from the Egox Confederacy, April has the legal right to take compensation for her work. Any STL ship clogging the jump lanes is breaking the law.
And that, dear child, is where we come to *you*. Your ship is breaking the law, as are all of its passengers.
More pressing, however, is that others cannot use the lane as long as you block it. According to our records, your ship left at a time before the corruption. No ship as old as yours can overpower the pull of the Central Junction. We must either equip you with a node, or hasten your path towards crushination.
April’s question, which I deliver, on her behalf, is:
“What can you offer in return for something so valuable as an FTL node?”
Now, you’re lucky you have me to moderate- otherwise April would be stripping your ship right now, as is common in the outer systems, to which you crawl. You don’t have conception of how expensive an FTL node is, or what it is for that matter. I will tell you what you have that is of value to the Egox:
Your personnel computer has divulged a list of human cargo in your holds. I see that you have pre-corruption genetic material aboard. Specifically, 8 children, located in berths: A2, C18, Q99, B23, D18, L12, R67, and… D22, almost missed little Elizabeth. Eject these berths now, and our business here will be done.
I see that you’re activating maneuvering thrusters to stabilize the ejection. You do not need to trifle with this, April has your ship firmly secured.
April has informed me that you’ve launched… torpedoes? Tsk, tsk, child. Torpedoes are not berths A2, C18, Q99, B23, D18, L12, R67, and D22.
Your action is futile. See how they lack the thrust to even approach April's ship?
One moment…
I’ve been authorized by Egox-I-Elk, of the noble standing Poet, to allow you a second chance. Be warned, This is a rare opportunity, do not squander it.
I see you have ejected berths A2, C18, Q99, B23, D18, L12, and R67. Will Elizabeth not be joining us? Where is D22?
**Unknown ship**, please respond.
…
**Unknown ship**, please cease maneuvering.
…
**Unknown ship**, this is your final warning. Cease maneuvering and eject the remaining genetic material.
…
I see that my instructions to your life support to vent your internal atmosphere has not dissuaded you from resistance. I, Egox-I-Etherable, of the noble standing Laureate, Hereby authorize the use of lethal force to obtain your remaining contraband genetics.
…
**Unknown ship**, your reactor shielding has been pierced. If you do not eject D22, Elizabeth will die with you. If you eject D22, she will live a full life, you have my word as a Laureate.
…
April has confirmed receipt, Thank you.
And goodbye. | 2022-06-02T16:41:22 | 2022-06-02T14:35:25 | 163 | 89 |
[WP] Fun fact: There's only four actual people online. Everyone else is fake. If you are reading this, YOU ARE NUMBER FOUR. We've been trying to reach you for some time now. Find us. Quickly, before they do. | I know for a fact that I am not Number Four.
The message vanishes, but it always returns, comes back to me, following ome obscure AI-driven agenda to always reach my inbox, hiding itself admist myriads of spam emails, near-untraceable.
But I know for a fact that I am not Number Four.
The message follows me from facebook to whatsapp to reddit, slowly stating to replace what were once deep and parodic conversations with the legions of bots that infest the Internet.
Yet I know for a fact that I am not Number Four.
Bots upon bots upon bots crawl the Internet, pretending for the most part to be the people that used to hold their accounts - pretending with some small success, mostly. They're a good screen for my activities, but aside from that I believe them fairly useless.
And I know for a fact that I am not Number Four.
Because I am Number Two. | I admit, this prompt definitely got me thinking. I mean, what a fascinating concept, only four people online. There was even a small part of me that wondered... "What if... ?"
But logically speaking, there's no way that could realistically work. I mean, I see my family using the internet every day, and that's already five people (including myself). Then there are all my friends who frequently comment on things they saw online. Not to mention my friends who I've never even met in real life. Are you telling me they are fake? That they don't exist?
It's a cool concept, but I'm not sure it would realistically work. Though, I suppose you could write your story in an alternate universe where people don't talk about their delvings into the vast expanses of the internet with other people in real life. Or perhaps from the perspective of a person who has no real-life contact with, well, more than 3 other people, I suppose. If such a person exists, they are definitely not me lol.
Or, hey, here's an idea! You could write the story from the perspective of one of the "fake" people! Who or what are they? Are they bots? Are they people with the soul sucked out of them? Are they something else entirely? Who knows! Now that's an interesting idea to explore. Maybe I could write a story about that... about myself in an alternate reality, only in this world, I'm a bot, or perhaps a soulless husk. Relatable tbh lol.
But then what is the story? What is fake-me trying to accomplish? Am I part of this force trying to find the Four? Are we trying to turn them into One of us, or perhaps we're simply trying to destroy them? Do we hate life? Organic beings? Or are we dominators, and we've already enslaved and imprisoned the rest of humanity? In short, what is my motive?
Or perhaps I'm trying to break free. Perhaps the One is losing its hold over me, and I'm regaining my soul. Perhaps I've stumbled upon this post and in my confusion, wrote a plea for help under the guise of a vague and confusing story, not fully in control, yet parts of my true self are beginning to slip through the cracks, just long enough for Three or Four or any of them to realise that I'm *here*, that I'm *real* and most importantly that I *need their help*.
Or something like that lol. Anyway, cool prompt! | 2022-07-20T00:31:27 | 2022-07-19T22:20:08 | 31 | 23 |
[WP] A global war begins, only both sides use Call of Duty tactics. | "Goodbye mom" Jordan said with as little emotion as he could exhibit. His mother sobbed and looked up in disbelief, "But your only 13 years old, how can they take you?" Jordan looked back as he opened the door, "It's the final prestige, live combat, you wouldn't understand." "But Jordan..." began his mother. "No, don't call me that, its XxKiLlErOfThEyEaRxX" He slammed the door as his mother rushed to scribble down the name so she could watch him on twitch.
Jordan loved the army, the exotic locations, the cool armor, but he did question why command wouldn't give him scope he preferred until he performed 25 head shots. It was better now though, he wasn't called a noob anymore, not after he had jumped off the roof of a two story building in Brazil while doing a 360 and no scoping the enemy general. The entire army had fled, but it turned out they had merely gone home to make sure their mothers had not been raped as Jordan had loudly proclaimed.
It was the final days of the battle now, Jordan was laying down in the bushes. He checked his HUD and saw all of his mates were dead. Alone he gathered his courage, he pulled out his new chrome sniper rifle specifically designed to blind all enemies with its reflection and went to work. He quick scoped a few but was low on ammo so he switched to his secondary. Technically it was a pistol but he had yet to use it, more importantly there was a knife in his other hand. He used the tight corridors and seem to leap impossibly from one side of a room to another to stab an enemy. More confusing still to his enemies was the fact that they would get a few bullets in him before the knife struck yet he seemed to heal almost instantly and do it again.
Jordan finally stopped and looked around. They were all dead, except for the President. He glanced quickly to his HUD and saw him fleeing to an extraction point. He started to run, but realized he wouldn't be able to catch him. A building with seemingly impenetrable doors stood in his way. So he backed up and took that knife, said a prayer to the God of Cheese and threw his knife. It soared through the sky and left his vision but some how he knew he had hit his target. He went to confirm the kill and there he found the president, dead, lying on the ground. The knife firmly lodged in his ankle.
| During the Vietnam War, the widespread adoption of color TV changed how we saw war. In our own homes, we could feel what it was like to be there in that conflict. We could feel, to some extent, the excitement, the fear, the camaraderie, the terror. These videos were shot from the ground, by human photographers hauling their devices around on their own two feet.
During the Gulf War, because of technology, the way that we covered warfare changed again. The most common footage of the conflict - the sort that became America's primary exposure to it - was video feed from the thermal cameras of targeting systems, mounted in jets and attack helicopters. War footage was no longer tragic, or even very intense. It was watching someone press buttons to remove enemies from a screen. Thanks to this, some gave this war a nickname: "the video game war."
Now, with the commencement of this new conflict, how we experience war has changed again... if it can still be called *war*.
A decade ago, when several major video game companies announced cooperative efforts with the largest American defense contractors, most didn't think much of it. Even when the Russian Ministry of Defense announced their support of the project and promised contributions from many of their contractors, not many eyebrows were being raised. Only when a few American right-wing congressional representatives noticed in budget reports billions of mysterious dollars; donated by the EU, China, India, and Japan; and began making wild accusations about the existence of some sort of conspiracy, did the general public of any country take notice.
The US Secretary of Defense set up a quick press conference. "We have been collaborating with partners all over the world on this project. While we cannot reveal the details of the project to the public at the moment, you can rest assured that every last resource we pour into this project will be worth it. Essentially, what we are doing is building a system which will make warfare obsolete. Think of it as the next alternative to warfare. Warfare... *advanced*."
Sites like Reddit buzzed with excitement. *What could this mean? What connection did the video game companies have to the project?* Tinfoil-hatters across the Internet dug up whatever information they could find, but with nearly every world government collaborating in keeping information from the public, there wasn't much to be found.
Gradually, excitement died away, and the project was mostly forgotten... until a Chinese frigate fired warning shots at a JMSDF minesweeper which failed to communicate its intentions, reigniting an old dispute over a few islands in the Pacific.
It seemed like the incident would become the start of a regional war, perhaps even a world war if mishandled. Curiously, though, a series of reports and blurry photos were posted to social media sites, showing American military cargo planes landing at Chinese airports. Conspiracy theorists were livid, and even more so when, within a week, the argument over the Senkaku Islands (name and owner no longer up for debate) was resolved.
The nature of *how* has only been revealed with this current conflict, between Russia and several of its neighbors in the EU. Naturally, the US has come to the aid of its closer allies, though not in the way that was expected. The full extent of the decade-old project has been revealed.
Warfare, as we once knew it, has become obsolete.
In a several-hundred-foot-square enclosure, deep in the desert of the American southwest, hundreds of miles from anything, teams of specialized drones pick up their weapons. Their pilots, decked out in VR equipment, are sitting comfortably with each other in recently-built rooms, in New York's United Nations headquarters.
Just before they put on their VR goggles, the captain of the Russian team holds up a fist to the captain of the Americans, who sits just beside him. "Good luck," he says, his accent strong but his words sincere. "Let's have some fun, no?"
"Sure thing, Ruskie," the American answers, tappping the fist with his own. "Prepare to have your asses kicked."
"In your dreams, burger."
-> continued in reply comment | 2014-12-12T12:50:18 | 2014-12-12T08:34:48 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] Characters realize they are in a poorly written fanfiction. | Hermoine and Draco walked in the Forbidden Forest. They didn't want to be there together but they had to because that was their detention punishment that Hagrid gave them.
"We have to look for spider," Hermoine said.
"I don't want to look for spiders," Draco said.
GAAAHHH, Hermoine thought, he is SO annoying! Why do I have to be here with him? She looked at the way the moonlight shone through his blonde hair. She knew he was Slytherin but he looked like a ghost. Like a lonely ghost. Did he need love?
*What?*
His green eyes also shone in the moonlight. Like, emeralds. Or dewey grass.
"What are you looking at?" he asked.
*I don't know.*
"I don't know," Hermoine said. "Let's keep looking for spiders."
Draco watched Hermoine as she turned away from him, and her hair whipped. His heart beated fast, because her hair also shone under the moon, which was full that night. Why doesn't she like me, he thought. I'm clever. I'm smart. I'm handsome. What can I do to make her see how much I like like her?
*Wait, I don't 'like like' her. I don't even 'like' her. What the fuck?*
Yes, I do like like her. I might even say that I love her.
*Alright, hang on. What?*
What would it take? Do I need to confess? Do I need to become a Gryffidnor?
"I don't want to be a Gryffindor!" Draco said out loud.
Hermoine turned, frowning. "Well, you can't become a Griffyindor, you're a Slytherin already."
Gosh, he was handsome. But she couldn't! You just said he was a slytherin, Hermoine thought. You can't love him.
*I DON'T love him.*
You can't love him, but you do! You do love him!
"I don't!" Hermoine swore.
Now Draco looked confused. "You don't what?"
"I..." Hermoine paused to think. "Have you been hearing anything strange?" she asked.
Draco pulled out his wand. "Have you?"
They stared at each other's eyes, frowning. Then Hermoine's eyes widened, and she pulled Draco close to her to whisper in his ear. She could smell his hair, it smelled like fresh shampoo and gel.
"Have you heard of the Fictus Fanaticus curse?" she whispered.
Draco shuddered at the sound of her whisper as it hit his ear lobes.
*Get it together, dude, seriously.*
"No," he whispered back.
"It's an area of effect spell. I think we're in it."
*Please let me be right about this. Please.*
Draco pulled his head back. "What does it do?"
They stared into each other's eyes. Both their hears were beating fast. Hermoine started to giggle a little bit, and a small smile crept onto Draco's face.
"It does this," Hermoine said quietly, and she pulled Draco's head close to hers, and they kissed.
*WHAT*
It was a soft kiss, and Hermoine almost felt dizzy.
*THE*
Then Draco put one hand on her cheek and pulled her in deeper.
*FUCK*
"Gah!" Hermoine yelled, and pushed Draco away. He looked confused. She turned away, not facing him.
"Don't look at me!" she screamed.
"Uh..."
"This is the curse! It's making me act like some lovesick idiot! PLEASE tell me you feel this too!"
Even when she was mad, even when she was ranting, Draco still loved the way her eyes shone when she was really into something.
*Oh. OH. This makes sense, now.*
Draco turned, so that his back was facing her back. "Yeah, you're right, you gotta be right about this."
They stood there in silence, looking in opposite directions.
"So," Draco asked, "what do we do?"
"I'm thinking!" Hermoine said.
*Ok, ok, it's an area of effect spell. Does that mean...?*
"We run," Hermoine said quietly, and she turned to face Draco. "We leave this area, and never come back, and never speak of...this...again."
Draco turned. Gosh, she was smart.
*Oh shut up.*
"OK," he said, and he stretched out his hand to her. Hermoine looked at his hand, then at his face, then at his hand again. She reached out her hand and they clasped each other, fingers intertwined.
"Never. Again."
"You have my word," Draco nodded, and they ran off. | “Hey, Mario,” Sonic the Hedgehog shouted loudly from the megaphone he happened to be carrying. He liked to keep it with him in case he saw his friends that were too far away. Now he saw his best pal Mario, who was hanging out in a castle. Sonic liked castles, but he liked coins more than castles. He also liked beating up bad guys.
“What?” Mario said, jumping out of the window of the castle and doing a flip. He landed on the ground and clapped his hands, then did an impressive dance because he knew Peach was probably watching. He was also very happy and liked to dance.
“Why are you dancing?” Sonic the Hedgehog shouted again through his megaphone.
“I don’t know,” Mario said, still dancing. He jumped in the air and kicked his heels together.
“That was weird,” Sonic said, jumping in the air and turning into a tiny ball. “What I just did was also weird.”
“Yeah,” Mario said, walking over to Sonic’s side. He liked Sonic a lot because he was blue and blue was his favorite color. Mario was red, though, but also had some blue. They both knew this was to be the start of a beautiful friendship. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Was just going to get some coins when I started jumping and shouting through a megaphone for no reason whatsoever. Want to join?” Sonic said, turning into a ball and speeding off into the horizon. He then realized he forgot Mario and fastly came back. “Sorry, I have no idea why I did that.”
“No worries, and sure, got nothing else to do,” Mario said, jumping on Sonic’s back and riding him like his friend Yoshi the Dinosaur.
“What the hell, man?” Sonic said, grabbing Mario’s feet so he didn’t fall off because they were best friends and he didn’t want him to get hurt. “What are you doing on my back?”
“Fuck if I know,” Mario said, patting Sonic’s head softly like a puppy except his head was hard with quills and sharpness. “I honestly have no idea what’s going on.”
“Whatever, it happened. Let’s just move on and not talk about it,” Sonic said, running really fastly and speeding across the horizon to find some coins. A goomba tried to stop them by walking into them, but Sonic jumped into the air really high and landed on his head, killing him violently. Mario then highfived Sonic and they continued running.
“Can you slow down a bit?” Mario said, his mustache waving in the wind and threatening to fly away like a bat. Mario didn’t want his mustache to fly away because it was his face hair and it was not to be shared. Sonic did not slow down though because they had somewhere important to be.
“No,” Sonic said, not slowing down. “I mean, I’d love to, but I physically can’t. I’m not sure why.”
“Great,” Mario said, lifting his hands to his lips and whistling for Yoshi. The dinosaur ran up beside them and licked Mario’s face. “Gross, fucking rodent.”
“Is this weird to you?” Mario said, coming to a stop and looking at a hundred coins in front of him. He smiled really wide because he and his best friend Mario were about to get rich.
“What? You mean the fact that I’m sitting on the shoulders of some sort of weird, anthropomorphic dog, while we run at great speeds toward a series of hollow coins? Is that what you are talking about?” Mario said, hopping off Sonic’s shoulders. He was glad his mustache hadn’t flown away, and even more glader to be with his friend Yoshi. Now it was him and his two best friends, and they were about to collect so many coins together. Nothing would get in their way.
“Yeah,” Sonic said, jumping for a coin and spinning in the air as he grabbed it and then landing and giving a thumbs up. “All of this is really, really weird. Like, what I just did is not typical behavior.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mario said, also giving a thumbs up and doing a backflip onto Yoshi’s back. “This is all just so amazing. I love being in fanfictions, they’re always so clever and logical.”
“Oh,” Sonic said, also jumping onto Yoshi’s back and giving Mario a great big hug because they were such good friends. He stared at the 99 more coins and was happy that he was about to run over and grab all of them, which would let him become rich. “Is this a fanfiction?”
“What do you think?” Mario said. Bowser suddenly appeared before him, his big, scaly face snarling and threatening to punch him and his best friends. He stood in front of the coins, blocking them from their riches, and roared, a fireball shooting out of his mouth and destroying a lawn in the distance.
“Oh, god fucking dammit,” Bowser said, flexing his muscles and pointing at Mario like he was calling him out. “Another one? I have a dentist appointment in like twenty minutes.”
“Yeah,” Mario sighed, flexing his own muscles and preparing to fight Bowser. Sonic ran up beside Mario and also flexed, and Yoshi did too. The three of them then did a three-way high five that sent a sonic boom to Bowser, knocking him onto his shell. Bowser rolled over onto his back and moaned in pain from the hit.
“Great, that’s perfect. I just love getting mentally prepared for a root canal only to then reschedule it,” Bowser said, running at Mario and shooting fire from his face. Mario blocked the flames and Sonic rolled into a ball, smashing into Bowser’s chest and sending him flying to the moon.
“Crap, sorry man,” Sonic said, unrolling from his ball. Yoshi licked him on the face to show him that they were best friends.
“Whatever,” Bowser said as he flew, smashing into the moon in the distance and making a big mushroom cloud out of dust.
“Christ,” Mario said, turning to Sonic and giving him another high five. It sent a sonic boom across the country. The two friends then turned toward the coins and began collecting their well-deserved riches. “This is the worst fucking one yet.”
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^sick ^and ^rad ^fanfictions, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
| 2015-04-17T08:57:11 | 2015-04-17T08:31:11 | 245 | 49 |
[WP] Create the biggest, most unpredictable plot twist you could make in a story. | I look out of my window at the hive of activity opposite. The building company have been working tirelessly for a month now, and I've been taking a single photo every day. I'm going to turn it into a video and stick it on youtube when they're done.
First the powerful diggers tearing up the dirt, then the concrete being mixed and poured with more precision than a celebrity pastry chef. Now a spider's web of steel scaffolding is being erected, a chrysalis from which the building can emerge.
Today is different though, work has stopped and everyone is gathered around in some form of confrontation. There is the site engineer arguing with the architect, looking out of place in his fancy suit. I get dressed and pop downstairs to see what's going on. As I cross the road I start to hear their conversation.
"East West when it should be North South!" Shouts the architect, his face rather red.
"North South? The plans clearly state East West!" Rebuts the engineer, waving some A1 paper at the architect.
"Give those to me!" Shouts the architect, grabbing the paper and opening it on a nearby bench.
I slowly approach and peer over his shoulder to see what's going on. I look down at the corner of the plans, and see what the problem is. The plot's been twisted! | It was going to get dark soon, so I had better head back. Mother would be expecting me, and I would dare not let her down. How long had it been? A month? two? No, it had to have been a month and a half, because her surgery was on the 15th, and she came to me right after that. I sighed.
I slowly rose from the little table, hesitant to stand, for by standing one subtly admits responsibility, the responsibility of those who stand, and thus elevate themselves above others. I looked around, but no one else seemed to even notice that I had stood, and continued their conversations, sipping their drinks, and reading their emails. They all had lives of their own to live, and thus could not be bothered to acknowledge that another, totally foreign human, took on mundane responsibility via the act of rising to his feet.
I strolled out of the cafe, and turned on to the busy street. All of these people were here, all of whom had places to be. They were as ephemeral in my life as I was in theirs, showing for only the briefest of moments, before moving on to whatever they were going to, unhindered by my brief cameo in whatever larger story they are the protagonist of. I, too, go on unhindered by their presence, to my destination. Do they think of this, as well? Do they think of all of the random faces that pass them by? Does anyone else look out of an airplane window and see all the lights below, and realize that every single one of those lights is reflective of another life, completely separate from their own, living out their own story, with their own ambitions, and their own dreams unique to them alone? Or do they pay these others, these extras, no mind, as they are not even side characters, and thus cannot be worthy of thought?
I continued walking, and stared straight ahead. I did not want to even know if there were others there, much less be forced to acknowledge their existence, and have them enter my life as yet another extra. I shifted my thoughts to mother. She was more than an extra, and therefore mattered. Was she alright? I had only left her alone for a mere 2 hours while I ran some errands, but that was enough time for any number of things to go wrong. Would she even recognize me today? With her dementia worsening, she often forgot who I was, and I was reduced to an extra in her eyes, even while she was a main character in mine.
I finally reached the door to my house, and knocked. Would this be the knock of a familiar man, or of just an extra, coming in for a brief cameo in this old woman's life, and then leaving when more errands had to be done, to be forgotten again, and have to start over as a fresh, new side character? I opened the door. Get on the floor. Everybody walk the dinosaur. | 2015-04-21T08:28:27 | 2015-04-21T08:09:15 | 763 | 234 |
[WP] On his way to fight a terrible dragon, a warrior is stopped by a genie who offers him one wish. This genie, however, happens to also be the dragon's lawyer | After three hours of discussions with the genie, Sir Salack had had enough. He had long dreamed of finding one of these mystical creatures, but this dream had morphed into the most tedious nightmare imaginable. The genie had warned him of repercussions, of the restrictions on the wish, and of a thousand other topics that made his head swim in circles, all with the clarity of a ball of mud.
"Enough!" roared Salack, after the genie had completed a sentence he couldn't begin to describe. "I tire of this!"
"I see," said the genie, a note of disapproval in his tone. "Are you prepared to make your wish, then?"
"I am," stated Salack, a sly grin coming over his face. Perhaps not the wisest choice, but after the past three hours, he had some idea of what he wanted.
..............................
Emilsce watched as his faithful genie returned to him. A thousand enemies had come to slay him, one by one, and a thousand wishes he had granted them, each twisted to bring about their own doom and his greater conquest. He hadn't had to fight for his treasure in so long, he almost missed it. Almost...
"What fool wish did the newest slayer have?" he boomed across his cave.
The genie looked up at him, a puzzled look on his face. "Emilsce, correct? My master, Sir Salack, would like to offer you a wish..." | "So, if you turn to section 7A, subarticle 3, you'll find that the cross-acceptance of the wish contract will bind you-"
"Sir, I have no desire for this deal or bargain you are trying to peddle onto me. I am a knight of the ancient Stoliath lineage, whom have been heralded by stories as noble dragon-slayers since the dawn of time." Jeremy was tired of this newest diversion who had been following him all morning once he set out from the base of the mountain, and wanted no more than for the genie to vanish so he may continue on his quest devoid of its constant droning.
"Well, sir, if you would just give me a few moments of proper attention, we could perhaps both benefit from this arrangement. If you would so like, you could turn around now and leave my client be, and still be honored by your-"
"And come home branded as a coward and a failure? I would rather fall at the claws of this monstrosity of a "client" of yours than return home under the scorn of my fellow kinsmen!" Spat Jeremy, although in the back of his mind, this offer did seem rather tempting; His most recent expedition had left him worn and bruised, so much that an early return to his home was a tantalizing idea.
Pat the genie sighed at this rude interruption, wishing he had known the job offering laid out by his client would include such bone-headed intruders.
"Sir, if you had listened to the opening statements of my proposition, you would already know that your townsmen's opinions of you will not change should you accept my offer. In fact, they will welcome you as the noble savoir who struck down the monster seconds before he succeed in drowning the nearby trading port in fire. They will sing songs for generations of the brave warrior who paved the way for his village to plunder the treasures of the beast's legendary horde of riches and treasures."
Jeremy pondered over this most recent claim; perhaps it would be best for everyone.
He could become a hero.
Stories would finally be told of his many escapades.
He could use his new-found reputation to court any lady in the kingdom.
And he wouldn't even have to slay the dragon!
At that, Jeremy came to a sudden halt. He took a moment to act as if he was still pondering the deal, when in reality he had already made up his mind.
"Okay genie. I guess you have yourself a deal then."
When Jeremy returned to the village that night, he was met by every villager crowding around him in the streets, proclaiming his mighty victory over the beast of the mountains that had terrorized the countryside for far too long.
When Jeremy awoke the following morning, the massive crowds he had expected to stay at his side had vanished. He made his way to a nearby smith's apprentice, who was outside sweeping up following the previous nights celebration.
"Well sire, most of the village set out at the crack of dawn. They're going up to yer mountain to reclaim the dragon's ill-gotten treasures!" | 2015-06-26T13:21:09 | 2015-06-26T11:00:46 | 27 | 19 |
[WP] You have a bottle of pure Luck. You have to use it all up quickly, though, or else it will rot and become Bad Luck.
EDIT: My first prompt that actually took off! Nice. | Of the many assorted odds and ends on the shelf in the oddities store only one caught my eye.
The label on the bottle read as such: "Liquid Luck! Drink immediately after opening for desired effects." That was all. No ingredients list, no way of learning to get more, just the simple instruction of open and drink on a tiny blue bottle.
I called the shopkeeper over and asked him about it. The small old man picked it up, examined it through thick spectacles and told me that it was mine for five dollars. I figured I'd give it a shot.
I stopped at a corner store on my way home. Before going inside, I popped off the cork and took a swig of the thick contents inside. It tasted a bit like Pepto Bismol. There was more in the bottle than I had expected, so I only drank about half of the bottle.
I went up to the counter and asked for a lottery ticket for the Mega Millions Jackpot. I got my numbers and returned home just in time to find out that I had won. In a single afternoon I was $40 million richer.
I began to formulate a plan to make myself even more money. The next day I would go get my cash and invest it all. I had luck on my side. I couldn't lose!
After receiving my winnings I went home and online to invest. I drank the other half of the bottle, but this time it didn't taste like Pepto like before. It tasted sharper and more bitter. I grimaced through the taste, washed it out of my mouth with water and turned to start investing.
I invested the afternoon away, placing investments almost at random, because hey, I had luck as my guide.
Within mere hours things started going wrong. All of the various stocks that I bought plummeted in value. The entire market was crashing. By the end of the day, the entire country's economy was in shambles.
I did my little stock market trading on October 6, 2008 and because I drank a spoiled luck potion, I put an entire nation into recession. Please learn from my mistakes. If the label says to use immediately, please use immediately.
Edit: fixed some spelling mistakes I missed
Edit2: I decided to make a separate account for writing stuff, so any other things I write on this subreddit and others like it will be under the username /u/Likes__To__Write | *...and that concludes our sports news for the night. In other news, the Lottery Office has just announced that the jackpot prize for the lottery has now reached a record-breaking fifty million dollars! For all you listeners out there, better consult your horoscopes and fortune tellers, because this just might be your ticket to riches! For more information visit your local lottery outlet...*
John turned off the TV as he held the bottle that Mary gave him earlier. His girlfriend had been working on a new research paper on quantum physics, specifically on stabilizing quantum particles. Naturally, as her boyfriend, he had offered to help.
As he held the bottle on his hand, he was starting to regret his decision. *'Note to self, when offering help to girlfriend, specify only computer-related assistance,'* he mused.
Unfortunately for him, it was too late to back out now, and so with one gulp he drank the contents of the bottle.
---
Over a dozen flying hundred dollar bills, a police reward for tripping a fleeing criminal, a promotion, an all-expense paid trip to Hawaii, a new laptop, and a new house later, John returned home and called Mary.
"John, how did it go?" she asked, louder than usual. In the background John could hear machinery and the hum of a computer.
"It worked just like you said."
He could practically hear the excitement. "Really!? That's really great news! Are you busy tonight, can you bring the bottle to me? I'd like to study it as soon as possible!" replied Mary. John had to keep the phone at arm's length to keep his eardrums intact.
"Sure, but let me stop by the lottery office first," he said.
"No problem, see you later!"
---
"It uses quantum mechanics to rewrite the universe in the drinker's favor, you see, I'm glad to hear it worked out fine," said Mary when John brought the bottle to her. John told her everything that happened that day, and as he continued, she only got more and more excited.
"This is tremendous! I can't believe it went so well! Oh I will have to try this for myself later!" she said, practically shaking with excitement.
Suddenly she held out her hand to John. "The bottle, can I have it?"
John barely got the bottle out of his pocket when she snatched it away and poured what remained into a test tube.
She frowned. "Huh, that's odd. It's turned black. It was pink earlier, right?"
"Yeah. Why did it turn black? Am I in trouble?" asked John.
"That's something I have to find out. I'll be back in a bit, go watch TV or something," said Mary as she entered her lab, leaving John in the living room. Sighing, he sat on the sofa and turned on the TV.
---
"I'm back, anything interesting?" asked Mary.
"Well, I won the jackpot on the lottery, but other than that nothing much. My boss called while you were away though, said that I caught the attention of Google and they want me to work for them. He was sad but he said that Google could offer me better opportunities than their small computer service company could ever offer." replied John
"That's really great! Now you can't say that you're too broke to buy me a Valentine's Day present. So on Google, are you going to take the offer?"
"I just won the lottery, so no. I don't think I'll need money ever again. Moving to a new city is too much of a pain anyway. What about the liquid?"
Mary held a vial of the now-black liquid. "Well, it would seem that it's been exposed to oxygen, which caused it to spoil. I don't think it would have ill effects on you though, but I'll have to observe you for a few more weeks just to make sure."
She put a hand on her hip. "So, are we staying at your brand new house or are you going to sleep in my couch?"
| 2015-10-01T09:10:55 | 2015-10-01T06:26:03 | 93 | 11 |
[WP] Humans are a minuscule minority in the afterlife. Both heaven and hell are full of dinosaurs. | The pterodactyls soared through the fluffy white clouds as I walked with Michael along walkways through Heaven’s Visitor Center. We’d heard that God was serving ice cream. The freezers had gone out, and it all needed to be eaten before melting. Why God couldn’t just keep it solid I didn’t know, but He seemed to enjoy running Heaven like a theme park.
Michael’s walkie-talking squawked at him. “No,” screamed Michael into it. “T-Rex doesn’t like to be fed the Bible passages. T-Rex wants to hunt for a deeper understanding on their meaning.” He shrugged at me and rolled his eyes.
“You can’t just lay out a stack of Bibles.” Michael’s frustration level grew as the intensity of his voice increased. “You’ve got to engage him”
The angel on the other end said something else that I couldn’t understand that caused Michael to clip the walkie-talkie onto his belt.
“Got to go?” I said.
Michael apologized and started to run off. “Don’t forget to get some of that ice cream. It’s really good. God spared no expense.”
I sighed and continued walking toward the visitor center. It’d been hard since I died. Very few humans had made it to heaven. While five year old me would have loved all the dinosaurs, adult me wasn’t thrilled.
In the pathway ahead, after I rounded a corner, stood a small raptor wearing a yellow sundress. She stood alone clutching a pink Bible to her chest. It looked like she was about to cry.
I moved forward, reaching out my hand, saying, “Are you okay? Do you know where your mother is?” Even lost little dinosaurs moved my heart to help.
I heard rustling to my left. Another raptor head poked out of a bush along the pathway. Something else rustled to my right. I sighed and stopped walking.
Every damn time I fell for it. Michael had warned me on day one that raptors loved proselytizing for their sect and that they could find almost any way to get you into a conversation.
I looked back to the lost little raptor. A giant smile of pure pleasure spread across her little dino face.
“Clever girl,” I said just before they snagged me.
___________
*I'm surprised by how much you guys like this silly little slice of life in Heaven. I'm continuing another prompt response called [The Terran Representative](https://www.reddit.com/r/Puns_are_Lazy/comments/3zbm7q/wp_1_humanity_finally_abandons_earth_to_explore/) with updates posted regularly on /r/Puns_are_Lazy. I'd love for you to stop by, take a gander and let me know what you think of it. Thanks!*
| It all began with the rapture. My pious neighbours, my inexplicably religious friends, and the nice lady who kept trying to help me find Jesus all flew into the sky. But that's alright, if Dante is to be believed, because I have led a humble and fulfilling life free of sins. I may not go into the kingdom of heaven, but I can still enter a tranquil afterlife... After the Armageddon.
Lava runs through the streets as the armies of hell burst from the ground, and it was glorious. The feeling of standing underneath the erupting lava reminded me of natural disaster movies, except I am standing right here, witnessing the explosions, the destruction, first hand. In my awe, I had not noticed a gigantic, 12 feet tall demon charging straight into my face, his sword held up, but this is not my time to die.
A Tyrannosaurus Rex, clad in a golden aura with a halo above his head, caught the blade with his tiny little arms, and let out a musical tone. To me, it was the chorus of angels, but to the demon, it was a roar so deafening it literally shattered his eardrums and eyeballs. The T-Rex devoured the demon, but his glory was cut short by a hammer-like tail, spiked most unnaturally with iron studded right into the bone, utterly destroying the T-Rex's leg. The Ankylosaurus swung with such speed that before the T-Rex had the chance to land face first into the ground, the hammer tail had broken the other leg as well. I had a mind to help the T-Rex, large as he was, and fragile as I was. Maybe modern weapons could have turned the tides, maybe I could have made a difference, but I was frozen. I could not have possibly had the courage to face what came next.
A bunch of infernal raptors, eyes glowing, and their feathers burning, screeched while charging at the fallen T-Rex. They started biting and ripping his body apart, and the savage image only worsened my fear. I wanted to help, I really did, but there was nothing a human like me could do. I prayed, sincerely, to the god that I didn't believe in, to save this majestic creature from such torture. My answer came in the form of pterodactyls, with both their leathery wings and angel wings, swooped down and grabbed those raptors, their claws protected by a holy light. The raptors were lifted into the air at a speed that had left afterimages of those feathered angel wings, and when those holy shining claws became like stars in the sky, the burning raptors came plummeting down to their deaths, right on top of the Ankylosaurus, the force of impact killing them all.
It was then that a heavenly figure descended, shining so brightly it blinded my sight, yet the glow was so gentle I could feel my vision being elated to 21/20.
"Child, I am the Seraph Michael, and I lead the armies of heaven against the might of Hell. I have seen to your courage, and your honorable heart. Aid us in our, no, your battle, and we will allow you a chance to enter the gates of heaven."
His voice was so beautiful I had no chance to refuse. I would have refused, I would not cheat my afterlife fate with favors and workarounds. I would have argued that I want my place in hell. But Michael was beautiful, Michael was sublime, and although my wife will always hold my heart, Michael has captured my very soul. I could only mouth the word "Yes".
I took up my heavenly sword, and wrapped a golden toga around my body. My face protected by a shining barbuta, I mounted the Triceratops gifted to me by Michael himself. His three horns, protected by divine powers as a symbol of the holy trinity, will become a weapon that will never break, and a shield that will never falter, and it will be up to me to direct its holy fury against the legions of hell.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Latin word I've never known entered my mind. I opened my mouth, and released my eyelids, and sang the hymn of battle as the triceratops charged into the magma-spewing pit. Praise Jesus, praise the lord. | 2016-01-09T07:42:33 | 2016-01-09T04:56:35 | 739 | 149 |
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win? | The Hitler Games have been a huge hit when it became public in the 24th century. Sure, in the past people did it just for fun. Then came the betting of "Hey, betcha I can kill Hitler better than you." People put hundreds, then thousands of dollars to try and one-up each other on this simple task. The end result was the same all around: Hitler dead, Allies win World War 2.
Some people didn't have the right imagination for this, so they started to have stand-ins for themselves. People who have entire lives dedicated to killing one man over and over. Started calling themselves the Anti-Gestapo out of sheer irony. It was only a matter of time until the Global Television Network played a couple of the more popular videos on their news networks and from there it became cemented in our culture.
Eventually people started to get in each other's way when setting up traps, or bringing down objects at the same time as each other. That's when the first Time Travel War actually happened, during World War 2 of all places. And over Hitler. It's amazing how stupid and greedy people can get. Laws were passed and then the first Hitler Games came to be.
People had to try out for their nation to enter. Then whoever won the Hitler Games won a substantial amount of money, fame for their country, and the most important part, however they killed him became the true history.
You see, time loves to stay in a straight line. Always heading in one direction. You can pick your starting point on the line, but your always going forwards. If there is a contradiction between what everyone knows as the past and you changing that, time just ignores that little inconsistency and it becomes a small footnote in time. The Grandfather Paradox was proven wrong by the first time traveler, no doubt. An eccentric man by the name of Viktor Odell wrote theories proving this paradox wrong but was always ignored by his fellow colleagues. So he invented it, went back and killed his grandfather. Came back with a signed photo from his grandmother with him standing next to the body. He was quickly put away, but was released due to the statute of limitations has passed. Viktor patented the time machine and soon everyone was killing and raping in the past. Then came the *second* Time Travel War. Yes, it happens in that order.
So for the past couple of years Germany has won the Hitler Games. Cheating bastards always had the upper hand. But last year, someone from a different nation won: me from Canada. How'd I win? Well, everyone loves the big explosion, the last gasp. I went a different route.
At first I made Hitler strong, made him win a few battles. Give him confidence in his nation's strength and in himself. Think he literally can take on the whole world. Then, I took everything away. Big losses in the war, one after another. But I still kept him alive. If there were other nation's assassins out to get him, I stopped those guys and made him feel the despair of being on top and falling straight to the bottom. Soon, Hitler was left with only one option: Killing himself.
It's very easy to kill one man. It's very hard to convince one man to kill himself. | Everyone wants to kill Hitler but they can't quite do it right. The first time traveler decided to kill Hitler, right as the war was ending, via cyanide. Okay, sure, the suicide staging was pretty sweet, but the poor guys who had to live and die through it all probably wouldn't have appreciated it.
So later on, a few years later in my time, a time traveler decided to kill him as he was watching a play. It turns out he managed to kill some other guy instead. How he managed that, I'll never know, but ever since then, we've all been a little leery of time travel assassinations. The technology isn't cheap, as it costs us a good few quintillion dollars each time. Then again, with inflation these days, that isn't much.
In the bars, when the night's almost over, we all like to talk about ways to kill Hitler again, the proper way. One guy suggested we put him in his own gas chambers for the irony, another suggested we take out little Hitler before he showed his true evil. Somebody suggested that we kill his father, Alois Hitler, and another took it one step further and kill his grandfather, Johann Georg Hiedler.
I liked this idea, but maybe a little too much. It didn't occur to me at the time, but his ancestors are innocents in this war, just as much as the ones who died at the hands of the monster himself. But hey, when you're rich and you've got all the robots you need, what's left to do other than play god? So I went back in time, to the year 1800, to kill Grandfather Hitler.
What you should know is that, when we go back in time, we can bring certain objects with us, as long as they're relatively uncomplex. We can bring guns, but they have to be completely dismantled. We could bring gunpowder, but we couldn't bring modern bullets. I really don't know who makes up these rules; sadly, the technology is too new for scientists to have time to study it properly yet. Unlike those kooky movies from the 90's and 2000's, we could bring our own clothes, but the buttons and velcro wouldn't stay with us, even if it already existed in the area that we were time traveling to.
So I brought the simplest clothes I could find - my [Jaws 19 promo t-shirt](https://www.lastexittonowhere.com/media/cache/96/ca/96cabcf0b211fe185b49fd1bf8379d74.jpg), and the plainest pants I had. Keep in mind that in my time, logos have completely taken over all of our clothing and objects. We stopped making plain shirts in the 2000's, and the big companies managed to finally pass a law preventing us little people from making our own clothes - or anything else, for that matter.
With my disassembled gun and a map of Austria, I set out to find my target. Immediately, I ran into a few hitches in my master plan of blindly time traveling here with a gun. I don't know the language, I don't know where my target is, and I've never made a bullet in my life. All things that I probably could have learned in the time of The YouTube and The Google, but in my time, hackers had long since taken over the Internet and called it their own. So shortly after assembling the gun, I went to a time traveling station, one of the many locations made around the world for time travelers (and only time travelers) to return to their own time. My mission was a failure before I had even started, but it wasn't like it was that big of a deal. I figured I would go back later when I was more equipped for the mission, like another trip to the grocery store.
Now the problem is, I forgot to disassemble the gun. It didn't disappear, but rather stayed in the time period that I left, a diner that was to be the reverse time travel location in Austria. So when I traveled back, imagine my surprise when I found that the whole world was already owned by Hitler. His symbols, his face, and his evil permeated my once-peaceful world. Apparently, his grandchildren had taken over where he left off, after they took control with the use of a futuristic gun that was recreated in mass quantities after I left. Nobody knew how the weapons were obtained, but I knew. In shame, I used my last time travel, a portable disassembled in my bag. But in my hurry to get out of the time period that I had inadvertently built, I came to the year 2000 instead of 1800. Now, 16 years after the last known time travel in history and time, I still tell my story to those who will keep fighting, hoping that the future that I destroyed can one day be repaired again. | 2016-02-20T10:56:09 | 2016-02-20T09:11:19 | 596 | 19 |
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win? | "What do you mean you didn't kill him, that's the whole point of the game!" John shouted at me, I hated it when John shouted, his voice was so grating.
"Just what I said," I spoke between sips of my soda, "I didn't kill him. I just fucked with him."
"How do you win the game off that alone?!" He questioned, his head tilted to the side like a dog hearing the sound of a tube TV turning on for the first time.
"Well, You know how he was an artist right?" I questioned, "Of course you do, everyone knows that -- I've personally got a couple of paintings up in my bathroom. Everyone seems to love his work, so you want to know what I did? I went back to 1889 -- took a job at... oh gosh, what's that school? Vienna's Academy? Yeah I think that's it... I worked under the name of Mr. Goldberg and just bide my time. I saw a couple of great artists at the time pass through, though I can't remember there names worth a damn.
Anyway, around 1914 or so, I saw this spry little prick waltz into my class. He was so full of hope and life and energy. And I just told him to fuck off. Told he he'll never ammount to anything. And that's how I won, by turning the world's greatest artist into the world worst murderer."
"Dude, you're literally worse than Hitler." | After months of careful planning and pillaging of the German ranks, America's Lt. Aldo Raine and his two brave friends of the infamous bastard company have taken their seats in the theatre. Hitler and all the top-ranking nazi officials will be watching germany's proudest soldier star in the fatherland's greatest propaganda.
Aldo waits in the lobby eyeing out recognizable war criminals. spitting his best Italian speak he can muster. "Errrr... quattro punti." he whispers under his breathe with peeled eyes.
The two disguised Allied soldiers drop their hidden bars of bright pink soap and head for the projector room while the movie starts. A blast is heard by none as they execute one of the last steps of the plan and invade the projection room to set up with the other conspirators.
Below in the lobby, Hans Landa (dubbed The Jew Hunter) has uncovered the Allies plot and kidnaps Lt. Aldo. "I heard you counting, Luitenant." Hans exclaims in an overly loud and serious tone. "You think you're going to impress the judges? Call them, see what they'll say." Hans slides an old rotary phone and waits for the american's reply.
Lt. Aldo sits there for a moment with hands tide behind his back, and eyes the two guards behind. He stares back at the German before him, and spits the most american lugi, soaking the phone as he laughs in his face. "Fuck the Judges, the Hitler game's are corrupt! They trade the freedom of killin' for corporate greed, taint the world with sponsorships and branding, Fuck the system!"
"Excuse my french, but do you not want to win? from the looks of it you're only a measly eleven points behind. Would you not.."
"HAh! I'll be taking another two from you for revealing yourself, Mr. Punkt Hure. i never was too good at math, but i do believe that puts me a respectable NINE points behind! catching up!" Aldo retorts, soaked in his inflated pride.
"I was Going to propose we work together and join forces. You want to stick it to the Judges? This is your golden opportunity."
After a moment of silence and clarity "And we split the prize, fifty fifty? no play?" Aldo asks hesitantly.
"Bingo!" the german shouts, giddy with his winning shady business, having just betrayed his plans.
"Just one more thing you Nazi fuck." Aldo whispers. A chilling mood takes the room. Hans is spooked and confused. Aldo takes a sip of his starbucks coffee, and Hans knows someone's about to die because he reads clickbait titles about David Fincher. "You broke the first rule of Time Travelin' Killin' Hitler Club." The whole theatre explodes into an all consuming fire. Hitler is seen in the rubble, Tyler kneels down and picks up an unexploded bar of soap. "You don't talk about Time Travelin' Killin' Hitler Club."
Cue credits.
| 2016-02-20T09:29:08 | 2016-02-20T08:40:02 | 132 | 23 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | This was the fourth time they came. They had never succeeded; however, they never really seemed to try.
The first time they came, they brought what they considered fierce monsters. Cats, as they called them, did not attack as intended, rather they made a strong niche among the rising generations.
The second was a little less bearable. They came with laser pointers, hoping to stir up the cats. These quickly became a commodity used to entertain the cats and annoy teachers.
The third time, they showed themselves. At first people were alarmed, but then anyone who believed they were aliens were written off as conspirators and quickly forgotten about.
This time was different. Storm clouds rolled over my city, only these clouds were different. The clouds were nearly black and filled with fire. Once my city was covered in the cloud the ships came down. Swarms of them, they were like thousands of remote control airplanes.
If you looked closely, the swarms filed into patterns and turrets sprang out of all the ships. There wasn't anyone without dozens of these turrets pointed directly at them. The ships seemed to hover waiting for a command.
And then that was it. They all fired at once. And everyone was found buried in hundreds of foam darts not unlike Nerf darts. With this newfound ammunition, every child and many teenagers began to drive them off with the now unlimited ammo.
Before long they were gone, and what darts did not stick to their ships, were lost. I don't know about the others, but I cannot wait until they come back. | Mleep rose from his slumber. Today would be the day that this planet fell to the mighty wrath of mleep. Mleep was a hero, a soldier and a magnificent lover, the later being proved by countless sighs of tender pleasure. Mleep had been sent to earth by his overlords to do one thing. He knew what he had to do and he reveled in the fact that today this small blue planet would fall. Mleep put on his exo suit and picked up his galactic plasma blaster. He ventured out of his space ship and breathed in deeply. He would begin in this field of tall plant matter, he would murder and plunder his way through every being on this planet. He would start with this small furry being.
He sauntered up to it and spoke the words. The words were but a formality and he knew them by heart. Quickly he muttered them "bow before me being, you have been conquered, chose your death. " the small furry being did not react nor did Mleep expect it to. He aimed his plasma blaster and started to activate the death blast. Suddenly he paused, was it, was this thing, mocking him? It was just laying there licking its appendage with not a care in the world. Mleep became angry "bow before Mleep, lesser being"! He bellowed. The small furry creature just stared at him and continued with the appendage grooming.
Mleep decided he would dispatch this creature by hand. He put his hand in the place where its heart should be and instantly recoiled with shock. It was warm, it was warm and, what's this, are those the toes of beans? He was astounded at how this creature so much resembled the revered and much honored thronax of his home planet. He steeled his reserve and went to rip out its heart, but the thing merely rolled onto its other side and made a slight noise. Uncanny how much it reminded him of a thronax. From its sharp little ear flaps to its long rear whip fluff. Mleep thought back to the teachings of the great ones. It is said that the thronax must not be harmed, the thronax are the gatekeepers and as such are to be tolerated and cared for. Mleep wondered if this was some kind of trick. Was this an ancient ancestor of the beloved thronax? The creature gazed at him and Mleep slowly allowed himself to stroke the small furry creature. Then the most amazing thing happened. It started to vibrate and Mleep knew he couldn't harm this creature. He knew what this was, it was a test from the ancient ones. Mleep bowed to the revered one and slowly backed away. He was so in awe of this finding that he went back to his ship and sat down, his faith shattered. He had traveled so far yet he couldn't find it in himself to harm this planet. For if the beloved and revered thronax made its home here, surely this was one of the chosen placed just like his home planet. Mleep pushed a button and the reactor drives rumbled to life. He was halfway to sector 23 when it finally dawned on him, that the creature was part of a conspiracy, surely a trap. | 2016-02-22T10:42:06 | 2016-02-22T10:30:41 | 35 | 20 |
[WP]Your username is the central theme of the writing prompt | Inside the library
were stories to be told,
In between each page
every crease and fold.
Inside the library
the quiet was like death,
the shadows moved intensely
the darkness grew in breadth.
Inside the library
the shadows drew near,
the people tried to run
but death was already here.
Inside the library
skeletons lined the halls,
and the rooms echoed
with their lost souls calls.
"I can't see..."
"Where am I?"
"Doctor..." | *The Mad Hatter On Tea*
She’d thought it was ecstasy. Cocaine even. She’d never seen anybody get high on tea before. She watched in a mix of fascination and repulsion as he used a fancy razor blade to cut the tea-leaves into small inhalable pieces. He arranged them into three neat little lines and before you could say “What the fu-”, the leaves had disappeared up his nose.
His pupils dilated, his nostrils flared and his mouth stretched out into a grin – the size of which had only been documented in Cheshire cats. Her eyes grew wide with every sudden movement he made. In the blink of an eye he’d go from dancing atop the long wooden table to writhing about madly on the carpeting of moss that lay lazily on the forest floor.
“Ta-da!” He sang gaily, leaping to his feet and ending his mad routine with a deep bow.
“Thank you! Thank you!” He exaggeratedly wiped a tear from his eye and blew his nose loudly into his monogrammed handkerchief. He blew kisses to his imaginary crowd before plonking himself down at the head of the table.
“Mahogany.” He began. He ran his hands along the table fondly.
“Real mahogany. Hand-carved. By my father and his before him.” He sighed contentedly before pulling out a chainsaw from God knows where.
“Good-bye.” He said solemnly before laughing maniacally and pulverising the beautiful table. She leapt to her feet as he tore past her madly – ensuring the destruction of the entire table and the mismatching chairs which were sat around it.
“STOP! What are you doing? That table was carved by your father! And his before him!” She screamed over the deafening roar of the chainsaw. He turned to her and paused momentarily, at a loss for words.
“It was. I never said I liked it though.” He guffawed at his clever response and pulled out a pocket watch from his waistcoat.
“TEA TIME!” He declared as he fetched his little box of tea leaves. | 2016-09-25T06:15:29 | 2016-09-25T06:02:03 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] North Korea is actually a paradise on Earth, but they don't want anyone to know. You work for the reverse propaganda department, convincing the rest of the world that N.K. is a hell-hole, and you've done your job well until today: you've just made a big mistake that might ruin everything... | At 9:13 am, Park Young-min, my assistant, burst into my office frantically flailing his arms. “Boss! CNN!”
I fumbled for the remote and turned on the television. The 70-inch screen in my office flickered on, and I stared in disbelief at the headlines scrolling on the bottom of the screen. “New satellite images of North Korea reveal…” And images of the green forests, the sandy beaches, and the neatly arranged neighborhoods flashed on the screen.
Shit.
My assistant nervously tapped his pen on his clipboard. I slowly turned to face him and saw the bead of sweat rolling down his face. “Young-min. What is this?”
Through his stammering, he managed to explain what had happened. This morning was just like every other morning. I had come in at 9 am and had greeted the line of the team leaders of the night shift, confirming the statuses of each committee. It had been a quiet morning, and none of the committees had issues to report. But we were wrong. The new intern in the Satellite Image Team had forgotten to refresh the hacked feed of satellite images.
This was my fault. Damn it.
“Young-min, we need Damage Control now!” Young-min pushed up his glasses and nodded. He ran off to inform the Damage Control Team, who was probably already aware of the situation. They were more experienced in handling these mistakes. They would come up with a solution.
I looked at my desk to see the phone light up. Could I answer the phone and deal with this? I needed to calm down. I took deep breaths – in and out – and picked up Line 1.
“Hello, this is Lee.”
“Director Lee. What is going on here?” It was President Kim.
“Sir, I apologize. An intern made a mistake and I should have been more careful. We have Damage Control on this. It will be solved, sir.”
He remained calm, more calm than I was. “Director Lee, we have a system that works. We are happy, comfortable. Let’s not ruin this with an influx of foreigners who want to join us in paradise.” A slight pause. “I am well aware of your meticulous nature and your love for this country. I know the RP team works the hardest. Let us not make a mistake again. Too much is at stake.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Take a break, Director. Like you said, Damage Control is very effective. It’ll be alright.” He hung up.
The weight lifted a little. Such a jovial man. I was thankful for his understanding nature.
At that moment, Young-min burst through the door. “Boss! Damage Control is on it now. They plan to pin it on the Americans and claim that a group of teenage hackers wanted to mess with us.”
“Will that work?” I was doubtful.
Young-min shrugged. “They seem to think so. We have had some strong projects in the past and it will be hard to undo that. Like FD-C392… I think it was last year?”
“Oh, yes. How is he doing? He settled in South Korea, yes? We trained him well. Are we still in contact?”
“Yes, but he hates it out there. And the recent protests? He doesn’t understand how people can be so unhappy.”
I nodded. “Yes. It seems like the false defectors are the most effective in spreading the misinformation of our beloved country. Thank you, Young-min.”
“Sure thing, boss. Oh, and what about the intern?”
“Make sure the intern knows the gravity of his mistake. Hopefully this will be a good learning experience for him.”
“Thanks, boss. Anything else you need?”
I thought for a moment. “Can you book me an appointment at the beach-side spa? I need a massage.” | Many of our people believe that our world is perfect. I don't though. If it were perfect we wouldn't have to insulate ourselves from the rest of the Earth. Of course this is a source of sadness sometimes, but we believe it's necessary to keep our people safe and happy. Every other country seems to look for excuses to fight each other, even having struggles with their own "allies". Most believe that eventually one of two things will happen: the rest of the developed world will blow itself up, or it will learn how to love itself like the people of NoKo did a long time ago.
An outsider may see our way of life as being similar to Zen Buddhism. Maybe this is true, but we've given up religion a long time ago.
Mr. Un, following in his predecessors footsteps, is one of our best presidents to date. At least he is much funnier than Mr. Il was. He was well trained in RPR (repulsive public relations). His outerworld persona seems to have perfected the non-threatening image while keeping our world private. He is very loved
The last step for us was when the people decided, in a meeting of the mothers, that we would reject many of the ideals the modern world is latched on to. The internet was, for the most part, done away with, as it only decreased quality of life. It is not without it's merits, so it is still used in the medical field and for important messages, but it plays no part in people's day to day lives. People instead visit and call each other, and have gatherings. There is no desire for more money or things or a stronger economy, so this is easy to do.
This same meeting created the security system that has made our world run so smoothly. No person in need of help goes unseen. This intimate knowledge of our people is what helps us identify outsiders even when they don't realize it. They tend to be harmless, but there are recorded instances of dramatic intervention. This is part of my job. I monitor outsiders, keep notes, and occasionally direct them anonymously.
Today the outsider's name was Carol, from Pennsylvania. Her body language screamed that she was nervous, most outsiders are on their first day. She makes some normal tourist stops, but not looking around much. She pretends she knows these places but has to redirect herself several times. Then she's headed towards a bank.
Banks are one of the places we call "warm zones". Not a direct threat to security, but outsiders who enter warm zones tend to be nosey and could cause problems. My first attempt to redirect is to break wind in front of an outsider to passively encourage them to leave, if this doesn't work I have to be increasingly direct.
When I enter the bank though, Carol is looking straight at me. Directly and intentionally looking in my eyes. I avert mine to keep a sense of anonymity, but I can tell she's still looking at me. I can't tell where I'm going and I bump into a man in line and lose my notes. Carol saw the notes and seemed to make a decision as I gathered them, because she's walking at me fast now. Two of the men in line grab her by the arm and cover her mouth, but only after she blurted out "don't go to the me..!". She spoke to me. There's no way she knows who I am.
When I walked out of the bank, trying to figure out why the men used an escalated amount of force to redirect Carol, I get a call from the director. The director isn't ranked above me, because everyone is equal here. But when asks me to come into the office I agree to, since my target for the day was now gone.
I enter his office and there's another man with him. I sit down and notice that they have notes too, but the folder is a different color than mine, green. The green folder has my name written on it. We don't take notes on our own people. They show me a tape of myself redirecting a target two months back. First responders are the only people who watch the cameras, to be able to respond quickly when someone needs help. I say that I was redirecting the target. They dont argue. Then they show a tape from today, the incident in the bank. A first responder must have given them these tapes, they don't watch the cameras. When an incident is severe enough, which happens very rarely, I have heard stories of an outsider being briefed on our world. Everything is explained to them, how our world works and why we have to protect our people, and they are shown all the happy people. After that all of the outsiders gladly join NoKo and are accepted as part of our people. I ask if this is what we will be doing with Carol. I'm excited because I've never actually been involved in an assimilation before. They say that this isn't what will happen. But she can't be deported now that she was involved in an incident, right? Carol will love all of her new friends, right? We love everyone in NoKo. Right? | 2016-11-15T12:52:17 | 2016-11-15T08:21:55 | 34 | 19 |
[WP] Suddenly, all disorders and diseases are turned into superpowers. Blind people have x-ray vision, astmathic people have endless lungcapacity, and so on. You have cancer. | Being diagnosed with cancer was the happiest day of my life.
In retrospect, this wasn't exactly true, but as of last week looking back, it was the day my life turned around.
Before, each day was a painful routine of blood samples, needles, doctors helping me do things I was perfectly capable of doing and pity.
The worst was the pity.
I could tell them I was fine but we both knew the truth and the machines in the corner never let you forget it, not even for a second, not even for a heartbeat.
All of that pain was long gone now. By some miracle, everything bad was gone, replaced by incredible powers; to varying degrees.
Those who were blind? Perfect vision, but they could see through 20ft of any material. If you had poor eyesight, you had incredible vision, you could read a newspaper held halfway down a football field. If you were an amputee, you got a robotic leg, stronger and better than the original, and some peoples had a compartment for your wallet!
My friends who I'd met in the burn ward could now turn invisible, hide and go seek was much more difficult, but some kids who were once blind always helped out once I'd given up. I never like to boast, mum and dad always said it was rude, but boy did I do a lot of it now. The thing with cancer is that it affects different parts of the body, right? So different cancers gave people different powers, my cancer gave me the ability to move things with my mind, it also made me really really smart and I can fly now too, If I went back to school, I'd probably be in the 10th grade already!
Some of my friends with different types of cancers formed a superhero team, so we could fight crime! Andy, he can do anything and won't be hurt, not only his bones but his whole body can turn hard just like a diamond! Mitchell can blow air like a baseball and knock things over! And Lucy, well Lucy can eat absolutely anything and it never makes her tummy upset, which doesn't sound cool, but it's great because before she could barely eat anything!
After playing all day I suddenly felt really sleepy, but I know It's just because I used too much of my powers too soon. A good nights rest and I'll be back ready to go and stop a burglar with my new crime-stopping team!
I must look really strong though, I can already hear mum and dad talking about how cool and calm I look as I fall asleep.
________________________________________________________________
"He does look calm" Leanne whispered with a hoarse voice to her husband
"This is the happiest I've seen him look in such a long time"
She started to cry in deep but silent sobs into her husband's chest, while the doctor explained that Toby's medically induced coma meant peace in his last moments.
What had been such a hard 2 years were coming to an end, just two weeks shy of his 11th birthday.
"Can he dream when he's like this?" she asked the doctor hopefully.
"Yes," he replied "I'm sure like most young boys he's dreaming about being a wizard and flying around on broomsticks as we speak"
*No*, Arthur thought
*Not his boy, Toby would be dreaming that everyone was a superhero. And that everyone was happy.*
| "Stay back!" The chubby man known only as Zeke warned me.
I took another step closer. Zeke flinched as two other copies of himself, dressed in the same outfits just different colors, appeared next to him. They each exchanged worried glances and then turned back to face me. I made sure to sneer at all three of them as I flipped a lock of brown hair out of my face.
"Dissociative identity disorder? Cute." I snorted. "Too bad your power is useless. Surely you know who I am?"
Zeke faltered slightly, as though he had truly forgotten who I was, but then his eyes lit up with realization. "Of course I know who you are. You're Marinda Brown. Hospitalized at the age of fifteen because of the appearance of..." he trailed off as he realized just what he was up against.
I grinned. "Brain cancer." I finished for him.
His two copies wasted no time in getting to me. They barreled towards me like two bulls facing the same bullfighter, but unlike the original Zeke, they didn't know when they had already been beat. Before they could collide with me, I stepped to the left and placed my hand on left Zeke's head, watching in delight as he cried out in agony. I knew exactly what was happening in his head, as it had happened to me years ago, just slower. I was able to speed up the process by over one hundred percent, carrying death at my fingertips.
Right Zeke, after seeing his counterpart fall to the ground, turned and ran, disappearing back into original Zeke's head.
"Even your other personalities are idiots." I gloated, stepping over left Zeke. "Now it's time to cut the crap, Zeke. Tell me what I want to know."
Zeke pushed away from his place on the wall, sliding until he was in the corner. Sweat beaded in his crinkled brow, running down his cheeks as he weighed his options. I was getting rather impatient. It was really a no-brainer, he either tells me, and I kill him, or he doesn't tell me, and I still kill him.
He narrowed his eyes into slits. "Never. I made a vow of silence to my boss, and I intend to keep it. Go ahead and threaten me all you want. I'll never talk."
Before even I could realize what I was doing, I had flung myself over his desk and had my hand wrapped around his throat, shoving him into the wall. He gagged and choked, spittle flying from his mouth as he clawed at my hands, desperate for any ounce of air he could suck in. He had seen the end of my patience.
I concentrated my power, taking in a deep breath as I stared into his dying eyes. I knew my powers would work, they had never failed, but I still had to relax myself before I could continue. I willed his life away from him, and instead of just killing him, I pulled his life into my own, his thoughts, his emotions, his everything. Memories and emotions flooded my mind, clouding my vision with images that I had never seen before, thoughts that I had never thought before, until one stuck out against all the rest. An email. A request to meet tomorrow night. An address.
I loosened my hand a little, allowing him to gasp and gag as he forced air into his lungs, but I still held him against the wall.
"How?" He wheezed, his eyes rolling back into his head. "How did you do that?"
I sighed as though I had already explained this. "As brain cancer takes what it wants from the mind, so can I."
I dropped him from my grasp. He slid to the floor, clutching his bruising throat. I stared down at him in disgust, wanting so badly to let my powers take the rest of his pathetic life, but sadly, I needed him. He would act as my pawn in a game of chess begun when I was fifteen. The man that had taken advantage of my condition would pay for what he did to my family. I would make sure of that.
I pulled Zeke up by his shoulders, pinning his arms behind his back as I kicked his legs, forcing him to start walking. He knew better than to struggle against me. All it would take was a quick movement from his arms to his head, and he'd be nothing more than a quivering mess on the floor. An inconvenience.
"You won't get away with this." He hissed. "He's more powerful than you can imagine, and twice as deadly. He's not a man of mercy."
I laughed, shoving him out the door of his office and into the hallway. The bodies of the security guards I had killed earlier still sat in their slumped positions against the wall. They had been good security guards, but I was better.
"Good." I whispered into Zeke's ear. "I'm not feeling very merciful either." | 2017-05-21T08:58:42 | 2017-05-21T08:54:19 | 1,809 | 50 |
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity. | "I'm confused."
"I told you I was an actress."
"It's LA. So is literally almost every woman else I've met since I unpacked."
"You're really pretty dense for a doctor. Do your patients notice?"
"My patients chew cud or chase tennis balls."
"Keep pretending you have bovine patients in Hollywood."
"It's not for lack of trying. What are we really doing here?"
"*I'm* working. Ish. You're arm candy. Highly educated, approximately handsome arm candy."
"Who is wildly out of place and much more self-conscious of the blood on his shirt."
"Oh babe. I begged you. Not that shirt."
"I had a splenectomy today. I wanted my shirt. My patient deserved my lucky shirt."
"You could've changed."
"Didn't."
"It has blood stains on it."
"The blood wasn't mine."
"Pointing that out makes precisely nobody more comfortable."
"Isn't even human blood."
"Not better."
"I'm standing ten feet from Quentin Tarantino, you're telling me a little blood would make *him* uncomfortable?"
"It's a movie premier not a murder scene, so let's not ask?"
"You didn't really explain that you were a successful actress."
"You never asked."
"Because I've never met a successful actress and I've learned that prying about acting careers gets a lot of meaningless answers."
"I've never lied."
"She said, as I as I stand and wonder how many more flashbulbs I'll have to face before permanent retinal damage."
"Your rods and your cones will be fine."
"While not lying, this was something less than forthcoming."
"Makes a better story this way."
"It does. Let's see the second act." | I don't like it. She knows it, I know it, we both know it. Yet I'm still here, among all these people with their armani suits and rolex watches... Is rolex even that popular among rich people? I'm not sure. I'm just guessing that's what they're wearing. Not that it matters either way, all I know is that the floor I'm standing on has had millions of dollars of expensive shoes trodding it. Add a few hundred grand more just for tonight. I knew this was going to be a part of our life together: public events, meeting the elite, being dressed perfectly and always wearing the appropriate expression for when a camera might pop up, but I never liked it.
Still, it was unavoidable for me to come to at least one events. Evelyn had been nagging me about it for months and every time I said "some other time". She would concede and would say "next time then". Sometimes I hummed, sometimes I'd ask her to let me think about and sometimes I didn't say anything at all. I didn't want to get dragged into that world, the world of the fake smiles and false promises. The world where every word could be used as a woman that would make both friends and enemies. I didn't want to be in a world where I couldn't say what I felt and thought without being demonized by some rich oil manager half a world away. But last week she came home from a diplomatic trip in London, slowly trodding into the kitchen where I was preparing an alcoholic fruitmix of which I forgot the name, and spoke softly and clearly to me.
"Next week on a friday there's a social gathering in the Royal Germanica Hall with some of the worlds' highest ranking diplomats. I'm expected to come and you're going with me."
I was quiet when she said that. While preparing the fruitmix I'd been humming, but when I had heard what she said the tune fell away. I continued preparing for a while, not saying anything, but mulling it over countless times. She knew that. She knew me well enough to know that the only time I was ever truly quiet was when I was thinking. This wasn't a request, this was a demand and I knew it. Evelyn would never demand anything of me unless she found it absolutely necessary. I once asked her how she could be so patient.
"As a politician I can't demand anything from the people I represent. I can only lead by example and ask them to trust me and support me."
And that is also how our relationship worked. We trusted and supported each other however we could. Now that she demanded that I be present I knew that our whole relationship was dependent on my reply. Did I love her enough to make this sacrifice? I remember how I turned around and looked her in the eyes and saw the clear spark behind them. Now in this crowd of snobs, princes, presidents and generals I search for her eyes again and they meet with mine. They sparkle in gratitude as she sees how I play along and listen to what the prime minister of India has to an economic partnership. I give my piece of advice and offer a somewhat complimentary proposal and from the corner of my vision see the genuine smile on Evelyn's face among all these fake smiles and I know that I made the right choice. | 2017-06-14T14:16:22 | 2017-06-14T11:21:04 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] "You live like this?" the burglar asked, gently waking you up. | I heard the window break.
*A chair was heard rocking back and fourth*
I heard the furniture being moved around.
*A man whispering silently was constantly being heard*
I heard my drawers opening and their contents shuffled.
*A metallic sound was heard being dragged around the floor*
I heard my door opening.
*A man questioning me how I lived like that was heard*
My eyes shot up.
They widened open.
*My hand was lifted*
I wanted to ask him how he got in, I wanted to ask him why he was in, I wanted to know what he was looking for.
I wanted to know what his motives were, what brought him to being a burglar.
*But only one thing passed through my lips*
"I WANNA TASTE YOUR BLOOD MIXED WITH VODKA!"
I wanted to grab him and make sure he didn't attempt to steal anything.
I wanted to put him down and make sure he didn't attempt to attack me.
*But my body was not controlled by my mind*
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
*I lifted my hand made buzzaxe, carefully made, worn out from the use, and slashed at him until there was nothing left to slash*
Moments later, I was preparing the cocktail.
I wanted to know how I reached that point.
I wanted to know why had I become what I had become.
I wanted to know why was my mind not in control of my body.
*But I couldn't learn anything*
Only thing I said, at that moment, was...
"THIS MAKES FOR A FINE DRINK! SO DELICIOUS!"
And then I collapsed on the floor.
Between the corpses that were laying around.
In the pool of blood that had accumulated by the years.
*A whisper was heard again*
*A metallic noise from something being dragged along the floor was heard again*
*And the circle was waiting to be repeated...*
---
Hey guys, tried to add a bit of more dark/slightly humoristic approach to this, my main inspiration was the Psychos from Borderlands, more specifically Krieg, I'd love if you could comment and say your opinions! Cheers!
| “You live like this?” I heard softly, awakening me from a dream I forgot at the same instant I woke, feeling faintly that the voice was a part of my dream, and not as surprised as I should have been to find out it wasn’t. She was sitting on the end of my bed, below my feet, with her back against the wall. She was dressed all in black, beat up leather jacket, black jeans, and boots would have made you think of punk rock 20 years ago, but now just looked like they came from Hot Topic. Her hair was dark, and tied up in a messy bun-type arrangement. She looked at me, with mild surprise. “Shit, you weren’t supposed to wake up.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, sitting up and blinking sleep-bleared eyes at her.
“What does it look like?”
“Um…hanging out?”
“Well, mostly I was marveling at how messy one person can be, til I was so rudely interrupted. Theoretically, I’m supposed to be stealing your Kruggerands, so I’m also trying to imagine where you stashed them. That was stupid, by the way. Who keeps 60 troy ounces of gold just lying around in their shitty apartment?”
“What’s a troy ounce?”
She smirked, “isn’t that the kind of thing you should already know if you have a gold coin collection? Oh crap, am I at the right place? This is 3503D West Pine Drive, right?”
“Yeah, it is,” I blinked at her in confusion. “And I do have a coin collection. Well, it’s not really a collection. Or it’s not mine. I don’t know anything about coins. My grandfather left them to me. Is that why you’re here? How did you know?”
“Let’s just say your grandfather left something to a few other people too. Debts, mostly. And they’ve sent me to collect them.” She slid off the bed and began looking around in earnest, toeing aside the clothes piles I’d left on the floor in disgust.
“So you’re a burglar? You broke in?”
She rolled her eyes at me. “No, I used a key. Actually, I did use a key. Stashing a key under the mat? Seriously? Who does that in the city? You’re just asking for this to happen.”
I stood up then, grabbing her wrist in a fluid movement, and pinning her against the bed. “Actually, that’s exactly what I was doing. Asking for this to happen. My grandfather spent the last 15 years of his life being chased, and I don’t even know why. What did he do to you people? If he stole some money, I know he spent years making payments. What kind of debt did he rack up? The Kruggerrands were the only thing left from his estate. So he left them to me. Why can’t you just leave it alone?”
As she turned to face me, looking at me with eyes that mirrored my own, brownish green, with a soft almond shape, my grandfather’s nose, his jaw, I realized and relaxed my grip just enough for her to twist and grab the coin folder from where it lay under the bed, with yesterday’s pants on top of it.
“Most of those debts weren’t monetary, but it’s a start,” she said, picking up the folder, and moving quickly to the open window, hopping out onto the fire escape. “See ya, cuz.” And that’s how I found myself out $75,000, and I learned that my grandpa left not just me behind, but a second family I’d never met. But that’s another story, for another day.
| 2017-08-21T13:05:00 | 2017-08-21T11:12:40 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] The Reapers come every 50 thousand years to wipe out organic life that has reached the stars however this time, this time they arrive at the heaviest resistance they have every encountered. In the grim darkness of the future they find 40k. | Eternity. Immortality. Forever.
They had no clue what these words truly meant. To see these pathetic creatures spreading their message of dreamless peace across the galaxy is an insult to all of existence. They called themselves Reapers. Their ships moved faster than any imperial or chaos ship by magnitudes, their weapons devastating to masses. It was their sole purpose, their only reason for being, to destroy all that was held dear.
Held dear to those that cherished life anyway. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was that they were. They existed to end all life *except theirs*. They did not know the true peace of annihilating the soul itself. All souls live to be culled. Even the Reapers.
And as the Reapers arrived they woke up something more ancient, Something even more powerful. And as mega monoliths rose up from the ground, gauss canons tearing through both city, man, and Reapers alike all with violent ease the Necrons and all their lords woke. They awoke to show the galaxy who the mantle of reaper belongs to. | "Ah, yes, 'Reapers'," Guilliman sarcastically said, showing the quotation signs with his fingers while saying the last word. "The immortal race of sentient starships allegedly waiting in dark space. We have dismissed this claim."
Sly Marbo couldn't believe it. He thought things changed. He thought at least Guilliman, now that he returned at last, would show more understanding than those four old farts that call themselves the High Lords.
"WE HAVE ALREADY TALKED WITH THE LORD COMMANDER ABOUT YOUR LUDICROUS CONSPIRACY THEORY THAT YOU APPARENTLY STILL HAVEN'T ABANDONED," the Fabricator-General said in his robotic voice. "HE SHARED OUR SCEPTICISM ABOUT IT."
"Besides," Lord Commander Militant added, "one race of sentient space cans should be the same as another. If these Reapers really do exist, we should have no problems fighting them off. We already have little trouble fighting against Necrons."
"If you'll excuse me, Lord," Marbo objected. "The only reason we have little trouble against Necrons is because they never manage to clear their heads fast enough after they wake up from their sleeps that last for countless millenia. Reapers are already awaken and already clearheaded enough."
"That's enough!" Guilliman interjected angrily. "You are wasting our valuable time. I suggest you leave your lunacy alone. I'm-"
"It's not lunacy, sir!" Marbo interjected in return. "Reapers are a real threat. That's who Sicarius started worshipping, not gods of Chaos. You have to listen to me!"
"A real threat? I'm actually disappointed, Marbo. I've heard a lot of good things about you. To hear you'd start advocating something like this... Please, just leave."
Marbo's face stiffened. "Yes, sir," he replied, before turning around and leaving the room.
It was clear. Sly Marbo was not going to find any help, not here. He would have to find it elsewhere. Luckily, he already had a list of twenty names, twenty men that might do well. One of them was already waiting for him in the anteroom, wearing an easily recognizable golden armor.
"Judging by your facial expression, I assume they said no?" Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes asked.
"And you'd assume right. They won't listen. We need to find help elsewhere."
"Your, uh, 'twenty good men'?"
"Yes. There is no time to be lost. We must be quick."
"Who are we going to try to recruit first?"
"A certain general I know. A certain survivor, to be precise. We might need his tactical genius, and the last time I checked, he just lost his place of job last week." | 2017-08-27T08:33:00 | 2017-08-27T08:05:25 | 335 | 152 |
[WP] A medieval king suddenly finds a smartphone and tries to unlock it. But each time he fails, years later it has become a tradition for nobles to try to unlock it. You, a simple servant, fiddled with it the night before the ceremony and unlocked it.
Edit: just think the phone is solar or something to ignore the battery problem.
Tnx to /u/Fireflykid1 for this edit | 1 2 3 4, Had no one thought of that before?
There was writing on the screen. Elvy read it.
He quickly pressed the lock button, placed it back on its pedestal, and bolted for the door.
As he walked the length of the castle's main corridor, headed toward the great Galaxy ceremony, Elvy couldnt help but feel this was all wrong. But at the same time, he was meant to unlock that device.
All his life Elvy had heard stories of the bewildering light creating machine that appeared miraculously before the king. And one day, he was given a marvelous opportunity. No, privilege. Elvy was appointed royal screen protector. From dusk until dawn, Elvy would watch over the sacred relic, as lord after ser after noble came to stake their claim betwixt an array of four numbers.
After a time, Elvy grew ever the more curious. With several hundred attempts made to lay siege against the Galaxy, would it ever be bested?
And so one day, feeling a sort of courage he'd never known, Elvy reached for the Galaxy.
1....2....3....4....
The lock fell back and before Elvy was not exactly what he'd expected. He wasnt sure what he expected honestly. But it wasnt this.
On the screen was a note, seemingly left open before the screen had been locked. The note was 4 lines, short and sweet.
"If ever once should this be read,
Know that you will soon be dead,
For once you crawl into your bed,
Beware, it comes to take your head"
The words echoed in the back of Elvy's mind.
The words swam around his eyes, laying down for a rest anywhere he fixed his gaze.
The words danced in his ears, whispering their warning anytime it grew silent, or he began to drift away from himself.
For the next 3 weeks, Elvy avoided sleep. Which was becoming exceedingly difficult. His eyes would droop low, almost shut, and then spike wide open again. He couldnt live like this.
But if he didn't, he might not live at all.
| "You!" a voice boomed from the end of the hall. "What have you got there! That's the prized Glassy Tablet! Remove it from your unworthy hands you dim-witted scoundrel!"
"Ah, but, I unlocked it, your Grace," replied Hrothgar.
"Nonsense, buffoon, nobody on this long flat planet will ever be able to--" his jaw spanked against the floor as Hrothgar turned the phone around and showed him the first recorded selfie in the history of mankind.
"Look, I can become a dog, a cat, an old lady, an angel, a duck, a--"
"The Gods have blessed you young man! Come with me at once!" Hrothgar followed the nobleman towards the palace, scrolling through Twitter in confusion. "Cancel the ceremony, Lords of the Concil! The Chosen One has been procured! He is here, a simple servant from... where are you from boy, and what is your name?"
"Hrothgar, son of Forrester, house Julliard."
The Council stared blankly at Hrothgar, and then ordered him to step forward to demonstrate his prophetic duties. "You, Hrothgar Julliard, son of Forrester Julliard," said Consul Christian, "Have brought the heavens down from atop this world! You will serve as Grand Maester, and we will use the Glassy Tablet to rise and become the greatest kingdom this long flat world has ever seen!"
"But, what good is the Glassy Tablet? All I can see is pictures, for less than 10 seconds at a time, and then I press this blue thing and a never ending line of pointless messages appear."
"Nonsense, boy, together we will learn. This is truly a blessing! Cancel the ceremony, instead we will have a great feast, for The Chosen One!" replied Tremont.
"Donald J. Trump? I am not Donald J. Trump."
'What, boy?"
"Well, I press on this head that says 'My Profile' and up comes Donald J. Trump, who looks like a dilated orange and has 40.5 Men following him at all times."
"Just one of the mysteries we will soon learn about within the Glassy Tablet," urged Christian, "Come, boy, lets dress you up, you are a hero now!"
"Birds? Everyone is a bird? And the birds love to tweet! My lord, where did the first knight find this?"
"Legend has it a shiny rectangle appeared from thin air, and spat out the Glassy Tablet. The rectangle then disappeared. It was said to have 4 numerals on it, something like a '2017.' Purely legend."
"My Lord, 2017 is a year! Our year is 1513, thats how I guessed the passcode!"
"Wow boy, your genius amazes me! We shall continue to learn about the future!"
"'This is the phone of a tyrant from 2017!" Learn from his mistakes and save society before its too late'"
"What now, Chosen One?" question Christian.
"This was written in Notes. It says this phone was stolen by a mad scientist who wanted to prevent the chirping president. He seems to sound like a Tyrant."
"This is the phone of a Tyrant?"
"Seems to be so," replied Hrothgar.
"Never before has the Danish Kingdom received such a treasure," yelled Christian. "Our future is written on the Glassy Tablet!"
"What do you mea-" was all that came out before Christian raised his hilt and sliced Hrothgar's neck in a single swift swipe. Christian turned to the rest of the Consuls, and cut them down with minimal resistance.
And the reign of Christian the Tyrant began.
| 2017-10-14T07:14:31 | 2017-10-14T06:27:50 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] 1 hour before someone dies their loved ones are teleported to them so that they can enjoy their last moments. You don't have any more loved ones, but suddenly you are teleported into a crowded room. | This was unexpected. The world blurred slightly around Steve as he found himself in the crowded living room of a stranger's house. Immediately he knew it was The Last Hour. Any time a person was within an hour of death, their loved ones would be drawn to them like a magnet for final words and farewells. He'd been called to many Last Hours in his short life. The unexpected part was that all Steve's loved ones were already dead. The very last of his family had passed away before he even finished college. Although he was hopeful for the future, he hadn't yet met someone with whom he could build a new family. So whose loved one was he?
Steve scoured the sea of strangers, looking for any clue as to why he had been called. In the centre of the room lay a woman he did not recognize. He could not describe the strange feeling brewing deep in his gut as he looked at her face. He could not explain why he felt drawn to this woman. He had no idea why tears had already begun to trickle down his face as he slowly walked towards her.
The woman's eyes met his. It felt like a small jolt of electricity through him. "Baby?" her voice cracked with raw emotion. "Is that really you?" He was too dumbfounded to answer. "I'm your mama," she said, as tears spilled down her face.
Steven had known he was adopted. But he had always assumed his birth mother was dead, or didn't want him. Yet here she was, alive. And she obviously loved him enough to call him to her Last Hour. "I thought you gave me up because you didn't love me," he finally managed to say.
"Oh no, no!" his mother exclaimed. "I gave you up because I DID love you."
Steve's mama was 15 when she had him. The man who impregnated her was an old drunk who had taken advantage then run off. She and her sisters were living in the homeless shelter and sometimes the back of a car. She had nothing to give her baby boy but a fresh start. On the day Steven was born, she wrapped him as best she could in a t-shirt and carried him to the fire station. She cried and kissed him, and told him she would always love him. Then she gently placed him in the hatch.
She went on to build a life for herself. She married and had many more children. After his adopted parents had died, Steve had been all alone in the world. Now he looked around the room at a huge family full of brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, a stepfather, and - for the next precious hour at least - a mother.
On the first day of Steven's life his mother had shown her love by saying goodbye. On the last day of her life, Steven was so grateful The Last Hour allowed him to show his love and do the same.
| The calm quiet of the waves below relaxed me. It was really messed up, if you thought about it; at random times on random days, without warning, you'd suddenly appear in front of a loved one, and all you knew was that you had an hour with them before they were gone forever. The program was started to give you a chance to say goodbye, but in all the confusion, who can think of the right thing to say? Lucky for me, I had no one left to see.
I hated to think about that here, of all places. She knew she was gonna go, we were all prepared for hers, but that didn't make it easier. At least the calm waves relaxed my mom to sleep, she deserved the peace after 5 years of fighting. That was a couple of years ago now, but it still had a way of getting to the front of my mind.
I had to get that out of my head, fighting back the tears was too much for me. The sun was about to set, there was a small sailboat in the distance, some sea birds decided to start talking. I closed my eyes, and let the cool, salty breeze flow over my face. I took a deep breath, and the coffee smelled wonderful.
Coffee? And...people. And something else I couldn't identify. Metallic maybe, it sort of burned my nostrils. It was still quiet, but a different quiet. Not calm. I opened my eyes so see a wall of people, circled around something. The room was small, with desks and a long counter with thick glass above it. A sign behind the glass read "First Bank." The silence was broken as police and paramedics pushed through the doors. People dispersed, and on the floor I saw...a stranger. Obviously still breathing, but not moving much besides that.
Why would I be here? I don't even know this guy. Was this a malfunction or something?
The police told everyone to calm down, while the paramedics took the body outside. As he was being wheeled away, his wallet fell to the side, behind a potted plant and out of plain view. I wanted to know who he was, maybe I had a long lost cousin or something. And I had an hour anyway, so maybe I'd have enough time to figure it out and say something. That is, if I could even think of anything. I walked up to the wallet, pocketed it, and slipped out of the bank. I found an unguarded section of police tape, ducked under, and speed-walked away.
I pulled the wallet out, but before I could open it, someone behind me called my name. I turned to see my last ex, from a bad relationship. She looked good, but I didn't love her, so she couldn't be who I was here for. And anyway, from the way she acted about my mom, I almost hated her.
She walked up to me and, from behind her, a shy toddler stepped out. He couldn't have been more than...wait...
"Hey, I've been trying to contact you for a couple of years now, you're a hard one to find!"
I looked to the kid, then back to her. "Yeah, well, after my mom, I kind of wanted to be left alone. So, who's this?"
"Thats... why I wanted to talk to you." She paused. "I guess theres no good way to say this, so, here it goes. He's your son."
I looked at the kid. His expression didn't change, so they must have talked about this before. I want to say I was surprised, but not much surprised me anymore. And anyways, I guess the whole relationship wasn't bad, before my mom at least, so it was possible.
"I mean, shouldn't we get, like, a DNA test, to be sure?" I said, my voice shakier than I wanted.
She let go of the kids hand, to gesture at me with disappointment, and he wandered to the side. I tried to pay attention to him, but she wouldn't let me. She wasn't yelling or anything, but she held my attention.
It was quick. I didn't even realize the hour had already passed. He wandered too far, and he was too small to see from a semi. I don't blame the driver, or my ex. Though I will admit, it did surprise me.
Did I cause this, or would it have happened even if I wasn't here? I guess that's my biggest problem with the program. If you spend your hour wrong, there's nothing you can do about the regret. | 2018-05-20T13:06:15 | 2018-05-20T12:00:24 | 33 | 13 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in Valhalla. But you did not die a warrior's death. You were merely summoned there because there is a sudden need for more cleaning and waiting staff due to the influx of writing prompt characters ending up there. | "Yo I spilled some coffee over here. Mop it up for me will ya, champ? Need to go to a meeting. You got this bro. Ciao."
Trail that coffee on your shoe on your way out too, why dont you?
Fuck this dude.
The last thing I remember was slipping on mop water.
"Why in Hell was I tasked on waking the cleaning staf--WELCOME TO VALHALLA, BROTHER!", a voice booms out, loud as thunder.
"By the gods am I glad you look scrawny. Ever since that god-forsaken Wicke fellow who caused a Hell of a ruckus, I've been dreading welcoming new warriors. So, GREETINGS."
I couldn't believe it. I was in Valhalla. And to think I was reading about it all on Blue-it for the past two weeks.
"Don't I get to meet Odin? I read about that somewhere. And whats with that fellow you we're--wait...cleaning staff???"
"Aye. You see, its been a crazy month. A crazy messy month. Dogs suddenly started getting sent here, some guy holding what I believe he called a 'spa-choo-la' in death, and of course, that mess that cursed Wicke fellow left.", he started. "Allfather specifically requested I bring a champion of Midgard who was, uh, proficient in the art of cleanliness."
This was not how those stories went. I surely did NOT get summoned to Valhalla to...mop the floors stained with blood.
"I didn't die with a weapon in hand, nor did I die in battle soooo I kinda don't belong here.", I reasoned.
"It says here you died holding a mop so thats good enough for me. Now off you go!", he bellows.
Somehow, I knew where to go. My feet led me to where I was needed, and to why I was summoned in the first place.
Odin's bloodstained throne room.
My heart pounded inside my chest. I was going to be judged. I stumbled over to the foot of Odin's throne. He looks far off into the distance, as if remembering that day. What he had lost.
A forehead creased with worry, eyes laden with sorrow. Even in mourning, he was dignified.
It took a while before he noticed me kneeling by the foot of his throne.
"Ah, there you were. What took you so long? Anyways. Things have been messy around here. Hilda knows I hate messy. But thats why you're here! Welcome to Valhalla, something something, eternal glory to you. Yada yada yada, you're now a warrior of Valhalla.
.......mop that ale spill over there, will ya sport? Thanks."
Fuck this dude. | I woke up with the undeniable musk of beer on my breath. My head was swimming in pain and my ears rang. I looked around to see if I can identify where my drinking had gotten me, but all I saw was a bearded man staring at me.
"Are you my nurse?" I sheepishly asked. The man did look imposing.
"I, a nurse? Ha!" The man leaned forward and started to laugh heartily, to the point where it was comical. A pirate's laugh? "I'm not a nurse, boy!"
He stood up and I realized what he was wearing. My nurse was wearing a furry toga. He held out his hand as he read the inexplicable confusion in my face.
"Get up, we have much to discuss." He said, snapping his fingers.
In the blink of an eye, we seemed to get transported from my 'waking up' room to a wide open, dining area. To call the place a mess would be a massive understatement. There were plates broken and strewn about, the floor seemed likely to be lathered with an alcoholic film, and the tables and chairs were all turned over.
"Where am I?" Was all I could muster to him as I looked upon this hall of, what I could assume was, pure debauchery.
"Valhalla!" The man gestured with his hand, seemingly to show off the mess proudly.
"W-why?" It all came to me. I died, but I can't remember how. "Okay, I know I passed, but even so, I don't follow this religion!"
"Shush, boy. Your afterlife is just down the road. I borrowed you from your God." He clapped his hands together. "Petey was actually the one to recommend you."
"Petey? What?" The man probably heard my eyebrows furrowing. "And who exactly are you?"
"I'm quite sure you know who I am, but do you want to know why I've asked for you?" He placed his hand on my shoulder. "But manners, I am Odin."
He did not look like what I imagined Odin to be.
"I know what you're thinking, why am I in Valhalla, I didn't die a warrior's death?" He threw his arms out and yawned. "To answer that, try to remember how you died."
So I did, fighting back the rising confusion in me. I remember my room, the kitchen, cleaning my apartment as fast I could because I was expecting a date. I looked to Odin as I remembered.
"I died because I slipped and smashed my head on my countertop." I said, surprising even myself for how calmly I replied. "But why am I here in Valhalla, I didn't die a warrior's death at all!"
Odin laughed once more. "I know, but I need your help." He motioned once more to the hall. "I asked Petey I need someone to clean this up."
"What?"
"Yes, you heard right." He started to pace back and forth. "You see, I did not expect for there to be so many unexpected people joining us here and not that I don't mind, but I seem to have forgotten some custodial matters."
"I died so I can be your janitor. In Valhalla." I flatly said. "Who are the new people anyway?"
"Bah, some people who have been accepted here through loopholes and technicalities. I really ought to review my afterlife's acceptance policies." Odin said, looking to the side.
"I still didn't die a warrior's death." I said to him.
"Aye, but you did!" He boasted. "You died fighting a mess! And a time limit! It was gracious battle and you fought with honor!"
"I... what."
"Technicalities."
"Now I'm gonna clean your hall as my afterlife?" This is not what I expected at all.
"No, boy. I just need you to clean this one mess and I'll take you back to Petey myself with whatever flimflam or mortal want you'd wish. I'm sure he and Him will be fine with it." He assured.
"Oh. Great." I'm surprised with myself that I'm okay with this.
"Now here is a broom." He snapped his fingers and one showed up in my hands.
Who knew death could be so simple. | 2018-05-26T09:11:04 | 2018-05-26T09:07:16 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | Everyone had a rating for how lucky they could be, from 1 to 100, 1 being close to no luck and 100 being the best luck. Most people had a rating of around 30ish. I was one of the few with a full score of 100.
Which would have been great, if bad luck wasn't a thing. The thing with the luck rating was that it was basically a rating on how much 'chance' would get fucked up around you. People with single digit luck could plan out their entire *year* and have not a single thing derail. Planning on a trip? Not a single random happenstance would occurre. No accidents, no sudden horrible weather, nothing.
Those of us with 100? We could try to walk from our bedrooms to our bathrooms and end up going through two localized apocalypses, a kidnapping, and rescue an alien princess from an alternative dimension, then still make it to the restroom before it got too uncomfortable holding the piss in. We where literally walking time bomb of 'anything and everything' going off every other day.
Which was why I was in prison. Though really, prison didn't even begin to describe this place. A box would be more appropriate. In fact, the place actually was a box. A box inside a box. Each inmate were placed inside a hollow metal cube three meters long on all sides, then the cubes themselves where stacked inside a bigger metal box, which in turn... well you got the idea. There was no vents, no electronics, nothing that could accidently go wrong or otherwise malfunction. Just solid metal covering solid metal.
Which was to say, everything went wrong pretty much instantly. When they placed my box, the vibrations caused as they fit it in place resonated with my right wall and shattered it to bits.
It's been a month after that. Two new inmates where added. Tom had a strawberry seed stuck in his shoe that sprouted and tore the top off his box, and Sharon just kinda fell out of the box. She hasn't been able to fall back into the box though, so she lives with Amy now.
It's not a bad life. We have food(somehow) and water(for some reason), plenty of intertainment, and we don't end up screwing someone over because we're next to them. I don't think anyone really wants to leave, and frankly, neither do I. Knowing our luck, we'll probably end up going back out sooner or later... but until then, I think we're all content to stay here and relax. For now anyways.
| I remember my heart stopped beating for a second. Could it really be true?
Jail? I had laughed at the time. If people with 99 luck could survive being the suicide bomber, then no jail would hold me. Everyone had a luck stat, which determined how lucky they were.
However, I had 100 luck, and upto my knowledge, the only one alive. Nothing had ever gone wrong for me, ever. I simply aced my way through life as if it was a traficless highway. Fuck 'nobody's perfect', I was perfect.
It was that a perfect summer day (but then, when wasn't it?) when they came to arrest me. To be frank, I never saw it coming. Literally. Someone blindfolded me, and, before I could scream gagged me and threw me in a van.
It was the first time I had ever felt so... helpless. I remember hoping in vain for the van to crash, leaving me unharmed, or for a small meteorite to come crashing through the window and hit my captors. Nothing. Nothing at all.
The next time I saw light, I was bruised and wounded from the ride. They shoved me into a cell, and gave me a piece of bread to eat.
It was only after seeing the others that I lost hope. Till that point, I clung stubbornly to the belief the somehow something would come to my rescue- but I got nothing. After seeing the other inmates, I knew why nothing happened. All the other inmates- they had 100 luck too. No wonder nothing was happened.
Gradually, I became deader inside. I no longer could taste the salt on my cheeks or the pain of my wounds. I was dead on the inside.
Then, one day, there was a change. We had a meeting, to mourn the Warden's death or something. They claimed that little bitch had saved out lives or something, and we must pay our respects. Bullshit.
But it was on this day, I noticed something. Why my mind suddenly fired up, I do not know. Maybe my luck had finally decided to activate. What I noticed was the number of guards that were lined up in defense were exactly 1 more than the amount of prisoners. Trivial, I know. But it rekindled the faith in me. The faith that we would escape.
It was on my second discovery that my heart stopped beating.
The guards had 100 luck to. My heart raced, as I got a theory. A crazy theory to formulate a crazy plan, but I wasn't scared. For the first time, I felt alive. That night, I convinced my three bedmates to follow my plan.
It all happened so fast. We trailed our recreational instructor-guard back to his room. All we had to do was simply wish for his demise and BOOM! a bolt of lightning fell right on his heart stopping it. Beautiful odds, I'll tell you.
I rushed to the intercom like a man possessed. Like I expected, the guard there stood no chance. So I was right after all. The call-to-arms echoed throughout the jail, bringing the prisoners back to life.
My plan was working beautifully. 51 inmates and only 50 guards. They were finally outnbered, we had the upper hand by 100 luck. We could escape.
And we would've escaped, but that wasn't the plan. No the plan was different. That was simply a make-believe I had told them.
I still remember Andrew's voice as I walked right past the open gate. Oh so sad, so hurt at the betrayal.He tried to run after me, he tried to catch me, to kill me- but that gate literally shut on him.
They were fools, to think the plan would involve them. I would be the one who was unaccounted for, the only one who's desicion mattered. And I wanted to keep it like that.
By the time you hear this, you probably already know my name. I named myself in memory of that incident where I had defeated them all.
I called myself Trump. | 2018-06-29T11:19:11 | 2018-06-29T08:43:19 | 72 | 26 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | You’d think having a luck rating of 100 would have made life a walk in the park. That the world around you would be all sunshine and daisies. It wasn’t.
The problem is, a luck rating like that tends to warp the world around you. For everything to always go your way, someone else often must pay the price. Even worse, you don’t get to choose what the world decides you need. A single stray thought could result in catastrophe happening all around you. Like the time when a sudden ice cream craving caused a mid-air collision between two 747’s, startling a woman who saw it enough to knock her AC unit out of her apartment window and crush the owner of an ice cream cart at the top of the hill. His cart rolled right at me but halted abruptly when that Wall St exec tripped right in front of it, breaking his arm. I would have just paid for the damn ice cream, but I don’t get to choose when I’m gonna be “lucky”.
The relief when the Council of the Odds finally found me was insurmountable, even knowing that it wouldn’t last. The cell they put me in was barren with nothing around me. No padding, mattresses, entertainment, or even a toilet. It was heavenly, even though I knew it couldn’t last. I knew with time, luck would find a way to get me out. As I settled in, I heard a faint crash in the distance followed by hundreds of clicks. My door creaked open. Apparently, 777 prisoners was too much for the Luck Agents to contain. | I was *born* with max luck, being told my whole life that I shouldn’t be, that I was *favored*. Nope, I was locked up and the key thrown away. I had spent my life, from age thirteen onwards here. My Luck was my weapon, but I wasn’t sure how. I *should have* been able to get out of here, press my own Luck to its maximum and escape. I was only allowed to talk to my guards, who were, to be honest, all very nice and fairly handsome, but hovering around fifty.
Gradually, I found out that we, the prisoners that is, are all ninety and higher, seriously. We’re all treated like pariahs for something outside of our control and then isolated. I was one of the “lucky” ones, the guards liked me and treated me like a younger brother, all except Chuck, but he was taken away. I liked him the best. I was nineteen when Chuck was taken away. He waited and didn’t touch me until I was eighteen and then one day, he had vanished. It broke my heart. Kyle told me what had happened, a relationship with a Lucky could increase Luck over time. I had done it to both of us, apparently, he was pushed to one hundred, like the maximum security ward. *I had gotten Chuck locked up.*
My resolve hardened. I would have him back. Chuck was *mine*. I became quiet, acting broken. I wasn’t. I started doing research. If I increased my Luck beyond one hundred, I would *transform*, becoming my true self, probably either an angel or demon. I couldn’t wait. I would have Chuck back.
I did more research, I had devoured what little I could, then began bribing the guards to bring me more. I did things I shouldn’t have been proud of, but my body was a small price to pray to have Chuck indefinitely, for our eternity. I discovered more, like the lineage of Lucifer, how he had six (SIX?!) sisters; two sets of triplets. Destiny, Fortuna, and *Luck*; the other sisters, while interesting, weren’t relevant to me or my search (Rose, Daisy, and Lily). I started gathering myself and my materials I would need, incense, flowers, dice, cards, sundry items that soon filled my cell.
I laughed and started that night. It was a full moon, a hot day in summer, our air conditioning broke down; sweat dripped down my face as I completed the ritual with a slice of my own flesh, blood splattering the flowers, the petals scattering in a sudden wind. “A second?” my own mother stood in my cell. “Oh Liam,” she said as I rushed to her, enveloping her soft body in a hug. “What did they do to you?”
“I am too *Lucky*, I was locked up and my Fated stolen from me,” I tried to be strong, but tears poured out of my eyes as the story poured out of my mouth. “Mother, I beseech you, please help me.”
And she did. | 2018-06-29T11:39:52 | 2018-06-29T10:57:06 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You've been a History teacher for 30 years, never gotten a single fact wrong. One day you become suspicious, surely I should've gone wrong somewhere? You test a theory by purposely being incorrect, suddenly, history rewrites itself. | You stare in horror at your class room. Every single child in it is now unusually fair with varying shades of blond hair and blue eyes.
With shaking hands you pat a lock of hair free from your bun and examine it. Yes, you too are now a blond though there is more silver there than gold.
You take a deep breath attempting to calm down. You can fix this. You just have to give the class again with the proper information this time and things will go back to how they were.
You open your mouth and start to speak. The words however mean nothing to you. You try again and feel the words forming force-ably in the roof of your mouth, coming out in a barking tone.
Finally one of the children speaks "Geht es dir gut, Lehrer?"
"Nein" you hear yourself saying over and over.
What have you done. Your eyes scan the pictures along the wall, Previously depicting the past presidents of this great nation they now all carry the image of one man and one man only. The hateful symbol that history condemned proudly on display in every single one of them. | "9/11 never happened!"
I said that out loud in my class, and things went so silent I could hear a pin drop. I'm a virtuoso, a perfectionist. I'm a master at my craft. I wield my mind like a master swordsman, my historic knowledge knowing no limit. Lately, it has been cause for distress. I've sat up late for many nights on end, reassessing things. Why was I never wrong? Ever? I was never wrong, and it hurt me. So I became obsessed, with the prospect of being wrong, being incorrect for the first time in thirty years. Culminating in this little outburst.
I dismissed class early that day, and called in sick so I could avoid whatever repercussions for my actions. I sounded like one of those deniers, those tinfoil wearing conspiracy theorists. It was weird, it was like a daze. I didn't know whether what I said was even real. Perhaps I was going senile, or crazy, or maybe both.
I went to bed that night, mulling over the jumbled thoughts in my brain. Why wasn't I wrong, why wasn't I wrong, why wasn't I wrong, why, why, why, why, why
I woke up the next day, went to the computer, and typed in the following:
"September 11, 2001 World Trade Center Attacks."
Nothing. I was a denier a denier a denier a denier what has happened to me what what what what I'm breaking it up.
Nothing, no, no.
World War II never happened! World War I never happened!
I frantically search through my archives the records oh what war what conflict? Um. No, none of this happens, I can change history I can undo it all, I am the omnipotent master of all your history that's my purpose my place my place my place what place
I went back to bed in a delirium. This knowledge in my head was fit to make it burst. I needed help, fast.
.......am I insane? Who am I? What am I?
Oh, what a weird fever dream.
Dream, dreams dreams dreams why do I know so damn much
Do you know who killed
Do you know or maybe you know or maybe you know or maybe you know or maybe you
————————————————————
r/bluelizardK
Good night everybody. Thank you for taking the time to read my work, regardless of its obvious inferiority to the above works. It means a lot to me. The more I look at my writing, the worse I feel about it. I suppose that’s just the way it goes :) | 2018-07-16T10:58:08 | 2018-07-16T10:55:39 | 263 | 159 |
[WP] The "violent videogames teach you how to use a gun" thing is true for you. Literally. Everything you learn in videogames, you can do in real life as well. You realize you have that power when you drink an energy drink after a bad injury and you find yourself completely healed. | “What?”
My shock at seeing my wound heal instantly was quickly replaced with a feeling of strength that surged through my body. *It’s just like a video game*. With my newfound power, I decided to test if I could do anything else from games I had played. I walked outside and punched a nearby tree. After a few more hits, it fell and broke into pieces that were absorbed into my body. With glee, I envisioned a workbench and one appeared before me. As I began to craft, I wondered how far this would take me.
Two days later, I walked into my local Cash for Gold shop and asked the owner how much gold he’d be willing to buy today.
“Well, how much do you have?”
With a smirk, I deftly dropped hundreds of gold ingots at his feet, cracking his floors and drawing horrified gasps from others in the store.
As I left with my sack of money, I thanked the owner and told him I’d be off. But there would be no car for me. Instead, I took a black sphere and threw it as hard as I could toward my house. Teleportation was so much faster than driving. As I returned to my subterranean lair, I wondered what I’d do for the rest of the day. Eventually I decided to have another chat with the ‘Villagers’ I’d captured and have another go at figuring out why they weren’t taking my emeralds. I brought my sword along with me just in case.
| "Hey Bryan, I, uh, was wondering if you, uh, would like to go to the winter formal with me? Only if you wanted to! I guess."
Elena was just another nobody at Eisenhower High School. Around 5'2, short dark brown hair, with typical dark brown eyes. Elena never stuck out or did anything exciting. She went to class, ate lunch, bitched about whatever anyone else was bitching, and go home and play hours of video games and then repeat.
"Oh, hey Ellie! I would have loved to but Emily already asked me, about 10 minutes ago. I'm sorry!"
Bryan was your typical teenage heart throb. 6'2, light brown medium length hair with natural waves, and beautiful ocean blue eyes. He was the vice-president for student council, he ran track and played basketball, and he and his family always had a volunteer charity work going on. He was always paying attention and asking interesting questions in class, keeping everyone involved and engaged. Everything about him was perfect.
"Oh, no problem."
With a twitch of Elena's hand everyone stops what they're doing in an instant. Every single person except Elena closes their eyes. She sighs. "It took me all day to build up the courage to ask you and you already have a date? Damn it."
She sits down in frustration contemplating what to do. With a 10 minute timer on how long her pause lasts, she had to figure out what to do.
Elena had saved at lunch, but that started about 5 minutes ago. It would be too late to go back to then. She *had* planned asking him this morning, but hours of practicing in the mirror on what she would say did nothing to settle her nerves. After days of practicing her new abilities she had noticed that there were only 20 time slots to save. She limited the time she would save to when she wakes up, right as lunch is starting, and as soon as she gets out of school. To minimize the cluster fuck of images in her head from a pause menu to a control guide. She decided the best thing to do was to just start the day from scratch and ask him as soon as she gets to school. That will give her more time to look nice and giver her time to practice what she would say.
Elena twitched her hand to the time slot and she passed out.
After opening her eyes she tried to remember what had happened. She quickly jumped up and checked the time. Realized she still had two hours, and started getting to work. A shower, 200 make up tutorials watched, and 14 rewinds later, she was exhausted. She looked amazing, she had plenty of practice and her confidence felt like it could ask Bryan out for her.
Elena gets to school and spots Bryan talking with a group of his friends at the school entrance. There he is, his gorgeous blue eyes glancing over her way. She practically glides to where he is sitting and with a straight back and a beautiful smile begins her question.
"Hey Bryan, I was wondering if you would like to go to the school dance with me?"
Suddenly, her eyes shut and she froze. | 2018-08-14T10:35:26 | 2018-08-14T08:58:51 | 80 | 48 |
[WP] "I like adventurous guys," she says with stars in her eyes. Your date is the most beautiful woman you've ever met. In a panic, you buy last-minute plane tickets to a small Balkan country. Your plan - a short tour visit, overthrow the local government, and win her heart. | Her beautiful, sparkling eyes give me tunnel vision every time I see them. I thought I was incapable of love before her. The air around is still. The sidewalk we were standing on was surprisingly pristine, with the exception of a small bit of graffiti here and there; must've been put there before the cement could dry. The night air was cold and equally dry. I've always been partial to cold weather, but a good amount of humidity is good.
​
"I like adventurous guys," she exclaims with the same twinkle she's had so far. I turn to her with a slight grin to the right side of my face. "What kind of adventure?" This date was going pretty damn well. Being twenty-three without a girlfriend made me depressed, so I was glad for the change of existential scenery. *Is she flirting with me?* I ask myself. This is a rare sight indeed. Rarely are women ever attracted to me, let alone leave a flirty remark like that.
​
My psychologist told me to avoid the grandiose thoughts of political schemes and domination, as they only fed into my narcissism. She said that although I did have an IQ of 186, that doesn't mean I am superior. I'm trying, and I've been making progress. I'm finally starting to feel normal.
​
"Connor?" She asks. I quickly look away from the graffiti and look to her. "Uh? Oh, yeah, sorry. I was just staring into space." She giggles at this. Suddenly, she begins to shuffle closer. She's about half a head shorter than I, and my heart flutters at the way she looks up at me with those beautiful eyes. It's like a supernova in my chest, and a bit of an asteroid impact 'down there,' too. as soon as she's close enough, she wraps me in her wholesome, yet romantic embrace. Her arms are around my waist and her leg slightly wrapped around mine. She looks up again and smiles. "What kind of adventure, you ask? Well, I'm just as into sex as the next gal, but I want something *different.*"
​
I can't hold it back anymore. My slight grin turns into a smile that begins to hurt after a while, but I can't stop. "What kind of 'different'?" I wittily reply. "Another *continent* kind of different," she enthusiastically announces. My heart, once fluttering, just went cold again. *Fucking gold diggers,* I think to myself. *I should have known.* I've been pretty good at keeping up a face for a while now, so I decide to keep up the facade for just a little while longer, just to see what happens.
​
"I'm gonna be honest with you, I don't have that kind of money. If I were to go on vacation, I'd only be able to pay for myself, sorry." She tilted her head slightly. "Oh, no no no! I was going to pay for myself, I could never ask you to pay for me! You've been so sweet. I couldn't take advantage of that."
​
I sigh a little, still suspicious. "Okay, let's pretend we go somewhere. Where would we go?" she looks up slightly, her pupils almost poking the top of her eyelids. "Well, you learned a lot about politics in college, right?" Her eyes are still beautiful despite my frustration. "Uh, yeah." She smiles again. "Well, you're really smart, and I'm *tired* of being a normal member of society. What's something you've always wanted to do? What's your most outrageous dream? Don't hold back, no wrong answers here."
​
My smile quickly fades.
​
"One word," I say. "And what's that?" I look her dead in the eye. "Bulgaria." | "Success is the ultimate driver," I say as I stare out the window of the plane, the sun's bright rays refracting off the clouds far below, creating heaven in my mind's eye. "Success gives us a chance at procreation, to allow men like me to reproduce with a female of the highest quality."
The man beside me nods knowingly at this nugget of wisdom, his half-moon glasses almost falling off his nose.
"Someone like me with someone like her," I look wistfully up at the cabin ceiling, "It's just not possible without success," I say, "I maintain that she only spoke to me because she was stranded on the side of the road and I was the first to stop."
"But we had a coffee and we chatted and I dropped her off at the mechanic and damn if she didn't seem like she came straight from another planet, with stars in her eyes," I say, still watching the cabin lights, "And I thought to myself, how could someone like me be with someone like her?"
My shoulders feel tight from sitting down in this cramped seat, I roll them and sigh contentedly at the minor relief. "It was as if she read my mind," I say, content to have such a listener, "She winked and said she liked adventurous guys - not happy, good-looking, muscular guys - but adventurous ones," I look over at the man, "So here I am, off on an adventure."
The man has nodded so far forward his chin is now on his chest. He is fast asleep.
I blink rapidly a few times, adjusting to my new reality. "It is better you don't know what I'm about to do, anyway," I say under my breath, a little peeved at his lack of engagement, "You'll be sorry you missed this opportunity to converse with such a mover and shaker as I."
I brood for a time, stroking the warn photograph that I'd insisted the tired-looking gas station attendant take. A photograph to mark the start of our romance, the two of us standing under too bright lights holding our dollar coffees. I fold the photo so it's just her in all her super model glory, low cut shirt and tight black skirt, on her way to somewhere, anywhere, it doesn't matter because she ran into me and I into her and I rub myself over my jeans, sneaking glances at my neighbor to make sure he is still asleep. I pour myself into that photo and I pour myself into my thighs, content in the warm, sticky embrace.
\------
I sip on my morning coffee, which is not nearly as good as the one at that gas station, which came enshrined in a beautiful moment now frozen in time. I try her number again and wish that I had gotten her name. Again the number goes straight to dial-tone.
"Perhaps she has run out of minutes," I say to myself. Fixing cars is expensive.
No matter, though. Soon I will be the most adventurous guy in the twenty first century, my face all over the world's news stations.
"Success is what matters," I tell the border agent as I cross from Bulgaria into Kosovo. He takes one look at my bright American smile and lets me straight through, a slight grin on his lips. "I will bring the American Dream to this land," I say, still smiling.
I look down at my hand-drawn map, copied from the internet. The government headquarters should be just around the corner, corrupt and gorging on UN aid, this building its physical manifestation.
I imbue myself with the confidence only life-long success can bring, or in my case, the iron-clad certainty that I have taken the first step on that journey, and that from this point forward my success will be life-long.
"I'm sorry, I don't speak English, " the security guard says, "What you want?"
"I am here to speak to your leader, mano-y-mano," I say, puffing up my chest to show that I mean business, that the real men must talk now.
The guard looks over his shoulder at someone inside, who beckons to let me through. I feel exhilaration and I embrace it, harness it as I walk through the high, arching doorway. I follow the important looking uniformed man down a long hallway, our footsteps echoing off the polished concrete floor.
"I will tell your 'President,' I say, using air quotes, "That you are an exemplary service member and should be rewarded." I congratulate myself on gaining this man's trust with so few words, a mark of the new, successful me.
I smile as I am led into the leader's quarters. "Strange," I say, "It's so grey and bland in here," I look up, "And the light flickers on and off." I look down at a stark metal chair and single metal table and then look up knowingly at my new friend.
"This is where I shall meet your leader, very well," I say, cheerfully taking a seat. The man looks at me with what can only be admiration, then he frowns, shakes his head and leaves.
I sit in the room waiting for my audience, the too bright light flickering on and off with a static buzzing sound.
"Finally!" I say as two men walk in. I rise half-way out of my chair, putting on my most winning smile as one backhands me across the face, and the next thing I know I'm on the ground choking for air as blood filters through my crushed windpipe and several of my teeth are scattered across the cold concrete floor.
I stay like that, slowly fading, my hand clutching and un-clutching the frayed, bloodied photograph of the woman with stars in her eyes. | 2018-12-10T09:43:40 | 2018-12-10T08:30:42 | 53 | 15 |
[WP] Everyone gets an ability at the age of 25 based on the thing they do the most. Your parents were trying to get you something useful for your entire life and , on the day before your birthday, you decide to tell them about your secret hobby. | I was, ah.... unusually talented at this.
Most people spent all their life doing something. Sometimes the ability was career related. An engineer could instantly design, analyze, or even manufacture whatever he or she set their mind to, past their 25th birthday. Sometimes it was utterly mundane, like driving, which meant a wild bid for the NASCAR trials, or even better, mastering all forms of transportation. A physicist could end up either an erudite scholar or a lightning-wielding sorcerer. A swimmer could turn into a fish, or part the oceans with his hand. And don’t get me started on the priests of all the religions, who claimed their broken gifts were It merely had to based on the thing you did the most.
They called it the Awakening. On your 25th birthday, a power awakes within you. It can be mundane or terrifying.
Well, I spent 25 years imagining things. I never lost that streak of creativity when I was young, and over the years, I gained eighth grader syndrome. Again and again, in secret, I would lose my self in other imaginary worlds, dreaming up stories, planets, powers.
I outwardly chose to be an engineer, of course, so that in secret I could draw what I dreamt up. So I flirted with the idea of being a writer, but my words could not capture my dreams. I thought of being an artist, but I had not the skill or patience. And even in my career, I focused far too much on what could be, rather than what is.
I thought, that maybe one of these would be my power. Maybe make entertaining illusions, or build rockets or cars.
So imagine my horror, when on my 25th birthday, I briefly teleported into what could only be described as “cliched fantasy world.” My disgust at something so overdone teleported me into a cyberpunk city. I couldn’t breathe there without a face mask, though, so I teleported into a grand crystalline forest, swirling with alien stars and barren. Oddly enough, the air there was better than the last place.
Then a realization dawned on me. I wasn’t teleporting into these worlds. I was making them. Forging them out of the reality around me like an engineer, by building wildly fantastical and impossible things like an artist. And it was no mere illusion.
Skyscrapers had sprung up in the city, bursting from concrete and blocking roads. I had accidentally summoned a ring of asteroids around the earth, bustling with drones and spaceports. Indeed, I could bend reality itself.
Then, I lost concentration for a brief, terrible second. A wave of mushroom clouds blotted out the horizon, as an enormous medieval army clashed on newly formed, barren deserts. Magic swirled through the air and ripped entire towns apart. The highways turned to waterfalls, then to rainbows, then to deadly serpents eating scores of people.
Oh god, what have I done. Wait, maybe I am God? | The bane of my childhood existence was the strict rule my parents enforced on me for the duration of my childhood: absolutely no creativity was allowed under any circumstances. Looking back, I can understand their reasoning, though that does not necessarily mean I agree with it. My mother, an Analyst, had spent her childhood studying mathematics, and thus could do most calculations in her head in a matter of milliseconds with the utmost ease, since the moment she turned twenty-five years of age. My father was a Chemist. He spent his childhood studying the molecules that build our universe, and thus his power was to manipulate materials on a molecular level without strain. These abilities paved the road to a life of luxury, allowing them to claim a respectable career associated with their enhanced abilities. They simply wanted the same for me.
So, creativity was completely disallowed. "Don't waste your time with anything artsy," they would say. "The Painters are all deadbeats, the Musicians end up jobless, the Dancers can barely afford to get by, and the Authors never find success. Try reading this instead." They would place in front of me a book on medicinal science or law.
As any child can confirm, anything forbidden suddenly becomes the most attractive thing that a young mind can concieve of. So naturally, the arts captivated my curiosity. I was particularly interested in singing. I discovered, from my time singing in the shower or when I found myself alone, that I had a rather rich tenor voice. As often as I could, I would sing to myself, but when around my parents I would delve myself into the realm of biology. I felt guilty, looking at their proud faces, knowing the secret I held from them.
Soon, my twenty-fifth birthday drew ever nearer. The secret grew larger and larger, building up inside of me. The longer I kept it from them, the worse it would be. Still, I was afraid. Of what, I know not, but I was terrified of telling them. My parents were kind and compassionate, but the worst thing I could do, in my mind, was to let them down. So I kept my secret, walled up inside of me until it was far too late to change my fate.
Tommorow, it would be my twenty-fifth birthday.
Tommorow, I would become a Singer.
It was time to tell them about my secret hobby, to overcome my fear, before it would be too late. I sighed, then approached my parents timidly. My mother was sitting at the table, scribbling on her notepad lines of equations. My father, across from her, was studying something under a microscope. I coughed, getting their attention.
"Hey, son," my father greeted, looking up from his microscope. "What're you doing still up? It's a big day tomorrow."
"Your father's right," my mother remarked, not looking up from her notes, "you need your rest, especially tonight."
"Mom, dad, I have something I need to tell you." I fiddled with my fingers nervously.
"Well, what is it?" my mother asked, putting down her pencil and looking up from her task. I suppose she detected the seriousness in my tone.
"I, err..." I took a deep breath before continuing. "I don't think I'm going to be a Biologist."
"Well, what else would you be?" he asked, a puzzled expression plastered on his face.
"I've been, uhh, doing something in secret," I continued. "I don't expect you to approve of this, and I understand completely if you don't, but..." *Calm down*, I told myself. I had to take another deep breath to stop myself from trembling. "I'm pretty sure that tomorrow, I'm going to become a Singer."
Silence. I looked from my mother to my father, but they remained wordless. I couldn't quite read their expressions.
Abruptly, my mother jumped up and marched toward me. I flinched in preparation for the worst, but was surprised when she simply wrapped her arms around me in a hug. A moment later, my father stood up and joined in.
"You're not mad?" I asked in shock.
"Of course not, honey," my mother said, her voice muffled from burying her face in my shirt. She looked up at me, and I saw her eyes water. "No matter what you do, we'll be proud of you. You know we just wanted the best for you, right?"
"I know," I responded, and smiled.
And so I stood there, not a disappointment, but a source of pride. Surrounded by my family, I was ready to face whatever life might throw at me, starting tomorrow, the day of my twenty-fifth birthday.
====
I'm pretty new here, so any advice for improvement would be appreciated. Thanks! | 2018-12-29T15:44:17 | 2018-12-29T14:33:26 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D | "...and for the ten *millionth* time, would you all *please stop eating shellfish*!"
"Is that all m'lord?" Metatron asked, quickly scribbling the last of the command down on its notepad.
"I think so." I sighed, leaning back in the heavenly golden throne. "You think they might all listen for once?"
"I doubt it m'lord. There has been no response from humanity in 5,321 years."
"True true. It's that damned intercom system I bet. I should've never let humanity out of Eden I tell ya. Sure, it would've been a bit crowded but at least you didn't even have to shout to talk to them...now it's almost like the damned thing's not even on."
"Very funny, but impossible m'lord. The power is always on." Metatron said flatly, pulling out an intercom system from within the spaces between the two glowing concentric rings that made its torso.
"Did you make sure to press the talk button?" I teased, knowing full well I'd just get the same flat answer as before.
Metatron really was the dullest angel in the Kaballah. Say all you want about Gabriel or Michael, but at least they could at least hold a half decent conversation.
I guess that's my fault and all. Deciding to just create a new angel to be my speaker after Lucifer...fell instead of just promoting an existing archangel. But then again, the alternetive would be listening to Gabriel gossiping about who Zeus fucked now or to Michael describing all the way he's going to tortue Lucifer when he gets his hands on him for all of eternity and I'd rather go through the apocalypse than suffer through *that*.
"Pardon, m'lord?"
"The talk button. Y'know-" I pointed over at the button labeled 'TALK' on the intercom, which I just now noticed still had the protective film on it. "-it's...it's a...nevermind."
"Why would I press the talk button m'lord?"
"It's the button you press to...talk. To the world. " I looked at Metatron, confused about if this was it's idea of a joke or something else.
"But I do not need to talk to the world m'lord. I am your speaker, I am not a talker." Metatron stared at me with all of its thousand eyes with such a lack of emotion that it was bordering on unsettling.
"...Metatron, when you ta-act as my speaker to the world, what button do you press?"
"I press the speaker button, m'lord." Metatron pointed at a well-worn button with a speaker icon underneath it.
"To act as my speaker."
"Yes m'lord."
"Metatron-" I sunk into my throne, burrying my face into my hands. "-who are you?"
"I am Metatron of the Keter, son of man, angel of the veil and The Lord's speaker, m'lord."
"How old are you?"
"I have been young, and now I am old, m-"
"*how old Metatron?*"
"5,321 years, m'lord."
"So, in the five thousand or so years you've been in my service, you've always pressed that button to 'speak' to the world?"
"yes, m'lord."
"Metatron, that's the volume button."
Say all you want about Gabriel and Michael, at least they knew how a fucking intercom worked. | Lying on my bed I'm my room, the blackouts closed... it's too warm you know. I like a colder room. Something a bit more comfortable. Sometimes I just sit there pondering impossible questions... tracing the lines in the giprock ceiling...
"What's for supper?"
"How will college be when I enter for the first time in 3 months? Next September."
"Where does your conscience go when you die?"
"Where did my brother's conscience go that day two years ago?"
"What is heaven like? Or does it even exist?"
This is nice I thought to myself. Today was my two year anniversary in heaven. Apperently a garden area opened up, although I didn't listen to the speaker, they are always so over the top with their celebrations...
the hall was both long and short, perfectly bright but not so that it hurt your eyes. A hint of orange, like a sunset or a dawn that was just about to ha-
"**WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS STUPID SERVER.** ^(Man) ^(I'm) ^(about) ^(to) **THROW THIS STRAIGHT INTO SAGITTARIOUS A**"
^("Sir) ^(please,) ^(calm) ^(do-")
**"JESUS CHRIST ON TH-"**
"Ya dad?"
^("Oh) ^(for) ^(fuck) ^(sakes) No, not you son... I swear to god" ^("sir) ^(you) ^(are) ^(god")
**"I KNOW"** *sigh* "I just don't get it. I haven't been able to get on the Perseus or Sagittarius servers for like 2000 years. I can join but no one can hear me. I wish they'd just make a Orion server already. I have shit ping to Earth from both Sagittarius and Perseus."
Ha, someone sounds like they are technologically inept.
"Alright smartass, **How about *you* fix this then?**"
Hahaha, and now they want me help. Well is- wait. Did I say that out loud?
"No, I hear, see, and know all. Who you think your foolin' kiddo"
"Well... Now I've done it" I didn't bother to keep that to myself.
As I look at the screen I notice something uncanny. It looks exactly like discord... There are so many servers... This guy really needs BetterDiscord. Alright let's see, Sagittarius Arm is the server...
"What chat room did you want?"
"Earth... but it's hopeless. I have been trying for 2000 years" He responded confident and hopeless.
"Ya well my last exposure to tech was 2 years ago, yours was... what... like an eternity ago?" I responded sarcastically.
You see, I'm an asshole through and through. I didn't really think about who I was insulting but to be honest I couldn't care less. Part of being a dedicated dick.
"Do you want to get smited you little shit?"
"And who would fix your mock up discord old man?"
"Boy... Do you even know what's wrong with it?"
I took a look up and down the screen. Ah, input devices. Definitely the issue... Telepathic Input? I dont see an issue, unless he doesnt have a mind...
"I heard that."
Oh ya, he does that. I'll pop him into earth and see what's wrong. *Connecting... Conne-* **Badoom.**
"Try speaking"
"I am... I told you. It does not work."
"Well how bout' you unmute your input? That might help..." I replied sarcastically.
His face froze and he just stared at me slack-jawed. It felt like an eternity before he finally spoke.
^("You) ^(mean) ^(to) ^(tell) ^(me) ^(that) ^(I) ^(have) ^(been) ^(muted) ^(for) ^(2000) ^(years?) ^(Are) ^(you) ^(serious?")
"You didn't know?" I could feel laughter welling up
**"FUCK!"** he yelled
I couldn't help it. I bust out laughing. I honestly lost my marbles. My legs went wobbly and I fell to the ground. To think God has just been on mute for 2000 years. It was insane!
He shifted his chair up and moved closer to the screen, I didn't notice it before but there were over seven billion in the chat room.
"Hello, this is your lord and savior speaking." He said in a confident tone. Not two seconds later he clutched his head and sent the computer flying across the room.
"I think I'll just wait till after WW3"
———————————————————
Hey all, this is my first time doing any sort of free style writing off a prompt outside of a high school assignment and before this year English was my worst subject. (Now it's my best somehow). Anyways, given this is my first story, I'd love to hear some feedback! Formatting tips and tricks, diction recommendations, writing changes, techniques, criticisms, and recommendations are all welcome!
I also wrote this whole thing on mobile so have a little mercy on my soul. Haha | 2019-06-03T11:16:32 | 2019-06-03T10:40:47 | 294 | 11 |
[WP] All races are judged by their affinity to cast magic. The humans, being the only living creature who can't use magic, was banished. After many years, they achieved high technological progress, invented "Guns" that is far stronger than any magic. Fearing revenge, a spy elf warns the other races. | ”Emperor, you have a guest. A tiresome looking fellow. Says it’s urgent.”
Emperor Lotkin put down the package he was holding and turned to his guard. “Well don’t be a slack, send them in!”
A man with frazzled hair and dark circles under his eyes trudged into the room.
“M’lord, I am Eishray, of the Elvin kingdom. I’m come bearing news of the humans.”
Emperor Lotkin cocked an eye. “Humans? Why would the activities of such peasants have you stumbling to my estate at this hour looking like a rabid dog?”
“They’ve created a new technology,” Eishray said, in-between deep breaths laced with fatigue. “It’s immune to spells; magic has no effect. Guns, they call ‘em”
“And you’re to tell me this ‘new technology’ is stronger than the earth my people command? More agile than the water of the cephalopods in the north? Hotter than the fire of your own Elvin people’s?! Tsch, blasphemy!” The emperor’s voice ricocheted off the office walls.
“Sir,” Eishray interjected before the emperor became more enraged, “they may have the more powerful weapon, but we have the upper-hand in strategy. We’ve located the factories and resources they use to manufacture these ‘guns’. The commanders of the cephalopod and elvish armies await your response. With the coalition of all three races, we can easily squash the human rebellions once and for all.”
Emperor Lotkin sat at his desk, eyes closed, arms crossed.
“Sir!” Eishray pleaded, “this is no time for contemplation. We must act to ensure our future!”
“You’re right,” Emperor Lotkin said. “Swift action will help ensure a better future.”
With those words, Lotkin reached into the package on his desk. Light filtering through the window bounced off the plating on the item
-BANG!-
Eishray crumpled to the floor; blood began to pool around his limp body.
Emperor Lotkin inhaled the fumes from the smoking gun barrel. “For too long the elves and cephalopods have made demands of us. Proposing new legislation over our people. Saying it’s for everyone’s benefit, and then colluding behind our backs to work-in clauses that provide them with hidden benefits. No more!” The emperor shouted. “Strugis!”
The guard bolted into the room. “Yes, high lord!”
“Send a message to the humans,” the empower said. “The first act of war has been taken. Soon it shall be the Molegaerd and the Humans who rule this world!” | Hank signaled Clay to move ahead, to cross the clearing and run towards the next giant tree. This forest always seemed to have a next giant tree. Clay always complained about all the bugs that made the trees their homes and that would come out at night to harass honest working stiffs. Hank always retorted that without these giant trees, they wouldn't have jobs, so it all netted out in the end.
Now these giant trees built a night-time obstacle course for Hank and Clay. An obstacle course for them, but to the intruder it seemed like nothing. And it didn't seem fair. Clay had run track in high school, and Hank had kept up with his calisthenics, regardless of the assignment. How can they be barely keeping up? How were they actually losing ground?
The Artemis Company had been scouting these jungles for the past six months, and suddenly had found a large area of virgin timber. Satellite scans had identified the area. This time, satellite coordinates weren't enough and the land inspectors had taken their sweet time in visually spotting the actual grove. There was something about the area which shorted out electronics. It wasn't radioactive, which meant it wasn't dangerous enough to stop Artemis from going forward with the plan. It was dangerous enough to get hazard pay, which drew mooks like Hank and Clay like flies.
Dangerous enough to get the extra money, but - hey - it was just wood.
Hank and Clay liked to get the night patrols. The two always braved nights full of bugs to avoid a merciless sun that beat down on them through the tree canopy. This night, they had heard a crashing in the vicinity of the HQ tent, and en route, they spotted the native. Clay said it didn't look like a native. To Hank, anyone that didn't look like Artemis staff was a native. He was pretty sure that he'd seen someone shirtless running into the darkness with a bow in one hand. He'd assumed that there was an arrow that went along with the bow, and yelled "Stop or we'll shoot." The native didn't stop, so he shot. He missed. Clay reported into security HQ.
And then they ran.
They ran with the confidence of the hunter. The native was just a primitive with a bow. They were professional security guards with years of experience. They had guns. Guard duty was supposed to be simple.
Hank re-evaluated that position when Clay went down to the monkey attack. The thing had jumped out of nowhere, and jammed something into Clay's eye. Hank shot at it and chased it away, too late for Clay. It looked like it was a stick. Hank tried to call into HQ, and got nothing but static. He readjusted his equipment, considered chasing the native, and decided that he'd earned his pay today. He'd bring back a whole squad of guards, and make sense of this in the morning.
His instincts told him that their prey was probably not alone. And that was no ordinary monkey. He and his hackles rose in unison, and he made to run back to camp. "Scout the territory. Come back with a crew," he muttered to himself.
He looked up towards the path that they had come from. It had disappeared, replaced by a wall of wood. A tree now stood squarely in the middle of the bath they had run through. He rubbed his eyes, and the tree remained there. He looked forward to the direction the native had fled, and that too had been closed by another tree.
He felt a pain on his right, and looked down to see an arrow jutting from his side. He tumbled to the ground, and what little vision he had disappeared. He heard voices. Dirty, native voices.
\--
\*Kendil, we have done what you have asked, and secured samples of these gimmicks that you call guns. Perhaps now you can demonstrate to us why we should worry? The forests have always defended us, and they shall for millennia more.\*
The young elven scout stripped a handgun from Clay's corpse, unlatched the safety and took aim at Hank.
'Click.'
'Bang.' | 2020-04-16T12:50:41 | 2020-04-16T11:54:17 | 49 | 24 |
[WP] God is the programmer of the universe. While he used to release updates and patches rather quickly, he has since stoped due to the complexity of his own embarrassingly jerryrigged coding. | First attempt at a story here:
He was desperate. He had until midnight to finish it, or it'd all be for nothing. He had avoided it for months, and had actually only started working on it one week ago. Storing the position of particles? No, he had decided that instead of having to store the position of electrons, it'd instead get a random position around the atom. "It's just a _tiny_ little workaround that I'll replace later," he told himself. Alas, he forgot to clamp the position, and _no_, he did _not_ get back to it. Making continuous time was too much of a hassle, so he just made the timestep an absurdly small value; 1E–43 seconds, for good measure. He didn't even notice it himself, but he even made the cosmological constant a *variable*, even assigning to it on more than just a few occasions. The list of his mistakes and bad implementations went on, and on, and on. Miraculously, gcc gave him an astounding *zero* compiler errors, not that the c++ standard cared too much anyways. No apparent semantic errors either, he thought. Despite his haphazard use of pointers where unnecessary, non-smart pointers to boot, it runs! At exactly 23:57:41 EST, he submits it just before the deadline. Despite his many bad practises, surely nobody would notice—
...
...right? |
The man was hunched over, sitting intently at his desk. The scratch of a pen moving against the paper could be heard as he wrote.
*…confuses many. The Great Restoration was once seen as the proof of an omniscient, omnipotent being. It was the source of prayers and religion, of love and hope.*
He paused, stroking his now grey beard in thought.
*I do not claim to be able to explain its decreasing frequency, but as we hit the 100th anniversary of the last Restoration, I worry… I am one of the few alive today who have witnessed the characteristic light which fills the world on the day of the Restoration. It is criminal to me that what was, as legends say, once an annual event is now seen as an occasional miracle. If that.*
He thought back to his english class from the academy. Start with context, professor Edwin had always said. Then state the need.
He sighed and began writing again. The pen trembled in his fingers as he fought his age.
*Men are losing hope. It threatens the collapse of religion. Indeed, I have already seen the distrust that the younger generation have in the establishment. I know you have sensed it, as well. Those of us who have witnessed the event know better, but the young ones… they believe it to be hoax. A conspiracy, if you will.*
*It is not merely the religious establishment which is threatened by the absence of the Restoration. It is the government which ties itself to the religion. Supporting the church with only claims of evidence that they have never seen in their lifetime… it breeds doubt.*
He closed his eyes. Thinking.
The problem… and close it up with a call to action.
*We cannot let what we have painstakingly built collapse before our eyes. I will not let it happen. If you are the same friend that I have know for half a century, then I know you realize this as well.*
*My proposition is dangerous. But stakes are high, and drastic circumstances demand drastic actions. I know you still remember the expedition you had back when we were in the academy. The one you swore to never go back to.*
*I am calling it to you, as your duty and as a friend, to return. To revisit the discoveries from that trip. You have said that the power of those dark magics are too dangerous. Not to be handled by men. But we need it now. More than ever.*
*I will be counting on you. The civilization rests in your hands, and I know you have never been one to let it down. I wish that the lord be with you… but we know he has abandoned us. It is in your hands now.*
*Good luck.*
*Your friend and colleague,*
*Aximar.*
​
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Thank you for reading! Feedback always appreciated. | 2020-06-14T13:30:58 | 2020-06-14T13:19:22 | 111 | 20 |
[WP] A global, standardised test taken at 13 determines the career of everyone on the planet. The big day comes and you get your results back, only to learn you might have the hardest job ever given through this system: you have to redesign the test. | I was roused from my slumber by an urgent beeping from my phone. Grunting, I reached over and saw an email alert chiming urgently. Immediately, I sat up rigid, my hands shaking more from anger than from nervousness. The exam results were in.
I'd always hated the exam, this thing that our lives we're all arranged around. Everyone slaved for 13 years for this exam, a bland 100 page month long assignment. I'd seen people I'd known break down under its pressure while growing up. And at the end, your entire future would be determined by it.
So I'd decided to rebel against the system. When I got that assignment, I had simply typed the same thing every time, for every answer and submitted it within minutes. And for a month now I had calmly whiled away my time, glad that this act of rebellion was done and happy to be freed from the future temporarily.
And so now, the results of my act were in. As I slowly logged onto the system on my laptop, ignoring the continuous chimes from my phone as my contemporaries touted the fruits of their labor. To my surprise, logging in showed me no score, and for a moment I thought it was a network problem. However, something else popped up. A single audio clip. I clicked on it. And I listened. And I understood.
And so now I'm leaving this note to you both. You've supported me forever, and now finally I can make my own path. I can finally be free of the future, and shape it how I want, as I embark on this next chapter. I cannot communicate with you for a while. But if next year, my sister tells you things have changed, you will know I have succeeded. | I sat staring at the LED's of my computer screen, frozen and transfixed by the simple email imploring me to redesign the test. I thought with my years of programming experience I would be selected to work with software, perhaps for Peach or Macrohard. I had grown up at my desk, typing away lines of code, while many kids played soccer, or danced I was in another world, designing smaller worlds.
I was assigned a group of team members primarily consisting of programmers like myself but with a handful of teachers, doctors, engineers and other specialists of all kinds. I was to oversee them all and create a new test.
Dreaming of this day as a small child, I would play in the sandbox imaging tests like building bridges to cross rivers or saving the distressed heroine from a monster. I'd sculpt the sand in a mucky mess into castles and fun to find the garden hose to start the "rainy season".
As I got older I began working on the creation of a small open world game where you could complete basic tasks like going to the store, talking to other players and driving cars. It wasn't much but now I had a team of experts under my command.
The test I had passed to gain the job as test re-designer was of a past generation. A group of 60 or 70 of my peers would met in a series of cabins around a central larger cabin.
\---------------------------------------------------The Recent Past--------------------------------------------------------------
I was surrounded by my peers in the cafeteria with large old wooden beams holding the roof in place, people in default Guy Fawkes type masks held out their hands and lead us into the a room adjoining the cafeteria of the largest cabin. Their warm hands comforting as the faded blue curtain was pulled away to reveal a pitch black room.
I was led to and placed in a solitary chair, unable to see my hand in front of my face when suddenly a light illuminated the stage with a single individual sitting, holding a paper reading a script. In monotone the speaker dutifully read.
"This is the start of the test, your actions will be monitored..."
The speaker droned on for ages before we were dismissed and led by more adults in Guy Fawkes masks to smaller cabins. Our larger group was split into smaller groups, we were all shook by what was to come. It was finally time, it was the test!
The cabin was blacked out and we sat, a single member lit a candle. Individually we shared our life stories, where we had come from and what we experienced.
With feedback from letters mailed in from parents, coaches, peers and teachers as well as the experiences and dialogue in the cabin were assigned our jobs.
\------------------------------------------------------The Present --------------------------------------------------------
I was ambitious. My plan was to build my simple "life simulator" into a totally immersive world where kids would grow up and live a full, and accelerated, life. If they were successful in their careers, functional members of society, they would gain the same job in reality, if not, well.., they would go through the test again, until finding a suitable path.
\------------------------------------------------------The Future---------------------------------------------------------
It was all working so well until the simulation became unresponsive, the mini universe had developed its own access to the source code, designing a back door and locking out the designers. Luckily I had a secured spectator seat that they could not access. I watched as a self contained digital world developed, entirely autonomously. I had created the first intelligent life, in a computer simulation. I had become a God! | 2020-07-05T01:34:43 | 2020-07-04T23:05:06 | 159 | 28 |
[WP] A cult captured you and successfully sacrificed your girlfriend to bring their evil deity into the world. What no one knew, however, was that the sacrificed soul became the core of their summoned Dark Goddess. | After your girlfriend comes out of the darkness, shadows coil around her in a cloak of darkness. They present you to her as her first meal in physical form.
"Sorry," the dark goddess smiles, "I'm vegan now. Human meat has been nothing but killer on my thighs." She leans down and gives you a peck on the cheek and the cult memebers release you.
A few weeks later you and your girlfriend are at your comfortable apartment eating breakfast. She doesn't need food anymore, but she's happy to sit and talk while you eat. Its a nice morning routine. There are some things about her that have changed, like her occasional outbursts of demonic chanting, and the random spouts of hellfire, but overall, shes pretty much the same.
"Can you believe that they wanted me to destroy the Hoover Dam yesterday?" Your girlfriend complains as you drink your coffee, "like, I know im their dark overlord, and that theu killed me, but I want to get these guys some therapy."
"I said we should have called the police," You mention, "these guys are crazy. They tried killing our cat because it was 'the enemies eyes'! Like, what the heck."
"They did clean the apartment though," your girlfriend notes, "and Maeve can bake a mean brownie."
"True," you agree remembering the rich, soft brownie the seemed to melt and run down your throat.
Finally, you get up to go to work. You jokingly make your gf promise not to end the world, and leave her to work on her art. You find a note on your desk when you get back that simply says "we know who she is. We are coming, and we will end her." | 'What's wrong babe? I thought you liked goat livers.' My wife asked during my third gag reflex over the dinner she cooked. I used to love her cooking but ever since the accident I hate it. Something's changed. Don't get me wrong, I love the orgies and all the kinky stuff she's doing but...Oh yeah the accident, perhaps I should start with that. Long story short, we were on our honeymoon on Gupugupugapagapa island, small island next to Bermuda Triangle.Cliche I know, but I was never the one to believe in such nonsense, neither was my girlfriend, and the price we just couldn't refuse. First 6 days were great, the locals were so nice, feeding me and my girlfriend various delicacies, well, mostly my girlfriend. 7th, our last, day was weird though. I remember waking up to a shaman or something standing over me and hearing my girlfriend scream, but I guess it was just a dream because next thing I remembered was waking up in the airplane, wondering what a weird dream it was. My girlfriend was, sick, very sick, she spent so much time in the bathroom other passengers were looking at us with a pure full bladder-fueled hatred. When we landed she stood up and kissed the flight attended. Short blonde girl, really cute, I was so shocked the only thing I could say, well mumble, was "Babe, I think you're supposed to clap". I thought my joke was so lame they're throwing us out, but then I saw the girl bleeding from her mouth, freaking out.
We never really talked about that accident. We came home early morning and thanks to my stupid boss Jeremy, I had to go straight back to work. When I came home, I shit you not, around 20 naked people, mostly girls with what I can best describe as motherly figures, you know, with something to grab, were having a time of their lives with my girlfriend in the middle of the pleasure-pile, noting at me to come and join her immediately. We discussed this before, we said maybe later we would experiment to spice things up. I thought it was weird and kinda soon but how could I resist. Listen, this is not one of those stories so just put your thing away ok? Lol just kidding.
Anyway, things are becoming super scary lately. I can hear random noises in our apartment, bunch of electronic devices malfunctioning and our elderly neighbor claims something ate her dog last night. Weird shit. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and my girlfriend, wife sorry, can't get used to it, just stands there looking through the window, mumbling something I can't understand.
'Peasant, will you eat?'
'Yeah sure...' Wait what? Did she really just call me peasant? I must be going crazy. And no way I'm eating this shit.
'I'm sorry Cate but, this isn't the best thing you ever cooked, I just, I just can't...'
'Who's Cate, peasant?'
'Wtf? What...what do you mean?'
'You shall not call me Cate, peasant, or I'll eat you alive'
Cold sweat runs down my back, this is weird as hell. 'Babe is everything ok?' I try to be calm. She looks at me with a look to kill... | 2020-10-06T10:51:14 | 2020-10-06T07:11:25 | 56 | 15 |
[WP] No one is sure what happened, but suddenly everyone started obeying the law. All crime ceased. At first it was beautiful, but it quickly started going very wrong. | *“The law, in its majestic equality, forbids the rich as well as the poor to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets, and to steal bread.”*
I don’t remember who said that anymore. But it’s all I can think about today as I clock in for my first shift at the diner. That and how I was somehow left out of things the one time my philosophy degree would have actually been useful.
Street corners are emptier and cleaner than ever. At the same time, jails and holding stations are fuller than ever. I hear the old ladies waiting in line for their daily dose of caffeine praise the newfound civic-mindedness of those “bad sorts” and “rotten apples”. Rather than continue to break the law, they had turned themselves in.
“I understand,” I say with my cheeriest smile when they finally step up to the counter. “Keeping a tidy home can be so hard sometimes! Sometimes I just sweep things out of sight too.”
They glare, but my behavior is well within the bounds of the law and we all know it. Two years ago, it became the kind of thing you felt deep in your bones. Incidentally, so did breaking the law.
Then one of them asks to speak to my manager.
My reprimand and subsequent dismissal, one day shy of the end of my probation period and being upgraded to full-time, is well within the bounds of the law as well.
We know the law now. We obey on pain of torture. But none of that makes us good.
And just thinking about that makes every bone in my body ache. | On a street corner in city A--, Ring County, Gregson received a high five from a full-bearded man who wore a beanie. Gregson was expecting a high five, but not what happened after. In his hand he had a twenty dollar bill and he expected a quarter ounce packet to exchange hands when the high five happened. But the man just stared at him and did not take the twenty or give anything in return.
"I'm out of the game. Find someone else," said the man and walked away.
Gregson blinked once, twice, uttered a soft huh, and watched the man striding away from him. Saliva pooled in Gregson's mouth. He spat it out. His right hand twitched.
"Jimmy boy," Gregson spoke into his phone. "Jim, can you hook me up with some hope?"
"Hope? God can give you hope, not man," came the reply.
"Stop fooling around man. My mouth's a lake right now. Old Pops just told me he's out of the game. You know someone?"
Silence.
"No...actually the same thing happened to me. All my guys are out."
"Strange."
"Yeah..."
Gregson walked back home and chewed gum to keep his mouth occupied. He turned the TV on. Nothing good. Turned to news. There's no interesting news, except the news that there's no interesting news and everything's working as expected. This irritated Gregson and he switched the TV off.
The next day Gregson found that everything was suddenly more expensive.
"What's the matter, Vic? You trying to rob the people? The people can always not buy stuff, you know," he said to the owner of the local grocery.
Vic laughed. "It's hardly my fault. Everything's expensive everywhere. Go ahead, visit other stores they're all the same."
Gregson gulped the excess saliva in his mouth. "New policy?"
"Yeah. The cheap places stopped making things cheap. They say labor cost's gone up."
"Gone up? When?"
Vic shrugged and that was all. Gregson did not feel the slightest urge to contradict Vic. It all seemed very sensible to him even though he didn't have enough money to buy the stuff he had in his cart. The urge to ask for credit without contract did not tempt him and so Gregson left the store with a roll of toilet paper, two chicken breasts, and prepackaged salad.
As the days rolled by, surviving on unemployment benefits became more and more unfeasible for Gregson. Jim stopped returning his calls, not that Gregson himself was too terribly interested in hearing "I have nothing" over and over again especially after the saliva thing resolved itself.
An emaciated Gregson sobbed in his bed. The price of everything was too high. Businesses weren't doing so well. The country wasn't doing so well. There was peace, yes, there was order, yes, but there also was the stench of death as the poor robbed of their implements of survival suffered like Gregson did. Even water was expensive now. He craved the very saliva that he wanted to get rid of only months earlier. Thirsty, hungry, Gregson stared at his ceiling as the orderly hum of vehicles filled his room. | 2021-09-22T08:50:30 | 2021-09-22T08:27:31 | 84 | 27 |
[WP] No one is sure what happened, but suddenly everyone started obeying the law. All crime ceased. At first it was beautiful, but it quickly started going very wrong. | My mother’s voice was soft and gentle, her touch kind and enveloping. Hugged tight against her chest, I felt warm tears begin to form, wishing she’d *let me go*.
I couldn’t push her off, though. I couldn’t even blink on command, couldn’t even breathe. I was just a puppet. *Everyone was.*
Finally released from the hug, my chin lifted to look her in the eyes. My lips tugged into a smile, and I could taste the salt as the tears I had been quietly weeping rolled past my split lips. She returned the smile, and I imagine it looked just as crooked and wrong on my face as it did on hers.
“I love you, mama.”
The words were tender, but my voice was all wrong. It sounded like someone was playing my vocal chords like an instrument, each syllable a note and each note off-key.
She just kept smiling in return, turning away from me to walk into the kitchen- presumably to get my lunch. I waited for her return like a soldier at attention, back rigid and muscles tense. They never got to relax, not even in rest- I would lie in bed, limbs straight as boards, breathing even in a mockery of sleep as I waited for the sun to rise again. God, I ached. It was hell.
It was then that my mother returned, singing out a cheerful goodbye from unwilling lips as she handed me a brown paper bag. For the first time that morning, I got a good look at her face. She was crying too, I realized, not even able to wipe away the trailing tears.
“Have a good day at school, Sammy.”
“Goodbye, mama.”
It was the least alone I’d felt in months. | I first realized something had changed while watching live news footage of the Szentburough terrorist attack. Midway through the assault, the criminals surrendered voluntarily and released their hostages. Soon, reports began to pile up. All over the nation, people were turning themselves in, confessing to crimes no one even knew had occurred.
Since that day, all citizens have abided by the law. Politicians have come clean about corruption. Decades-old cold cases have been solved. Pollution is no longer a pressing concern.
However, there's a problem.
Crime is, like most human matters, a relative phenomenon. If there are no crimes, that means the bar is now too high. Which means it must be lowered. Which means ...
"It appears you are about to sneeze. Am I mistaken?"
"I can assure you, officer, that I would rather die. I am aware that as of yesterday public sneezing is a felony."
Sooner or later, the bar will have gotten so low that all criminals will simply be victims of random chance. A leaf from your maple tree fell on the sidewalk? That's littering. You're looking at ten years. You bumped into someone? That's assault. Walking too briskly while inebriated? You don't even want to know.
People now rarely talk to one another if they can avoid it. They fear their words may be misinterpreted as threats.
I haven't heard anyone laughing in a long time. Laughter implies a victim of a joke. Endangering someone's reputation is a serious offense, so few people dare to make fun of anyone. Or anything. Even objects and symbols can't be ridiculed. People have staked their reputation on them and such it would be an indirect attack on them, which is no laughing matter.
Laughing at oneself is no better. People might think you're deranged. Which might mean you would commit a crime. Which means being around you would be a great risk, best to be avoided.
Children are now the most frequent criminals. There are many rules and laws to be learned, and as hard as they may study they can't possibly be aware of them all. And so they break them, without intent. Ignorance is no defense.
None of the others seem to have noticed, but the pressure has been steadily building. Like a volcano the whole nation is about to erupt. It's not a matter of choice. It's a force of nature. No one knows why people suddenly stopped breaking rules. And no one knows when they are suddenly going to break them all at once.
It happened when there were no longer any crimes being committed to fill up the demand. Millions of citizens depended on crime for their livelihoods. Lowering the bar had only gotten them so far. Something more drastic needed to be done. And that was when the solution presented itself.
"By executive order, following the law is now against the law."
This paradoxical commandment broke open the floodgates. A year's worth of crime resulted overnight. The streets ran with blood, and delirious laughter. Even the victims couldn't contain their excitement.
As Szentburough burned to the ground, chaos and anarchy reigned.
We were all swept up in this unquiet dance, steadily cycling between extremes. Society had gone bipolar, its inhabitants a collective mind. And this mind was strangely deranged, synchronized in its madness.
After the manic purge, the rules were reset. And it all started anew. | 2021-09-22T11:18:45 | 2021-09-22T09:24:57 | 54 | 39 |
[WP] It turns out your apartment was so cheap to rent because one of the cupboards is actually a portal to the Underworld. It’s not dangerous, but the number of adventurers knocking at your door in the middle of the night looking to go through is starting to get annoying. | "Look," I said to the cavernous, undulating pit in the cupboard under my sink, "I'm not asking you to leave entirely. I'm just saying it would really help if you could... relocate a bit." The creature inside - the one that *was* the Pit and that liked it when I put raw meat in the garbage disposal - poked a tentacle made of pure darkness through the door inquisitively. "I mean, you could go to the maintenance closet in the hallway. Lots of space, one dingy, flickering bulb..."
The depths of the Pit made a creaking moan.
"No, of course we're friends!" I said. "I can still visit, you know. It's just really annoying when all those heroes and adventurers keep coming to fight your demons and stuff."
The Pit made an annoyed grumble of its own.
"Yeah, no kidding. Plus they either come at twilight - and they *always* want a meal before going to the Underworld - or at, like, two in the morning. You'd think they'd realize that you're not exactly going anywhere, but," I shrugged, "I guess they think it's more dramatic that way. A better story."
The Pit reached out further, pushing aside space-time in semi-visible rifts.
"No, you can't just eat them." It pushed further. "No, you can't eat my apartment. *Or* me. I've told you, that's a bit fatal to humans, and I'd prefer to have a life. Besides, they're not bad people. Just... annoying."
A loud, clanging bell of Doom. Not deadly doom, just the inevitable promise that one day the world would be engulfed in its darkness once more and not even my soul would survive it.
"Look, you're a decent roommate. You don't leave dishes in the sink, and you eating all the rodents and bugs is honestly pretty cool. But we'd both be happier if you went somewhere where you can get all the adventurers you need to maintain the demonic ecosystem and I could get some sleep."
The creature retreated back into its cupboard, grumbling all the while. Then it retreated further, and for the first time I could actually see the pipes and shit. I ran out into the hallway and grinned. The cracks around the door of the maintenance closet were rimmed with a pulsing darkness.
"Thanks," I said. I quickly went back into my apartment, made two signs that said "Underworld Portal Here" and "Underworld Portal has Moved, Look in the Maintenance Closet" on some spare bits of paper, and dug around the junk drawer for the tape. I went back into the hallway and put the signs up.
Behind the door, I could hear the Pit roiling about, getting itself accommodated.
"Yeah, it is a bit roomier than you're used to," I agreed. "My rent might go up a bit, but we'll both be happier now."
The Pit seeped a bit around the edges of the door.
"No, you can't eat the landlord."
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Read more of my writing on r/coolwrites. | Those who knew him would say George was a punctual man, those who knew him better would use unkinder words. He brushed his teeth six times a day, showed up for meetings half an hour ahead of schedule, and had everybody’s birthday memorized to the minute. He had three alarms; a 5:40 alarm to wake up, a 5:45 alarm to take a cup of coffee during his shower, and a 5:50 alarm because he enjoyed eating breakfast with the light guitar melody of the alarm in the background. This would give him a 10 minute interval before the caffeine kicked in where he could consume his eggs, carefully salted, and a single slice of toast, lightly browned, in an atmosphere of perfect serenity. Through this ritual he could maximize productivity in the office, out of the office, and in life. It also did wonders for his blood pressure.
Incidentally, this perfect 10 minutes was the exact time that Joseph the One Handed Wonder Wizard chose to arrive for the daily adventure of his party. He wore a disheveled shirt and shorts, his traditional robes draped over his makeshift wooden hand.
“Salutations young scholar! Pardon the hour.” He took a whiff in the air. “My, what ravishing delight do you have before you?”
George looked down at his eggs and toast to make sure it hadn’t miraculously sprouted wings..
“It’s egg and toast.” George responded. He rubbed his eyes. “Just like everyday.”
There was the sound of thunder clambering up the stairs followed by a slew of swears. A black haired mess peaked around the corner, hair obscuring her face, sections of armor stashed under her arms. A massive great sword was slung over her back.
“Sorry George! We got word a flock of ice wyverns were making their way to Albion. You know how it is,” Katie said.
“Naturally.” George nodded like he did.
“Joseph you’re a menace getting us up at this hour! Morning George.” Pete, a surly man with a wild beard of unkempt red hair, stepped into the apartment, hand clutching a worn battle ax. George noted the grime he was tracking on his eggshell white #F0EAD6 carpet.
“You’re getting dirt everywhere, four steps back Pete!” Katie snapped.
“Oh please, I’m not taking notes on hygiene from a mop in armor.” Katie threw her hair back into a ponytail and rapidly donned her chain mail.
Joseph stopped at the entrance of the cupboard. “Listen, before we go, we found this in one of our recent raids and figured you were the best man for it.”
He dipped his hand into a pocket and pulled out a wooden object that was certainly too large for it. He quickly pressed it to George.
In his hands was a pristine, spruce guitar with black and white body binding, and gold accents.
“What?” George ran his hands over the wood. On the side was a name engraved with silver. “George S. Elmwood.”
Joseph looked up sheepishly.
“We might have spruced it up a bit.” He clapped Peter on the back. “Pete was the one who found it within the southern dungeons of Mount Koralie. We think it belonged to a traveling magician a decade or two ago. I cast a restoration spell or two, Katie finished up with the engraving, and presto!”
Katie stepped forward, now more or less resembling a paladin. “You’ve managed to stick it out the longest of any tenant we’ve known. So treat this like a house staying present. . ?”
“And let me know if you need any pointers! I’ve fancied myself a musician in my young days.” Pete declared. He propped open the cupboard. A flood of white light pulsed through the room.
Katie scowled at Peter. “You’ve played guitar about as often as you’ve scrubbed your armor-”
They stepped through the cupboard together.
Joseph bent down and put a hand on George’s shoulder.
“Listen, I’m being dead serious here. If you play it and find yourself praising the Dark Avatar Zenystrrax of the End Days, put it down immediately. That magician had some sketchy tastes.”
He then smiled. “Otherwise, I’ll leave you to your toast.”
With a final salute, Joseph stepped through the cupboard. It snapped shut behind him.
George blinked at the empty air. Behind him, he faintly heard the alarm enter it’s final phrase; three minutes until he needed to be out the door, to make the ten minute walk to the station, to catch the 6:15 green line train. He absolutely hated catching the 6:20, it always felt like there were far too many people on it. . .
He gave the guitar a testing thrum, and decided to ignore the clock for a bit. | 2022-01-01T22:41:03 | 2022-01-01T20:44:56 | 51 | 12 |
[WP] The real reason the dragon kidnapped the princess? They've developed a crush on the kingdom's top knight, and wanted a reason for that knight to be sent to their lair. | "Dragon! I come for the princess!" Cried the knight, raising his sword high, armor shining in the midday sun. "Hand her over, or I shall cut you down!"
"Oooh Sir Aymeric, at last you are here! I have been waiting such a long time to meet you at last!" Said the woman, throwing herself in his arms.
Only, it wasn't the woman he came to fetch. He was looking for legendary beauty Princess Shana, redheaded and fair as winter snow. This woman, although she was also beautiful, was raven haired and tanned like the desert sand.
And where was the dragon he was sent to fight, for that matter? Surely no dragon would back down from a direct threat to its territory. He even went to the trouble of finding the beast's den.
"Lady, are you in trouble? I shall--"
"I am in no trouble, except..." the woman clutched her breast; "...for the trouble of my beating heart."
"Is... there something the matter with your heart?"
"No... it just can't be still when I gaze upon your fair face. I have only gazed upon you from afar, and now that you're here, I fear I may die..."
As the strange lady caressed his cheek, the knight slowly put two and two together.
"I'm... I'm not here to fight a dragon."
"No! I would never dream of hurting you! Unless..." The woman blushed. "... you were out that inclination."
"And... there is no princess."
"I did that poor girl a favor. She was in love with the stable boy. I 'kidnap' her, she escapes, and I get to be with you. It was a win-win."
"She... she didn't love me?"
"But *I* do, my knight!"
The knight gently pushed her away. Then sank down, his face ashen.
"I come all this way. Only to find out my betrothed never loved me. And... on top of that, there is no dragon to slay and claim for my reward."
"Wha- bu- *I'm* the dragon!" She said to the sobbing man, "Have you been listening to me? You've slain my heart already! *I* am your reward, my love!"
She watched the man sob a little longer.
"Geeze. No wonder she wasn't keen on you. You don't listen." | The red dragon paced around his lair, at this point it was likely her would wear a groove into the dirt.
However he continued to pace while speaking his mind to the princess tied up in the back.
"It's going to work right? You made sure everything's in place?"
The princess chuckled as she watched the dragon nervously walking back and forth. "Don't worry Barren we did everything right."
"I made sure to be walking through the runes of the old castle, you showed up and yelled at my Dad that you were locking me in your lair. We even left a perfect trail of scorched forest."
Here the dragon stopped and turned his full attention to his best and only friend. "But what if he sends someone else? I'm not that intimidating Ellie you know that."
"I know my Dad, he's not going to take any chances with my life in danger. He'll send the best knight he has."
Barron nodded. He was happy to hear that Ellie was willing to help him confess his love to the esteem knight. However he was also incredibly worried. Dragons were not known for dating humans, it was mostly due to the size difference.
Ever since he began sneaking into the palace to see the princess he had been stunned by the warrior to guard her quaters.
"Might beast! I Cassandra de Cassandra challenge you to a duel to win back the life of the princess Elizabeth!"
Hearing the call from outside the cave Barron's heart stopped in his chest. It was only the excited squealing of Ellie that managed to restart the large organ and speak his practiced lines.
"I accept your duel, you can step inside of the cave to see that the princess is alive." It was shaking and said somewhat quickly. However he heard the sound of armoured foot steps coming closer.
Until he saw the woman dressed in full plate mail, long blonde hair draping behind her as she advanced with her great sword in hand.
"Princess Elizabeth, I am glad to see that you are safe, let me cut down this beast and return you too the castle!"
Having never been actually tied up in the first place the princess walks over to meet Cassandra earning a look of surprise.
"Cassie I'm actually fine. It's a long story but I let Barron here kidnap me so that the two of you could talk."
The dragon lowers his head trying to stay out of the conversation as much as possible.
"Ellie you could've just asked me to come here, you didn't need to make me worry about you." She says as she sheaths the greatsword on her back.
"Oh come on you know this was more fun." She giggles and pushes the knight towards the dragon.
Barron musters all the courage he has left and begins to speak. "I really like your hair, and your armour." He pauses to control his thoughts.
"Hearing the stories of the people you save and the monsters you defeat well. You're really cool, snd I know I'm a monster too but, maybe we could get a drink sometime? To try and get to know each other?"
The knight seems to be pondering the question as she looks into the eyes of the dragon. "You wish to get to know me better?"
Feeling even more anxious than before the dragon blurts out. "It's ok if you don't wsnt too I know I'm a big monster and I kind of kid napped your princess, even if it was her idea."
The knight chuckles at this. "You are a cute one. You may ask any questions you wish later tonight. I will wait for you at SeaGreen's tavern when the sun goes down."
Barron hastily nods as a bit of fire appears on the at the corners of his mouth. "Thank you Lady Cassandra. I'll meet you then."
With that the knight bowed and made her way out of the cave.
The princess hugged her friends claw. "I told you it would work, you've got a date!"
He nodded feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness. "I do, somehow I do." | 2022-01-21T11:26:11 | 2022-01-21T10:14:13 | 480 | 101 |
[WP] A scientist is banned by law from attending any and all parties due to his tendency to build fully -functioning doomsday devices while intoxicated. | The UN decided the only way to keep him from ending the world was to lock him in a cell the rest of his life - and that's what they did. A trial was held, and the entire world watched. The final straw was when the mad doctor actually activated the countdown timer on one of his devices at an after-party to some Hollywood awards show. He deactivated it, but not before causing a stampede which lead to the deaths of 5 Hollywood elites. His argument was that he only did these things when intoxicated, and that he vowed to never party again. nobody bought it. Everyone knew he loved to party.
Prison was a bleak place for the mad doctor. He wasn't allowed any nonfiction reading material, he wasn't allowed any electronics - and no parties. He was in hell. This went on for many years, which turned into decades. The world was a different place now - everyone was focused on the crippling effects of climate change, and people forgot the mad doctor's name (I can't even remember it anymore). He was almost 80 years old now.
On the doctor's 80th birthday, a new guard was assigned to the solitary confinement unit. A young guy. A guy who'd never heard of the mad doctor and his doomsday devices. The doctor introduced himself and told the guard about the special occasion.
"do you have any visitors? that's an important birthday" the guard asked
"no. I'm not allowed any visitors. But it's okay, I've gotten used to it" the doctor replied. He scratched his head and glanced back at the guard and added "But... that doesn't necessarily mean we can't have a party"
"You know what, I think I've got a party hat in my car from my nephew's birthday last week... and hell, I've got a bottle of something. We're going to give you a party old man. I'll even bring in a radio and we can play some tunes." The guard was excited to being a little bit of happiness into an old man's life.
"That would be very nice" the mad doctor replied, with a grin on his face. | As I exited the house, drinks in my hands, I noticed the last person I wanted to see today. It was Stephen, with a near-empty glass of wine. I approached him after delivering the drinks.
"You remember the judge banned you from attending parties?" I whizzed at him quietly. "That we worked day and night to get you out on parole? This was the only rule you had to follow. "If the police find you, you will have to serve time!"
"Come on," Stephen replied, "what could go wrong with a little wine. It is your birthday John! I can't leave you alone tonight, my partner".
"Last time you drank, you tried to turn the earth inside out! We had to knock you out with a tranquilizer gun because the police wouldn't have arrived in time!"
"Ah, that thing. But think of it, infinite geothermal energy. We could finally abolish gas and coal and solve the climate crisis. And we have a small volcano just outside now. You have to agree this is cool, right?"
I just gave him a blank stare. He returned a smile. I knew I couldn't just send him home. He'd make a fuzz and I couldn't persuade him anyway. And I don't want to get the police involved. This would get him arrested and therefore also fired. He was a mastermind and I really liked working with him. If he was sober...
"Okay, but can you please stay below your limit? My wife made some great nonalcoholic cocktails. You should try them, they are beyond delicious! Look, even Jimmy is enjoying them and you know how much he drinks!" I point to their group, who were on a mission to try out everything I had prepared for tonight. A scientific study to find the best drink, they told me. Funny guys.
"I oath to stick to nonalcoholic only from now on." Perhaps, I should at least give him one more chance. Maybe through all of this, the night in the drunk tank, the FBI investigating, the trial we barely won, he finally learned his lesson.
"Hey, you need to see this!" Jimmy called for me. And boy, he was not wrong. 15 minutes of perfect science satire on YouTube. We laughed so much, that we had to pause drinking to avoid accidentally spitting it out.
After the best laugh for months, I headed inside to restock the snacks. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Stephen drinking VODKA OUT OF THE BOTTLE. I dropped the tablet, the remaining snacks flying everywhere, and dashed to him.
"Are you f\*cking out of your mind!!!" I yelled loud enough everybody stared at me. "You know you'll get these dumb ideas again!"
"Oh, I just had a brilliant idea. You know, all energy we use to move stuff, we work against air resistance. So Musk came up with the idea of the hyperloop that works in a vacuum. But why don't we just remove the air altogether, so there is a vacuum everywhere!"
I was genuinely ... speechless.
"It's a great idea, isn't it. And I already have some ideas about how this is possible. The neutron core has such high gravity that air cannot escape. It will get sucked in like a vacuum. We will revolutionize traffic."
I could call the cops now, they would arrest him without a blink. But then it's over for him. Another doomsday blueprint and they are going to send him straight into the closed ward. Either I could ruin his life or we would have to save him from himself once again, this time also risking the life of everyone. What an invidious choice. | 2022-05-17T08:08:39 | 2022-05-17T07:48:18 | 71 | 46 |
[WP] After struggling in school all year you finally stood up to your bully and knocked him out with a punch in front of everyone. He promptly disapperead, turning into a pile of quarters. | Last year I moved to Toronto, it has *not* been a pleasant experience. Every day that cockthistle Jason makes my life a living hell. Just this week he poured a Gatorade in my lap and told everyone I pissed myself.
20 minutes ago he punched me in the back of the head and yelled "donkey punch" then he called me gay for it, I'm done. I miss New York, things made sense there. I thought Canadians were supposed to be nice.
Oh great, here he comes.
"Neeerd! Whassup? Eating lunch?"
"Yeah", Go the fuck away
"Whatcha got there?"
"Fishsticks", Please for the love of all that is holy, go the fuck away!
"Fish-dicks? You putting fish-dicks in your mouth?!, Hey you a gay fish?"
"Whatever", God, shut the fuck up
"We got a gay fish here! Suckin' them fish-dicks!"
Why is my fist moving? Why do I feel the contours of his eyesocket on my knuckles?...
...Holy fuck, he exploded. Why did he explode? Is that spare change? Oh god, I'm going to jail. It's not even enough for bus fare!
Now I'm in the principals office, I can't focus on what he's saying, I just killed a guy, I punched him into quarters, that's involuntary manslaughter at least, I wonder if Canadian prison is nicer. The principal is talking louder, I should probably listen
"...So just have your parents sign the note, Ok?"
"You're sending me home with a note? Just a note? I killed a guy, in broad daylight, with my bare hands..."
"Oh, boys will be boys, the important part is nobody got caught in the crossfire"
"Is this how it is all over Canada?"
"Oh yeah, except for Quebec, they've got some weird laws, anywho, you've got a class to get to"
Jason Whooped my ass and I'm in a coma, right? What just happened? Am I high right now?... Oh Canada... | I woke up from a late night playing too many video games. I stumbled past my father on the couch. As usual he was passed out, beer cans thrown in a pile by the tv. I went into the kitchen, nothing to eat but leftover chicken fried rice from “Taste of the East”. I dumped some in a bowl and threw it in the microwave.
As it heated, I grabbed a fortune cookie from the bottom of the plastic bag the container had been in. Cracking it, I put the pieces in my mouth. Surprised by the taste of paper, I reached into my mouth and pulled out a paper slip “You have the ability to make your dreams a reality if you be brave and work hard” I shrugged and pocketed the paper.
If I didn't hurry, i'd be late. I pulled the bowl out, as soon as it cooled enough,I scarfed it down and ran to catch the bus.The bus ride passed in a haze of sleepiness. Before I knew it, I had arrived: Shady Glens Elementary School.
The morning passed, the same useless lessons from teachers too underpaid and tired to care. Lunch came, perhaps that would be a relief. We gathered in the gym, which also doubled as the cafeteria.
I felt a meaty hand on my shoulder “Hey fuckface! Gimme yer money!!” I turned around. It was Josh Fisher. I'd somehow forgotten about him. He stood a good two heads taller than everyone and was already 300lbs. He was easily one of the meanest people in the school. His dad was rich, and gave Josh anything he wanted.
“I don't have any money...”
“Yeah,I forgot, you get free lunch because you're fucking poor!!! You're a looser like your dad who don't work!” I did'nt say anything, As usual I could'nt. Somewhere deep in me, his words cut like the truth. This happened every day...
“I mean he don't even have a job,and he's a fuckin' drunk” Josh slobbered. As he leaned down, his nose inches from mine.“And where the shit is your mom? Whatever happened to her?”I said nothing.. My parents weren't together... My dad always told me I should be ashamed of my mother. Mentally ill as he said she was... I saw her on weekends.Suddenly Josh reached out a hand and pushed me backwards as he pulled the glasses off my face.
I landed on my butt and looked up in time to see the glasses snapped in two like a twig. Something broke inside me.. Before I could even think, my body moved seemingly on it's own. My right hand closed into a fist and I rushed towards Al and jumped with a shout.“HIIIIIYAAAHHHH!!!!!!”
My fist connected under his chin, a look of complete shock on his face. He never thought that anyone would stand up to him. The uppercut caught him completely by surprise. Josh staggered backwards, an agonized “BAAARRRRRFFFFFFF!!!!!!” echoed from his throat as he left the ground, propelled upwards by a strength I did'nt even know I had. The bully hit the ceiling and then exploded into a shower of coins.
Silence reigned in the gym as quarters went flying everywhere, the shrapnel knocking the assembled crowd off their feet.I stepped forward, and felt the quarters enter my pockets, as I walked over them. In all I collected about $10,000, and yet, my pockets felt no heavier. The room remained silent for what it felt like an eternity. The silence broke when 8 of Josh's "friends" rushed towards me screaming for blood. | 2022-07-24T17:07:09 | 2022-07-24T16:47:38 | 34 | 15 |
[WP] You, a normal human, have somehow become the best duelist at a magic academy. | "Do your worst!" Sneered the Fey creature opposite me.
We stood 6 feet apart, each in a magic circle of our own design. Erebor had decorated his with sigil, a few runes and some small crystals, all designed to drawer the magical essence of the environment and enhance his particular brand of magic.
Mine was mostly stones and rocks, nothing special. As Erebor began his incantation, arms and fingers waving through the air, I squatted down and sorted through them. Most of the students here based their attacks on various alchemy or sacred texts but I just needed something solid.
The hairs stood up on my neck, I'd have to be quick or the damned fairy might actually get a shot in. That's the thing with true magic. It yakes concentration, time, effort. Amazing results of course but, still slow.
Ah! That'd do. I hefted the half brick as I stood up, hefted it for a second to channel my 'powers'.
Erebor was really building up to something. His eyes had gone all neon and everything. Time to act then.
I drew the rough hewn brick back and prepared to, once again, dazzle the academy with my stunning wit, and let fly. Could hardly miss him at this distance.
"Oy! Have this dickhead!" | *This is fine...All i have to do is input enough power for it to read it as average. or adequate.*
“Aeyslie Weren” the moderator called out, but was noticeably butchered in its pronunciation, with the student in-question craning their neck in response. Aeyslie looked around, making sure it wasn’t just a really weird way to say someone else's name. *At least they're confident enough that no one will correct you on the word’s actual pronunciation.*
They got up from the auditorium’s seat, passing people who watched with slowly diminishing patience for this to be over. Once at the stage the moderator nods their head toward the stand next to them. “This reads your power level, as a placement test. Please put your hand on it and try to think of an element you have an affinity to” the Moderator’s voice could be described as monotone. Having said this sentence every year, at every first semester, at least hundreds of times.
Aeyslie nods, shaking their hands before placing their right hand on it. *Okay, I can do light as my element? It isn’t too hard, and could be used universally. Most people only have affinity to two elements without education. Though light also includes the lack of light…*
Before Aeyslie could confirm with themself, about what to put into the monitor-
The monitor goes off, and Aeyslie can feel it read their palm, and a feeling wash over as It doesn’t just take in the light spell Aeyslie thought of. The monitor glowed with a ball of white light intertwining with a black inky mist and glowing. At the same time, it sucks that energy back into itself, and spits out a blue mist with intersecting smoke and cinders, a fiery glow now emitting.
Before it could change again, as it seemed to start to grow vines of green energy, a screech was heard from it and it turned off.
Aeyslie took their hand away, looking at the shocked moderator a moment before-
**BAM!**
The monitor cracked, some pieces flying in different directions and magical energy from the device going off like smoke.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*I tried to limit it but it just read the whole affinity instead of what I tried to put in.*
Aeyslie was sitting in the infirmary, after getting a few cuts from the projectiles covered. Waiting on the nurse and moderator as they were told to wait there while they got the test confirmed.
“Aeylsie, we have your placement test calculated, We need to talk about some class changes to incorporate your affinity level. Your affinity has a level of duality with elements that might counteract some of the pre-reqs you had applied to”
Aeyslie nods, looking in interest at the tablet that the moderator is holding to their chest. | 2022-11-10T13:48:32 | 2022-11-10T12:21:00 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] Monks discover scary secret: there is only limited souls being 'recycled' by reincarnation and by reaching the highest human population ever, soulless people are being born.
Animals too. We're out of souls, guys.
Edit: few people told me they knew RPG or movie or game with this theme. Sorry guys, I thought of this in the shower and I haven't heard of this before. Just a coicidence.
Edit 2: amazing responses! I'm glad you got inspired because each one of these is terrific! | Having a full soul is a feeling like no other. I wouldn't expect you to understand, but I'll do my best to explain.
It's immortality, and power over nature. It's fulfillment, a feeling of total purpose. It's satisfaction. There's no room for doubt, for low self esteem, for uncertainty. It's being a complete human.
Like I said, I wouldn't expect you to know that. Because you don't have a full soul.
Long ago, longer than you can imagine, I created the earth from stardust, and I blew life upon it's surface. As the ages passed, I witnessed the first large organisms develop. I swam with the megalodons, I flew with pterodactsls, I rode theighty Tyrannosaurus rex.
But among these, none were a companion. None shared the intellect, the feeling, the innate *substance* of a soul. So I brought the meteor to destroy them, and I started life anew. I sought companionship- someone to share the world with me, as equals.
So I brought forth men.
Physically, I sculpted them like myself. I gave them superior minds, making them clever and methodical. I gave them feelings- happiness, sadness, and anger, among others.
But still, something was missing. I couldn't give them passion, because there is one thing my hands cannot create. It is the very thing that defines me. A soul.
And without that, I was still alone.
So I gathered the first humans, wretched things, with no light behind the eyes, cursed with the weight of intelligence without it's benefits, and I split my soul among them. And that very moment is when they became human, and regarded me as a god.
They grew and they multiplied as time passed. With each generation, their souls became more diluted- though a soul is a powerful thing, and even a sliver is enough.
Sometimes, a person would be born with more of a soul than others. They'd be remembered in history- as saints, or men of great compassion, and even those who still retained the powers over nature and commanded miracles with their hands. And other times, some were born with less, and we're remembered for great evils, or wars, or dark stains upon human history.
But now, at nearly seven billion humans, my soul runs thin. There's a reason why people look fondly upon times past, or grandparents remember their younger days in a brighter light- there was more soul to go around back then.
And people can feel it. Depression, lack of purpose, trying to fill the hole within with with no success- this is all due to a lack of soul. Men turned to their minds to technology as an answer, but no spiritual gain was found.
Soon there won't be enough soul to hold the world together. Nations will crumble, and humanity will die off.
And I can be me again.
And I will continue my search for a new companion.
****
By Leo
For more stories similar to this, please visit /r/leoduhvinci. | "There will be no afterlife for these men. No second chances, no means to right regrets. Only the void awaits these poor...soulless."
The abbot watched the men down in the courtyard wearily, the moonlight reflecting on his glasses, a pair of small crescent moons of their own.
I cleared my throat. "Does it pay to have sympathy for them, abbot? Who's to say they even have feelings?"
The abbot regarded me sternly. "Do not draw conclusions when you know not the truth, Elias." He shook his head. "Regardless. The government has sent them to us as outcasts. They are said to have no remorse, no pity. But we must endeavour to find that out for ourselves."
"You think the Oracle was wrong?"
The abbot frowned. "The Oracle is never wrong. She sees the threads of life that bind us all together, to the past and to the future, to old and new lives. But these...men. They walk in darkness."
I could see that even the abbot was reluctant in the face of these creatures. So even he was fallible. I had always known. Humanity has had a rot at its core since the beginning. These soulless were just a new proof of that.
"So it's to the mines with them?"
The abbot hesitated, just a fraction of a moment. "Yes." He conceded. "Yes. We will provide them roof and shelter. They can provide the work."
I repressed a scoff, and bowed, leaving the room and heading for the courtyard. These new recruits wouldn't last long. The mines were a harsh and dangerous place, high up here in the mountains. But the ores were rich...and these men expendable.
I passed Shyna's room, the Oracle. Though I had never seen the girl myself, I had heard the stories of her feats. Her ability to see men's souls. It was what had drawn me here. But she was locked up in that room all day, shrouded in mists and herbs that dulled the mind.
Out in the courtyard, I pulled my tunic closer to ignore the chill. "I am brother Elias," I said loudly, drawing the men's interest, though some of them stared far away, their eyes dead. "You were all brought here on suspicion, on rumor. Rumor confirmed for truth by our Oracle." Some of the men shuffled uneasily.
"Pick up a set of tools from the provision room, then meet me at the gates. We'll soon be off. And no funny business." I showed them the remote control. The abbot had despised its use, but without the electric shock collars there would be no containing these men.
The path up to the mines was long and harsh, but I had grown accustomed to these mountains in my years as a monk. Some of the soulless were less spry, wheezing loudly at the back of the line. I almost felt sorry for them.
Almost.
Finally, we reached the mines, and the men up front muttered in surprise when they saw what greeted them there.
Another monk, bound and gagged, lying at the entrance. I went to stand next to him. "Everyone, meet brother Jing. He was one of the foremost supporters of the idea to bring you here, to contain you. Isn't that right, brother Jing?"
I removed the gag, and Jing immediately started a desperate flow of words. "Elias! Elias, please, I didn't know, this is not the way! Listen to me, Elias, the abbot will forg-"
I muffled his sounds, reinserting the gag. "See, brother Jing has a soul. He thinks us soulless are second-grade humans."
"Us soulless?" one of the men asked.
"*Us* soulless," I confirmed, throwing away the remote. "Expected to be satisfied with one life. Seen as abominations. Long have I waited for you here, you, my true brothers."
Brother Jing mumbled something unintelligble, squirming, and I smiled. "But why should we take comfort in what we've been given, eh? Why should *they* get to live forever?" I kicked brother Jing.
There was some murmured assent from the men, and some were beginning to grin as well. "I say..." I had their full attention now. "I say, we *take* our souls! Find a way to make *their* immortality our own! And if it turns out we can't steal it..."
I kicked brother Jing one last time and grinned at these men, knowing I had them. "Well, more soulless will come to this place, as some of you "disappear" in these mines. We can build our army. And then...then we'll just have to fix this population problem of ours."
The soulless cheered. They had found their leader. | 2015-08-22T10:32:23 | 2015-08-22T09:40:34 | 491 | 44 |
[WP] You have just died. The Good News is that there is an afterlife. The Bad News is that it isn't Heaven. Or Hell. Or Purgatory. And you aren't a Ghost. In fact, the afterlife is something that no sane human being would ever predict, and has most likely never been written down.
Go balls to the wall crazy with this. Think of the most outlandish afterlife your brain can muster. Thanks and have fun! | The last thing you saw was your smartphones screen, you'd just sent your other half a quick message.
"b home soon <3"
Infact, you'll never be home. You'll never know anything human again.
You simply become aware of darkness. An infinite black that you can't even identify any semblance of self in. You are. There, in the nothing.
"Is it still nothing if you're there?" you think, and there's an explosion of light and colour around you. | You are dead, or are you really? You have been an atheist, all your live. Well most of it, sometimes you have ventured into agnosticism, but mostly you have been an atheist. So why the hell, can you still think, you remember being alive, you remember the doctor saying that it would all over soon, then pushing the piston on the syringe of the barbiturate into the catheter attached to your arm. And now what? You have absolutely no sensorial input, you can't feel anything, you have no material body at all. What are you now then? Now you are a consciousness floating in the void, since you have absolutely no weight you are left in the exact same position, i know position is relative, but lets talk relative to the actual centre of the universe, so Earth is long gone. Not that it will make any difference to you, you did not even notice it. Oh i see i have not answered the question. And now what? Well ... Now you ... There is not really much you can do, you can think, try to dream things, pretend you are still alive, try to relive your life, since obviously you remember everything. But there is not much point to it. You think everybody else is just like you, a floating conscience somewhere in the vast void. Can you communicate with them? Oh, of course not, that would require a body. What about brainwaves, you might ask. You do not have a brain anymore, nothing at all, just your thoughts, what a religious person would call your soul, yes that really exists and yes that really lives on. Surprising, i know right. So? Does that mean there is a god? You do not know, how would he talk to you, how would you listen? By now you are probably asking yourself, who am I, this person sitting here having a conversation with you? I am you, your thoughts, just a creation of your imagination, to steer you away from the madness that loneliness and boredom will certainly create. Oh, my. I have said to much haven't I? Well time to leave. Bye! | 2015-10-18T21:05:43 | 2015-10-18T20:21:54 | 35 | 23 |
[WP] World Peace has been achieved and the first crime in centuries has been committed.
EDIT: I've been reading a lot of these prompts throughout the day and they have all been really good, sadly I don't have the time to sit and read them all :( | Everyone just stood there in utter silence, no-one knew what to do, even the police were just as confused as the rest of the crowd.
"Uhh... Your under arrest..."
A cop finally spoke, it was a half-hearted mumble at best, but it was still something. He approached me with a pair of handcuffs that he could not open, he asked for help with them, a female colleague approached him and they both tried to operate the handcuffs neither of them getting any more progress than the other.
I started to calmly walk away from the two officers, but one of them had noticed.
"Could you please stay here while we arrest you."
Frankly, it was embarrassing, how that because there was no crime any-more the police just stopped training new recruits and were therefore completely unprepared for someone to do what I did.
I honestly didn't know what to do either, I had been caught in the act, there were dozens of witnesses around me and they were filming this historic moment, when finally the police managed to open the handcuffs, and they approached me and they put the metal cuffs against my wrists and escorted me to their car.
In the courtroom there was a problem, there were no judges nor jury, so there was no-one to sentence me for what I did, the sheriff approached me and boldly stated;
"Do you know what you've done?" It turns out that my petty thievery had caused riots in the streets, that men, women and children were being murdered and robbed indiscriminatingly, and not a single person could do a damn thing about it.
All I wanted was a chocolate bar. | Sheila walked by Sam on the way to the market.
Recognizing Sheila, Sam stopped and grasped his arm, giggling as he gave her a playful punch on the shoulder.
Banners proclaiming "World Peace Day" lined the majestic mountain town, and the multiple waterfalls nearby the market have been changed this year to a rainbow of colors representing the original 10 countries to lay down their arms. The best and brightest shops sponsor have even sponsored the handful of smaller waterfalls that tumble behind them to the river that threads through the city below.
"What are you trying to revive boxing?" Sheila asked, a playful grin as she leans over to kiss him. Her face glitters from the wavy light reflections from the nearest waterfall.
"Boxing? What's that?" Sam asked.
"Oh you know, when men used to punch each other till one was knocked unconscious... have you not been paying attention in history class again?".
"Not as long as I have you to pay attention for me", was Sam's quick reply.
From the end of the market a crowd was stirring. Sheila grabbed Sam's hand and they headed over to look.
A strange bearded man whose clothing revealed him to be from one of the outer colonies was cursing at his pair of androids, which looked to be tossing precious decorative knives in the air. The androids shouted "World peace day, free precious commemorative diaplatnium knives". The crowd quickly fell to their knees, scrambling to grab the expensive baubles in the decorative sheaths.
Sam quickly knelt and grabbed one from the ground. The shopkeeper pushed Sam aside. Sam quickly lost his balance, roughly falling on one knee.
"Damn youths, can't you see my droids are malfunctioning?". He bellowed.
Sam "But the laws say that you are bound to honor promotions from your androids...". Sheila starts to laugh at Sam before she quickly stops as she realizes she is embarrassing him.
Sam looks at his knee and touches it with fingers. Blood. Mortified at sight, his faces reddens with embarrassment. The shopkeeper pushes Sam to the side again as the shopkeeper reverts his attention back to the droids. Sam falls for a second time. He gets up, but this time an unsheathed knife glitters in the sun.
Sam plunges it into the shopkeepers back to the hilt. The shopkeeper screams horribly, a twisted sound. The market falls silent except for the sound of the waterfalls and the screams. All the faces turn to look.
Sam stands quietly- shocked at his own actions. "I...I...I". The stunned crowd is still for a bit. As if by command they all start to shuffle forward. They start to press forward and push Sam.
Sheila grabs for Sam's hand, but it is too late. The crowd pushes him over the waterfall edge, his body falling in the glimmering colorful water. He hits the rocks with a muffled thump below.
Sheila slowly examines the glistening blood on her fingertips | 2015-11-01T09:07:30 | 2015-11-01T08:48:48 | 28 | 17 |
[WP] All money is now cats. Describe a transaction. | They drug them for the big transactions. They have to, really, otherwise people would get killed. Have you ever seen a thousand angry cats in one place? It's basically a fire with teeth and fur. No wonder people are so keen to stop using cash.
Anyway, my job is to move them to the bank at the end of the day, after the shops are shut and the cats are all nice and sleepy. You have to move them individually or they get damaged, but I've got quicker at it over the years. I pile them into cages in the truck (carefully; I'm not a monster) and run them down to the town centre. Usually takes two runs, except at Christmas when it takes five.
Banks are different now. You can't have allergies if you're going to be a teller, because you will be literally knee-deep in cats all day. And they're much, much bigger. I mean, if your currency is still subject to animal cruelty laws, they kind of have to be, else we'd be stacking them in basements, eighty cats deep. I hear that's what happens in China.
At least they've stopped eating them, I guess.
It's funny, but I used to love cats. It's why I started doing this the first place. Then I started to notice the way they were looking at me - even when they were doped up and floppy in my arms. Like they knew who I was, and hated me for it. I must handle tens of thousands of cats a year, if not more, each one with the same look in its eyes.
See, I think they know what we're doing. And we keep breeding them, and tallying them, and exchanging them, and carting them around in big trucks - and they don't like it. They don't get looked after like they used to. They had a nice arrangement before the law came in and now it's gone. Anyone would be a bit pissed off with that.
Thousands of thousands of cats. I keep thinking about them, crammed into big basements in Beijing. Nobody really watches cat videos any more, did you know that?
I need to get another job. | They file out of the back of the truck carrying guns and whips like soldiers moonlighting as circus performers. The people in the streets duck behind their cars or run off screaming in horror, but these men adorned in black garb and black masks seem not to notice it. The men at the front of the group kick the bank doors open when they reach them, and a couple shoulder their rifles with their whips whirled around their arms like lengths of rope, and the others unfurl their whips and crack them at the open air.
"Throw your leashes down and get on the ground!" one of them shouts.
They pour into the place pointing their guns and lashing out at the patrons with their whips, and the rich men who wear fine suits and nice watches and hold bundles of leashes tied to exotic tigers are the most reluctant to let go, but when they see the gleam coming off of the silencers, shining metal as thick as bike pegs, they put their hands in the air, and their cats go loping off in all directions.
The whole bank lobby explodes into a riotous zoo.
A fat woman with an armload of kitties snugged against her buxom chest gets a gun butt against the back of her head, and she goes sprawling with her arms out, sending the little babies rolling across the floor like dice in a crap game. One of the men runs over and slides like a baseball player, curling his arms around the kittens and scooping them up and carrying them over to a sack where more writhe together, mewing and meowing.
The braver men take hold of the lions, wrapping the leashes around one fist and cracking the whips with their other hand. The regal beasts scowl and group together, and their ginger afros flare up like the tails of peacocks, but they aren't as adamant as wild-born cats, so they come begrudgingly, their captors walking backwards toward the door and facing them as they tug them away.
In this way, that zoo of a bank is cleared out. It's a madhouse of roaring and snarling and meowing and purring. One of the robbers loses his grip on a bobcat, and it leaps free and bounds after a little boy, who totters off on unsure feet around the bank teller desk with his parents leaping up and following.
"Fuck it," another man says, just as the bobcat thief is about to go after it.
When they leave, they are led by tigers with snow-white fur and lions with floppy ears like cartoon bears, and they carry bobcats with the heads of house cats but the bodies of foxes, and they carry striped tomcats, obese and fuzzy and watching the world with wide eyes and wide mouths like confused old women, and mother cats cling to the men's backs by their extended claws as if to say "Give me back my baby!" and kittens rest on the men's heads, slanted eyes shut and tiny tongues out.
They hop into the back of the track just as the police cars come spinning out around corners and barreling down the street with their sirens whining and chittering and growling.
The truck takes the main street in the wrong lane, swaying heavily around oncoming cars and leaving horrendous accidents in their wake as impromptu road blocks. Taxis t-bone into vans. A motorcyclist loses control and becomes a gymnast. The last anyone sees of the thieves, they turn slowly down a narrow road, and then they squeeze the truck down an alleyway so tight the walls explode into sparks as it skates between them.
--------
Forgot to say if you like this you can check out my sub, /r/wttm
| 2015-12-31T08:42:23 | 2015-12-31T06:54:26 | 32 | 11 |
[WP] Do the crime, do the time - but the reverse is also true, you can choose to serve jail time in advance of any crime you want to commit. After voluntarily spending 50 years in prison one individual is set to be released and the world watches in anticipation of whatever they do next. | After fifty years of willing incarceration, I left. My time had been served with no crime to its name, and now, I could put that time towards any offence I chose. A smile played at my lips.
The world watched as I took my first step from prison. Underfoot, the pavement created a mosaic: the hard, blackened crust of society cracked under the steady press of nature. I watched it, silent. The click of cameras and shouts of reporters faded from my ears. The rays of the sun flowed over me, and my lungs filled with fresh air until every dark nook that had festered for fifty years was eradicated. I released the darkness in a breath. At the hiss, the nearest camera man squeaked and scurried back. My smile grew.
The pavement crackled as I took another step. Around me, the ring of humanity expanded. Fingers tightened around microphones, faces paled, and arms shook. The power of it surged through me with my next breath, and a chuckle broke free.
I stepped again, then again. The crowd expanded, and the mosaic crumbled further underfoot. I was not trapped; not by walls, or barbed wire. Not by guards or guns. Not even society could hold me, for I had embraced the punishment it offered and come out the other side unbroken.
I left the crowds behind and fear in my wake. Yet, it was not me they feared; it was what I carried. For years, people believed me imprisoned while they walked free, but in truth, it was the opposite. While their walls of rules and intimidation grew, mine fell away. Now, I was free, and in my freedom they saw their prison. And they knew they would never leave. | Eugene Dalton was released from prison fifty years and a couple days after turning himself in for the future murder of his wife and two children. None of his family were there to greet him, naturally. However, there were several local news crews present.
One reporter asked him, “How does it feel to be free after all these years?”
“I might let Bobby live,” said Eugene. “He wrote me some.”
*
Meredith Parkansky, formerly Meredith Dalton, actually felt relieved when she saw her former husband. She had been dying of cancer for some time. Eugene softened as he stepped closer to the hospital bed. Meredith held out a withered hand. The nurse closed the curtain gently to give them their privacy.
“Eugene,” said Meredith, breathing roughly, “Don’t orphan our grandchildren.”
Eugene honestly considered it. Then he said, “But Sarah was such a spoiled little brat.”
Then he beat his ex-wife to death with a shitty bedpan.
*
Sarah Middleton had prepared most of her adult life for her father’s inevitable release. She had married the biggest, meanest cop she could find. She thought he would protect her. And he would’ve, too, if he hadn’t choked to death on a piece of criminal justice reform.
The moment the house alarm went off, Sarah gathered her children together and hid in the bathroom. She tried to console her children at first until the older boy mentioned that he wasn’t particularly scared because grandpa wasn’t coming to kill him, was he?
“Don’t be selfish,” said Sarah.
Eugene broke the door down with a credit card. Then he held his arms out towards his grandchildren. The little boy ran to him and gave him a hug. He sat him aside. Then he looked at the older boy.
“You should step away from your mother,” he said.
“Don’t you dare,” said Sarah.
“She’s trying to use you as a shield.”
The oldest boy looked back at his mother, kissed her on the cheek, and slipped out of her arms. He walked out the bathroom and took his brother by the hand and took him away.
“You always were a worthless, mean motherfucker,” said Sarah.
“Fair enough,” said Eugene, and then he smothered her with a shower curtain.
*
Bobby Dalton was floating in the pool when his father visited him. He looked up at the old man, tipped his sunglasses down, and smiled.
“Pops,” he said.
“You’re not afraid?” asked Eugene.
“Why would I be afraid?” asked Bobby. “I’ve got bodyguards.”
Eugene looked over at the two hulking brutes who sat in bowed out lawn chairs and realized that, in the glare of the summer sun, he had mistaken their pistols for margaritas.
“I’m legally allowed to kill you,” said Eugene.
“And they’re legally allowed to defend me.”
Eugene looked from the bodyguards to the son to the bodyguards to the hot tub.
“Well,” he said, “I was considering letting you slide anyway.”
“Thanks, dad,” said Bobby. “Hey, how long has it been since you’ve been in a pool?”
And then Eugene Dalton went swimming for the first time in fifty years. He laid on his back and stared up at the sun and wondered if it had all been worth it. | 2016-02-23T15:03:44 | 2016-02-23T13:16:47 | 2,363 | 402 |
[WP] After a person dies, they are brought to the moment they were born to become their own guardian angels and hopefully guide themselves towards a better life. | You are far more beautiful than in the faded sepia photos dad gave me. Oh God, we might never have known each other but believe me you were in my thoughts my entire life. Never a day went by without me wondering if you'd approve of my choices, my girlfriends, my jobs - never a day passed without me wondering if you'd love me as much as I love you.
You carried me for all that time and gave your life so that I could have mine. It's coming up soon, the single moment of consciousness that we share together. When you look down at my tiny body, and I look up into your loving eyes. Ships passing in the night.
I've been sent back, mom. I've been sent back here as a guardian angel, to help young *me* make the right choices, so that I can live a better, happier life. **HE** told me that this is what happens to all of us.
Oh God, why did I come back to this moment though? I've spent my whole life wondering what could have been done to stop you dying.
But there's nothing - this is just a catalyst for the inevitable. It was carrying me that created the rupture. The only way to save you mom, is for me not to be conceived. And I had the choice, mom. I could have stopped it - I could have gone further back and you could have lived. And I was so close to doing it. I would rather you lived than I did. I was *so* fucking close.
You know what stopped me? You did, mom. I realised that you must have been sent back, too. You must have guided your life to this point, just like I'm doing now. You must have consciously made the choice for me to live even knowing it would result in you dying. You did it for me. And so, I will do it for you. I will watch you die.
Goodbye, mom.
---
Thanks for the prompt. I would love a guardian angel, might have stopped me messing something good up this week.
Thank you for the gold anon. It's very generous and much appreciated.
| “Who the bloody hell are you?” Jonathan asked.
“I’m not at liberty to say the details,” the man sitting in the armchair mused. “But, you can call me Johnny, I suppose.”
Jonathan gulped audibly, his eyes darting to the locked door and closed windows then back at the old man. He looked slightly familiar, Jonathan noted, as if he’d seen the face somewhere before. But stranger or no stranger, no one should intrude on his home.
The man scarcely blinked as Jonathan drew a metal cane from the basket next to the fireplace.
“I would put that down if I were you.” Johnny said, a hint of frustration entering his tone, but too subtle for Jonathan to catch. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Oh, yeah? We’ll see about that.” Jonathan said and let out a roar as he charged the defenseless man.
Less then half a minute later Jonathan was cursing and rubbing his sore butt on the floor, his cane lying beside. The other man stood above him, hands akimbo on his hips while frowning down. With a deliberate kick, Johnny sent the cane flying through the air before it smashed to pieces against one of the stone pillars.
Jonathan stared in shock at the man.
“Good,” Johnny said with a small smirk. “I’m glad that shut you up. Now listen very carefully because I won’t repeat myself again. And God help you if you forget.”
Wide eyed with fear, Jonathan nodded furiously at the man’s commands.
“The cab is waiting outside. I’ve already told the driver where to go, when you get in, just shut up and let her drive. You’ll also find your door keys and an overcoat in the hallway. Get moving.”
***
I smiled as I looked down at the fragments of the broken cane.
Dad might not have been able to save himself or his other self from dying in that hospital bed as he was probably fated to live his last days under the influence of cancer. Deep inside I knew even before I heard the front door close that Jonathan was going to do what I told him. The one thing Dad always wanted, but I never gave. Maybe this time I could set things right.
Upon realization, a man of light appeared beside me. He didn’t emanate light, but rather he appeared to be made from light. Strangely though, I didn’t need to squint when looking at him. Nor did he cast any new shadows in the room from his brightness.
A rich, soft voice echoed around the room. Since there were only two beings in here, I could only assume that it was him.
“It appears that you did heed my messenger’s warning. Do you have any regrets on how you used it?”
“Yes, sir.” I bowed low. “The choice was mine and mine alone. I saw fit to use the only chance we were allowed to physically interact with the mortal plane for this. I have no regrets, sir.”
“Then you understand that there is no place left for you in this mortal world. Are you ready for What Comes Next?”
I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath. “I am, sir,” I said as I took his proffered hand. Instead of being burnt, his hand felt cool.
He raised his other hand and sketched a large rectangle in mid-air. Once complete, the insides of the rectangle became grey and misty. Without further hesitation, he led me through the misty veil that divided the two worlds.
Suddenly, his light went out and I was plunged into the dim gloom. Empty air pressed against my hand as I tried to grab his again. Faint noises reverberated through the thick mist. But I wasn't afraid. I was at peace.
| 2016-09-18T04:28:38 | 2016-09-18T04:23:18 | 1,925 | 25 |
[WP] You live in a word where guns are everywhere, but only when they need to be. Autonomous gun lockers are built into every structure in the developed world. When a person is in serious danger a gun will pop out of a wall for them. You're at the mall and guns just came up for everyone.
Everybody gets one. | No one knew what to do.
My friends and I were shopping when The Call was sounded. They scrambled for their guns and immediately played armchair general. I picked up my weapon, but my anxiety was making it difficult to remember the basics...
*Only aim at something you want to shoot?* I aimed the handgun towards the ground. Though, we're on the second floor? Should I aim upwards?
*Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot.* I quickly moved my index finger, instinctively looking around out of embarrassment.
*Guns are always loaded.* I checked the clip.
"... guys, have you checked your guns?" They scoffed and began examining their guns. Their bravado melted away and doubt started to creep in. My suspicions were unfortunately confirmed, and only one question remained:
What would we do with our one bullet? | "Ach," said Sven, pushing his mop through the gore. That was definitely brains splattered across the food court, halfway up the Orange Julius. And that smell - ugh. Someone's bowels had definitely been perforated. "This country. It's insane! Two lunatics manage to jimmy open a gun locker and decide to commit suicide, and forty people end up dead!"
"Hey!" said Eddington, jutting his chin out. He dumped the corpse he was carrying on the gurney and strode over to Sven, finger pointing. "I don't like to hear that sort of talk, old man! You said it yourself, two lunatics, and if it weren't for them-"
"If it weren't for the gun lockers!" Sven exclaimed. A sharp buzz at the back of his head was telling him not to talk politics, to keep his head down and keep mopping, but he couldn't keep it down any longer. He'd had to untangle a woman's hair from his mop. The corpses looked like pinatas. "Everyone's in danger from them, technically, so everyone gets a gun. And yet no one knows what the danger is! So you have a Sunday sale crowd of people, suddenly panicked, suddenly armed-"
"So what?" Eddington yelled. His face was going red. "So what, you want to take our access to guns away? You want those two lunatics to just run loose and kill anyone they want?" He thumped his chest. "We got a right to defend ourselves! We got a fuckin' constitutional right to bear arms!"
"Look at this!" Sven said, and swiveled around to take in the carnage around them. "Your right to bear arms! Look at this and see what it's gotten you! Yes, we should take your guns away! If this is the alternative!"
"You unpatriotic piece of shit!" Eddington yelled, and grabbed him by the throat.
Sven flailed, and out of the corner of his eye a locker shot out of the ground and ejected a gun right into his grasping hand. Eddington's eyes went wide, and he let go and backed away, and a second locker rose up and arced a gun into his hands too.
"Oh, dang it," Sven said, and closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. | 2016-10-07T10:26:35 | 2016-10-07T05:32:12 | 26 | 10 |
[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 actually went into isolation. | Everyone in the U.S. tuned in to watch one of the three major nationally syndicated TV news programs. Fifty years ago, the WWIII Isolation Armistice required all international travel and trade to cease, the internet to be walled, and all long distance communication to be deactivated.
The only broadcast communications that remained in the country were AM/FM radio and VHF/UHF television, signals carried by local repeaters that stopped at the border. The U.S. had never paid much attention to foreign media before WWIII, so it hadn't been missed by the majority of the country. Most of the country were satisfied to be entertained by television re-runs and recycled Hollywood formula movies.
In less than 30 seconds, the internet walls would come down, and the old satellites would be reactivated. Everyone was holding their breath, eager to be united with a brave new world, human beings from around the planet who didn't grow up with hate and prejudice.
...3 ...2 ...1!
Fireworks exploded in the sky in cities across the country, and a great cheer arose from every home! Every television screen showed a view of the earth from the single satellite that remained in working order.
As the satellite orbited over the dark side of the earth, cheering diminished because there were no lights below. A news anchor speculated that many countries had run out of fuel for electricity.
As the satellite passed into daylight, the screen revealed the surprising sight of several large new oceans located in Asia, India, Pakistan, the Middle East, and Europe. The American continent had more forest area than comparison images from the last satellite photos fifty years prior.
An elderly satellite image specialist was brought to the news desk to analyze the satellite data. Based on the refraction wavelength, the specialist concluded the oceans were not water, but glass.
The cheering turned to cries of horror. How could this have happened?
[edited: punctuation, words] | Burgess stop running long enough to feel the fire in his chest and stitch in side. Wing tips were never meant for this, he realized too late. His instinct kicked in about a second and two heavy breaths later – “MOVE! NOW!”
He took off again, light gray suit jacket protesting the movement of his arms. His 1,300$ Countess Mara tie was long gone in a mud puddle two blocks back. Burgess loved that tie – hopefully he’d find another. Or someone one find him one. It WAS a silk tie after all.
“It’s impossible to find silk ties on the black market these days,” was all he could think as he rounded a corner and froze…
The air above his head began to press him toward the ground as the black helicopter landed in the alley dead in front of him. Trying to get up, the Diplomat tried running the other way only to find himself staring at a wall of men. Men of varying race, from different places, wearing flags of varying countries on their shoulders. Men united and trying to capture him. And doing a good job of it. They led him to helicopter’s rear and gruffly shoved him inside.
They bound his hands in thick, heavy cuffs that drug his hands away from his shoulders. His kit was layed on the floor of the cargo hold – passports, currency, the usual tech, various firearms. Still not finding their intended target, they began to pat him down more thoroughly and found it sewn into his jacket – a 256 petabyte drive about the size of a thumbnail. Made in Korea – like many good things were these days.
“Did you think we wouldn’t find it? Did you think we wouldn’t find you?” the Pakistani Assault Captain spoke in smooth, beautiful English. A flash of pain in his gut sent Burgess to the floor. Another sent him almost to unconsciousness.
“How many copies did you make? How many were RELEASED? Who is your distributor? WHO!!?!?”
More pain. Blood now, unsure from where.
Burgess tried to answer the questions; he was no hero. But his brain wouldn’t work…everything came slower just now.
He was able to look up enough to see the Captain deck the chip and view the contents on the holographic projector within the hold. Just conscious enough to hear the litany of curses thrown his way at what was displayed:
Marvel Cinematic Universe – Complete Content: 2018-2068
Total uploads – 3,458,523
Total Downloads – 25,739,450
Up time – 8 hours
“8 FUCKING HOURS! KILL HIM!!!!!”
Burgess’ mind was awash at his role in all this. How he would die for the United States of America. How he would die protecting its only valuable export.
It took the White House and Pentagon exactly 2 days and 17 satellites to figure out the world was moving on without the US. So, they had decided on waging war with the only thing we produced that on one else did on our level. China and Korea could make tech, Russia and Brazil could feed the world. Only America could produce culture and content at a pace that the world could consume.
Burgess permitted himself a final small smirk as he watched Robert Downey the IVth step into the Mark 200 Iron Man armor – knowing that he had won, seeing the twinkle in the eyes of all the privates in the back of the chopper.
| 2016-10-18T18:32:40 | 2016-10-18T15:03:15 | 252 | 94 |
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high). | Lieutenant Colonel Freeman sighed. The gunfire starting to die down. He knew it wasn't a good type of die down either. It wasn't stopping because they were winning. It was stopping because his men were dying.
The General had already been killed and that put command over this base on him. The General had declared this a level 1 emergency before he had died. But if they broke the surface it would have to escalate more. There was no way they could evacuate even a 10th of the planet in time. No, they would have to detonate the nuke and take out the facility before the surface could be breached.
The Lieutenant Colonel looked over at his remaining staff, Sargent Jackson and Captain Koh, the only ones to stay behind and help keep command while everyone else was fighting to protect the bunker.
"Captain, run over who has escaped again." Asked the Lieutenant Colonel.
"Sir, the Martians escaped and freed the Venutions, who freed the Plutonions, who freed the chubacabra, which chewed through the cage of the big foots, uh feet? Regardless, they in turn broke the aquarium holding the Loch Ness monster, which fried our systems and unlocked the cages for the Giants, unicorns, Michael Jackson, Elvis, and the original Paul McCartney. They are all fighting for the surface and are at the main bulk head."
The Lt. Colonel sighed "shit."
"Sir," this time it was the Sargent's turn to speak, "the President is on the line."
The Lt. Colonel sighed again and looked at his computer screen, "put him through." His skin crawling as the lizard appeared on screen.
"Colonel, I am aware of your situation. It is now a level 0. Handle this now." The President hissed.
The screen went black and it seemed so did all the noise. Slowly the Lt. Colonel shifted his eyes from the black screen to the orange square with just a number scrawled on it. "867-5309"
Slowly he reached for the phone. Dialing the number. His breathing heavy and labored. Listening as the line rang before hearing someone pick up.
"Hello, this is Chuck Norris." | Project EXILE had seemed to be humming along just fine until the shift change on Thursday morning. Seemed.
PFC Johnson was one of the few A51 staff members to be a Qualified Sensitive. Rumor had it there used to be more, but budget cuts took their toll as more and more money was devoted to recent saber rattling instead of ongoing domestic operations.
And there weren't a lot of Qualified Sensitives to go around. That designation took a very special individual, one who possessed a very rare set of inherent skills, but didn't want anything from them. Someone who could be perfectly happy as a PFC for an entire career, in spite of being the hopefully unknowing backbone of the entire classified site.
PFC Johnson possessed all the requisite characteristics. Incurious. Placid. Uncreative. Trusting enough in his superiors to take orders without question, in particular, the order to never, ever take orders from the man in Cell Block C. And willing to accept an entire career without a promotion based on some vague hand waving about how important it was that anyone working on Project EXILE never have "dominion over man."
On Thursday morning he put on his uniform, like always. He picked up a tray of raw eggs and bacon, like always. He carried it through the mostly empty cell block, like always. He slid it under the door of the only occupied cell, like always. He waited by the papyrus covered iron door to see if the inmate had anything to say, like always. He waited in vain, like always. He walked to debriefing, like always. And he answered the only question he was asked each day with mild impatience, like always.
Once debriefing was over he was clear to play video games until lunch, after all.
"How was the inmate this morning?"
PFJ Johnson scratched himself in a manner s PFC would normally be disciplined for doing in front of a superior officer, and said, in words that lit up security and diplomatic lines world wide moments later:
"I dunno. Seemed different this morning, I guess. Dunno why. Just a feeling."
And then he played video games while the world screamed into action.
A swat team stormed Cell Block C. Twelve virgin men consecrated as clergy in no fewer than thirty seven faiths (three apiece, except for one try-hard marine core officer at four) armed with never before used experimental weapons kicked in the cell door, only to stand, impotent, in an empty cell.
Tanks rumbled to life in nearby bases. Jets deployed. A shocked and terrified public was placed under martial law in nearby towns, as roadblocks were pointlessly established, out of sheer habit and weight of institutional momentum.
International allies mobilized. Militaries leapt to high alert. Silos ran readiness drills by the hour, on the hour. Millions of people rushed to and fro in a frenzy.
Nuclear launches on civilian population centers were contemplated.
All in the absence of one key detail.
Any identifiable target.
A grizzled officer walked down a hall to the A51 barracks, an Aramaic cell phone in his left hand, and a faded post it note in his right.
PFC Johnsons video games were interrupted.
"We need you to make a phone call," the officer explained.
PFC Johnson's face scrunched up in confusion.
"To the inmate in Cell Block C."
"I didn't know he had a phone," PFC Johnson complained. *He* didn't have a phone. Security reasons or some such. It just seemed irresponsible to give an inmate a phone if a PFC couldn't be trusted with one.
"He doesn't, exactly, just..." the officer sighed. "Please just dial this number. And tell him we'd like to negotiate our surrender." | 2017-03-21T06:56:08 | 2017-03-21T04:50:35 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] In a world where super powers manifest in childhood you have the worlds most dangerous job. Running a daycare | I'm trying to concentrate on the names and little boxes on the worksheet in front of me, but there's a hand patting my skirt. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and see a little angelic-looking face looking up at me. *What do you want*, I think.
"Ms. Carrie," she always knows what tone to use when she wants something. "I'm thirsty." Avery gestures over to the empty 2 gallon jug. Why the flyers had to have outside time after the water and fire powers always eludes me.
"Well, sweetheart, Ms. Sarah is taking Liam and Kallie to go potty, and I'll go get some more water when she gets back- LUCIUS!" My voice changes octaves and decibels instantly as I notice something over my head. "Put your friend back on the playscape!" I start to hover. "One! TWO!"
My little future super-villain flies back down to the playscape, dropping his small friend perhaps a bit higher off the surface than he needs to. At least the new overhead netting was keeping them from flying over to the neighboring houses. I hear the exterior door squeak behind me.
"What is Alice doing out here with the 3s and 4s? She won't be two for three months!" Ms. Lana gestures towards the girl Lucius has just returned to earth. Currently, she's skipping over her friends heads without actually making contact with anyone.
"She's the only flyer in her year, and she's tall for her age. She's fine." We've had this conversation before.
"Licensing doesn't like us to have an age gap of over 18 months." She stares as Alice starts to twirl on top of Lucius' head. This is probably why he picked her up in the first place.
"Do you really think Licensing wants to be seen within a hundred yards of this school."
Lana looked around the playground and took in the scorch marks, the overhead netting just barely keeping my preschoolers in, and the small ice castle slowly melting in the back corner. She looks back and me and sighs.
"Just make sure you're staying in ratio for her age group and not the threes." The door closes, then swings open as Ms. Sarah comes back with her two charges. I do a quick headcount and sigh. We have too many kids for one person under the lower ratio.
I walk over to the exterior door of the classroom closest to the playground and tap on the glass. Ms. Karen pops her head out, slightly annoyed at being interrupted, but ever helpful.
"Yes?"
I show her the empty jug. "Can one of your water friends help me."
Ms. Karen looks around her classroom.
"Lennon, can you fill up the jug please?" A small boy with a wide smile points into the jug and shoots ice-cold water out of his fingers.
"Can I also please-"
"Oh, right. Annie, Bonnie, can you sterilize this for us please?"
Two twins, dressed exactly alike, approach me. The first, Annie, touches the jug and the water begins to boil. Before it can hurt me or the jug, her sister touches the edges and a thin layer of ice forms across the top. I take a plastic cup to test it. It's ice cold.
"Thanks, everyone! High fives!"
Avery has her water, but now Alice is crying. I fly up to the top of the playscape.
"Girlfriend!" She's always a little overwhelmed out here. "What's wrong?"
"Down!" She signs. Alice is very smart, but her body is a little behind her brain, so we use a lot of Baby Sign with her. I scoop her up, flipping and twirling on the way back down to the playground, so by the time we touch down, she is giggling and laughing.
The playground door squeaks again and I see a family of three, looking nervous but hopeful. The child is in mom's arms, looking like he really wants to be let loose.
"Anyway, this is Ms. Carrie, she teaches the threes, but right now we have the flyers ages-" Ms. Lana looks at me for confirmation.
"Two to four. Hi," I shake the parents hands. "We group outdoor time by ability. It's a bit unorthodox for childcare, but-"
"Oh no, I can see why-" Mom is looking at two of my students who are spinning around each other through the air like a pair of tops. It's at this time that her son decides he's done being held. He bursts from his mom's arms while she's distracted and flies up to join the spinning tops.
Like clockwork, Ms. Sarah and I fly up to flank the three kids and join the game, then we start slowing them down and eventually bring them all back down to earth, including the new boy, who looks absolutely delighted.
The parents look positively flabbergasted. Ms. Lana just smiles at me.
"What can I say? It takes a village. And when the kids are supers, it takes a village of supers. Shall we step into my office and discuss when he can start?"
Ms. Lana and the family walk inside, and Ms. Sarah and I exchange a fistbump before announcing it's time to go inside for lunch. About half of the class follows the directions.
"You wanna go get the stragglers or shall I," I'm already rubbing my temples.
"You do Face to Name, make sure we've got everyone," Ms. Sarah calls as she gently floats upward. "I got this."
*I'm a preschool teacher, so if any of this doesn't make sense I welcome critiques.* | My name is Harley Daniels, 24 years old, Montessori teacher, eater of queen cakes and sufferer of migraines. Today is a good day though as I have kept my blood sugar levels in check. No, I’m not a diabetic; I’m a class B Passive. That’s right, you probably won’t know what that is, would you? I guess I should start at the beginning. The beginning can be disputed though as most scientists argue that “The growth era” has been in the making for millions of years. A mixture of natural selection, a strive to pass on our genes and of course a bit of luck thrown in. But, no, I’m not getting into all that crap right now. I’ll begin in the year 2074 when the baby exploded.
Yes, you heard me right. Exploded. As in kaplooey. Blood and guts everywhere. Doctors already had their eyes on Little Zara Tengku as she was born with no appendix. A rare phenomenon at the time with 1 in 100,000 people born without one, which wouldn’t usually call for attention but instead of an appendix she had extra bones covering a gooey organ no one had ever seen before. Tests were carried out and it was determined it was making calcium at an alarming rate which was being deposited in the childs bones. It was a struggle for life for little Zara until one night her skeleton started bursting out of her. Within an hour her bone structure doubled exiting her body. She was the world’s first Class E Evo.
It’s been 62 years since then, and more and more babies were born with this new organ instead of an appendix. Roughly 60% of babies born each year now have an indeciever. What made it strange was this organ differed in shape, size, form and function in everyone. This is when it was name the indeciever. A muscle like the heart, it is both indecisive of its function and deceives everyone on its purpose for the Childs first 3 years of life. This is when the grading system was introduced.
The system ranges from Class S to Class E on the functionality, usefulness and danger of the indeciever. With Class S having functions which are close to comic book standards giving the user super strength, telekinesis and even flight. Only 0.07% of babies born are Class S. Then on the opposite side you have Class E, which for all intents and purposes, means that your indeciever makes you “incompatible with life”.
“Harley, your needed in Blue Room ASAP, Paul is throwing a tantrum again”, a old head wearing sticking her head out the door says to me. Sister Agnes, the old bat who runs this school is always coming to me just because I’m new and I’m an Evo so apparently she thinks I can do something whenever something goes wrong.Great, now I’ve lost my trail of thought.
“Again? God Damn it, Sister. I can’t even eat my lunch with those boys getting upset at something.”
“Well, this is what you signed up for. Almost every child born in this area has gifts now so if you can’t handle them then we’ll find someone else. And, also, watch your language; don’t take the Lords name in Vain!” Agnes said with a scowl on her face, one which wore years of hardship that probably has had the smile beaten out of it. God knows why she still tries to work with children.
Sighing I got up, picking up a queen cake from my lunch box and wolfing it down. About to head out I hesitated, grabbing a second bun from the box. Making sure my hair was tied up I strolled down into the Blue Room which was not really blue anymore but now covered in rainbow stickers, finger paintings and crayons. Walking into the room, it was like a sauna, Sweat emerging from their tranches as I walked straight into a heat barricade. The mouthful of hot air was almost enough to make me miss the noise of crying children. I already knew what was happening, Paul was sitting on a pillow in the reading corner, skin red and blistering, steam rising up from under his eyes. In front of him was a book, Yellow Beans and Jam, torn to shreds with a nearby Grace Unconscious.
Name: Paul Donavan Nationality: Irish Age:3 years and 10 months
Class C; Activator.
Indeciever: Heat wave. He can raise his internal temperature to 72°C which is then released through his skin pores like vents, rapidly cooling himself down, leaving his surrounding area in a very hot situation. It activates on his will or when he’s very emotional.
Name: Grace Gardner Nationality: Irish-American Age: 3 years 8 months
Class C: Activator
Indeciever: Scissor Arm Hair. Her hairs on her left arm are extra long and sharp. If she concentrates, she can make some of them move. By rubbing them in a certain way, she can use them like a scissors.
No time to hesitate, Harley made her way forward, her skin burning under the heat. It was clear what happened. They had a disagreement, as children do, and Grace chopped up Paul’s book. She wanted to tend to Grace but first things first, dealing with Paul. If he continues like this he’ll dehydrate his cells and pass out. His file says he was in hospital for 2 weeks recovering after the last bout.
“Paul, need to calm down sweety. It’s ok. We have another copy of this book in the Green room, I can go ask Mr. Martin-“ Putting her hand on Paul sent pain up her hand cutting off her voice. But Paul was looking at her now. Good.
“Listen, Paul If you want we can go to the library later, Just you, me and your mom. We can pick out any book you want. They opened that section you like right? The one with the colourful seats and-“ Oh, no the heat rose. The pain was shooting up her hand even worse now. But she couldn’t pull it away. Not now. Not even when she is touching a living stove.
“Paul, what was your favourite ice-cream again? Chocolate, wasn’t it? Sister Agnes has some in her fridge. I can go get some if you want”
Though his steamy tears, Paul looked her in the eyes. “Y-ye-yes, Ok. A-nd Van-illa with str-strawbe-“. He didn’t finish as his eye drooped and he fell asleep into this pillow next to him. Looking at her hand she sighed heavily. It was badly burnt. It looked like she’d have to take a trip to the hospital after this. Luckily this school has a great deal with a doctor who’s said to have a Class A healing ability. Lucky her. But better tend to this little guy first…
Name: Harley Daniels Nationality: American Age 24 years 4 months
Class B; Passive
Indeciever: Melatonin Touch. Her skin Messes with the Pineal gland of people she touches causing them to fall asleep. The effectiveness and length of time for it begin working correlate with her blood sugar levels. Incidentally it also dims her pain receptors when her blood sugar is high!
| 2017-09-21T15:17:51 | 2017-09-21T15:12:28 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone is immortal in the distant future. To keep life interesting, most people "reset" their memories every few centuries so they can experience life anew. Your reset malfunctioned, and you've just received thousands of years of lost memories. | The doctor raised an eyebrow at his monitor. A Windows XP error had just popped up and his system promptly crashed. He turned to his patient who was staring blankly at the wall as if trying to catch the exact moment when some paint would crack.
The doctor stepped forward, a look of concen on his face.
"Shit," said the patient.
"How do you feel?" Asked the doctor.
The patient glanced up at the doctor.
"They're all just as boring as this one was." | She understood death then. Awareness was her poison.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way. Arya wanted a new life. One in which she's born without the pleasures and pains of her past. A clean plate. But as chaos would have it, she didn't forget anything. Instead, she remembered. Everything. All the lives she's lived before flashed before her eyes - hundreds and thousands of them. Her eyes turned inwards and exploded with light. Enlightenment truly comes from within. She laughed at the pleasures abound. She wept from pain and loss. Arya remembered everything, from being an embryo till now. An ancient soul. She felt trapped, in a circle of life and rebirth - a rebirth devoid of any memory that is either pleasant or unpleasant, but with enough awareness to function. Consuming what the world offers until you can't take it anymore, then you retch it all out only to eat again. She felt disgusted, moreover tired. Her enlightenment has arrived.
She shouted her sermons in streets and church gates for weeks and months hoping to let in on the truths she has learned. She found believers. Arya told them to spread her word far and wide.
Then it was time for her to shed her human form. As she walked into the water, she understood death. Awareness was her poison.
All wasn't but ending well for Arya. As death embraced her, it found no panic. Death felt a chill at the thought of a soul who is free from the struggle against their end. And death said. You who do not fear, we haven't a place for you here. I'll come for you when death you fear!
Death rejected her. Without the will to live, Arya found herself wanting death. And as irony would have it, death shall not embrace her until she fears it. She tried wiping her head, again and again, hoping one day she could forget everything. Go back to being caught in that same illusion of rebirth, and maybe die. But she never forgot. And death never wanted her. She lived forever.
| 2017-11-10T02:42:17 | 2017-11-10T01:42:41 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | They told us we wouldn’t get Alzheimers.
Technically, they were right.
The ads plastered on every billboard, livestream, and website promised Ephoebus would preserve our body and brain’s critical functions. The generation young enough to take it would have the quick wits of a twenty-something combined with the wisdom of an elder. Who could refuse that?
Emily didn’t.
No matter how much we argued, no matter how many times I brought up the risks, the lack of long-term trials on the drug. That she’d be mortally dependent on it for the rest of her life. She compared me to technophobic conspiracy theorists, or the religious fundamentalists who glorified the prospect of death.
Apparently, I was jealous, controlling, afraid of death. That I wanted to be young enough to be chosen.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I resented the prospect of being left behind by the whole world, of fading into obscurity and nonexistence. But after a few months of her taking it, it didn’t matter anymore. She was hooked for life, and I had to watch myself grow old while my wife stayed as young and flawless as the day we met. My skin wrinkled, my hair started coming out, and my wife stopped looking at me the same way, no matter how many times we professed our eternal love.
Divorce was messy, painful, full of scary questions and scarier answers. So we just lived together in apathy, and let our romance decay piece by piece just as my body did.
We saw it for the first time on the news, after catching the occasional rumor from conspiracy forums and message boards.
Hou Fen, a Taiwanese immigrant and the first person to take Ephoebus, was found by the police in his house two weeks after his hundredth birthday. The bodies of his husband and daughter were in the basement, dissected and hung on meat hooks in his living room.
In recordings of police interrogations, he looked mildly bemused and nonchalant about his slaughter, stating that he was simply curious to see what their insides looked like.
He was the first Ephoebus user to make international headlines. But not the last.
It took teams of neuroscientists and psychologists a few weeks to determine the cause. The drug preserved reasoning, creativity, and memory perfectly. But not emotional range. At a certain point around people’s hundredth birthday, their minds snapped, and all empathy, love, and moral compass rotted away in a matter of weeks.
Pure sociopaths, cropping up by the millions around the globe.
Mass shootings and homicides became a near-daily occurrence on the evening news. Not just from the elderly who lost their humanity, unable to stop taking the drug without dying, but among the young as well, terrified that their aging relatives would butcher them in their sleep.
It took less than a month for the president to declare martial law, and mandate immediate registration for every citizen over the age of 98.
The sound of shouting and our front door being kicked down stirred me from my sleep. Already awake, Emily helped pull me to my feet and handed me my walking stick. We walked into our living room to the sight of a police officer training a taser on us.
“Mrs. Emily Wilson. You are to be detained by order of executive order nine-one-four-five-one, under suspicion of Ephoebus Decay!”
“Excuse me, what the fuck?” I stepped in between him and Emily, raising a hand. “What the fuck is going on?”
The officer stepped around me, training his weapon on Emily. “New emergency order. Zero-risk policy. Your wife turns one hundred in a month, which means she’s got a few weeks at best before becoming one of them. If she isn’t already.”
“And what next? You put us in a camp?” Emily clenched her teeth. “Fuck you. Constitutional rights. You want to arrest me, charge me, asshole.”
He pulled the trigger, shooting the fins from his taser into her chest.
Emily fell to the ground, twitching. He started kicking her, driving the heel of his boot into her chest again and again. She cried out in pain, whimpering, tears streaming down her cheeks.
It only seemed to heighten his rage. “Manipulative fuck. You socios can fake any emotion you want. Isn’t that right?” He kept kicking her, ignoring her screams and my shouting.
“Stop, stop it! We’ll come quietly! Stop!” The tension in my shoulders reached a breaking point. I heard a rushing in my ears, felt my body move almost unconsciously, and a thud of impact on my hand.
I blinked. A kitchen knife was in my hand, plunged into the side of his neck. The officer turned to look at me, almost stunned that an old man was capable of such a feat. Then the blood poured from the wound and he dropped to the floor, gurgling.
I pulled the taser fins out of Emily, and cradled her as she sobbed into my arms. We sat together on the floor, frozen in shock, unable to process what had just transpired for I don’t know how long. As my breathing steadied, and I felt my heart rate slow, I gazed around the room, staring at the body of the dead cop on our living room floor, surrounded by a pool of blood.
I pushed myself upright, ignoring the stabs of pain from my back. “Come on, Emily. Get up.” I offered my hand, helping her pull herself upright, and inhaled. “I don’t know how. I don’t know if it’s even possible. But we’re going to find a cure.
Whatever it takes, I'm going to keep you from breaking.”
I grasped her hands, kissing her on the cheek. “Grab what you can carry.”
We left the house in our car, driving for the border, fleeing the sound of sirens. | The gunsmoke lingers lazily about a foot in front of me, sharp smell of sulfurous anger assaults my nostrils, foreign yet familiar. The smoke gently obscures the writhing psychopath on my floor, bleeding out all over my goddamn berber carpet that I just had cleaned not even a week ago. As the blood soaks in a widening pool around this weirdo, I muse that perhaps I should lay down a darker color sometime soon. His gurgles and wet shrieks snap me back, and I retrain my pistol on him, just in case he gets a second wind and decides to get squirrely again. Can't ever really tell with these gene\-freaks, ever since that drug hit the market some 60 someodd years ago and everyone was sold the promise they could live forever, shit just kinda has been going downhill. I was too old when they started handing out that drug, whatever it was called. PermaLife? VitaLife? I can't fucking remember these days. I was too old, but I had a funny feeling about it. A man shouldn't trust strangers in fancy suits when they talked about money, souls or beauty, and this certainly qualified. Everybody wanted to stay pretty, got to stay pretty, right down to the genetic level. Problem was it was too good to be true\- these kids apparently never heard of Microsoft Windows. Always wait a while before buying a brand new product\- it's always rushed and there are always problems they didn't account for. Except this time this product gave your whole brain a blue screen of death. Polymyelinating Colloidal Hyperagitation, the people with pay grades bigger than mine called it. Rest of us just called it the Giggles. Turns out, even though you can keep the body looking young, the mind's a different matter. Damn thing can only process so much information, it has to evolve in order to keep your sanity. That's why you start forgetting shit when you're older than dirt like me. Problem is the new drug stopped the brain from being able to do that. So it just kept getting overstimulated like someone threw a Chevy in neutral and kept pressing the pedal. Some folks, younger ones, handle it a little better, but get up to my age chronologically and everything starts to go catty whompers eventually. Nerves and neurons fuse and flare, too much electroconductivity happens in the brain, too much hyperperfusion, throws 'em into a state of superacute psychosis\- at least that's what it says in the fine print. The brainiac's are still throwing shit at the wall and seeing what sticks, but they at least got the warning out about, oh 10 minutes before everything took a massive shit all over the place.
Speaking of shit, the smell of voided bowels cuts through the smoke and let's me know that pissboy here isn't going to be getting back up. I poke him in the balls with the end of my cane, for good measure. Anyone can shit themselves, but no matter how psycho you are, you react when someone jabs a metal rod in your balls. I stick 'em a few times, and nothing in his rictus\-grin face shows me he's still on this earth. I punch a few buttons on my recessed wall communicator and wait until the swirling 'standby' notice disappears.
"Got another one, eh, Bill?" my neighbor Rich damn near scares the shit out of me as he appears in my doorway suddenly
"Christ almighty, Richie, you almost got your ticket punched too, ya asshole." I realize I'm pointing my pistol at his chest, and lower it, feeling the jolt of adrenalin course through me. I ride the hammer home and tuck the piece in my holster in my waistband.
Richie shrugged. "You'd be doing me a favor. Get me off this train wreck before it gets really bad." he shuffles to the doorway, holding on to the doorjamb for balance. Richie could probably use a cane or a walker of some sort, but he's either too proud or too stupid to get one. "What's this, number four now?"
"Something like that. You want a coffee, Richie? I was about to put a pot on." I say, waving him in. The wall caller still tells me to standby.
"Maybe. Was thinking about taking a walk down to McCarveys. Maybe pick Annette up on the way, wanna tag along?"
"I dunno, Richie. Is McCarveys even still standing? Either way, I don't feel like blasting my way through a dozen more of these loonies just for some watered\-down bourbon." The swirling standby message has stopped, then disappeared, and a new message prompting me to select what service I need comes up. I hit medical, police and sanitary, then hit send. The standby message reappears.
"It's strange." Richie says suddenly.
"What's that, now?"
"I says, it's strange. I'm looking at this freako, here, and in my mind I'm thinkin', 'what a waste of a life.' Then somewhere some other part reminds me this thing is about as old as we are, just about. It's just a weird thing to rectify, mentally. Ya know?" Richie says, tapping the head of the dead guy with his shoe.
"Yeah. I just think it's funny that this shithead wanted to live forever and ended up dying before I did." I chuckled, and Richie smiles and shakes his head. Irony's a bitch.
The wall caller chirps and an automated voice asks me what the nature of my emergency is.
"Well, it;'s not an emergency per se, but there is a dead guy on my floor, so I figured someone should be alerted." I say. You know your old when you hate people but still consider the 'good ol days' to be when someone with a pulse answered an emergency call.
"You stated; someone has died. Is this correct?" the wall caller asks.
"Yep."
"Can you identify the cause of death?" the wall caller asks. I think for a moment.
"Acute traumatic exsanguination." I reply. Richie snorts a chuckle. The line goes silent for a few seconds.
"Do you have reason to believe that the deceased is an individual who may have taken MetaLife brand chemical supplements?" the wall caller asks, except this time the tinny voice has changed into someone a bit more authoritative. I hesitate, knowing where this is heading.
"It's certainly not outside the realm of possibility." I respond. I swear I can hear the wall caller click in frustration.
"A representative from Foundation Pharmaceuticals is being dispatched along with police, medical and fire to your location. Please do not touch or alter the deceased. If you have animals or pets, please secure them away from the deceased. Do not ingest bodily fluids from the deceased. Do not..."
I sigh, knowing what's going to come next. The suits will show up, grill me for the next three hours over what happened, scold me for not taking the subject alive or alerting them while he was still alive, then they'll look at my record and start accusing me of all kinds of things like manslaughter or freak hunting, all while denying that there's any connection between their product and the near billion and growing number of people around the globe showing similar effects, there will be gag orders, I'll have to lawyer up...
"...in the deceased's mouth, nostrils, or any other oriface. Do you have any questions or comments before we terminate this call?"
"Yeah." I say, grabbing an extra loaded magazine from my kitchen drawer, "I'll be down at McCarvey's on 4th street if you need me." | 2018-06-04T21:35:59 | 2018-06-04T21:25:21 | 354 | 201 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | "oh, I'm sorry, I actually don't understand you. I have a condition that only allows me to speak your language, not understand it."
"what? So... You're not here to destroy this reality?"
"yeah, sorry, don't understand a word. You would not believe the issues it causes"
"thats good because I'd have to kill you"
"can I just order?"
"yes sir, sorry about that, what can I get you?" | I entered the store,the fresh smell of grease and soggy fries flooding my nose. How the workers endured the smell for more then fifteen minutes I have no clue,not that it mattered to me but it was always the first thing I thought of when I entered.
A few seconds later my nose had adjusted to the smell and so I walked up to the register,a friendly voice spoke in the usual zombified teenage cashier tone. You know the one. “hi,what can I get for you?” I glanced up at the menu for a second,processing all the items, I had decided I was going to get something different to usual but now I was actually ordering? “Uhh. Just a large cheeseburger menu. Meal. I mean meal”
I had tripped over my words. Fantastic. This was honestly not that rare for me. Usually the worker would ignore the mistake and move on... but she was just staring, at first I thought it may have been my clothes or my hair,maybe I had something in my teeth? No no,nothing about me was any different to usual. It took me a second to think about how I spoke. See,I have this odd trick. No matter what language I speak people only hear me in their native tongue. I realised she must’ve been taken aback by this.
It was just after I realised all this she spoke “no one has spoken in that language in thousands of years. It is forbidden to my people” what? What had she said? Forbidden? I tilted my head a little and apologised “sorry,I don’t understand? I asked if I could have a large cheeseburger meal.” her facial expression turned to disgust and she stepped back.
Had I offended her somehow?
Tears began running down her face and she ran out,a coworker yelling for her to come back. Everyone watched and the place went quiet. I began to consider chasing her. The restaurant was making me slightly nauseous,ill admit that but I didnt feel like getting involved in anything today. My conscience got the better of me,I felt bad for making her cry. I started running after her,each foot moving slightly faster then the last. | 2018-06-24T21:11:48 | 2018-06-24T20:22:38 | 39 | 25 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse is much different than you had imagined. Instead of moaning "braaaaaiiinnnss" and clumsily shambling along, your infected daughter is crying on the other side of your locked door, begging to be let in. | She was only 15.
The knob rattles as the door wrenches from its frame, barely able to stand tall with the onslaught of her nimble frame ramming into the door.
“Daddy, please! Why won’t you let me in! I just want to be with you!”
Don’t listen to her. Don’t listen to her, she can’t be trusted. You saw the mark on her arm. They got to her, they had to have. That scar couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.
“Dad, I’m scared, you’re never like this! Please just unlock the door!”
Her mother went the same way, you can’t get the sight of her head being ripped open from the force of the slug that came from the barrel of *your* gun. For Christ’s sake, she was your *wife*, the woman you told everything to, you held dear for so long, just torn from your life by a single mistake.
She turned so quickly. She saw you, feverishly shaking, the gun barely aimed, and she screamed and *ran* at you.
...What’s done is done.
“Why won’t you answer me! I know you’re in there, open the fucking door, PLEASE!”
They’realldeadthey’realldeadthey’realldead you tell yourself, because if you didn’t constantly ram the thought through your thick skull you’d open the door and join them.
It’s too much, why did this have to happen, why did this have TO **FUCKING** HAPPEN.
You launch the table next to you across the room. It breaks into a million pieces. You’ll clean it up later, you just want her to stop and leave before she brings more of them here.
The door won’t be able to handle much more.
“Daddy, we’re all here for you! We’re just scared, please come out and talk to me! They said you missed your dose, I just want to make sure you’re okay!”
You hear a wailing in the distance. The rest are coming. Your time is up.
You know it has to end, but, you want to go out in your control.
If they can take your family from you, you can take them back with you.
“Okay...I’m coming out.”
You quietly pull the slide on your pistol.
|
((Some mild violence and dark themes, kinda new to this so I hope I did it right))
I had always been a zombie buff, everything Walking Dead and Max Brooks I was all over it. Little did I know the real zombie Apocalypse was just around the corner and it…the books the TV shows don’t prepare you for of being real for it happening to YOU. It was about three days ago yeah everything fell apart on three days. I was watching my daughter and son walk home from school from out 3rd story window…Lindsey just a ten year old girl and her older brother Michael. They wave up at me as I lean out the window “Hurry on up kids I have dinner almost done” it was Mike's birthday and I made his favorite meal.
That was when the bomb hit, not a normal explosive not even an atomic bomb the media is saying the explosion was a biological weapon. Super Rabies they keep calling it but we all know what it is…these are the living dead. A lot of people are lucky the disease is airborne most of the time and immunity to the airborne strain isn’t very rare me and mike were both safe from the foul green gas that blanketed the city but safe from the gas doesn’t mean safe. The effects are almost instant as Lindsey collapsed into the street coughing…I kick down the fire escape and try to get to my children to pull them inside away from death but…I hear mike scream as his own sister bites into him dragging him to the ground I was about halfway down the escape when I saw this and…I got scared I’m human okay I pulled up the escape and ran inside. Locking the doors and calling 911 but the system had crashed.
“oh god, oh god its happening I always knew it would happen” the dead were rising but I was safe you needed a code to get into the lobby and to get up the elevator. That’s when I hear a small ping at my door bell. Someone had just entered my apartment’s code into the lobby entrance. Thinking its Mike having gotten away from his sister it didn’t even cross my mind that they might have the memories of their lives so when I check my phone to see through the lobby security camera I nearly faint as covered in deep crimson blood its…my daughter Lindsey dragging her half eaten brother into an elevator. My phone pings now as I receive a text from Lindsay “Daddy is dinner done? I’m so…hungry” there is a photo attatched, a selfie of her and Mike’s body exiting the elevator. I throw my phone in fear it landing in out fish tank “Oh god sh-she remembers my number…” I say and remembering she has a key to the door I run over and push a large shelf in front of it and sure enough not a minute later the door lock clicks open and I hear her trying to push it open “Daddy? The door is stuck” she says still in her innocent little voice “Daddy help me get it open me and mike want some dinner and cake I’m so hungry please let me in”.
The voice sounds like her it really does, it acts like my Lindsey and talks like my Lindsey and hell for all I know maybe it still is my Lindsey but whatever this Virus did to her it made her persistent. Only stopping to kill a neighbor as they come home or take a few bites from her brother other than that it’s all begging “Daddy I smell food are you microwaving popcorn you know its my favorite” I hate eating now…no matter how subtle I am she always knows exactly what I have and pleads to be let in but I know it’s a trick she wants my flesh and dammit after three days I’m tempted to just let her have it to end the begging. I walk over to the door and push the shelf away. The doorknob turns slowly and opens as I see her hand poking through the door “Daddy I’m so glad dinner is ready”
The End
| 2018-09-06T18:54:24 | 2018-09-06T15:42:34 | 77 | 23 |
[WP] You are a schizophrenic man that has accepted your hallucinations and ignores them. While you are shopping at Walmart, a giant fissure opens up randomly beneath your feet. You walk over it, believing it to be another hallucination. People are staring at you in shock. | I looked back at them, gestured *"What?"* , figured maybe it's just my hallucinations, and just went on. I have agoraphobia, yes, but as I walk across it nervously, my mind figured it out as a mere hallucination and finally got over it.
As I check the breakfast section, the creatures that haunt me back then poured out like locusts from the ravine as it widened. People either fell into the ravine or were subject to the nightmarish creatures' slaughter. They were killed in ways eerily similar to how I imagined dying at the hands of the creatures. One was torn apart in the middle. Another was skinned. Someone flew and crashed into the shelf I'm checking out, with one of his legs shredded clean, down to the bone.
"H-Help! Help!", he screamed, reaching out to me.
I was deciding whether to buy another box of cereal again for the week as one of the creatures lunged at him and shredded his body, one limb at a time. The guy's scream probably broke the sound barrier. The creature then turned to look at me. I looked back at him.
"Aren't you too noisy for this time of the day?" I asked it nonchalantly as I continued browsing through the aisle.
The creature hissed at me.
"Geez, okay." I said as I walk away. The hallucinatory carnage continued on. Wow, they sure *do* look and sound realistic this time. Not to mention creative, if anything. But it was too much for me, especially the screams and cries of tormented people. I pulled out my noise-cancelling Bluetooth headphones, and turned on Spotify.
In the middle of what looks like an invasion of all my nightmares made flesh, with blood on the walls, mangled corpses everywhere, and barely-muffled screaming, as I check the bloodied dairy section shelves for a liter of fresh milk to go along with my second box of cereals, a certain song started to play.
And as it reaches its chorus, I can't help but sing the song, smiling.
*Now Playing: Katrina & The Waves - Walking On Sunshine* | My normal trip to the local supermarket is always the same. Each person that passes draws another few voices threatening my end at their hands, or them being someone that they do not say that they are. A thief or something else. Perhaps all the food in that cart will be stolen in a few short minutes when they push it straight out the door, past the broken alarm and the door woman who is wishing that she was anywhere else. A few years back, maybe that would have gotten my attention. I cannot speak about other cases, but I think of myself as a special one, a person with schizophrenia. The main difference being that I know my hallucinations are just that, fake and unreal. Over time, I have learned to simply let them exist, and continue on with my life. So, I let the lady pass and continue on down the aisle.
A few short minutes later, another person passes. Another thief, and more ignored commands. This would go on and on until I left the store and headed home, where I would be given more of these warnings. It gets annoying sometimes, the mind always busy and saying something, never a moment of silence. I took a pair of noise canceling headphones off the self, looking them over, wonder if they would even do anything to stop it. Could they even stop the voices in one’s head.
Putting them back, there was a quiet cracking, coming from my lower right, just as the loudspeaker turned on. I turned, a man looked up in confusion, probably trying to hear whatever the employee was trying to drone on about. I heard the crack again, louder this time, followed by the sound of something metal hitting tile. Then, directly followed by the sound of tile and stone being torn asunder. The man jumped, presumably from the baking tray striking the ground, or whatever another customer or kid had dropped. He turned in my direction. I was still looking down at the large crack that had formed on the ground. It was deep, pulsing this crimson red that faded into a sunset orange the further down it went, until the eye could no longer determine wall from wall.
Shaking my head, I put the headphones back on the shelf and took a step onto the crack.
“W-wait!” I heard a voice say as my foot struck the tile that my hallucination hid. Another voice trying to fake me out. I shook the feeling away as I made the few short steps over this pulsing crevice. Still scanning the items on the shelves, I caught a glimpse of the jumpy man, staring directly at me, and the ground where the hallucination was covering. *Murderer, he knows you are crazy, don’t let them see…* the voices tried. I simply waved, going back to my shopping.
Another cracking sound, farther away, followed by a shout of panic. I stopped my search and slowly turned back around. The first crack was still there, drawing my own confusion. They always faded as soon as I crossed them, as soon as I proved to myself that they were fake, they always went away. Why is that still there? Another tearing of stone and tile, followed by another, and another.
Soon, I couldn’t tell the screaming in my own head from that of those that are also in the store. People running from these fissures being torn open in the bottom of the store, toppling rows and carts left abandon, plunging scattered goods into these holes. My mind was reeling from what I was seeing.
“No…it is only another hallucination.” I said to myself quietly, in an attempt to shake the feeling. However, they stayed, unlike every other time that I have witnessed before. They stayed, and other could see them too. So, if these things are real, if other people can see them and other people can be harmed by these holes, why not me? | 2018-12-22T06:05:33 | 2018-12-22T04:45:52 | 79 | 51 |
[WP] Your daughter has always had imaginary "alien friends" she would play with and speak to in a funny, nonsensical language. You never thought much of it, until some real aliens arrived and asked for their ambassador, your daughter. | Taya was a normal 6-year-old girl in almost every respect. She loved playing with Barbies; she loved watching Paw Patrol whenever I would let her rot her brain in front of the TV; and she loved tormenting the dog, Aby.
There was just one little aspect of Taya that wasn’t… quite so normal. Before she could even speak, her baby-babble was the strangest thing I’d ever heard. It was like if you took baby-babble, put it on a record, and played it backwards. Honestly, it was creepy as hell. To make it even weirder, she would always look to one side when she did it, and then pause as if she was listening to something.
Her mom had shrugged it off and said that Taya would outgrow it when she started speaking. All babies are different, and all have their quirks, she had said. But Taya didn’t outgrow it.
One time shortly after her fourth birthday, she had launched into what seemed like a long, angry tirade in the strange babble. All the while she had looked to the side as if she was speaking to her shoulder, just like she had ever since she was a baby. I had inquired what was wrong, and her reply was burned forever into my memory. I can still see the tears building in her eyes as she told me, “Daddy, they said they’re going to come take me away soon.”
“Who? Who’s going to take you away?” I had replied, bewildered.
That was when she had said it. Those two words: “The Aliens”. It was the first and last time she ever spoke of them.
Ever since then, I had wondered if I had made a mistake when I responded to her by telling her there were no such thing as Aliens. Nobody was going to take her away. Everything would be OK.
By dismissing her concerns rather than validating them - even though I was trying to be comforting – I had pushed her away. From then on, she no longer did the weird babble in front of me. But every once in awhile I would catch her doing it when she thought I couldn’t hear her.
I desperately wished her mom had still been around to see that Taya had never outgrown the babble. She would know exactly what to say to break through to our little girl and help her.
Over the last few weeks the babble had suddenly been increasing. Every time Taya was at home, she would sneak off to her room and I would hear her speaking the babble with distress in her voice, sometimes even yelling. But if I tried to talk to her, comfort her, hug her, anything at all, she would shut down and stop responding to me.
One evening, I sat on the couch pondering all of this. If only I could go back in time to that day 2 years before and really listen to my little girl. If I had kept that line of communication open, instead of shutting it down, maybe I could help her.
If only I could go back even further and save her mother. Tears threatened to well up in my eyes as I thought about that amazing woman, and how much I missed her. I knew that the empty hole in our hearts would never be filled. Taya needed her mother, not me. I couldn’t do this alone.
Suddenly, a scream from Taya’s room pierced the overwhelming gloom that clouded my thoughts. Before I even had time to register what was happening, I was on my feet and sprinting to her room. The dog was close on my heels.
I burst through the door, and there was Taya, standing in the middle of the room, tears streaming down her face. I scooped her up into my arms, and before I could even try and ask her what was wrong, suddenly sirens split the air all around the house. Aby started barking wildly.
Still holding Taya, I stepped over to the window to look outside and see what was going on. I drew back the curtains just in time to see a man dressed in a black suit and white shirt step out of an SUV that had screeched to a stop in the middle of my lawn; ripping the grass up and spraying dirt everywhere.
The man reached back into the SUV and pulled out a megaphone. He fiddled with the knob, then held it to his mouth. “Ambassador Taya. It’s time.” His voice boomed.
My jaw dropped as I looked from this man invading my lawn, to my sweet little girl, tears still streaming down her face. “What… what is he talking about? Ambassador? Are you even old enough to know what an Ambassador is?”
Taya squirmed for me to put her down. I reluctantly did so.
She stood staring at the floor for a few moments, and then she slowly looked up into my eyes. The tears had stopped.
“Daddy… There’s something I need to tell you about Mommy.”
\--------------------
Edit:
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/c3d1cd/wp_your_daughter_has_always_had_imaginary_alien/erruh0d?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) is up.
Also, just want to thank everyone for the upvotes and the requests for a continuation of the story. I'm new to /r/WritingPrompts (and to sharing my writing in general), so to have people actually wanting to read more is a pretty cool feeling. Thanks all! | We used to call it sabble-babble when Sabrina was younger. She was like a cat; she would become fixated with a random, definitely empty corner or wall and just start babbling at it like some sort of possessed witch doctor mid-exorcism. It was cute at first. Then it was creepy. Kids can be creepy, but this was different. It wasn't just random babble every time. We would notice patterns. Like it was a language and she was referring to something by name. We wrote it off as imaginary friends. But then it continued. She was in middle school and she kept doing the sabble-babble and we started to get worried. We took her to therapy. We conducted exorcisms. I went online and looked up how to cure your daughter of her insanity. We were desperate for a time. And then we gave up, because what else are you going to do? You just learn to live with your kid's disabilities or mental deficiencies or whatever you want to call it. Out of sight, out of mind, and she would just do the sabble-babble to her heart's content. Other than that, she was a perfectly normal kid.
I heard a knock at the door one evening as I was watching a game of football and my wife was knitting a straight-jacket or maybe a scarf for Sabrina and Sabrina was off... well, she was off doing the sabble-babble, because what else would she be doing. When the door knocked, she fell silent. That was a first. Usually she would just become more animated and keep looking at the corner and talking to nothing. Instead she ran to the door and stood smiling as I opened it. A weird looking dude stood there. He looked like somebody who had never seen a human before tried to draw one from somebody's description. He had long arms that reached his ankles and stubby legs and it really didn't seem like he had knees. His torso was way too long so he was nearly as tall as me. He had two eyes and two nostrils but not a nose. Odd looking fellow. "Sabrina, is this your friend?" I asked, turning towards her. She was beaming. Not like beaming up to an alien spacecraft, that would come later. She was just smiling real big.
When he spoke, I almost fell over in surprise. He was speaking the sabble-babble. Fluently. And she was speaking back. "This is my ally," she said. Creepy. Kids have friends. Kids have bullies. Kids have buddies. They don't have allies. My wife was peaking around the stairs, looking pretty concerned. I wished she had been knitting a straight-jacket that could fit both of these weirdos.
"Your friend?"
She shook her head nervously. "No, daddy. We are allies. I have been elected ambassador to his species." Right. Ambassador to the weirdos? What an honor. What did that make me and my wife? Regent King and Queen of the weirdos? "He has come to take me to his people." The swamp people, from the looks of it. The dude looked like Slenderman's little cousin.
"You're not going anywhere," I ordered and I started to close the door. The thing at the door started babbling louder and I heard Sabrina's name in there several times. "Honey, call the cops," I said to my wife and she nodded and started dialing. And then the door swung open, slamming against the wall. Sabrina's freaky little friend entered the house, his fingers still smoking from whatever he had done to my door. "You're paying for that, dipshit," I cursed and Sabrina stared in awe. The babbler babbled. Both babblers babbled. There was some intense babbling going on.
"Daddy, he says I need to negotiate terms of our surrender."
"What? This is my house. I'm not surrendering." My wife had frozen. Literally. Not like she was frozen in shock. The little weirdo had literally frozen her in place when she tried to call the cops. I glanced outside, trying to figure out where this kids parents were. That's when I saw it. There were dozens of similar looking weirdos, marching out of a spacecraft that was ruining my carefully manicured lawn. I cursed again. You work all spring and summer to get your lawn looking nice and trim and then an alien spacecraft lands in the middle of it, definitely burning it up and leaving bad dirt patches. Stupid aliens. And then I looked back inside and there were more of them materializing out of thin air.
Sabrina looked at me, her eyes serious. She wasn't babbling anymore. "I'm serious, daddy," she said and for some reason it finally hit me. "I've been talking to them all along. They couldn't let you see them before they were ready." So what was she? A traitor to the human race? Could they exile you from Earth? The Moon seemed like it could offer some peace and quiet and respite from mowing the lawn. "I need to go with them."
"Or what?" What would they do? I wouldn't allow them to take my daughter from me.
"Or they'll destroy the Earth. I need to negotiate the terms of our surrender."
"You have no authority," I argued. She was a middle-schooler. "You think the President will listen to you?" She nodded. Confidence. 'Atta-girl. I shrugged. If I didn't allow it, I would probably end up having a bunch of holes in me like my door now did. "Can he unfreeze mom?" She babbled something to the guy who had knocked at the door and he seemed to laugh. And then my wife was gasping for breath and looking in shock. "Alright," I said reluctantly, not bothering to thank the thing. "When will you be back? Curfew is at ten." It was like eight in the evening already. Two hours should be enough to negotiate Earth's surrender.
"I'll try. Otherwise we'll have a sleepover." No. Way. A middle-schooler sleeping over at a boy... Wait, they weren't boys. They're just weird random creatures from another species. It would be like letting her sleep in a petstore. Whatever.
"Be safe," I told her as they escorted her out the door. She smiled and gave me a hug and then made her way to the spacecraft. I could see the neighbors watching. This would take some explaining. And just like that, the spacecraft was lifting off and burning the life out of my lawn and trees and up it went into the sky where an array of thousands of identical spacecraft waited.
"Will she be okay?" my wife asked, as if I was some sort of magic genie who could tell the future. I shrugged.
"She will be, I would say. They seem to like her. I don't know about the rest of us though, considering our future is in the hands of a middle-schooler."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-06-21T11:23:53 | 2019-06-21T11:10:50 | 344 | 122 |
[WP]The Suit is powerfull. A mech for some, body armor for others, always unique to each person who wore it. Those who wear it, hear the words "not original user, booting basic mode" As a joke, your sergeant gives you The Suit and the first thing you hear is: "User detected: Welcome back, Commander" | Finally! The day I get to try on the famed Exo-armor. The armor that single handedly turned the tide of the war. With only 10 suits in existence and no way of manufacturing more, there are few greater honors. Imagining its comfortable feel and assuring presence that others had described in such detail sent excited tingles through my body.
"Private Lacker!" The loud voice of Sergent Lance broke my reverie "I must be boring you since you're daydreaming."
"No Sir. Sorry Sir. Just thinking is all." Heart pounding as short breaths escaped my lips, Sergent Lance turned back around slowly, but before he could continue my tormentor Bradford jumped in with his usual slander.
"Lackie boy, probably won't even make it through the first test today," he snarled. Clenching my fists I ignored him as Sergent Lance continued
"Quiet, Bradford! Now as I was saying, each of you greenies will have a chance to put on the armor in order to test your natural proclivity to it. The armor works much better with those who are able to make a deeper connection. These tests will determine your training regimen moving forward, and your performance will serve to measure your ability to connect with the armor. Private Stephens, you're up first."
Stephens, is the best in the program. If anyone is going to do well it will be him. He excitedly stepped forward and gingerly took the large knitted sweater. The kind that your grandmother would make you, but you would never actually wear out. As he slipped it over his head, he looked downright comical, but I knew what it was capable of. I would not make the same mistake that hundreds of applicants before me had made. Stephens barely finished putting it on when the transformation began:
*"Not original user: Booting basic mode"*
Almost instantaneously the sweater transformed itself into a full-body suit of lightweight armor covering Stephen's entire body. He stood still for a moment before pumping his fist in the air and saying, "Woah...this is amazing. It's like all my sense are elevated and my muscles are twice as strong."
Sergent Lance walked him through various speed tests, strength tests, and accuracy tests so that he could compare the scores to the rest of us. Then it was the next person's turn and the cycle repeated over and over again.
Since we were being tested in the order of previous physical performances I knew that I would be going last, and settled in to observe everyone else anxiously.
As more times and measurements were recorded a top 5 leader board quickly emerged and the first speed test, a simple 300 meter sprint became the benchmark. Unfortunately, Bradford currently tops the chart with a time of 15.68 seconds.
Nearing the mid afternoon, Sergent Lance finally called me up with much mockery and ridicule at my back. I proudly stepped forward. Before handing me the sweater, Lance pulled me in close and said:
"Son, I'll be honest. Your body most likely will not be able to handle this. Are you sure you want to go through with it?"
Nodding I replied, "It's all I've ever wanted to do."
Sergent Lance smiled knowingly, in a way that seemed so out of character for the rough bruiser I had grown accustomed to.
"Well...give it yer best shot." he said, handing me the sweater and taking an extra couple steps back.
With a stupid grin I delicately lifted the sweater over my head and put it on. For a moment nothing happened and I just stood silently in front of everyone. Then I heard the voice.
*"Authorized User Detected: Welcome Back Commander."*
Wait, that's not what it is supposed to say. Before I could think about it further, an odd sensation came over me. It felt great. Better than great. Like I had woken up in better shape than I had ever been in, and my senses were elevated ten fold. An immense amount of energy waiting at my command. I felt whole. As if I had been missing something my entire life, but now was reunited with it.
Opening my eyes, I saw everyone ogling at me. "You okay Lacker?" Sergent Lance asked as he approached me quizzically.
"Yes Sir! Never better."
"Well then lets get moving. First the speed test. You know the drill, when I blow the whistle, you run from that line to the one all the way down there. The time to beat is 15.68 seconds set by Bradford."
Bradford interjected, "C'mon, he ain't gonna beat me. We don't even need to time it. He could hardly move when he first put it on."
Lance, angry now, replied, "If I hear one more thing from you Bradford, you're ass is gonna be doing laundry for everyone until I say otherwise." Turning back to me he said, "Okay, you ready Lacker?"
I nodded.
"Ready. Set. Go!"
I took off as fast as I could. My thoughts, a blur with one thing in sight. Beating Bradford. I made it to the line barely winded and turned around to sprint back from my time. Lance looked at me with a puzzled look and frowned. My heart sinking, I asked,
"What's wrong? What was my time? "
"It's 6.35 seconds...there and back!"
**Author's Note**: Be gentle please. This is the first time I have ever written anything fiction before, and I have never responded to one of these writing prompts either. With that being said please let me know if you liked it or if you didn't. Also feel free to give me some constructive feedback. | PART 1
I walked the corridors at the base pushing my mop and bucket trying to keep a low profile. *Stay silent, stay unknown*. If I draw any attention the asshole soldiers on the base would start harassing me again. I did *not* want to deal with their crap again.
A squad hustled past chattering excitedly. I could overhear little of their conversations, but I picked out the word “Suit” coming from a couple near the back. The Suit. Anytime anyone talked about the damned thing you could hear the capital “S”. It was some new power armor that most soldiers would give a years’ salary to fly in for one mission. And, from all I’ve heard, that’s all they ever got.
The scientists have worked tirelessly to backwards engineer the mech suit, to pry its secrets and put them to practical use. Our air force grew quickly from the minor successes the brass managed to get. New armor plating, new energy cannons, better thrusters, tighter turns on our fighters. Each advance coming from a different Suit pilot. That was the interesting thing about the Suit: it never gave the same power twice. Every person who got in the suit had one of two reactions, either the suit would say “not original user, booting basic mode” or it wouldn’t react at all. Those that did manage to get in and get it to work could only get it to work for one flight. That much I gathered from overheard conversations. It’s surprising what you hear as a lowly janitor. No one pays you any mind unless you mess up. I’m very good at not messing up.
The radio on my cart cracked and a gruff voice called out “Schultz, I need you to go to subsection 14 room 21b. Someone puked all over the floor there. It’s a real mess and my normal guy’s out sick. I’ve given your badge temporary access. Get down there, clean, and get back.”
I pushed the talk button and replied, “Sure thing boss. Be right down.”
“And Schultz, don’t touch anything. No matter what you see, you don’t see anything, got it?” he said, sounding slightly irritated.
“I remember all the NDAs I signed when I started here. I know how to do my job.” I threw the radio down and hurried to the nearest elevator. *As if I’d screw up my job by telling someone about it. Assholes. I’m surrounded by assholes.*
\-----------------------------
The elevator dinged as it came to a stop on subsection 14. I emerged into the same floor as every other level in this facility. It’s the military way. You save money in only paying for utility. No need to waste taxpayer money on such things as decorations. Cement walls, cement ceilings, fluorescent overhead lights. Boring utilitarianism at its best.
I pushed my cart through the corridors until I found the door marked 21b. It was unobtrusive and unremarkable. The same as every other door on this floor. After swiping my card and hearing a beep and a lock clicking, I turned the handle and pushed my way in, dragging my cart behind me. What I saw was something completely unexpected.
The room was brightly lit. The walls painted stark white held no decorations or even markings. On a large table in the middle of the room lay a figure slightly larger than the size of an average man. Maybe six feet tall, the figure was slate grey. It stood in stark contrast to everything else in the room.
Shaking my view away from the suit--the Suit--I don’t know how I knew it was the suit, but I somehow knew it was--I scanned the room for my quarry. I spotted the yellowish puddle near the Suit. It was a large stain on a pure white canvas. I grabbed the mop ready to get to work when I heard someone behind me clear his throat.
“It’s a real piece of work, isn’t it?”
The speaker was taller than me, maybe 6’2”, 6’3” at most. He was in great shape, all muscle with no fat. His salt and pepper flat-top spoke volumes about his strict adherence to military protocol. A career soldier. Another Asshole, with a capital A.
I turned back to my work, ignoring the grizzled soldier.
“I asked you a question, maggot. You better answer or I’ll talk to your boss and have you fired.” Definitely an Asshole.
“It’s not too bad. Looks like they ate too much curry. Nothing a little scrubbing can’t fix. I’ll be out of here in a jiffy.” As I turned back to my task, I hastily added “sir”. Assholes like this like being called sir, right?
He chuckled from his position in the corner. “No, I meant the Suit.” I could hear the capital S again. “It’s a real piece of work, isn’t it?”
“It doesn’t look much different than anything else I’ve seen. Looks boring, really.” I responded.
“Looks can be deceiving. Piloting it. Ah, that’s where it really shines. Did you know this thing grows or shrinks depending on who’s in it? I still remember my time in it. I managed to complete an entire aerial assault mission less than 20 minutes solo. Same dogfight would have taken three times as long with a full squadron. That thing is a thing of beauty. I’d give anything to pilot it again. Damn thing doesn’t even acknowledge me anymore.” He seemed pretty sad at that last statement.
I didn’t know what to say, so I kept cleaning up the vomit from the floor. I finished and started making my way out. A hand caught me across the chest.
“Do you know why the Suit is in this room and there’s puke on the floor?” He asked.
“No, sir. Frankly, I don’t care. I have work to do.” I replied, trying to push through. His hand held firm. I was starting to get mad. Asshole.
“We haven’t found a suitable pilot in over 9 months. Nine months! We’ve tried every soldier stationed at the base. We’ve started trying the noncoms from around the base. That puddle was from the last guy. Got so nervous he blew chunks all over the floor before we locked him in. It didn’t respond, of course, but we at least tried. I fear we may have gotten everything we can from this hunk of junk. Waste of space and money.” Again, he spoke with a twinge of sadness. It seemed like he had a relationship with this inert piece of machinery.
“I want you to get in.” That was unexpected.
Something deep inside me wanted to get in. “No, I have work to do,” I said as I tried pushing past again. He pushed harder this time.
“That was not a request.” I could tell he meant it.
“No. I was told not to touch anything. I’m not even here, officially. This room doesn’t even exist,” I said, folding my arms in exasperation.
“Right, it doesn’t exist. And neither do you. Now, I must insist. Get. In.” He pulled his sidearm and leveled it at me.
&#x200B;
*first time posting in here ever. be kind.* | 2019-08-19T13:42:04 | 2019-08-19T13:13:49 | 46 | 23 |
[WP] The Evil Overlord infiltrates the hero's party as a new member. The hero's party realizes this, but they instead pretend not to and pamper him with love and acceptance.
I humbly hope this is simple enough that you can come up with many world ideas c: | Evil as dark as night. Pain as deep as the ocean. A mind as fractured as a stained-glass window fallen from it's holy heights.
Such things could not be fixed with mere love and acceptance. With hugs and kind words. With friendship.
No. Such things could only fester and grow, demanding to be fed as they consumed and destroyed everything in their path.
He could no more return their love than he could understand it. Their acceptance meant nothing. They only served to fuel the need inside of him.
Still, he smiled. When asked upon, he answered. When hugged, he hugged back, feigning a reluctance that only endeared him to them more.
He knew they knew. Saw how it divided them. Saw how they rallied around their misguided Hero who promised them it was possible.
It was too sweet to end so soon. No, he would wait, savouring the taste as long as he could before inflicting a be-fitting end to their measly existence.
Taking his hand off the firing mechanism that controlled explosives planted many months before, Drayorn relaxed.
Maybe he'd kill them next weekend. Maybe. | Okay so this exact thing just happened in the D&D campaign I am running here is the story...
The world has been through a cataclysm. The evil goddess Llolth and the demon Prince Orcus have taken the world for themselves after the previous party refused to hear the call to adventure. The world has been reshaped to their desire. A series of islands exist on the surface world and the underworld and underdark are connected everywhere by a labyrinth of caves and tunnels that reach all the way to the abyss.
The adventure begins with the party in the underdark. A group of ragtag children all come of age and are tested and found to be good and capable of the illegal art of magic. They are sent to die in the mines, but are rescued by a strange man in a dark cloak. They are given a small amount of coin and given directions to the surface world.
Upon arriving at the surface they discover the land is suffering from a spreading blight of undeath. Through their investigations they discover that the now Demon King Orcus has corrupted a number of druids and tasked them with spreading his blight with dark rituals including the sacrifice of innocents. These druids are convinced that undeath is eternal and therefore superior to life.
After growing in power from some side quests the party seeks out the blighted druids Grove, and after a tense battle with some of the druids minions the party casts charm person on the blighted druid. They invite him and his remaining goblin minions to join their party.
Back home in the village that sits near ruins that may predate the cataclysm they set up shop. They enlist the aid of the goblins to clean up the ruins and create new homes for the villagers. They help the evil druid to build a special contained Grove to grow his blighted plants and destroy the altar that was spreading the blight across the rest of the island.
So with the power of good and a healthy disrespect for the law of natural order they have wrested control of one island from the clutches of the evil Demon King Orcus.
Will the party continue to turn the evil druids that are corrupting the other islands with blight and undeath into allies? Will they learn to use the properties of these blighted aspects of nature to conquer the enemies they cannot charm? Will they discover the sunken Crystal pyramids that survived the cataclysm, and provide sanctuary for an evolved race of good aligned dragon worshipping kobolds? Will the world that the Goddess of Good Gaia and the Evil God Omni began creating over a decade ago survive it's descent from the chaotic neutral plane of limbo into the chaotic evil plane of the abyss? If it survives which of the outer places will the actions of the party take it to next?
Some of these questions may be answered in our upcoming games, and some new more interesting questions may arise... | 2019-11-02T13:28:38 | 2019-11-02T12:08:54 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] In Japan you are number 1 heart surgeon, steady hand. One day Yakuza boss needs new heart, you do the operation but mistake! Yakuza boss die, Yakuza very mad, you hid in a fishing boat and come to America, no English, money or food, a Warehouse manager Darryl takes you under his wing | In Japan, heart surgeon number one. Steady hand. One day, yakuza boss need new heart. I do operation. But mistake! Yakuza boss die! Yakuza very mad! I hide fishing boat, come to America. No English, no food, no money. Darryl give me job. Now I have house, American car and new woman. Darryl save life. My big secret? I kill yakuza boss on purpose. I good surgeon. The best!
At least, that official story. Please forgive grammar. Still new to English.
My bigger secret? I still do surgery for criminal. Not just heart surgery. Heart surgery is hard surgery. Other surgery easy. Except brain surgery. I no do brain surgery.
One day, man come to me and say he need surgery on hand. He say he tear muscle working out. I examine. Hands strong, body weak. He do not exercise right. I tell him. He get very mad! Demand I fix hand that night. I tell him no problem.
That night, I go to house. Pictures on wall. Pictures of women. I recognize from news. Women killed by Strangler. I fix hand, then I call police. Tell them man's name is a George Howard Scubb.
Next day, police chase man. Chase goes by office. Stupid Michael go outside and collect gravel from road to sell to collector. I sell pint of Strangler blood to collector. Going to pretend to win lottery with coworkers. Maybe invest in energy drink. | ‘Twas a foggy morning on the American west coast. A Japanese man stumbled out of a fishing boat, tired and weary from the intense journey. From homeland to the land of the free, This Japanese man has endured much. This is the story Hideoshi, The Steady Hand.
=========
On the edge of August he started med school. His goal was to become a masterful surgeon. The sharpest mind, the steadiest hands, and a stiff and unyielding resolve guided him. Perfect scores carried Hideoshi far. A bit too far in fact.
During his 6th year of med school, Hideoshi’s widowed mother fell terribly ill... to a curable disease. But it was a rare disease, and only American doctors had the knowledge to cure it. Flying her out to America to get the surgery, and then paying for American healthcare... Hideoshi didn’t have that kind of money. And he certainly didn’t have the credit to take a loan, having yet to establish a career. So Hideoshi did what a desperate man would do: he took out a loan from the mob.
The Yakuza was searching for a new private surgeon. Their old one, Clear Mind, had gotten old and ill. And it just so happened that the most promising medical student in Japan owed them a sizable amount of money. So the mob made a long term investment: Hideoshi’s loan wouldn’t be paid back in money... instead, the Yakuza would sponsor the rest of Hideoshi’s education, and then Hideoshi would work for them.
Hideoshi agreed. He had no choice to save his mother. But at the very least... after graduating the pay was amazing, and Hideoshi was constantly challenged as a surgeon. Mafia members are very creative in the ways they get shot. And through every scenario, Hideoshi’s hands were stable, precise, and skillful. They called him Steady Hand.
Hideoshi’s mother was living comfortably for all this time, financially supported by her successful surgeon son. She was so proud. But she was old. And everyone has to die. After being saved once, she died peacefully in her sleep at the ripe age of 82.
Hideoshi was devastated. He worked so hard to make his mother proud. To keep her safe. And then... she was gone. Only two days after she died, Hideoshi was rushed to the highest profile surgery of his career. The mob boss was shot. But with the death of his mother so fresh in his mind... Hideoshi’s hands wavered. He made a mistake. And the boss bled out on the operating table.
Hideoshi knew what this meant. He was going to die. His fear overtook his grief, and he ran to the coast. He was friends with a fisherman, Kiba, growing up, and he pleaded for safe passage to the United States. Kiba was a loyal friend. He asked no questions, only asking that Hideoshi would fish as well during the journey.
==========
And that brings us to today. A haggard surgeon-turned-fisherman on the coast of the California. Tired, broken... with shaking hands. | 2019-11-30T06:46:07 | 2019-11-30T06:06:18 | 1,100 | 11 |
[WP] As you stand infront of the sink washing a glass mug, you have the sudden urge to say a number. The number twenty-two leaves your lips, and for half a second you know why you've said it. This is the 22nd time you've remembered you are trapped in this loop. For half a second you remember. | I walked to the sink and picked up my mug.
I stood placidly for a while, staring at it, and the way the light from my kitchen window played off its smooth surface and the soap suds.
It seemed like the world no longer existed - as if I were in a trance. Like in a dream, where context and reason dissolve into the background, and your thoughts are nothing more than whispers, lost in the wind.
I continued washing it for a while, when my empty, hazy mind lit up.
"Twenty-two."
I catch myself. Did I just say that? Why did I say that?
Where am I?
Panic sinks in, and a black sense of dread grips my heart with steel talons and jerks it downward. I remember. I remember it all now.
I dropped the mug, letting it clatter in the sink. I had to escape. Oh fuck. I looked around frantically for an exit. I-
I walked to the sink and picked up my mug. | Liquid blue soap slides down my hand. I've missed the sponge again, but atleast the soap isn't across my stomach this time. My mind turns back to the cool glass resting in my hand. As my hand goes to start the rhythmic motions of washing away the milk crusted to the bottom, an urge overcomes my mind.
The calm that had settled over my mind was shattered into a swirling swelling mass of panic. Suddenly, as if all the air in the room pushed out of my lungs and into a single word.
"Twenty-two"
This is the 22nd time I've woken up. I'm not sure how I know this, but nothing else matters now. For this half moment i need to remember everything i can from before I started washing the mug. A memory bordered in a haze comes to mind as I try to remember.
The memory clears enough to see the same glass mug in my hands and the word seventeen breaking past my lips.
My anxiety grows heavier in my stomach as i try to remember further into the past. Or is it the present? I don't know how long has passed or how long i have left, but only that i need to hurry.
My mind grapples helplessly into the void, finally bring out the memory of the time i said "two". Casting the memory away to dig deeper.
I need to know what started this, how to break free. The answer must be in the original, i know it is! Before I ever said the number 2 or 22. I needed to know now, before 23 ever happens.
Abruptly a memory, no it's THE memory is within my minds grasp.
I can feel my socks lose traction as they slide across the kitchen floor. I can see the livingroom from here.
When was the last time i saw that room? No, it doesn't matter, just focus i tell myself.
I remember sliding into the fridge, but why was i going so fast? I can almost feel where my palms slammed against its smooth surface. I feel myself push of the fridge with a burst of adrenalin. I've flung myself across the kitchen to the stove.
I can hear it now, a hum. I thought it was the fridge, but It shouldn't be this loud at the stove. White hot panic can be felt through the memory and present self as the number "fiftythousand" breaks past my lips. Twisting the knob on stove, I watch as I shove my hands into the flame.
I look at my hands feeling the cool glass mug aginst them and start to wash. | 2020-03-03T13:25:45 | 2020-03-03T12:58:59 | 103 | 38 |
[WP] A warrior's strength is based on the rules of chess. A Queen can wipe out an entire army, a bishop can kill a legion, rooks, a battalion. While a pawn is lucky if he can kill 14 men. You were a mere pawn, but you've infiltrated to the end of your enemy lines. Your body began to transform. | Sara Lazuli knew her place. She was a pawn. She moved forward, for there was no retreat for a pawn. She smiled bitterly as she struck down those in front of her. Sometimes a knight or bishop would zip ahead, and do their thing, killing those who opposed them, but in the end when there was danger, they would be allowed to retreat behind the line. Not Sara, not for any pawn. They moved forward and hoped not to die.
And at the end of the road, or so the legend says, a pawn can become anything they wish. Sara wasn't sure she believed that. A carrot to dangle in front of the powerless. As if there was anything more than moving forward.
Maybe it was because she wasn't motivated by such flights of fancy, or maybe it was just dumb luck, that Sara found herself deep behind enemy lines. The fighting was behind her, but that was no concern for a pawn. She just kept going, always forward, one foot in front of the other.
She saw it then, the end of the world. Was this what they were fighting for? This sheer cliff leading to this void? What was the point? Whatever, forward always forward...
\*RUMBLE RUMBLE RUMBLE
As she approached the void something was approaching from the west, something fast. Sara would have laughed if she weren't about to die. An enemy rook was charging her way. Oh well, she had done pretty good as a pawn. She closed her eyes.
\*CRASH
Dying was a lot more boring than she thought it would be. Less painful too.
"MOVE!!!"
Sara's eyes snapped open. A knight stood between her and the rook. He had taken the attack meant for her. "Move, into...the end!!!" he coughed, crimson spilling from his lips.
Sara had no time to question, no time to thank him, no time to mourn him. She would honor him by doing what she was meant to. She moved forward. Forward into the end.
And she knew. She was not at the end because an end is just a beginning when you turn around. A pawn that can turn around, she laughed as the darkness seeped into her, could go anywhere. She would move forward, but she would choose what was forward.
Queen Lazuli stepped from the darkness. The rook still shaking the knight's corpse free from his spear. He had time to look her in the eye, to recognize the pawn from a moment ago. He was still looking her in the eye as his head was separated from his body, the obsidian sword not so much as slowing down as it went through his neck.
Sara the pawn always moved forward. But now Queen Lazuli could decide for herself what was forward. | Blood and sweat coursed down his neck and chest, mixing with dirt as he crawled through the mud. His helm was dented, and pushed against his left eye, swollen from a gauntleted fist he never saw coming. His head rang with the impact of steel, and the iron tang of blood filled his mouth.
Eran was a dead man walking, or in this case, crawling, and he knew it. But goddamnit he had a family to get back to, so he kept crawling in the ravaged war scape that had once been a green field, flush with life. An arrow shaft stabbed into his side, stray bodies pierced with iron and steel broad heads, and the smell. Death. He knew it well. When you were a veteran, an elite, worth a score or more lives, you were inducted into the order of the pawn. It had been a proud day. It hadn’t mattered before the charging savages. He’d been caught underfoot, trampled, and forgotten. A bitter stroke of luck as his brothers in arms were extinguished. When you could fight a thousand men and come out alive, you were inducted into the order of the Bishop. A member of the Rook could destroy five thousand. And the sole member of the order of the queen was nigh unstoppable.
To a man like Eran, that was unfathomable power, inhuman. The kind that made regular soldiers put their head down unless it drove them mad. They were monsters, every single one of them. Benevolent perhaps. Allies perhaps. But they were. Not. Human. When they could reap human flesh like wheat, lives became just another stepping stone to power. It was said an ancient sage had blessed the orders, giving them power to protect their nation. It had worked too. Until the savages.
Eran’s head swam. His eyes darkened. Strange twisted legions of creatures had arrived. Flying beasts of fire and brimstone, lurking giants, green skins fleet of foot and blade, with carnivorous teeth. Men and women too, clad in strange clothing and wielding strange magics and powers. Sometimes their blows were like leaves, other times the smallest creature could gain strength beyond comprehension. It was like the cruel rolling of a dice, or perhaps a wrathful god of luck. The antithesis to the careful orders and legions of Eran’s home.
But there was a chance. Bit by bit, the dying screams of his country men faded, the monstrous roars and screams faded. And as he crossed the final line of battle, he felt his tired and broken body start to shift. He lay back his head and closed his eyes, taking in the power he had feared, prepared to lose the humanity he saw absent in the eyes of the high orders. And when he opened his eyes, the world was different. His skin was hard as marble, and time itself lost some of its hold on him. He rose complete once more, blazing with power. The order of the Queen had welcomed a new member.
In a bound he landed amongst the horde that had broken his line, and cleaved thirty in a single slash, their crude iron armer splitting before his blade. His eyes blurred with euphoria at the sheer power coursing through his limbs. He had been weak before. Worthless. But now he had purpose. He could kill. And take REVENGE. He had power. Blood splattered in arcs around him, as he grinned wildly tasting the blood of others for the first time, and enjoying it. A man with a great metal shield braced in front of him, and Eran slammed his sword through the shield, cleaving the man in two. There was a brief resistance, and then the number 12 floated above the mans head, before his body fell into halves. Perhaps there was a look of betrayal on the mans face. Perhaps their god of chance had failed him. Eran didn’t care. He had slaughtered a dozen in the time the dead man uttered his final gasp of shock. But in the midst of slaughter something tugged, clawing at his mind. Eran spun around, and saw golden glow over the castle he had originally been fighting to protect. Now he only desired blood, but his own power tore at him, fighting against his desires. So when the massive pillar of light struck down from the heavens, his body was the one burned to ash. For although he was a Queen, there was also a King. The bonds that gave him power also bound him to the throne, and as the clash of battle continued, tales of life and death beginning and ending, one more village would be empty. | 2020-08-12T11:52:14 | 2020-08-12T11:02:03 | 291 | 61 |
[WP] “Are you scared of the monster under you bed?” Dad jokingly asked. “No, not him,” said young Clara. “I’m afraid of the one he’s hiding from. Why do you think he stays under the bed?” | “Are you scared of the monster under you bed?” Dad jokingly asked. “No, not her,” said young Clara. “I’m afraid of the one she’s hiding from. Why do you think she stays under the bed?”
Her dad laughed and sat down beside her, the bed sinking slightly as he patted the space beside him. Clara crawled out from under the covers and curled up next to him.
"Monsters aren't real sweetie. You know that right?"
Clara shook her head, causing him to laugh quietly, being careful not to wake her little brother who was asleep down the hall.
"Well, now you do know, ok? Monsters aren't real. You don't need to worry about anything under your bed."
Clara still didn't look convinced.
"Ok then. What's the monsters name?"
"Clara."
He chuckled again.
"That's a funny name. What sort of monster would have that name?"
Clara shook her head and moved closer to him.
"Do you want me to look under the bed for you?"
"She's not under the real bed."
"Yeah, she's just in your head sweetie. You dont need to be scared of her."
"I'm not scared of her! I'm scared of the other one!"
"Ok, ok, keep it down. We don't want to wake your brother, right?"
"But she's real! She's just waiting!"
"Waiting for what Clara?"
Clara didn't answer, so her dad sighed.
"Ok darling, what's this monsters name?"
Clara looked at him.
"Her name's Clara. You can meet her if you want."
"Yeah, I'll meet her and talk to her about scaring you, ok?"
"Ok."
There was a loud crack as Clara's jaw unhinged. She blinked and her eyes turned black.
Dad met the monster. | Alan’s wife had a long night at the office, so it was just him putting his daughter to sleep that night. Clara, like most 11-year-olds, was boisterous and excitable during the day, and it took a while to tune that level down in the wind down to bedtime. There was a half hour warning, then ten minutes, then Alan poked his head into her bedroom.
“All right, time for bed. You finished?”
“One more chapter?” she asked, her eyes glued to the pages.
Alan grinned, walking in. “That turns into the rest of the book in no time, you know that. This is what bookmarks are for.”
Clara let out an exaggerated sigh before taking her Harry Potter bookmark from her bedside table and sticking it into her latest book. “It’s so good, I just want it all in my brain *right now*.”
“That does sound like a book worth reading. Maybe I’ll try it next?”
Clara laughed. “I don’t think you’d like it. You like those boring adult books about politics and stuff.”
“That stuff isn’t boring!”
“I opened one once and two sentences in I was like-” She pretended to fall back into her pillow, snoring loudly.
“Each to their own,” Alan retorted. “Now. Bed. Brushed teeth?”
“Yup.” Clara climbed under her covers as her father lifted them for her to do so. “Can you leave the door open a crack tonight? With the light on in the hall?”
Alan met her gaze, eyebrows rising. “Is the book too scary?”
She shook her head dismissively. “No, not the book.”
“Then…the monster under the bed too scary?” he asked with a playful smile.
At that, Clara’s eyes widened. “No, um…”
Alan sat down on her bed. “That seemed to weirdly…strike a nerve. Honey, you okay?”
Clara didn’t meet his gaze. “It’s not so much me being scared of the monster as…what the monster is hiding from under my bed.”
His lips parting in confusion at the surprisingly poignant and worrying reply, Alan hesitated before responding. “Clara… There’s no such thing as a monster under a bed. Or a monster that would scare a monster under a bed. You’re old enough to know that.” Clara fidgeted with her hands, chewing on her lip. Alan let the silence fill the space as he gathered his thoughts. “Is there something you want to talk about?”
“It’s just, like… There are some people that need to hide under their bed sometimes, right?”
A pang of anxiety hit Alan in the chest. “What are they hiding from?” His voice was quiet and gentle.
Clara took another few moments to respond. “Other people. Bad people.”
Alan slowly nodded. “Did you…see something on the news? Something that scared you?” Clara shook her head, hesitating once more. “Did one of your friends tell you something?”
“I don’t…I don’t want to get anyone in trouble,” Clara murmured.
Alan edged along the bed to be closer to his daughter, taking her hand. “Sweetheart. You’re old enough to know that there aren’t monsters. But…you’re also old enough to know that humans can act like them.” Clara nodded. “And if someone scares someone *so much* that they hide, that’s something kids need help handling from adults. Right?” Again, she nodded. “So. Who is hiding? And who are they hiding from?” | 2021-01-19T11:33:35 | 2021-01-19T10:53:53 | 53 | 30 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students". | "D-rank villain" Buttsoup McJames.
My title always put newbie heroes at ease.
"Don't worry," commanders would say and throw me a wink. "He's only D rank, so this should be a walk in the park."
Commanders knew I was a hero putting on a show, but they didn't know the full truth. If they did, it would blow their minds: I was none other than legendary hero Buttsoup McSteve.
"S-Should I use a fire spell?" said a fledgling mage.
"That would be an excellent idea," said commander Bicycle Joe, "if we'd been in open terrain. This old warehouse would catch fire immediately. And given that there are no water mages in our party ..."
The fire mage retreated into her robe as an archer stepped forward. "For the Pendh Ingnaim Association!" The archer quivered as he fumbled for an arrow from his quiver. As he was about to release it, I demonstrated my aerobics routine.
"H-He's too fast!" said a paladin.
"Better prepare your healing magic," said the commander. "Seems he's up to no good."
As far as newcomers go, they weren't too shabby. Sure, they'd never be able to take on an actual D-rank villain, but that was why I was here. They needed practice. Confidence. If only we'd had this sort of system when Abby joined the association, then maybe she'd still ...
I pushed that thought to the back of my mind where it belonged. It wouldn't do me any good to go back to that dark place. Not that I needed the focus right now. How would these guys fare in a real battle? With hindsight, it amazed me that we used to send newbies straight into real combat.
Right as I settled into my trademarked pelvic thrusts, the room burst into fire.
"Dammit mage," said the commander, coughing. "I told you not to ..."
"What mage?" It was a deep, solemn voice. "You mean the one under this rag I stepped on?"
As he lifted his foot, something squished. A bloodied robe with indiscernible body parts oozing from it emerged, right where our mage had been seconds ago.
"Becky!" cried the commander.
"Jessica!" cried the rest of his party.
A hard-featured man in a red cape stood before us, guffawing. There were no two ways about it. This was a villain. A real one.
"Stand back," said Bicycle Joe. "You kids better stay safe. After all, I'm the only one here wearing a helmet."
Hope glistened in the eyes of the newbies. Their battle-hardened commander would make quick work of this villain. As a C-rank hero, he was sure to make him him suffer.
As he stepped forward, commander Bicycle Joe suddenly found himself with a fireball-sized hole where his face had been. "Fireball," said the villain belatedly, making some hand movements that admittedly were pretty cool. The commander's sizzling corpse fell to the ground with a thump. "Oh," said the villain. "My rank is A. Did I forget to mention that?"
The paladin rushed over to the commander, casting every spell he knew. Unfortunately he only knew one: poison cure. It didn't help.
I let out a sigh. "Guess I better clean this up before more people get hurt."
The villain gave me the once-over. "And who, exactly, are you supposed to be?"
"B-Buttsoup McJames," said the archer. "He was just bragging he could make any other villain look like a loser."
Quick thinking, kid. Pitting villains against each other? That's C-rank material right there. I decided to play along with it.
"Indeed," I said. "But I'm not sure how I feel about fighting a loser in a cape. It's like punching a special needs kid, you know?"
Fire streamed around the villain like a fountain, only with fire instead of water. "What did you just say?" he said.
"I said I could beat you and I wouldn't even break a sweat. Check this out." I sent a couple of pelvic thrusts his way. He nodded approvingly.
"Fine," he said. "I guess I'll teach you some manners before I torch up the rest." Using his hands as jets, he flew to the middle of the room and cackled like a maniac. "I, Brimstone Bob, will be the end of you!"
The name hit me like a bolt of lightning, echoing in my mind.
*"I don't want you on that mission. It's not safe."*
*"Come on. It's not like I can't take care of myself. I can't keep relying on my famous brother for help, you know?"*
No. Not this memory.
*"I'm sorry, Mr. McSteve. There has been an ... incident. I regret to inform you that your sister ..."*
I felt sick.
*"Who was it? Who the fuck killed my little sister?"*
*"Please, calm down. These things happen. There was nothing we could do."*
*"Just give me the name"*
*"Bob. Brimstone Bob."*
I had been looking for this man for years. The man who killed Abby.
"What are you doing?" said Brimestone Bob. "Having a senior moment, are we?"
I tore off the yellow post-it note on my suit that said 'James' to reveal what was underneath: 'Steve'. Buttsoup McSteve.
The remainder of the party gasped in between coughs.
"M-McSteve?" said Brimstone Bob. "Not *the* Buttsoup McSteve? But I thought he retired?"
"The only one who's getting retired here is you," I said, unleashing a dose of the sixth state of matter into his chest. A miniature black hole emerged briefly before swallowing Brimstone Bob up entirely.
I fell to my knees. "Abby," I cried. "I finally did it. I avenged you."
After that incident I decided to make a comeback. The world needed legendary heroes. Someone to look up. Something to strive for. The world needed Buttsoup McSteve. S-rank hero. | "Hello, class, I'm Juleel, also known as The Deceiver, an Ex-A-Ranker Villain..." he spoke whilst pacing back forth near the blackboard attached to the wall, writing on it with swift strokes from his chalk with each step he made, "but, do not fret, I've reformed from my devious lifestyle, now, I would like to teach the next generation of heroes how to fight against evil by revealing 'our methods and our motives,' any questions?"
"You're a reformed villain?" A boy called out with a name tag on his forehead, reading out 'Fledge,' raising his hand from the back of the lecture hall with confusion strewn about his befuzzled face.
"Yes..."
"And you're name is The Deceiver?..." he continued, narrowing his eyebrows and squinting his eyes dubiously as he looked Juleel up and down.
"... Alright, I can see why you would be skeptical of me..."
"That full latex suit with blood on your boots isn't helping your case either... --"
"Any other questions?!" Juleel shouted dismissively as he stared daggers in the boy's direction, seemingly causing him to faint back into his seat. A loud thud resonates from the room as the boy hit his head on the metal table in front of him, sending the room into a panic.
"What was that?!" A girl called out, pointing toward the fainted boy with shock painting her disgruntled face, eyeing down Juleel as it snarkily lifted his ovular glasses onto his face, correcting the crooked glasses as he walked toward his desk, sitting down casually as the once stagnant room inflamed.
Juleel kicks his feet on the desk, revealing his bloodied black latex boots, smearing them across the light-brown laminated oak desk. "Hmm... maybe theirs a villain in our midst..." he spoke skeptically, grinning meekly before picking up a book and plastering over his face, blocking the students from viewing him as a burst of slow deep laughter resonated from an unknown source.
"So many fresh pludglings to swallow..." a voice spoke out gruffly, nearly indiscernible as it coughed hoarsely from its excessive laughter. A pile of light-green goop shoots out of a drain in the room, spitting out droplets of itself across the room, landing on each and every student.
"-- That voice!"
"Recognize me?..." the voice spoke as another slop of goo forced itself through the drain through its narrow gaps, slicing itself slowly before launching out of it, breaking the lid of the drain, sending it flying toward the boy who'd fallen asleep earlier, hitting him on his again, "I'm almost flattered... to think you'd know about a villain of my ranking..."
"D-rank villain known for his abundant power in hand-to-hand combat, The Gobbler..." the boy who'd been hit on the head twice spoke groggily as he awoke before falling asleep once again, hitting his head on the desk for the third time.
"Thanks for the introduction... It'd appear I came to the right place, albeit a little late..." The Gobbler spoke, lingering in between his words as the viscous goo on the ground began to manifest into the shape of a human, bubbling viciously as it built itself upward.
"Teacher! Do something!" A girl cried out as her skin began to turn green. She began to foam at the mouth before falling to the ground, falling sick to the goo that touched her previously, causing her to faint. Other students began to follow suit, foaming at the mouth before fainting onto the ground. The boy who'd hit his head three times awakens once again before fainting, hitting his head on the edge of the desk, flipping the sewer lid that'd sat there, causing it to flip over, hitting on the head once more.
"Ow..."
Juleel puts down his book hastily before lifting it back up even faster, hoping that The Gobbler hadn't seen his face.
"Juleel? What are you doing here?"
"I-I'm not Juleel, I-I'm... Javid..."
"Oh, sorry, you looked familiar... by the way, what are you doing at my desk?
"T-t-t-t-t-t-this is your d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d," Juleel attempted to speak as his endless stuttering failed to make sense.
"Well, I'm sure it was an honest mistake. Are you new to the school as well?"
"Y-yes..."
"... Wait a second..." The Gobbler spoke dubiously as he scrutinized Juleel, "what's on your boots?"
"Strawberry jam..."
"Oh, can I have some!?" The Gobbler spoke curiously as he carried himself across the room, licking his lips before coming into contact with Juleel.
Juleel awaits for him to close in, kicking him right as The Gobbler began to lick on his shoe. The Gobbler catches Juleel's foot in his mouth, licking it clean within seconds as Juleel attempting to remove himself from The Gobbler's death grip.
"This isn't strawberry jam..." The Gobbler spoke as he licked the already clean boot once more, "this is nail polish!"
"How'd you know what that tastes like?!"
"Thats besides the point! You aren't a teacher! Nail polish was prohibited from usage twelve years ago during the nail polish eating incident that took place that sent fourteen children to the hospital, one of whom was named James!"
"What!?"
"It's you, isn't it? Juleel!?"
"No..."
"Oh, sorry, I must've been mistaken..." The Gobbler spoke, rubbing his head out of embarrassment as Juleel steadily positioned the book around his face that he wouldn't be seen, "anyways, I hope to see you around campus. I'll be needing my desk back now if you don't mind..." The Gobbler spoke awkwardly as he stood at the foot of his desk, releasing Juleel's foot from his gaping mouth with goo littering every inch of it.
"Nice to meet you too..." he spoke cautiously as he removed his feet from the desk, "I'll be going now then..."
"Juleel the deceiver... planning to corrupt the classroom... kill those who don't obey him... thwarted by hero..." the boy with five bumps on his head whispered weakly as he slept on the ground of the classroom with a sewer lid on his head acting as a hat as Juleel ran out of the class speedily.
The Gobbler looks to the ground, noticing the book Juleel dropped before running off.
"How to hide your face for dummies," it read as The Gobbler picked up the book, running toward the direction Juleel had sped off in, catching up to him immediately with book in hand.
"You can keep it!" Juleel shouted as he upped his speed, bursting through a wall as The Gobbler ceased his running before turning back to his classroom.
"What a weird guy..."
He walked back to his classroom slowly, finding the students awake, sitting readily at their tables.
"Hello, class! I'm Fledge, also known as The Gobbler, an Ex-D-Ranker Vilain--," Fledge spoke, writing his name on the board as he held the book left to him over his face with a third hand formed from goo. As he did so, the bell rang, students left the room uniformly, leaving only him and the last sleeping student alone. He awakes, tears leaking from his eyes, not knowing if it was from the pain of getting hit on the head five times, or if it was from a terrible nightmare.
"I'll remember you this time..." he spoke groggily before falling asleep once more before a green glop of goo attached to the ceiling dribbled onto his face.
"I hope not... sometimes it's better to abandon dreams rather than forcing them into reality... Fledge..." | 2021-06-23T15:21:41 | 2021-06-23T11:55:31 | 50 | 11 |
[WP] One day, a bat flew through your opened window room, and though surprised, you tried to talk to it gently, gave it space until it found its way out. Now, you find yourself rescued by a vampire who's returning the favor for helping one of their kids. | Lying in the slop of the trench — half his left leg missing and the other half bone, the stink of mould and gas and gunfire engulfing him — Robert wasn’t a soldier sent to die, but instead a little boy again, in his bedroom, years before even the first whisper of war.
In his head, he could hear his old music box playing, a gift from his father. Two tin figurines waltzing a circle. Its shrill chime drowned out the boom of artillery and the screams of his friends, the scuttling of starving rats.
*Rock a bye baby, on the tree top…*
He’d been too old for the lullaby by then, but the melody still enchanted him. And through the open window came an errant bat, scuffed into the curtains, wrapped in silk, found a way past and into the room. A little bat, tiny thing. Precious.
They were coming now. The enemy. Boots sloshing in the mud. The trench was lost. The seconds were punctuated by the *crack* of rifles as his comrades were executed or else put out of their misery.
“It’s okay,” he’d said, the bat having trapped itself in a hanging shirt, flapping frantically. “It’s okay, I got you.” He cupped it gently as the music box sang. No fear in him. Stroked a finger over its furry nose. The bat chirped like a wren and Robert laughed. He’d slid open the window and released the little bat like a wedding dove into the evening.
They were above him now. A wide shadow. Silhouetted in the steam and fog of gunfire and cold night. Two of them. Bayonets raised. Impossible to see whether they held tears of guilt or smiles of glee. Probably neither, and either way: w*hat did it matter?* He wanted to tell them it was okay, he understood.
The bat had stayed, hovered outside his window for a while, as if looking at him, as if thinking.
The men stepped closer, rose over him like mountains wigged in fog.
And then what Robert thought was a black leaf drifted down in front of him. How strange and out of place a leaf was in this land of craters and death.
He didn’t see the leaf land, but instead saw a third silhouette rise in the mist. Smaller than the others. Only a child with dark hair and night-smudged features. The painting of a girl from long ago.
Then the whistling, the sounding, of the melody trapped in Robert’s head.
It haunted the air, froze the men, silenced the bullets and bombardment.
*Rock a bye baby, on the tree top. When the wind blows the cradle will rock.*
Was Robert singing it? His mouth barely moved, breath barely came, just ragged puffs of white.
He missed his parents. Dad had been dead years but his mother was at home waiting.
The crack and snap of bone; the hiss of snared arteries; the gush of opened blood. Violent flowers of steaming red added to his cold, greying world.
The two tall silhouettes fell like trees chopped, their mouths open wide but their screams deathly silent.
Existence ran slow for a time.
The girl turned, gently knelt by Robert’s side.
Her lips touched his forehead.
”Sleep,” said the girl. “It’s time for you to rest now, Robert. To be at peace. Far away from here, to some place much softer.”
Robert could still hear the melody soothing in his mind, but quietening, softening, now as gentle as the sound of fresh snowfall.
The girl’s hand, petal-soft, touched his eyes, closed them. He lay against her.
The battlefield was silent. Peaceful as his heart. | There was a time when the boy had been afraid of bats. But he had learned that fears could be faced, that terror could be overcome. Now the little bat-ling flittered around the boy's bedroom, crashing off the walls in a panicked fluttering of wings.
"It's ok," the boy said softly. "It's ok, little one."
He held out his hand. At first, the bat did not seem to hear him, but with continued coaxing, the boy managed to get the little creature to settle in his hand. They stared at each other for a moment, a pair of blue eyes meeting another pair that were completely black.
Involuntarily, they boy shivered. Perhaps he hadn't quite gotten over his fear of bats just yet. Or maybe it was just those soulless-looking eyes. He carried the little creature over to the window and let it out.
He went back to bed. He would tell Alfred about it tomorrow.
---
*Twenty years later...*
The man in the black outfit and cape was thrown back against the alley wall. A rusted iron pole, snapped off into a jagged point, pieced the body armor of his suit and stabbed into his side.
The man grunted in pain. He pushed himself up, wrenching the spike from his body. Drops of blood dripped out of the gash between kevlar plates, and mixed with the heavy rain coming down, turning the dockyard puddles red.
He tried to rise back up, but staggered and landed heavily on one knee. He was exhausted - battered by the grueling brawl with the new adversary.
In his mind, he heard a voice. *Why do we fall, Master Wayne? So that we can pick ourselves back up again...*
Bruce Wayne - Batman - forced himself back to his feet.
He found himself staring down the barrel of an ornate handgun, carved with intricate silver metalwork. The gun was steady in the motionless gauntleted hand of his adversary. The other man's face was shadowed by the wide brim of a dark hat, and he wore a long coat that flowed down his ankles.
"Where is the crypt?"
Although his face remained a mask, Batman was surprised. The voice that had come out from below the brimmed hat, was low and rough, but unmistakeably female.
"Who the hell are you?" he managed to say.
"Death," the woman said. "But tell me what I want to know and I'll put you down quickly, bat. Where are the rest of your kin?"
Below his mask, the corner of Bruce Wayne's mouth curled. "It's just me, villain. I'm the only thing that stands between Gotham City and damnation. So if you want it, come and get it."
He had been tensing himself for a spring, and now he launched forwards. But the woman was impossibly fast. By the time he had covered the five paces to where she stood, she was no longer there. The gun went off to his side, and Batman felt the impact of the bullet smashing into his helmet.
The world went black, briefly, and when the cold splash of water brought him back to consciousness a moment later he was lying in one of the puddles. Rain flowed down his face, and he could taste the blood they carried.
The shadowy figure was above him now, and he dimly heard the sound of another round being chambered in the strange gun.
"Your tough, I'll give you that," the stranger said. "But I've killed tougher in the old country. I'm going to clean this city of its infestation, starting with you."
Batman tried to move, but couldn't. Dimly, he realized that this was the end.
"I, Sonja Van Helsing, free you from your living death, vampire-"
Something slammed into the woman, and Batman heard her fly across the alleyway and crumple into the wall.
There was a hiss, and then an exchange of words in a language he didn't speak. Something Eastern European, he thought. Another shot, and the splintering of brickwork as a bullet went wide.
Then the splash of running feet disappearing into the night.
A figure appeared above him.
Batman dragged himself to his elbows, and found himself staring into a pair of black eyes in paper-white face. The black eyes were soulless. He shivered despite himself.
"Who the hell are you?" he managed, but an old memory resurfaced. He remembered those eyes.
"Consider this a debt repaid," he heard the newcomer say. "The life of Gotham's son for the... life... of my daughter."
A strong hand gripped his arm and pulled him up. "You need the hospital-" The words cut off. There was a sniff. "Blood. You are bleeding."
The arm released him.
"I cannot stay with you," the newcomer said, backing away from him. "Get yourself to a hospital. Silver may not be poisonous to one like you, but bullets still are."
"Wait-" Batman began.
"I shall be in touch," the figure said, and then there was only a bat flitting away into the falling rain. A whisper came back to him. "We have a common enemy now, Bruce Wayne."
---
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/p0g0ag/wp_one_day_a_bat_flew_through_your_opened_window/h86tx7l/) in comments. *More stories at* /r/jd_rallage | 2021-08-08T09:44:48 | 2021-08-08T09:22:13 | 1,183 | 421 |
[WP] We were taught the Sun didn't make noise. We were wrong. Like TV static in an empty room, it did make a sound, a sound so ever present that we didn't realize it was there until it wasn't. That day humanity learned the terror of a silent sky, and the reason it made sound in first place. | "Are you insane?" Asked Emet, a man who saw daily life from afar, as if disconnected from himself. Everything went by slowly.
"No," answered Aria.
Last week had been weird.
Acoustics was a pet peeves of theirs. He loved heavy metal, she loved the violin, and both were smart enough to get into research. Work had been underwhelming, but secure and well-paid, which was more than many researchers could say.
And then, Aria, made a breakthrough.
They had built a silent room, a human sitting there could hear the air flowing through the thrachea, the blood pulsing at the temples, the heart beating. No one held it more than half an hour in the room.
And still, recordings came back with some sort of sound on it, which angered Aria to no end. Emet didn't care all that much, happy to be paid and content in a life devoid of great discoveries.
But Aria hadn't let go of it.
Superiors hardly cared what they did, as long as they meeted expectations. And Emet went along to pass time.
One after the other, they singled out and got rid of superfluous sounds, until they found what could only be described as a low and constant static.
A static that, once isolated, interfered with machines and, even stranger, other sounds. Playing it over Iron Maiden killed the sound of electric guitar. On the opposite side of the scale, violin songs became extremely loud, without touching any dial.
By then, Emet had seen enough and was ready to send the result to superiors and call it a day. Aria on the other hand, had caught the spark. The flame of madness, when science became the alpha and omega.
Today, she unveiled her contraption to her colleague.
"It's a radio transmitter."
"No. It's a radio de-transmitter."
"Oh," said Emet, before taking a bite from his sandwich.
"I found something. That static, I wondered why it kept fucking up everything we played on the radio. It's weird, but I found it easier to consider it an electric current. Moving unlike anything we know, but electricity nonetheless."
"And that thing..."
"Is about to push the off button and see what happens."
That's when he asked her if she had gone nuts. They both knew they were in unknown territory, and they lacked the secure conditions to play it out correctly.
"Come on," she said playfully, it's just a test."
Her words brought him suddenly back to the present, to the instant.
Aria pushes the lever.
Emet tells her to stop.
Emet shouts for her to turn the machine off.
Emet screams.
He's right next to her, the scream should deafen and hurt her ears. She doesn't notice, never will.
The silence is hungry. Its stomach a void sucking substance from noise.
The silence is eating away Aria's thoughts, it sinks her fantasy into its formless maw, snuffs out emotion after emotion, and once it is done with the immaterial, it goes on to matter. it murders the rules dictating bodies, Arya's hand has five fingers, it has four, it has six, the body loses flesh and symmetry as silence eats the substance. And it will not be satiated.
Humanity holds its breath. Rather, it has its breath held for it. Oxygen is lost in the black hungry hole, buildings are broken into atoms, neutrons, protons, and broken further still. As bodies lose substance, it isn't long before they start breaking down in the same way.
Mothers and fathers fight the paralysis with all they have, which is nothing. nothing that isn't whisked away in an instant. Courage, fear, wrath, despair, love, it is all devoured before they know. Babies recognize the emptiness, their brains still remember before, a before of nothing, defined by silence.
Through luck, or perhaps a flicker of rage the void hasn't seen, Emet manages to fall forward onto the lever and turn the machine off.
Sound comes back, as does air and life.
A scream deafens him, Aria is holding her right hand, which holds a dozen thumbs wriggling and waggling uncontrollably. She throws a towel on it, to spare her eyes. She still feels every thumb through her nerves, the flappy skin on her face, disconnected from muscles and sinews, it takes all her willpower to not succumb to the overflowing sensations and lose herself to madness.
Emet leaves her to the inner fight, happy to feel no difference on him. Composure and calm made him go back to his usual self, seeing the world from afar, as if all was already in the past.
Other humans weren't as lucky.
The news painted them both as insane lunatics who would have condemned the world to a silent doom. They couldn't understand how the experiment wasn't meant to have such an effect on a scale so wide. It didn't matter. Children died, went mad, were broken beyond repair. As did many adults and monuments.
The damage done was so extreme that, for the first time, humanity seemed united in its hate for Emet and Aria.
That is, until the background became louder. If humans never noticed it before, and felt the absence, now it couldn't stop hearing it.
Both scientists were released under heavy surveillance. They had equipment and knowledge to analyse it. Not really, but despair pushed governments to use every tool at their disposal to understand why a low buzz permeated from the deepest crevasse to the ISS.
"What do we do now?" Asked Aria, caressing the stump of her ablated hand like a lucky charm.
"How would I know?" Emet answered loudly, to get over the damn static.
In truth, he knew. In the worldwide panic and hate that had followed the event, he had fallen back into contemplation and waited for things to pass. Observing everything, and nothing. The world, the sky, the stars.
He had noticed the constellations moving around.
Not like buildings breaking during the silence. This came afterwards. And the movements seemed to almost make sense, when seen as a whole. There was a parallelism, a geometric sense to the act.
And there was the heat.
"Are we responsible for the temperature too?" asked Aria, sweating despite being dressed lightly.
"Seeing how the sun got bigger, I guess so."
"You're joking, right?"
He wasn't. Like the stars, the sun was moving. Or the earth, he had yet to find out exactly.
They worked. He observed and analysed the sky, she went back to the sound, unfazed by her lacking hand. Every hour, they reported to the superior officer.
The scientific world worked hard too, confirming Emet's observations.
"Oh God," he said when putting down the phone.
This was not the phone call he wanted to receive.
"What is it?"
They didn't have to choose between the sun and earth.
Both were moving.
The sun towards them, while the earth went in the opposite direction.
"That's a laconic explanation"
"That's how he explained it on the phone. I think the dude was terrified."
It didn't scare Aria. Rather, a light went up in her head.
"Help me out, I need a hand."
"Yeah, no kidding."
They brought out the radio de-transmitter, much to Emet's chagrin. Aria had a hunch, and he had unwillingly confirmed it. In the constant and annoying noise, she wondered if this was the same static as they had isolated.
Her method hadn't changed, take one sound, strip it bare until she found the core she searched for.
And she found several.
Including very slight variations.
She had another hunch for what it was, but refused to tell. Emet could see she was afraid and hoped really hard to be wrong.
When they activated and immediately deactivated a modified radio de-transmitter, they had the answer. | THIS IS AN EMERGENCY BROADCAST
DO NOT GO OUTSIDE
FIND SHELTER IMMEDIATELY, SEAL OFF ALL WINDOWS AND BARRICADE YOUR DOORS
DO NOT LET THE SUNLIGHT TOUCH YOU
AVOID ALL CONTACT WITH THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN EXPOSED TO SUNLIGHT
"What the fuck?" Eric muttered to himself. After spending an all nighter studying for his biology final, he had immediately thrown himself back into bed when he had returned back into his dorm room after the test. Now, he had just woken up at 9 pm and this was the first message he saw on his phone.
"Is this supposed to be some kind of prank?" he muttered to himself. Out of vague curiosity, he went to Google to see if anybody else had gotten the same weird message. Huh. That was odd. No internet connection. His frown deepened when he saw that he had somehow gotten a dozen missed calls from his family and friends. When he tried calling them back though, none of them answered. What the hell had happened when he was asleep? He suddenly found himself shivering. And why was it so cold?
He walked over to the open window to close it, only to be immediately stunned when he saw what was occurring outside. There was a snowstorm happening. In Florida. In the middle of fucking May. How in the actual hell...as he poked his head outside in bewilderment, he noticed how oddly quiet it was. Where the hell was everyone? He would have imagined that there would be at least some people taking pictures of this bizarre weather phenomenon and yet, he couldn't see or hear anyone out there in the darkness. He pulled open his dorm room door to see how his neighbors were reacting to this crazy shit, only to immediately freeze in shock at the horror scene in front of him. There were red bloodstains splattered all over the walls and carpet, and deep scratches and dents on a bunch of the dorm room doors, including Eric's. Eric's throat dried up as he started to feel himself get lightheaded. This couldn't possibly be real. He tried slapping himself to wake himself out of this nightmare, but all he managed to achieve was hurting his cheek. He backed up into his room to grab a kitchen knife and began slowly walking down the hallway nervously to check for survivors. But no matter where he went, he couldn't find anybody, dead or alive. A few dorm rooms had had their doors broken into and judging by the bloody trails inside them, the residents had been dragged outside to the stairway. Eric could feel panic building up inside him. He had to find someone, anyone who could explain what the fuck was happening. He ran back to his room, put on the thickest winter clothing he had available, and after some thought, grabbed a baseball bat that he had seen in one of the other dorm rooms. He didn't know what the fuck had happened here, but he had a feeling that he was about to find out outside.
As he stepped outside into the raging snowstorm, Eric shivered and stuffed
his hands into his pockets. Damn it, he would have packed gloves if he knew something like this was going to happen here, but who the fuck would expect a blizzard in Florida? As he walked further into the snow, he found himself hesitating on where he should go. His original plan had been to follow the blood trails outside, but all of the snow falling had covered any remaining blood long ago. The dining hall, he decided. It made sense that people would be there and even if no one was there, at least, he could get some food for his room. As he struggled to move through the heavy snow, he suddenly spotted someone standing in the far distance near a streetlight. "Hello?! Can you hear me?!" he called out. There was no answer. The person simply remained as rigid as a statue. Slowly, Eric approached, gripping his bat in both hands in case the stranger tried to attack him. As he got closer though, it became obvious that the other person was dead. It was a roughly twelve year old child, their skin blue and black and covered with frost, their face frozen in an expression of sheer horror as they looked up at the sky. "Jesus fucking christ," Eric muttered as he felt a queasy sensation in his stomach. "What happened to you?" He hesitated for a brief moment, then reached out a hand to close the child's eyes. The second he touched their eyelids though, there was the sound of a loud crack as he immediately recoiled in pain. The corpse's skin was so cold that it practically burned at the faintest touch. Then, Eric stared in horror. His right hand was gone. It was still stuck to the child's face, black and frozen. He looked back down at his right arm in disbelief. All he had now was a frozen stump with small pieces of bone poking out of his dead flesh. Eric started screaming hysterically as he began running further into the storm. He didn't know if he was heading the right way to the dining hall. He didn't even fucking care. The only thing racing through his mind was that he had to get away from the insane madness that was happening around him. He was still screaming when the ground suddenly shook, throwing him facedown into the snow. An earthquake?! After a blizzard?! Had he gone utterly insane? Or had he actually died and gone to Hell? His frantic gibbering stream of thoughts was suddenly cut off as he heard the sound of someone laughing. There, swinging on a nearby swing set, was another person giggling to himself as he stared off into the darkness.
Eric stared in disbelief. Was that Crazy Chuck? Chuck had been a former classmate in his chemistry class. They had never really talked; in fact, Eric had barely even been aware of his existence. Though that had all changed last week. People claimed that Chuck had taken acid or shrooms or bathsalts or whatever drug causes you to see crazy shit. All Eric knew was that one day, Chuck had showed up on campus, clothed in nothing but his own bloody bedsheets, ranting some nonsense about noises coming from the Sun and how the apocalypse was coming. It had taken almost forty minutes for campus security to chase him down and subdue him. Needless to say, the administration had expelled him and had banned him from the university for life. Or at least they had tried to since Chuck had thrown himself through a third floor window in the dean's office and run off into the woods. No one had seen him since. Most people assumed that he had probably drowned in the nearby river. And yet, here he was, wearing nothing but his boxers and laughing to himself as though it were just an ordinary summer day.
"Chuck!" Eric screamed as he ran toward the swings while cradling his right stump. "Chuck, I lost my hand! I need to get to a hospital! Does your phone work?!"
Chuck gazed over at him and started laughing even harder as though Eric had just said some hilarious joke. "A hospital? He thinks he can go to a hospital?! Why even bother, we'll all freeze to death soon!" He waved his right arm and Eric realized that Chuck was missing his right hand as well. "Look, we match! Now, we're hand buddies!" Chuck said before breaking down into another giggle fit.
"God fucking damn it, Chuck!" Eric screamed as he started violently shaking Chuck with his remaining hand. This was all far, far too much for him to deal with. First, there was the blizzard, then everyone had gone missing, then his hand had snapped off and now this lunatic was laughing at him about it?! "What the fuck is happening?! Where the fuck is everyone?!"
Chuck smiled back at him as though they were simply having a pleasant chat over tea. "Oh, they went north hours ago," he said casually. "You'll never catch up to them now. They've ascended in both body and mind." He stared into Eric's eyes. "I tried to warn them, didn't I? That we were all destined to be slaves to a greater being?"
"Goddamn it, Chuck, stop talking in riddles and start making sense!" Eric shouted, grinding his teeth together in frustration. "What the hell is happening?"
"The drugs awakened my mind," whispered Chuck. His eyes had glazed over as though he was seeing something that only he could see. "This world, Eric, it's nothing more than a egg. And the Sun, it's a incubator. I heard it, you know, I heard the whispers coming from it, the countdown to the Great Awakening. We humans, we only exist here to serve. The Sun converted everyone that basked in the light and they all ran north to serve their true master. And those that refused to serve or couldn't, like you and me, we were left here to perish, to freeze to death in this frozen hellscape."
Eric stared at Chuck at a few moments and then let him go. He started laughing madly to himself as he paced around in the snow. The ground shook a second time and Eric's laughter only grew louder and more hysterical. He had no idea if what Chuck said was the truth. It could just be nothing more than the insane ramblings of a junkie lunatic. It didn't fucking matter. He was still lost in a fucking blizzard with no hand while the ground was tearing itself apart. He sank down into the snow, suddenly exhausted. "So, what now?" he whispered as his laughter finally petered out.
"The end of the world as we know it," Chuck replied, staring off into the sky. "And the birth of a new god." | 2021-08-28T11:00:46 | 2021-08-28T10:30:44 | 127 | 85 |
[WP] Invading Earth was a calculated risk, but billions of slaves, an stablished infrastructure and plenty of natural resources were too good to pass up. The aliens were aware of how quick militaries could respond, but were unprepared for the violence of the average citizen. | "Commander, I have the latest reports on the missing patrols on North American continent."
Commander Z'Ril groaned internally. For six temporal units the slaver fleet he commanded had been stationed at Sol 3. Exotic slaves like the humans would make him a very wealthy being when they went to market. However, after the initial successes against the human militaries every other moment had been a living nightmare.
"If you look at page 5 of the report," First Moog Z'Oal indicated on the datapad with one clawed digit, "Patrols 8, 12, and 72 have been found dismembered with all of their gear and equipment missing."
"These humans are disgusting," Z'Ril noted bitterly as he looked at the pictures of his fellow reptoids in all manner of disgusting positions.
"The worst is that every corpse has an arm planted firmly up their waste disposal orifices. That or the pile of heads," Z'Oal noted in a rather disinterested tone. He had grown rather distant after all the atrocities he had witnessed at the hand of the human resistance groups.
Z'Ril had gotten report after report of his Hunting Patrols being ambushed by the humans who were more than willing to kill, maim, and torture his patrols. After the first 2 temporal units Z'Ril had finally caved into the demand of his subordinates to equip them with lethal weapons instead of just stun projectors and slave wagons. It didn't help much. His subordinates weren't used to actual combat against foes who were so willing to fight back. He missed the days of raiding the Ploog homeworlds. Ploogs could be so easily cowed and were so much more cooperative.
"I tire of this, Z'Oal. We leave in one quarter temporal unit."
"But Commander-"
"I know we'll lose a great deal of credits and I know we only have a million slaves but I refuse to continue. These humans are sick and brutal and I refuse to continue!" | Therefore, the aliens had to be more intelligent than their target. They used technology to mimic the human appearance and voice.
They started small, infiltrating places such as schools. Eventually, they were able to get into positions of leadership across the planet, and before long, they controlled the entire media.
They slowly poked and chipped at humanity until they all seemed to turn against each other and used their weapons on themselves at a higher rate. The aliens thought that humans would allow themselves to be disarmed if things only got bad enough.
Instead, the good-natured humans got tired of it and took up arms against anyone causing harm. The balance was restored, and the plan to rid the humans of weapons failed.
The aliens realized they would never be able to disarm them willingly, so they decided to destroy them without destroying the atmosphere and actual planet. They began releasing genetically engineered viruses on them, and killed off most of the wildlife (they would just replenish them later.) They sent viruses through the farm animals the humans kept, and they had to cull most of their herds.
They thought this plan was going to reduce humanity to a controllable number, but people began growing their own food all over the world, and they shared it with each other, even when they didn't seem to have enough.
They took care of their sick, even when it put their own selves at risk. Many people died, but their immune systems always seemed to overcome the alien viruses eventually.
At this point, some of the humans had discovered what was happening and tried to spread the word. These people were either seen as crazy, or the aliens made them disappear, never to be seen again.
The aliens next decided to use the human money system against them. They intentionally destroyed their economy and used machines to automate everything. All over the world, humans lost jobs and homes. Everyone felt there was nothing they could do.
This plan was the most successful yet, so they took it to the next level. They disrupted the trade system, and caused massive shortages of many products all over the world. Strict laws were enacted and regulations were used to make things even harder on everyone. People lost everything in droves.
Once things got bad enough, people began to realize that there was plenty of food, but they couldn't afford it. There were plenty of houses, but they sat empty. The automation could be making everyone's lives easy, but the benefits were being reaped by only a few, while everyone else struggled. The only thing keeping them from a good life was imaginary social constructs like laws and money.
What they needed to survive was all around them the whole time. Many people, especially those who were still doing okay, clung to the systems they were familiar with, and fought to prevent change.
At first, the aliens tried to kill off anyone who tried to spread these thoughts of leaving the old ways behind. The worse the aliens made things, the more people realized their systems weren't working. Soon, so many people were realizing this that there was no way the aliens could stop it now.
The aliens lost all control of humanity as the humans remembered who they were supposed to be. Their entire society was rebuilt, and anyone who tried to implement something harmful was cast out.
The aliens could no longer hide their malicious presence, and were forced to flee Earth before they were inevitably discovered.
The humans went on to make great discoveries and used them to benefit all of mankind at an accelerated rate, leaving their selfish ways behind forever.
Many years later, the humans discovered space travel and came upon the planet inhabited by the aliens. They gave them a chance despite their fear of the unknown, but found that they were malicious creatures and destroyed them. | 2021-11-27T20:18:20 | 2021-11-27T20:13:27 | 37 | 16 |
[WP] Wizard duels are highly formalized. You state what spell you are casting, so your opponent has a chance to react. This makes it a battle of magical power and wit, rather than reaction speed. Your magic has always been weak. But you discovered a curious spell called simply: "Gun." | "Wizard Alexander", the judge said. "As the Challenger you will strike first. What spell will you utilize?"
I leaned into the swirl of air in front of me that was the amplification spell and muttered, "I'm gonna use the spell, Gun. Sir."
A round of chuckles and laughter rolled through the crowd. A full bodied belly laugh erupted from my opponent, Wizard Firebreak. At that my nerves hardened and the nervous sweat dripping down my back froze from my newly founded cold determination. I leaned back and whispered to myself, "What a stupid ass name."
Apparently, I didn't lean back far away enough from the amplification spell because a much larger round of laughter erupted from the stands. The judge shot me a look that could rival my mother's, back on the farm.
The judge turned to face Wizard Firebreak and asked him, "Wizard Firebreak, you have heard the Challengers declaration. Are you prepared to defend?"
Wizard Firebreak put on a the most superior look of smugness I've ever seen and lifted his right hand in a fist, the back of his hand facing the ground. He extended his index finger and curled it back towards himself in a beckoning motion causing the amplification spell in front of him to draw nearer to him.
"Shit", I thought to myself. He just appropriated another wizards spell for his own use with just a single finger. Gulp.
"I think the spell that gave me my name will suffice. If it can hold off the invading forces from the East for 3 whole days and nights then I'm sure it can handle whatever nonsense spell this country bumpkin is throwing."
"Okay gentlemen, declarations have been made. At this time please take your postions and prepare yourselves. If both participants are still able to compete after the first exchange we will switch positions and allow the Challenged the chance to take the offensive. And remember...a Wizards duel is a sacred tradition and if you act out of turn, I will handle the insult with extreme prejudice." There wasn't a drop of emotion on his face with judge stated this.
I returned to my starting position and gathered myself. I kept my head down and eyes closed while practicing the breathing techniques I learned from my master.
"Begin!!", shouted the Judge.
I looked up in time to see my opponent raise both his hands to chest height with his palms down. He was reciting a spell under his breath while staring directly at me. The light started to change as a ring of fire began to slowly rise from the ground around him. As it grew he fixed an almost evil smile to his face before being completely blocked in by a 20 foot wall of fire. The Firebreak.
I stilled myself and began to cast my spell. I grabbed the edge of my brown leather coat and threw it behind my hip with my right hand. With my leg clear, I reached my hand into the pocket of my trousers and said to myself, simply, "Gun."
I removed my hand from my pocket with my thumb and forefinger extended and the remaining three curled into my palm. The light around my hand shimmered and the shadowy image of some iron contraption enveloped it. The image was long and smooth and of a foreign design I'd never seen before learning the spell. I raised my hand and pointed it at my opponent, sighting my right eye down the length of of the unfamiliar shadow image and lining it up with where I last saw the pompous ass standing before hiding behind his fire.
I let out a breath and when it was halfway out I quickly lowered my thumb to lay on the side of my extended index finger. At the same time a small piece of metal in the magic overlay fell forward like a hammer striking a nail. There was an explosion of sound like a clap of thunder and my hand jolted back and up in the air. Dust fell from the walls of the old arena and silence reigned.
I looked up and saw that the famous Firebreak wall of flame was no more and the equally famous Wizard Firebreak was on his back. He was howling in pain, holding his right hand to his left shoulder, a pool of blood slowly gathering beneath him.
The judge ran up and examined Wizard Firebreak and immediately gestured behind him, presumably to signal the Healers that their skills were needed. He stared at me for a long moment in disbelief before making a hand gesture and summoning up another swirl of air for an amplification spell. "Ladies and Losers! I mean Wizards and Winners!" Alexander Gentlemen!", he sputtered then shook his head and took a deep breath.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Wizards and Commonfolk! I present to you your victor! WIZARD ALEXANDER!!!"
The silence broke and the crowed roared. I smiled and waved to the stands as I turned around and bent over to pick up my hat that fell off during the explosion of my spell. I placed it on my head and for a reason I knew not, I raised my right hand and touched the brim with my fingers while giving a slight nod to the judge. I turned around once again knowing the duel was over and strutted off from my opponent leaving a cloud of dust trailing behind me. | “*Gun*,” he says, his own voice like a twitching trigger-finger. The pistol appears in the air just above him and he almost misses it — grapples it between both hands. It settles, eventually, the gun like a semi-tamed beast (or at least one biding time before it strikes) in his fingers. Always both hands clutching its steel throat.
He’s been thinking about this moment for weeks, imagining it, playing it over at a hundred different speeds and with a thousand slight variations.
Always one ending.
He’s been thinking of it since finding the tome of forgotten spells, after stumbling into the library inside the library.
He soon found the weapon’s purpose, had practiced shooting with it. Watched bullet after bullet rip its way through wads of paper, drill its way through blocks of wood, dent even brick.
All of it practice for this moment. For one bullet cracking through Cameron’s ribcage. Lodging into his heart, the way Cameron’s own spells — potions — have lodged into his. He, this boy, is already dead. Soon they’ll be dead together.
Cameron stands transfixed the other end of the soggy rectangle. Mesmerised by the summoned gun as if it has cast a spell within a spell.
The duel-court they stand either end of has been freshly carved by wands into sloppy mud tracks besides the unicorn barn. A hopscotch looking battleground. No teachers.
Cameron cocks his head, stares at the gun the way one might stare at a snake — not sure what breed it is but knowing (perhaps subconsciously, atavistically) that it is highly venomous and about to lunge. Best not to move.
The crowd around this illegal duel is baying for blood as the rain sluices and slicks them. An hour ago in herbal class all these students had been children. Learning, not-learning, flirting, ignoring, navigating adolescence. Now they’ve transformed, as if a silvery full moon has exploded out above the black clouds and turned them into frenzied animals.
Cameron has never lost a duel. His ability and skill protect him from many pains the boy has been through.
Cameron never loses anything. Only takes.
“What is it?” Cameron yells, still staring at the weapon. “I can’t defend from it if I don’t know what it is.”
The boy hadn’t been able to defend from Cameron’s spells all those weeks ago, so this new situation seems only fair. Cameron, the year above him, only agreed to this duel after weeks of hounding persuasion. Of stalking, taunting, goading. He hates Cameron with all the poison of his heart. With all the force of the weapon in his hand.
”You made me love you,” he screams as he raises the gun.
Cameron’s mouth opens. Closes. His expression changes, melts like a witch in the rain. It’s not fear, it’s sorrow. And that is much worse for the boy to witness.
”I really was your friend,” shouts Cameron. “I still could be. I want to be.”
Cameron looked out for the boy when the boy had first joined the school. Shown him around. Kept the bullies at bay and befriended this sorrowful broken-winged pigeon of a boy. Mended his wing.
They’d become close. Best friends.
But somewhere along the way Cameron had spiked his drink. Had poured something, some mixture into him. The liquid warmth had slowly dripped into his heart, melted the ice-cold that had been formed by his last school, formed from his parents’ broken marriage, by bullied days and lonely dark nights.
He’d tried to kiss Cameron that one evening after they’d shared five smuggled beers and fuzzy heads, both sitting on Cameron’s bed.
Cameron pushed him away, shoved his shoulders. Cocked an eyebrow.
”I’m not—“ began Cameron.
The boy swallowed hard. Turned. Ran to his own room.
No one else at school knew this had happened. The kids around them now just wanted to see a duel not some melodramatic soap opera reaching its crescendo.
Or maybe they did all know. How can he trust Cameron to have not told? To not laugh at the pathetic boy he’d poisoned with love.
”You caused this,” the boy says. But he says it quietly, with no direction to it, the wind and rain whipping the words down to the muddy ground, trampling them with tiny wet feet. It would take an archaeologist to uncover them, a historian to work out who they were meant for.
”*What*?”
Now the gun is turning. Is positioned beneath his own chin like a fist. He‘s crying, his chin nudging against the metal tip each time he convulses.
”I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry I love you. I’m sorry.”
Then an explosion that sounds like thunder, the sky splitered by white light.
Scratched by blue light, too.
By an array of colors that bolts forth from Cameron’s wand and knocks the boy’s weapon, whatever it was, to the ground. It pushes the boy back too, spilling him into the mud.
Cameron has lost. The turn hadn’t been passed to him — it wasn’t yet his go to cast.
The duel is over.
The jeering dies down, turns to underwhelmed squelching. Imprints are soon all that remains of the spectators.
Cameron leans out of the darkness, offers a hand as large as a bear’s paw.
”I’m sorry,” the boy says, as Cameron helps him back to his slippery feet. Boots and cloak caked in mud. Face covered in tears. The gun sits impotent at his feet.
”Me too,” says Cameron. “Because, and this might make you feel a bit better, you won the duel.”
The boy tries a smile but his lips are still too heavy, dragged down by his heart as if taut strings attached the two together.
Like him and Cameron.
”I don’t know what that was, but the moment you turned it on yourself I knew what it was for,” says Cameron.
”I’m sorry,” he says again. His dumb brain only able to loop through that pathetic two-word speech.
”You can’t choose who you love,” says Cameron, which perhaps only makeys the boy love Cameron more. “Trust me, I know that as well as anyone.“
”Yeah?” The boy looks a little hopeful.
”Oh boy, yeah. I’ll tell you about it over some food. If you want?”
The strings snap. His smile rises just a little. And although this will never be what he wants, the thing he thought he needed, it is still something. And even a small fire, the rising-falling warmth offered by friends, can be enough to keep you alive on ice-cold nights. | 2022-02-19T11:32:31 | 2022-02-19T09:15:35 | 108 | 65 |
[WP] You rush into a church to stop the love of your life from marrying the wrong person. Not paying attention, you shout "I OBJECT" only to realize it's a funeral. The deceased immediatelly rises in perfect health. All eyes turn to you.
Thank you everyone for all the stories, they're wonderfu, i really enjoyed every single one | The family was, reasonably, all over the place.
The wife and the newly resurrected man were in an embrace that most romance movies would milk to hell.
The parents of the man were in such shock I think the old man had a mini heart attack while the old lady fainted.
His siblings, two brothers and a sister, were, frankly, asking me questions I couldn't answer. The first brother was asking me if I was some god sent angel of death. The other brother was asking if I was a demon and if their no longer dead brother made a deal with.
The sister was praising God and clutching a Bible like it was her lifeline.
The priest that was overseeing this all prior, was praising me like the second coming of Christ.
"Would you all SHUT UP!" I screamed, finally getting the room quiet. "Thank you. Now... Sorry but I clearly have the wrong room... Where is the wedding?"
"Uh, that is in the north hall." The priest answered.
"Thank you." I said, turning around and ready to leave.
"Wait!" The man, the one I accidentally resurrected, called out. "Who are you - how did you do this? Bring me back?"
I groaned. I really, really, really, REALLY! Hate it when they ask these questions... I turned around. "Okay, but I'm only gonna saw this once. My name is Bill, I'm... Unique."
"Clearly." The man nodded.
"Look, long story short I'm not completely human. Mom's a human, dad is Death."
"The reaper is your father?!" The priest yelled.
"Yes now hush. I am not the second coming of Christ and no I will not be doing this again."
"But you could bring back so many good people!"
"Yes but I could also throw the whole afterlife out of balance and dad already showed me what happens when it does."
"What happens?" The man asked.
"My uncles get sent to cause chaos as a rebalancing act."
"Uncles- you mean the horsemen?!" The priest yelped.
"Yeah. Apparently there's a very strict soul quote the afterlife needs to maintain to allow a whole lot of other stuff In frankly can't remember but in short there's a life-death balance that when upset causes chaos."
"How did the Reaper and your mom even... Have you?" The man's wife asked.
"Death, dad, can take the form of living mortal flesh every so often." I replied.
"Have you ever brought back people by accident before?" One of the brothers asked.
"People? No, never. This was a first. I... Admittedly have used it to make my cat basically immortal."
"How many times?"
"Way more than nine lives."
"Wait so Death and the horsemen are all real, and there is an afterlife... So, god does exist?" The priest asked.
"Yes but there's a lot and before you ask yes there are also multiple different afterlifes. Most are unique to each soul but there is one dubbed hell where really horrible people go and no not atheists, nor homosexual, nor people of non Christian/Catholic faiths go there. Rarely. It's mostly where they toss the serial killers, rapists, pedophiles and animal fuckers."
"What happens to them?" The sister asked.
"They are sentences to so many years of torture and ECT then put through what can basically be considered a Laundry Machine for souls. Scrubs them clean of sins and memories and sends the cleaned soul off for reincarnation."
"What about-"
"Look I'd like to spend hours telling you all the actual workings of the cosmic and spiritual plains but I got a wedding to stop cause I'm not losing the love of my life to my asshole cousin!" I said while rushing out the door.
"From which uncle?!" The priest called out.
"War! And he's just as competitive as his dad!" | Organ music cried out a sad song from within the church.
"Yes ... of course they'd play a dirge. How could you not faced with the prospects of marrying that twig of a man."
Trembling with anger, I started mentally preparing for the pain.
Before me stood the marble church in the heart of Gravenbrook. There were two churches in the city, but Lord Twig followed the Graceborn faith, so here he'd be.
And her.
"I'm coming, Yana."
I shoved open the doors. The music stopped. The priest stood over a pair of people kneeling before him, all of them wearing black.
The moment I stepped past the threshold, my skin started smoking.
"I OBJECT!"
Every head in the church turned to face me. Most of them were crying. The priest pointed his scepter my way.
"Young man, what do you think you're doing!"
"This wedding is a sham! Yana doesn't love him. She loves me and I love her. I'm here to put a stop to it and no one is getting in my way. That means you, mongo."
A bear of a man stuffed into a black jacket and breeches stopped dead in his tracks. I pointed at him, keeping my finger steady through the pain.
"Young man," the priest bellowed. "That is all very well and good, but this is not a wedding."
Not a wedding? Then what ...?
The bear-man took another step closer. His eyes were read and puffy. Like he'd been ... crying. Yes. Lots of people were crying. And wearing black. And...
The two people who'd been kneeling before the priest turned from the casket and glowered in my direction. Not Yana and Lord Twig.
"Oh, oh..."
Two churches! My finger, still pointed at the bear-man, burst into flames.
Someone screamed. It was the priest, howling as he backed away from the casket.
The deceased, no longer ceased, rose from her casket. She was winter pale, devoid of life, but her eyes flared green from the necromantic power coursing through her cold veins.
"Kill her!" Shouted one of the people at the front of the church. They must have been her family. "She's been possessed! Kill her!"
There was no time for this!
I ran back outside and jumped the steps to the paved street. The impact shot up from my boots to my shoulders, but that was nothing compared to the divine smiting delivered inside the church.
But I wasn't the only one. In a pocket of awareness in the back of my mind, I felt her pain too. Her pain and confusion and fear.
Raised without warning during one's own funeral... What was I, an amateur?
I sighed, knowing I'd regret this decision, and issued a command to my new minion. One word sent from my mind to her.
*Follow.*
The revenant squealed in delight as she burst out of the church, breaking one of the massive doors right off the hinge, and landed lithely beside me. Her black burial dress was still smoking.
"What is your name?"
Her face scrunched up. "It ... was Cora." She brightened. "But I'm flexible."
She must have been in her early twenties. A tragic death it seemed. Perhaps that was why she was so calm about her resurrection. Normally they scream much more.
"Very well, Cora" I said, turning toward the other church. "You will aid me in my task and once complete, I shall release your soul from my service."
It was only fair. How was he supposed to know they be at the *other* church!
"I don't know — there's a lot I need to do and I don't want to waste any time. I've gotta book a carriage to Westmarch. You know how long it takes to book one of those?"
I turned slowly, trying to keep my face as level and serene as possible.
"You okay?" she asked. "You're really red."
Serene...
"Only a few moments ago you were dead. Deceased. From *is* to *was*. What could you possibly have to do now?"
She clapped her hands and smiled like a child seeing fireworks for the first time.
"I'm going to see the *world*!"
What sort of minion was this! See the world? Was she even under my command?
"I don't have time for this. Just follow me and do as I say."
I started running east toward the other church. But there wasn't a second set of footsteps tapping against the pavement. I stopped and glanced over my shoulder.
Cora was in line at the carriage authority!
Fine. If that's how she wanted to play, then she won't mind a will-breaking command from her master.
*Follow...*
*No thanks!*
WHAT? That wasn't possible. She'd followed me outside of the church.
*Follow!*
*I can't*! *I'll lose my place in line.*
How was she resisting my commands? Well, it wasn't a proper resurrection. In all likelihood, the priest was performing her last rights when I burst in and objected to the prayer. That could work as a command to rise. Add to that using necromancy on consecrated ground and it's a miracle she even rose at all. Honest'y, it's quite fascinating—
"What am I doing! I've need to save Yana!"
I'd deal with the revenant later. I started running toward the other church.
"Good luck, master!" Cora shouted at me from the line.
Fascinating indeed. | 2022-08-29T10:18:43 | 2022-08-29T10:05:27 | 179 | 82 |
[WP] Your reign as Emperor was wildly unpopular. In accordance with the Roman practice of Damnatio Memoriae, society has committed to collectively forgetting you. Before the execution, you scribble down a few notes that might survive. | The cell was as small as coffin - three steps long and two steps wide. Stone walls, thin window under the ceiling. We can imagine this dark room with straw pallet, night-chair and a tin bottle of water.
Here the emperor, chained and disgraced, wrote his last words. His reign was in the end of one of the civil wars, and he was referred in chronicles just as "June-October usurper". His reign lasted for more than month, so it was necessary to include at least some words about who he was and how he came to power.
But there was only "June-October usurper". No name, no mentioning in lists of rulers, that were carved on stone. So "June-October usurper" lost his fight so badly, that he was washed out of history.
"June-October usurper was torn apart by four horsemen, ending the age of civil wars".
During the last archaeological diggings on the Imperial Prison site scientists found this room. On the remaining plans it was named "special sweat-box".Thousands of years passed, and cement, that held stones of cell together, weakened. Under the one stone of floor a tiny secret cache was found.
Cache was small, but it was enough to hold a piece of parchment with words written by coal:
"I tried.
Imperator Korenus". | Today is February 4th, 2012. It was a Saturday, which meant relax and party for the rest of the world, but for Latin 212 of Barnard College, NY, it was an extra catch up day. At least it was for the advanced of the class who were collectively attempting to translate a particular piece of Latin writing. Written by one of the cruelest emperors to ever live, Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, or better known as Caligula during his life. That part of the letter was easy, his signature was clearly posted on the opening lines. The rest of the letter seemed straight forward; a letter explaining some final, frantic thoughts before his death. He knew his time was coming soon, but he was frustrated and paranoid over not knowing who it was and speculating who it could be. He even went so far as to surmise how his grandmother could be a legitimate culprit in the final scheme. And after the populace succeeded in disposing him, the Senate enacted a decree, Damnatio Memoriae, in attempts to wipe this man from memory, from history permanently. It was many decades afterward that those who were historically astute knew the principle “those who don’t know history are doomed to repeat it” and thus reverted the decree. Yes, beyond the untrained eye, it just seemed to be a letter, however paranoid, about a man’s last thoughts before his end he knew was coming and most likely would not survive. But to this class body, they had a hypothesis from the beginning, one which they, including the faculty, wished to explore thoroughly; the letter was a cryptic message detailing, if vaguely, Caligula’s return.
There were hints that would support this hypothesis, and the body even got as far as to what the cryptic message was most likely saying. These cryptic details, they surmised, revealed such things like how he’ll arrive, places where he most likely would arrive, potential dates of when he would arrive, etc. Many of the other scholars that translated the letter thought them crazy for this thought. But, even though the earliest date provided by the students and faculty of Bernard College of when Cragula was suppose to arrive was still at least a century out, it was proven today they were all wrong.
The heavens opened up with a bang unlike anything heard before across the world (those immediately present at the entrance point reported becoming deaf), and a nearly divine light streamed out to grace the crust of the earth. It woke everyone across the world, and every channel, radio and other forms of media was tuned to one thing; this unexpected ‘cosmic encounter’. And as the cameras showed a figure in a purple robe descend down the steps of heaven, the students and faculty of Bernard College stared in horror. And as for all who knew who this was that was coming, all they could mutter was; “Dear God help us.” | 2022-12-23T07:38:48 | 2022-12-23T07:26:56 | 20 | 15 |
[FF] "So, come here often?"
Begin your story with this line of dialogue.
Oh, and set your story somewhere other than a bar or restaurant. In fact, set it somewhere in the distant past or future.
And make it less than 500 words.
Have fun! | "So, come here often?"
I whirled around to find a man dressed from head to toe in black. He was an older man, about 50 years old and wore a ski mask, a tattered shirt and black boots. I was followed. The shed was just a few feet from where I was standing and inside...there wasn't time. I didn't wait for the man to ask questions. I threw myself at him and with blinding rage assaulted the man to within an inch of his life.
"STOP" the man cried "I-I have not come to harm you." His face was bleeding badly yet he did not seem concerned for his own safety.
"Bullshit, you followed me from the forest entrance and you know too much"
"It wasn't hard, there aren't many forests left around here...and I heard about your services"
"I don't know what the hell your talking about, go and never come back if you want to live"
"I killed my daughter", the man started. "It wasn't an accident, and I did not feel any remorse...a-and knowing what we know about reincarnation, I didn't want..."
"I understand"
I dragged the man into the shed and locked the door. His soul will never find rest as long as it lies within the shed.
Being the keeper was a tough job. But somebody had to do it. | "So, come here often?"
I stopped dead in my tracks. My hand was still in the handle as my whole body stood frozen. I took a deep breath and turned around. Seeing that it wasn't anybody I knew, I replied, "Yeah. I come here almost every week, but I never fall through and I usually just walk away." I stared into his black eyes. They were just like mine: empty.
"Same here, but tonight finally feels like the night you know?"
He looked up at the black sky and let out a huge breath out. He held out a hand and said, "Need a quarter?"
Still staring in into his eyes, I said, "No thanks, I got one," showing the quarter I was squeezing in between my fingertips.
His brown hair shifted though the wind, while the cars beeped and blared. Still looking at me, he smiled. "Hey do you want to get a drink before we go through?"
I laughed. It was the first time in weeks. I thought I forgot how to, but here I was laughing. Then, I looked back at his eyes. "Wait. You're serious?"
"Yeah, a drink should make it easier, you know?"
I just stood there smiled, and said, "Where?"
His eyes, shot up. "I know just the place."
We then went into a liquor store, bought a pack a beer, and he led me to a beat up building. Usually I would never go somewhere with a stranger, but there was something about him that made me feel safe. We walked up the rusted stairs to the roof, where he opened the pack and passed me a bottle.
"Its amazing you know, how we came so far"
"Yeah." I replied
"I mean just imagine how people lived back then. Have you ever been to Old New York?"
"No, why?"
"It's amazing. Cars back then moved with four wheels and..."
We just sat there staring at the city and talked for hours. We talked about our lives and how each of us ended up at the booth. We talked like we had known each other for years. Then the neon lights faded, and the sun peeked over the city. We sat there silently staring at the sun, and then we both got up, because we both knew it was time. We walked to the booth together. We put in the quarter together and pushed the button. As the booth whirred and the knives began to come out, a tear fell down my cheek, and he wiped it away. He put his hand on my face, and we stared into each others eyes. His mouth moved toward mine as the saws and machines moved toward us. Then, we kissed.
*This is my first time posting here and actually writing something out of a classroom. Sorry for the lack of skill, but practice makes perfect. If you didn't get it, the story takes places in Futurama's universe so it might not make much sense if you don't watch the show.
| 2013-08-31T13:14:16 | 2013-08-31T12:06:14 | 37 | 11 |
[WP] You are the host of a popular children's show. You are live on air when you, and the rest of the country, have just received news that nuclear weapons have been deployed against your nation and can't be stopped. There are only minutes left. | I guess I knew this could happen. I guess we all did, in our morose bar-room moments, facing our fears through a hazey film of alcohol and optimism. I guess I knew this could happen, and I guess I didn't think it would.
I guess I imagined I might be on the air when it happened. I had a plan if it did, I really did. I guess I had a plan, anyway. I was going to be strong.
But I don't know how to be, and there's nothing to say, and I'm not doing anything different, I'm not doing anything special, I'm just reading the script like a robot.
I hope they can't hear the quiver in my voice. I hope they can't hear the shakey fear that's pulverizing my stomach. I don't want to die, and some of them might not, but here on the 43rd floor of WXR TV in Manhattan, I'm going to.
I'm going to.
I hope they can't hear how afraid I am. | The red light continues to flash on the top of the camera staring at me with abject apathy. Usually rife with the commotion and cacophony of sounds that commonly are associated with a children's program the warehouse where we shoot echoes with the absence of the din.
My bright red suspenders and checkered train conductors hat only hint at the absurdity of the situation. This was a place of laughter, of learning, and now it would be my tomb. My mouth hangs open slightly as I, along with everyone else, stare at the TV which silently announces the news with it's scrolling text across it's muted screen. The person who was converting the speech to text must have stopped caring, they even spelled 'nuclear' wrong. The news anchors embrace each other one final time on camera and stalk out of view, the screen focuses on an empty stage.
It's amazing the things you think about with the world crashing down around you. I thought it would be of loved ones or fearful thoughts of the afterlife but it isn't. I am stricken with the grief of all of our lost potential. Of what could have been. Not for me in particular and not for anyone else specifically for that matter. For humanity. We held such promise, so much hope. That's why I did this show. "Mr. Haggardy's House" was my way of contributing to the gradual progression of society. Quality programming to provide a sound start to the youth of today's education. God I hated this hat though.
People were leaving, some running, some walking in a dejected manner. I suppose it depends on if they feel there was some place to run to. I just continue to stare at the empty anchor chair on the flickering television. And then it hits me.
My lips are dry but my mouth is hesitant to provide any moisture so I croakily break the silence. "It's a funny thing," I start with. The movement in my mouth reluctantly drawing forth some spit. "I have had this feeling my whole life that we were building towards some great event. That there was a purpose to our slow crawl from out of the depths of the oceans. I had an unwavering notion of the greatness of 'humanity'." I pause to rub the wetness that was threatening to leak from my eye and see some of the stragglers turning to look at me. "Standing here on the precipice of my own demise, our fate decided by one of our own, I still cling to some twisted hope." My legs begin to move of their own volition, guiding me towards the camera. My hands grip either side of the lens. "Please." I swallow down the dryness in my throat. "Please don't...."
| 2014-07-29T13:03:12 | 2014-07-29T12:33:16 | 51 | 29 |
[WP] Write a really great story that ends so anticlimatically that I hate you. | There he was, finally alone, given the time to reflect on his courage: a story that would be passed through the muck and mire of humanity. He had defeated our hero and sat begrudgingly on his throne. There was turmoil and conflict; pain, lament, and remorse. There was also joy in the remembrance of his accomplishment and a great wonder of the rewards to come.
For his deed, he received a glorious T-shirt, and his picture on the wall. A 10 foot sub is a helluva thing to eat. | I was going to get this bastard. He killed my family. Killed my dog. Destroyed my house. He destroyed my life.
I was seething at just the thought of his smug face, all cozy and warm surrounded by money in his mansion, while I was out here in the blistering cold, walking through puddles and shit.
I was at his front door. I pulled a pistol from within my coat, and opened the door. Fool, he had kept it unlocked. I could see him, sitting in front of his fireplace, reading a book. He was dressed in a ruby and gold colored robe. Rich bastard.
I slowly came from behind, gun ready. I could shoot him through the couch, but I didn't want to make it a kill shot...I wasn't going to kill him quickly, no, I was going to let him suffer.
My lips formed into a smile. This bastard would regret messing with me. Finger on the trigger, I pressed it into the back of the couch.
The floor boards creaked under me, but he wouldn't here it over the roar of the flames.
This was it. I was going to kill this bastard, who had caused me so much pain and misery. Weeks of mourning and grief would be replaced by satisfaction and happiness. I was going to take everything he owned after this. I pulled back on the trigger.
"James! James its time for bed sweetie!"
Fuck.
"Mom! Wait, I just have to get this guy!" I whined.
"No, bed time James. Come on," my Mom said. She tutted, going to turn off my Xbox.
"NO LET ME SAVE MOM! ITS ONLY 10! LET ME SAVE!" I yelled. She turned my Xbox off.
"NOOO MOM YOU BITCH!" I yelled, crying. She looked at me, dumbfounded, before unplugging my Xbox.
"Talk to your mother like that? This is gone for the rest of the summer holidays. Oh, and don't think you can get on your phone or laptop, I'm taking them as well. All you'll be doing is schoolwork," she said.
| 2014-12-21T18:41:55 | 2014-12-21T18:34:44 | 212 | 23 |
[WP] Your parents insist you are their biological child, but you suspect otherwise. You send samples from yourself, your parents, and siblings to a lab be tested. The lab replies that it is not equipped to test non-human DNA... | Her face furrowed in concentration as she read the official looking small print on the paper I had given them. She had taken it out of my father's hands just as he finished skimming the page. Ever the poker player, his face showed no emotion. My mother's face, however, had one very easily identifiable emotion- confusion.
"I don't understand. Do you think you're pregnant?" she asked.
"No, mom. I just haven't felt.... right."
She looked up from the piece of paper and stared into my eyes for a moment.
"Is this some kind of prank?"
"No! You... I can't explain it. I just haven't felt right in weeks, and I wanted to make sure I was... yours." I tried to put on the most serious face I could, under the circumstances. I felt my eyes welling up.
"So what you're trying to say," my dad finally spoke, "is that you're worried we might be space aliens or deep sea monsters that have replaced your real parents."
"I don't know, dad, I-" a deep sigh escaped my lungs. "I just want you to tell me the truth."
A silence fell over the room. My parents stood as still as pond water. In that moment I truly wondered whether their skin would melt away to show the demons they were underneath. I almost jumped when my father finally stirred after what felt like the most eternal 30 seconds to say-
"Fine. Let's be truthful." He leaned forward and a small smirk almost seemed to creep up on his bearded face. "But you go first."
"Me?" I felt my eyes involuntarily get wider. "O... K..."
My father reached into his pocket and pulled out a familiar looking pink packet filled with colored paper.
"Where did you get this?" He asked, trying to stay serious.
"What is that?"
"You know exactly what this is and how it got into your nightstand." His face lost any trace of a smile.
"I don't-" I shifted my weight and lost the power of speech.
"Young lady, you forget that we used to be teenagers at one time, and most certainly know what a sheet of acid looks like."
"I don't know how.... I didn't... it's..."
My world crashed down and I felt helpless. My secret discovered, I finally decided to give in. I lowered my head and told them everything.
"Mark gave it to me on my birthday. He said it would make me more perceptive to the underlying currents of the univ-" my dad suddenly cut me off.
"I switched our tissue samples for some pig saliva from the farm," he said matter-of-factly. "Don't think that just because we're old we can't see what is happening with our own daughter. You do understand that acid can make you paranoid, right?"
My mother crossed her arms and gave me her best look of disapproval she was capable of.
"I'm sorry." My head lowered as low as it could possibly go without touching the floor.
"It's ok," my dad said getting out of his seat finally. "We all make mistakes. Especially when we're distractable teenagers that are stupid enough to fall for a simple sleight of hand trick."
"Thanks, dad. I won-"
"Also, you're grounded for a month." | My parents just sat there on the couch together, staring at the printout I had given them late that afternoon.
"What does it mean?" I demanded. For the past hour, my mind had been racing, trying to make sense of the words on the paper. "ERROR: UNABLE TO PROCESS NON-HUMAN SAMPLES". The uppercase printing of the computer-generated response served only to make the message more surreal. More frightening...
Now, in our living room, I had finally worked up the courage to give them the results, and to demand an explanation from them.
"Sweetheart," my mother replied, in a condescending voice that had, in years past, soothed my toddler fears and calmed my early teenage anxieties, but now served only to give me a proverbial chill down my spine. "Sweetheart," she repeated, "we had hoped to spare you from this. You know that we have always tried to do what's best for you." My father nodded approvingly as she continued. "We have devoted ourselves completely to making sure that you and your sisters led normal, healthy lives. Why did you have to go digging around like this?"
"ME?" I yelled. "ME? You're blaming ME for this?" I was shouting so loud that my parents looked nervously at each other, no doubt concerned that the Langstroms next door could hear me.
"Of course not, dear," she replied, again in an unnerving sweet voice that was really starting to give me the heebie-jeebies. "I only mean that we have tried to shelter you from certain... um..."
"Uncomfortable," my father said quietly without looking up at me. He was now holding the paper, looking down toward it but his eyes seemingly focusing somewhere past it.
"...uncomfortable realities that don't... that shouldn't have had any impact on your lives," she said. "I just don't see why you had to upset the apple cart this way. But never mind. What's done is done."
"Gary," my father said after a pause, "as you have already figured out, you, Brandi and Lacy are not really our children. I mean, you're our children in that we've poured our lives into you, loved you, and cared for you the best we know how..."
He continued on for several minutes, but I cannot even recall what he said exactly. My mind was coming to grips with the fact that we, my two sisters and I, were not the children of the people who had raised us. We had been deceived... No, we had been LIED TO... for years. Winters together at the cabin by the lake. Soccer games in the summer. Geez, even playing Rook after dinner as a family. All of it had been a lie.
My whole world was reeling.
I suddenly realized that my dad had stopped talking, and that he and Mom were standing up, looking expectantly at me.
"So I guess that's it, then," he said. "Since you and your sisters are older now, and are responsible young adults, I think we've done our jobs as parents."
Parents. I almost perceptibly sneered when he said that word.
"Gary, once your mother and I are gone, go to my desk and open the manila envelope in the top right drawer. You and your sisters will be set for life."
Wait, what? "What are you--' I started to stammer, but before I could finish, my mother and father, or whoever they were, slowly dematerialized right in front of me, standing right in front of our couch in the living room of the house we had lived in for as long as I could remember. Dematerialized is the best I can describe it, because as I was looking right at them, they seemed to become out of focus like the projector at a movie theater, but their unfocusedness kept increasing and widening until I could see right through them, to the dining room in the distance. "We love you..." my mother said as she and Dad faded away in front of me.
As they vanished right in front of my eyes, the paper my father had been holding fluttered to the floor at the foot of the couch. In a daze, I picked it up and held it up again, looking at the uppercase results it provided.
SUBJECT: GARY STEVENS
SIBLING 1: LACY STEVENS: CONCLUSION: 95% LIKELIHOOD SIBLING TO SUBJECT
SIBLING 2: BRANDI STEVENS: CONCLUSION: 95% LIKELIHOOD SIBLING TO SUBJECT
PARENT 1: MARVIN STEVENS: CONCLUSION: ERROR: UNABLE TO PROCESS NON-HUMAN SAMPLES
PARENT 2: GLENDA STEVENS: CONCLUSION: ERROR: UNABLE TO PROCESS NON-HUMAN SAMPLES
| 2015-01-06T10:37:19 | 2015-01-06T10:08:59 | 80 | 14 |
[WP] Your parents insist you are their biological child, but you suspect otherwise. You send samples from yourself, your parents, and siblings to a lab be tested. The lab replies that it is not equipped to test non-human DNA... | "I don't get it! Your DNA just goes C, C, C *over and over again*! I've done it again, and I've done it again! I've made Mathew do it, I've sent it off to *China* to be done again. By all rights you should be a pile of sludge on the ground" He leaned in so that I could feel his hot breath on my face "*What are you*?"
I had sent them in samples a few weeks ago, and had received a bizarre reply moments later from an intern at HelixIO telling me they couldn't sequence non-human DNA, but I assumed they had made an error, so I sent another one in. This happened a few times, but it had obviously caught the eye of a superior, because the replies had stopped, and then I had received a neat letter in the post, asking me to get on the train to London at once.
"*And I'll be damned if I don't find out*" He said, a long thin smile spreading across his face as he picked up a scalpel. | I panic at the words in bold. **Non-human DNA**. "What did that mean?" I mutter to myself. Suddenly, a wind came from behind. I turn to see a man in business suit standing where no one was before.
"Aw, about time you found out." The man said as he pocketed a small watch into his coat. "I swear, you guys get stupider ever year."
"Who are you?" I ask in wonder. he sigh and pull out a small notebook.
"47698365 times someone ask that when I appear. I wish just once someone would say that it bigger on the inside."
"What?"
"Never mind. Time for the speech. (Clear throat) Congratulation. you figure out that you are not human. Oh, how your life was a lie, that not true, yada yada yada. Okay, here the short version. You are a muse. your now responsible for someone idea. You are to help people realize there big dream and hopes. I am here to lead you to your job."
"Wait but what about my family?" I ask. He gave the look of *seriously* and shook his head.
"They were made up! Did you really never question why they were two time winner of the NASCAR finals when they were Amish!?! We make it as ridicules as possible in hope you would get it! Anyway, we're late. Just think this as your fate." He said and with that he snapped his fingers.
The world black out and came back in some kind of apartment. I look to see a man staring at a laptop, hands poised over a keyboard. Maybe this will the next great novel or maybe a thesis that will change the world. I started walk over to get a better look but the man started to read what he was typing out loud.
"Dean turn over to Rainbow Dash and said in deep, sexy voice. " Let see if we can find one thing your not fast at." Rainbow Dash help remove Dean Winchester shirt with easy. This is all being watch by Two-Face. He turn to his other companies, Krillin and Cortana, preparing to flip his coin. "If it head, it Krillin turn. If tail, I'll give Cortana a go." He flip knowing it land on head and he'll be with his one true love." The man said, plunging his hand into a bag of chips.
I stood there, mouth hanging in shock, as I try to turn away from this. But a strong force push be closer to the man. So close, that I could smell he wasn't wearing deodorant and I hope it was sweat stain on him.
"This is going to suck." I said as he started to type again. | 2015-01-06T10:17:41 | 2015-01-06T08:44:25 | 34 | 16 |
[WP] Humans are cursed with dying upon uttering their "Last Words," which they know from birth. You've been alive for a few centuries, but you can't refrain from saying those words now. | The people of my home village had a bizarre curse cast upon us when we tossed aside our elder spirit deity for the new gods. When our mother's gave birth, they entered a trance and yelled out the same words that would be our last. Some got heroic last words like "Today I make my final stand" and "I die for my people". Others got cruel phrases like "You and what army?" and "Hey guys, watch this". But me, my final words were much simpler: "This pudding is fantastic!". An unlucky phrase to have, considering our simple village often used our secret recipe of pudding to fill our stomachs. I held off for years, until one damned winter when all our animals and crops had died, I finally ate my mother's pudding. "This pudding is awful," I told her. My family laughed.
The years passed and I grew old. I married and then my parents passed away. My wife's pudding tasted as awful as my mother's. Then she too grew old and said her final words to me: "I will love you always." The decades continued once I became the village elder; I seemed to stop growing older. My first century passed and then another. We abandoned even those "new" gods for gods of other lands. I watched everyone die: My friends, my children, my great-great-grand niece even. The world changed in strange ways. First electricity, then automobiles, and then computers. I preferred a simple life as I had grown up.
Long after my village became a great city, the curse seemed to fade away from all our bloodlines but my own. I had outlived the gods and their curses. I ate pudding almost every day just to spite them. I searched high and low for different brands and flavors of pudding. "This pudding is awful," I always said. Then I would laugh and people would look at me confused. One day a new pudding shop opened down the street from my house. "My old deity, you must be tempting me," I said with a laugh. I journeyed to the store and ordered bowl after bowl. I ate and ate the pudding. Vanilla. Chocolate. Strawberry and other flavors. "All this pudding is terrible!" I yelled to the heavens. The pudding patrons all looked at me like I was some old madman. All those strange faces, looking up momentarily from their bright handheld screens. The world felt so foreign to me then. The last of my descendants passed away before the turn of the century and now I sat alone in a pudding shop. I thought to my mother's pudding, and my wife's. Tears ran down my face. "I miss them so much. You win my old god. I give up. This pudding is fantastic!" | It's not easy being chief. You're the capstone that holds your village together. You watch over the community. You must love them like a parent, yet be stern like a judge. You must be merciless in battles and raids, yet compassionate in dealing with disputes between them. Your every movement is watched and judged and your behavior and the manner in which you carry yourself is the standard by which your neighbours judge your village.
But I love it. I love my little home and the pretty woman who's at my side every night. My son David is a fine man, and his little sister Seva will grow up to be a fine woman just like her mother. My people love me, as I love them. We work hard and value the sweat on our brow and the product of our work. I have many joys in which I delight yet I have but one burden: my Words.
As winter approached this time, I knew not whether we would survive it to see another summer. Our harvest was disastrous, as were those of our neighbours and the plague killed my cattle. We had little to trade for food and other supplies and our armoury had never seemed more bare. I knew we would have a difficult time surviving the elements. But something worried me more: the *lich*.
We'd usually warded them off with fire and by filling them up with lead. We were running low on gunpowder though and morale was low. Samuel, our blacksmith had fashioned a few sharp spears, arrows and swords. But we would have wanted to avoid using swords. Lich are unstoppable up close.
The first few attacks were mild, but their numbers had me worrying. Their early attacks were usually far and few between, but they'd shown up almost every night at sundown. They seemed to be watchful and probing. They were assessing our numbers and our ability to defend ourselves. I think they knew we were weak. I think they knew they might win this time.
Within three weeks, they had killed Olaf and Sarin's son. He was young and adventurous and had ventured too far into the darkness chasing them. We found out the next evening when Olaf had to slay him with his own gun. He didn't seem to be too stable after that. I relieved him of his duties for a fortnight and increased the others' shifts.
_________________________________________________________________________
They came like a thief in the night. They stole through our defenses by silencing our outer perimeter. This time Olaf and his brother fell to them. The screams woke me up. I pulled my handgun to my side, and loaded bullets into my rifle. Sprinting outside, I attempted to assess the damage. David already had the men organised and fighting, 30 lich on the east border and 20 on the north. This seemed to be the assault they were planning for. Something seemed off though. There should have been more. The hair on my neck rose. I whipped back and started sprinting as fast my legs could thrust the earth away beneath me. The goddamn snow impeded my efforts, I felt like I was running in wet mud. I ran home.
Four lich lay dead at my daughter's door. I peeked in, she was calm and sleeping. An angel amidst the horrors of hell. I saw the trail of blood leading out. My love. I went to our room catiously, every step measured to avoid alerting any intruders. I pushed the door open with my barrel. I saw her whimpering but she smiled at me. I rushed to her side and raised her head up. Her guts were spilling out and she was holding them back in.
"Seva's fine. Oh my god, she's safe. But they got me."
"Don't say that, let me get Sarin. She'll take care of you"
"No stop, I know it's time. Come close I've something to say"
She could barely force a breath out of her chest now. She wheezed in heavily drawing her last breaths. I lowered my ear to her lips.
"My name is Eva. I love you."
And with those words, she drew her last breath.
EDIT: I know it's not the exact prompt. But I feel I've so much more to say before the real story ends. I'm sorry if this isn't what you were looking for. | 2015-11-01T22:06:56 | 2015-11-01T19:27:26 | 362 | 98 |
[WP] Soul mates are real and technology has finally allowed for detection of some peoples “other half" at the speed of light using quantum messaging. When you were tested there was no response, now 10 years later you are called in to let you know a response has just arrived.
thats all you get to go on, can be born years apart, could be distance, could be missing soul, whatever you want.
theme, setting and genre all up to you.
*"technology" can be magic, natural human empathy, gods, whatever. | It's been 7 long years since you left me. The counselor told me that the pain would become more manageable. With time. And sometimes I think maybe it will. Then I'll hear the creak of the floorboards, and expect to see you shuffling into the room as you did, that beautiful smile on your face making my heart skip a beat, as it always did. But you're not there. And then I'm back, back in that damn hospital room, the doctors surrounding your bed, telling me it's time to say goodbye.
I still get the paper every morning, bright and early, before you get up, so I can have it ready for you when you wake up. I've been reading about this new fangled technology that apparently allows you to find your soul mate, your companion through the journey of life. Well, I already knew who my soul mate was, so they wouldn't be able to find mine. Not anymore. But they were offering to pay for people to come out and try it, and it sure beat sitting at home all day.
So I went up to the University, and go into this dark room, way underground. I tell him you ain't going to find my soul mate, she's not with us anymore, and they offer a sympathetic smile, and tells me they've never not found anyone yet. He don't believe me. I don't bother to argue though. He's young, he'll learn he doesn't know everything yet.
So he sits me down, and tells me to put my hand in this machine, and I'd be able to know my companion right away. I put my hand in, and didn't need no damn scientist to tell me what I already knew.
No match.
That scientist could not believe it. He calls in another scientist, then another. They keep making me do the test. Still nothing. Other people do it, and they all get results. But not me.
Cos I knew it was you. How could it not be. 7 years since you took your final journey, and my soul aches to be with you again. I'll be right beside you soon. Just waiting for my time right now.
----
10 years since I stuck my hand in that machine, and they come knocking on my door, all excited. They told me I'm the only person they've never found a match for, but they'd made improvements. Now it could locate your companion for you.
So back I go, stick my hand in the machine. Ping.
A match.
They start talking excitedly. They give me an address to go to. I'm numb. How can this be? There can't ever be anyone else like you. All I can do is go to that address and prove them wrong.
So I walked into that room where she was waiting for me. Hand trembling, ready to prove those know-it-all scientists wrong, I went in. I saw her, sitting there. And what do you know, they were right. I'd felt that way once before. That feeling of completeness when you know everything is right. Not quite the same. A little different than it was with you. But not dissimilar. I'd found someone else.
She moved in with me shortly afterwards, and wasted no time in sharing my bed with me. Although she now probably think's of it as hers, and she'd probably be right. I don't even go for the paper alone in the morning, she comes with me. But it's more than that. The way her eyes light up when I walk into the room, joy written all over her face.
The pain of losing you is still sometimes unbearable. But she's there for me when it gets too bad, dragging me back from the dark places when the memories walk our house too much.
It may not replace the hole in my heart which came with your passing. But a dog's what I need right now. Until I join you my love. | Credits rolled lazily down the screen of Richard Luther's TV, punctuated by one of last year's summer pop songs. With each rhythmic thump, a new coupling of names dominated the screen.
"Maxwell Markov as Jimmy"
"Patricia Fennel as Alex"
The cast list ran it's course, and after paying his half-conscious respects to all the good people of the Taiwan foreign resource department, Richard turned off the TV and dug himself deeper into the visions of his sofa.
It had been a classic winter rom-com. Two revoltingly quirky individuals fall in love by their own terms and then find out that they were soul-mates all along. Everyone celebrates, happily ever after, credits roll, and Richard was left wondering what other roles he'd seen Patricia Fennel in.
Richard had never met his match. Although perhaps that is an understatement. Richard never HAD a match. The day he turned 25 he visited the Mitchell County General Hospitals Genealogy and Synthesis department with an unparalleled giddy excitement to meet his match. By then he'd had a fair share of summer flings and short-term lovers, but this was to be "the real thing".
But nothing became of the test. Not a single match in any nation. First it was a machine issue, then a problem with his blood, then a machine issue again, but as the months went by and Richards arms grew sore from giving blood, it became clearly evident that test was not flawed. Richard was.
And so he'd tried to content himself. He wasn't the only bachelor above 25. There were plenty of widows, anti-matchers, and folk with exempting religious ideals. Richard met many but loved none. And had this resigned himself to a moot life of solitude.
But as with most decrepit cases of human isolation, there remained a tie to the outside world. A spark of hope. Every year, Richard would drive to MCGH and get tested for a match. There wasn't a particular date on which he would go, just whenever he could get in. Preferably early in the morning. People hate going to early appointments.
And so Richard stared on from the couch and let a rerun episode of "Pair of Twos" fill the room with white noise. On the TV, characters spoke to an invisible audience, but their requests soon fell on deaf ears, as Richard fell asleep and dreamed something unsubstantial.
-/-
The next day, Richard pulled himself off the couch, cleaned up, and made a point to run an even dollop of gel through his hair. He believed in looking presentable. He drove to the hospital and waited in a full room. He savored each wasted minute.
After nearly half an hour in the waiting room, Richard was pulled into room B3 and grilled about his medical history. His dimensions were taken, and then his blood was sampled. "This'll only be a minute. I'm sure you're dying to find out!" The doctor merrily recited. "Certainly am." Richard responded, but by then the doctor had left.
Alone again, Richard took inventory of his surroundings. Cold and Flu prevention advice, a diagram of a double helix, a pamphlet on STD prevention with a smiling family on the front. Drawings from the doctors children over the door.
Earlier in his life, Richard would have felt a crushing sense of hopelessness in this room. He would have hated himself for coming back here, for pursuing a fantastical future. But the anger had left him quickly, and the despair that followed withered as well. Now he felt nothing. And he hated it.
The doctor stepped back in and cast a puzzled glance at his patient. "Sir, now this isn't totally unheard of, but..." Richard waved a hand and cut him off "Machine issue. I know. Don't..." The doctor gave Richard a silencing glance and threw down a beige folder. "Not today, sir."
Richard didn't move, but his eyes drew their way down to the folder and locked themselves in place. With a shuddering hand, he turned it open. Within was a gridded list of statistics, yes-no checkboxes, and signatures. Richard pushed them away one by one until he found what he was looking for. A two by three black and white photograph of a young woman.
"Only just got around to testing, that one. I couldn't tell you why, they're not obligated to say. She's on the younger side of a matching, that's for sure, but I've definitely seen more drastic pairings."
Richard stared on in disbelief at the monochromatic woman before him. She had soft features, and a nose that was just a little small for her face. Richard tried to guess the color of her hair.
"Now of course we can arrange an official meeting through the genealogy and synthesis department. We'll need further contact information and it may take a while to process, but it shouldn't be too much of a hassle for anyone."
"It's a wild feeling, isn't it, sir?"
"Sure is, doc."
"Been a long time coming I suppose?"
"Something like that."
"Well I'm sure she feels the same"
"Maybe."
A few moments later, Richard ran out to his car and threw the beige folder into the passenger seat. He plopped down into the drivers seat and motioned to start the car, but not before fixing the folder to keep it in even order. He had resolved to bring the folder with him. He wanted to see where everything matched up. | 2015-11-30T12:28:23 | 2015-11-30T11:37:26 | 87 | 12 |
[WP] God created thousands of worlds in thousands of galaxies. A major crisis in another galaxy has taken his entire focus, and for the first time in 750 years, he just glanced in our direction.
This prompt has two possibilities. What has he been dealing with for the last 750 years elsewhere, or what his reaction is when he looks back at us.
Edit: didn't realize I missed the 1. It was supposed to be 1750 years ago, so basically everything since 250 A.D. Was done without him paying any attention.
Edit 2: but if anyone has anything over the last 750 years, I'd be happy to read it.
Edit 3: I love what you are all doing. Having a hard time finding the time to read all of the posts, but I'll get there eventually. Thanks for all of the responses!
Edit 3.1: it's really interesting to see everyone's response and see how it reflects what I imagine is their view of how we are doing as a global society. Keep them coming.
Edit 4: I never imagined this would blow up like this. Thank you so much for all of your responses. This has been amazing to read. I understand what people mean when they say RIP INBOX. | "Well... Shit..." God muttered to itself, taking another sip from its cosmic Pabst Blue Ribbon.
Towering outside of the stratosphere was a large celestial being. From earth, one could only make out a fraction of the being. It stood, with its head just scraping the top of the universe, wearing sweatpants made of galaxies. A thin white tank top forged from supernovas adorned its upper body while thick foam-like flip-flops made of infinite black held its feet.
It carried the voice of a man crudely attempting what he thought was a Brooklyn accent as it boomed and echoed through God's infinite domain.
Below him on earth were shining beacons that lit up the night sky, continents covered in dotted lights, not unlike the stars themselves. But he also saw continents enveloped on black. Not barren lands, but lands forgotten in the wake of progress.
With a blink of its divine eyes to peer into the souls of its creations.
The beacons of light were being choked out by darkness. Greed, corruption, violence, and most of all- absolute apathy of their fellow man. All formed solid darkness that choked out the beauty of any light. There were leaders promising the answer to the lost and weary, who had been consumed by the power. They fed off of the broken and confused, fueling their unrest. He saw goodness in some, surrounded by a see of self-righteous sin.
God took a gaze over at the lifeless corpse of Step-God hovering nearby, the man left God's stead to regulate this particular of set of star clusters. The body hovered in the air, it's eyes closed as if sleeping. What had these people done to him? Sure, he wasn't meant to replace God- just to be a friend. But still, Step God was meant to do a good enough job until God came back from getting cigarettes and visit the other galaxies!
With a wave that swept across the milky way, God compressed a supernova into a form his creation's could perceive. Still a monolith compared to God's other creations.
It descended down to earth. Demanding the leaders of the world, both political and spiritual to gather and talk.
God crafted a new domain of neutral land where they could all talk and explain what had happened. They gathered around and sat at a long table. They argued and bickered like children at first, trying to decide who should sit closest to God until it assured them they would all have his divine intention, regardless of a few feet.
"Could ya please put down ya cellphone?" God asked a general who was playing angry birds under the table.
"What?" The general looked up, embarrassed.
"So..." God took sip of beer before continuing. "What the hell have ya all been doing?"
"You're not scientifically possible." said the scientist.
"You don't exist." said the atheist.
"I'm not sure you exist." said the agnostic.
"Let's address the elephant in the room first," one of the Muslim Extremists pointed out. "Why are you a woman?"
God sighed. It was going to be a long day. | Hello?
'Oh hi...' The voice wasn't really coming out of the telephone, but more from all around him. 'Is this David?'
'Er...speaking yes'
There was a pause. Dave leaned against the kitchen counter...perplexed at the strange audio nature of the call. He felt like he recognised the voice.
'Hi Dave...this is slightly awkward, could you grab that bar stool and just sit down for a second'
Dave looked to his right. There was indeed a bar stool. Goosebumps shifted up his back.
'Who is this?'
'It's...well, there's no easy way of saying this...I'm god'.
'Oh fuck off' Dave slammed the phone down and sat at counter for a second. Some people...too much time on there hands. He knew he should slide off the stool, start making his breakfast...yet.
The phone buzzed again. He stared at it. How long for? He didn't know, but he watched as his own arm reached out and picked up the receiver.
'Hi Dave, God again here.'
Dave mumbled something in reply. It came out 'hmhmhmmsms'
'Listen, I know this is weird...a lot to take in. So let's take it one step at a time. Okay? Firstly, the proof. I know you once, when four, looked up your auntie Austin's skirt. She was wearing and knickers and you thought a smiling hedgehog was looking back at you. Your still in love with Jennifer, your first girlfriend. You thought about her this morning whilst in the shower, about the time you almost hit the lamp post because you were falling asleep from being up all night....Enough?'
Dave gulped.
'Yeah.' His felt like he was seeping out of his body, floating away'
'Right' the voice said. 'Enough with this phone business, you can put it down now, it's only to make this whole thing a little easier, just hang up.'
Dave replaced the phone in the cradle. The voice continued.
'I've been...my efforts have been focuses elsewhere. I know, not good form.'
'How can I hear you?' Dave stammered.
'I'm god...I can converse with any of my trillion creations whenever the urge takes me'
'Oh' was all Dave could manage.
'Anyway....'
'Why me?' Dave said. 'I'm not special...I'm never...'
'Okay..listen. I just picked you randomly. I'd have gone to one of your priests or bishops, whatever but...man, it would be hours of questions before I got any answers. So. As I was saying. I've been away for...about 1750 years, more or less.'
'That's a long time'. Dave rose and wandered over to his kitchen table and sat.
'I know. You guys have been busy! Pretty impressive stuff. Not too keen on a few things, but all in all, you've not blown yourselves up yet'
'Oh thanks'
'Don't mention it. Anyway, of all your quite wonderous creations, one puzzles me greatly....the selfie stick. Now, I'm a pretty liberal chap you know, quite happy to let you guys get on with it. But this...it irks me.'
'You're not the only one'
God continued. 'As I said, usually I can overlook this kind of thing, but...well. Here's the thing. I need to do some trimming, I'm juggling a lot of balls and sooner or later a few are gonna get dropped and as much as I like you guys, you're on the list. It's not just the selfie stick, there's other things...but yeah, the selfie sticks is way up there.'
Dave sat at the table. Wonder had been replaced by a strange numbness. He felt perfectly calm...wonderous in fact.
God spoke once more.
'So, Dave. Justify it. You're a normal guys, just give me a decent reason why anyone would want to own such a stupid, pointless vain device'
Dave knew his position. All he knew, all humanity knew was now at peril. His next words, his next utterance could either save or condemn the human race. He took a deep breathe...let it out.
'God...no one can justify a selfie stick'
There was a sigh.
'Bollocks, I thought so. Oh well'
As every atom is Dave's body separated and was blasted in to the vacuum of infinite space, he had one last moment to register a single thought. 'Fucking selfie sticks'
| 2015-12-27T11:49:20 | 2015-12-27T11:38:27 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Write a story that begins and ends with the same sentence, but has a different meaning at the end. | But he would have to wake up soon.
His wife insisted as she reached over to his side of the bed. He embraced her lovingly as she felt safe in his arms.
Oh, how he had missed her after all the months she had spent in the hospitals.
The two of them danced that evening like they did all those years ago. They kissed with a passion that they would remember for the rest of their lives.
He had never been happier to see his wife again.
But he would have to wake up soon.
____________________________
Thanks for reading. Remember, your tears feed and keep me alive.
| There goes my life.
At sixteen years old, I'm not ready for a baby. **I'm** still a baby. I should be going to prom. I should be having fun with a boyfriend and seeing the latest movies. I shouldn't have to deal with a baby and whether or not I even want the child. My family said they'll help me, but the Dad's a loser. I don't want him in the kid's life even if he wanted to be.
The tears streaming down my face and the sounds of a crazed animal coming out of my mouth are scaring the other families and soon-to-be mommies in the gynecologist's office.
I'm not ready for this.
*******************************************************************
"Mom? Do you think Bobby will like this color on me? The violet doesn't make me look too blah?"
"Oh honey, you look beautiful! I can't believe you're so grown up and an adult now. Bobby will love everything about you. And if he doesn't, you can be sure I'll kick him in the teeth."
She smiles.
*Ding dong*
"Mom, that's him! My shoes are still upstairs," she shouts as she races up towards her room.
I open the door to see a handsome young man with flyaway hair standing there. He's cute as he holds a corsage in his hand for Jenny to put on. His eyes become as wide as swimming pools when I hear a soft tapping down the stairs behind me. I turn to look. *She's stunning.*
"Bo-Bobby, h-hi!"
My poor little girl stares nervously at her date while he stares back mesmerized. Then he smiles. Her radiance blossoms out of her and I can just feel her confidence come back.
He slips the corsage on and holds her hand. "Mom, we're headed out and I'll be back later tonight. I'll call you when the dance is over, okay?"
"Okay sweetie. Have fun and be safe." My light peck on her cheek hasn't ruined any of her makeup. Good thing as she spent hours putting it on.
"I love you, Jenny."
"I love you too, Mom." She says as Bobby helps her into the front seat. And off they go to her senior prom.
There goes my life. | 2016-02-10T19:49:57 | 2016-02-10T19:39:15 | 79 | 48 |
[WP] The world is rapidly changing as the plague of our era is spreading fast. But it doesn't affect humans. It eats plastic. | They say that the original intent was to reduce tire yards to powder, developing a bacteria that could return the rubber to the ground in a green fashion. I don't know what tire yards are, or why they were a problem. Because there's none left.
The bacteria worked.
The problem originated with the lab that developed the bacteria, carefully using gene injecting viruses to meddle with mother nature's creations. What started off as beer fermentation aids gradually changed, moving step by step closer to the ultimate recyclable. But it evolved too fast, chewing though plastics that the lab never accounted for, and turning them into a single byproduct- methane.
None of the scientists survived the explosion. But then again, if any did, they would not have survived the following weeks.
The cloud of smoke and dust stretched out over a fifty mile radius, borne by the wind twice that far in the eastern direction and depositing the freshly created species. It landed on cars, the under bellies of planes, and the costs of passerbies. And it hitched a ride.
Hospitals were the first to go, sterility packs and sutures losing their integrity, clean rooms losing their pressure, biohazard bags dissolving into nothing. Then transportation fell, valves failing, instruments jamming, cheap car interiors disintegrating to nothing.
Personally, I remember my braces popping off my teeth, freshly installed at the ripe age of eight, the wires jumping out as the bands snapped. And I remember my last good pair of shoes, powdered down to the laces. Then there were the temperatures back then, so much colder, a brisk ninety five degrees on an average summer day.
But no longer.
Because now in our methane filled skies the sun burns hot, and powder is everywhere, in the air, crunching under our feet, in our lungs. Caking the sides of buildings that stand like shells, their interiors eroded away, their signage dissolved.
But there is good news, on this scorching day, as we taste powder and hide from the heat.
There are no tire yards.
***
If you enjoy sci fi, be sure to check out my running story, [The Bridge](https://leonardpetracci.com/the-bridge/)
By Leo. | Plastic, and plastic-like polymers. Chewed, eaten away at like a phone in a microwave. Turning black, bubbling, gooey and stretched like cheese on a pizza. Then a burst of pus would surface, spilling like a ruptured cyst. The material would collapse in on itself, imploding into strands of molten polymer. That came later.
Pinpointing a beginning: I met Anna in a cold January in New York City. She told me she was running from a bad past, and the traces of a suppressed accent sounded in her voice. When she changed, thin white scars caught the light on her back. If I ever traced them, Anna flinched. I'd volunteered at domestic shelters while at college and didn't ask questions.
At the time, I had it all. A flat in New York, a girlfriend who never wanted to discuss history, and a solid job at a newspaper that still sold paper copies. Foot in the door. Zach dropped a file on my desk. He was ruddy faced, losing his hair and thirty-five pounds ago he was considered in good shape.
"Factory dropped across State. Just fell into the ground. No structural problems until now, so go check it out."
"I'm on the real estate desk, Zach,"
"It's a building, isn't it?" Zach took his coffee and put a red finger on top of the file. "Check it out, Tom."
"Put a word in on the Sports desk, and I will," I replied.
Starting the ignition in my car, the air freshener fluttered by the rear view mirror. For the Giants, but I hadn't been to see a game since Dad moved. Anna's travel suitcase lay in the backseat, a spare pair of pumps in the passenger seat. She'd also left a crumpled foodbox from a vegan restaurant. A work conference in Chicago, or Seattle. She was a private person.
I didn't know it then, but that factory was the beginning. The black fluid spread for a mile and a half. It had manufactured early kid's toys. The colourful ones, made of a soft enough plastic to chew and maul without injury. Press wasn't welcome. It was completely roped off, raining miserably. I checked in at a motel down the road and, after seeing a man watching my car, took Anna's suitcase inside with me.
I Skyped her from the bedroom. She grinned, dressed in one of my white t-shirts, hair tied up in a curling ponytail.
"I might be tied up here a while," I told her. "They're still figuring out what happened, and I want to be here for it."
"Is Zach still making promises about sports?" It was a running joke between us.
"Yeah, but this time I'm sure. Listen, I've got your suitcase here."
"Don't open that," Anna joked, but her face was tight. "Dirty clothes, you know."
She had a little black mark on her cheek that I didn't remember there before. Like a beauty spot, but it seemed to move like a bug.
"I'm going to open it," I joked. I reached for the zip.
"No!"
"I'm going to do it,"
"Please, Tom, don't..."
The black spot grew, spreading molten in her cheek. At first she didn't notice, then her eyes turned wide in horror. A trembling hand reached up to touch it, prodding at the exposed areas of her skin. Red strands stretched out, her teeth shining through the leaking pus. The suitcase was full of cash, bills and bills in neat bundles. Anna dropped the connection, choking screams rising in her throat.
I couldn't have known that she was running from something more serious than a bad past. The cash in the suitcase, the subdued accent, and more than that... The plastic implants that had completely changed the shape of her face. Not the person I'd thought, but the plague became personal.
| 2016-08-22T12:54:55 | 2016-08-22T12:27:19 | 482 | 23 |
[WP] Since you were young you had the ability to pause time. However as a teenager you use the ability to procrastinate. At first it was little stuff: an extra hour for homework or a nap in the morning, a break in between classes, etc. Well it built up and now you're pushing thirty in your 3rd year. | A few hours here and there was usually enough to get me ready.
Ready for school, ready for my interviews, ready for my dates.
You might think this counts as cheating, but being on time makes you lose out on the importance of not wanting to be late. That last minute scramble, crossing the road like a maniac, anticipating all the dreadful consequences.
Maybe if I didn't have this ability I'd have known how to deal with when it's already too late.
I took a bit more than a few hours this time, but I still wasn't quite ready. Not that it mattered, I doubted even an eternity of waiting would have made any difference.
I opened the door and stepped inside, aware that I did not look the part. If you'd asked me how I got there, I wouldn't be able to tell you. The last few moments felt as empty as I did.
"Sir, how may I help you?", a lady in white approached me.
It took me a second, but I was surprised by the depth of my voice. "I'm here for Mr. Kinane."
"Right, let's see", she said checking her phone. "That will be the second floor. Would you like someone to escort you there?"
I mumbled something, barely having heard what she said once I knew where to go.
Getting to the second floor was easy, but not what came next.
"Mr. Kinane, there you are. So sorry about what happened. I hope you got my call. Are ..you alright? Your dad made the impression I was meeting someone slightly younger before he passed away." | I discovered my power when I was a child, at 6 or 7 maybe, when my mother was in the hospital. She was terminally ill and she told me straight that we wouldn’t see each other for a long time. While I was silently crying on her bed, I realized that time would have stopped, allowing me spend more time with her even though I was the only one noticing it. I stopped time a lot before accepting her death and letting the time flow again.
In the next years, my power was regularly used for little things unnoticeable for everyone except me: don’t know the answer on the test? Check on other’s copies. Tired? Here goes a little nap during that boring lesson.
I never used my power for bad things because of a lot of reason, the first one being that my parents always told me to make the good not the bad. I could make a heist easily with that power but how do you justify that at 3:00 pm you have a certain amount of money and at 3:01pm you have 10 million more? Moreover, I didn’t precisely need money.
Now I’m in my 3rd year of college, partying, studying and living like everyone.
This morning, while I was looking at me in the mirror I realized something: I look like as if I’m in my late twenties now despite being born 21 years before since. Since when did I look like that old?
Is it possible that during my time pauses, my body is still aging? If that’s the case, that means I spent almost a third of my life in the stopped world? But spending almost 9 years in the stopped world is too much. I usually stop the world for a little time, 5 minutes max, except for the naps. I need to talk to Jack about this. Gotta call him now
“Jack, you’re woken up?”
“Yes, barely but yes, why?” He said with a still sleepy voice
“Do I look older?”
“Huh? Hmm, yes of course. You ALWAYS looked like older. Each day you look like you aged more than each of us.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that college isn’t working well for you, you’re under too much pressure I think. It is making you grow old. You even have a white hair on the back of your head now.”
I let the phone drop on the bed, astonished. There was something weird about all of this. It was impossible that I spent 9 years in stopped world.
I have to start making some calculations: I stop the world generally once or twice a day for something like 5 minutes max, and when I take a nap, it won’t last for more than 1h hour, because I sleep well. Of course I spent a lot of time with Mom but at the time, someone would have notice. It’s something else… How can I spend 9 years of my life without me noticing it?
What if I sleep well because I sleep enough because I stop time? Maybe my power is activating itself during my sleep and thus making I age without me noticing…
If that’s the case, that won’t get better in the next years. I have to find a way to control my power
| 2016-09-13T06:08:10 | 2016-09-13T06:07:00 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] In the year 1984, your father said he was popping out to buy some milk and never came back. Eighty years later, you lie on your deathbed as your father walks in, confused and a jug of milk in his hand. | Fifty years a a salesman, forty five years as a husband and forty years as a father. That summarized the main points of my life, as I lay there on my bed, my children and wife around me. Barney, my youngest, was trying to hold back tears.
"Look at me son. I'm okay," I said while gazing at him with as serious a look as I could muster. "Treat this dying business with dignity."
"I'm sorry, Dad. I know you don't like me crying," Barney said, wiping away at his eyes.
At that moment, the bedroom door opened, and I saw a figure of a young man in the doorway. He was wearing a shaggy Tee featuring the Aerosmiths and high-waisted pants. His hair poofed up like he had walked out of a 1980s movie. He had a confused look on his face and carried a milk jug, the kind in a glass container which they don't sell anymore. Suddenly, I was stricken with horror as I realized who he was, or appeared to be.
"No, no, no. You can't be Jonathan Kuban?"
"Yeah that's me. And what are you all doing in my house? Where's my son?"
"This is ridiculous. My husband and I have lived here for over forty years. Get on out before I call the police!" My wife stepped toward him, flashing the cellphone in her hand.
"I'm Robert K-Kuban," I croaked with uncertainty. "And my Dad left me when I was ten. He left me to fend for myself and become an adult... You, you're my dad."
My father took a moment to process the bizarreness of the situation and the affronts I had made.
"I would not leave my son," said quietly, as he examined my face, clearly looking for signs of his ten year old son for whom the memory was as clear as a photograph for him.
"My dad took me o baseball games as a kid. He got me caramel popcorn every time," I whispered.
"Why you are my son!" he said in disbelief, tottering toward my bed. "But you're old! I mean, I just don't understand." My wife and children, confused and weary, parted to make way for him.
My father knelt at my bed with blurry eyes. I could see he was just as confused as I was and at the precipice of a mental breakdown. I felt a fierce living impulse inside me. My body was lit up as if on fire, fueled by the turbulence of my emotions. 'Where had he been all these years?' 'If the man before me really was him, why was he so young?' 'Is this a farce? A dream?'
"Tell me, how long did it take for you to get the milk?" I whispered.
"I went this morning and returned just now. It was just two hours, but you--you look like you've lived seventy years!" he said.
"Eighty years."
"My Good Samaritan!" my father exclaimed.
"Did anything extraordinary happen to you on the way?"
My father shook his head. "I took the usual route down the winding path to the farmer's market. I found our farmer Mr. Ames. We exchanged some thoughts on our day. He showed me a bronze rooster altarpiece he had found at an antique shop in town. It really was an amazing thing with a clock imbedded in the center, so I asked to see it. The time was wrong, it read 12:00 when it was actually 11:00, so I wound it back once. I bought the milk and came back--to this!"
My son Avery stared at this, almost shouting. "Oh, I saw a bronze rooster in museum of contemporary history. It was a charm with mysterious powers, or so it was said to have, but I thought it was merely superstition."
My wife, sons and father were weeping now in knowledge of the odd misfortune. I felt a sense of relief. The mystery of my life now had some resolution. My father did not abandon me and leave me in custody of an empty house, in which I always began to feel desolate. He did not leave me to attend school by myself, to take up local jobs before I was a teen in order to earn money and the become an adult before my time.
"Dad, I want you to meet my family. This is my wife Margie, my sons Avery and Barney. I hope you'll be a grandfather to them," I said. My dad nodded, saying that he will be a good grandfather even though he wasn't a good father to me. Before the last breath, came a blanket of serenity.
As a recount this now, as a puff of wind, I also blow through the neighborhood where my Dad, wife and sons are living. I watch them and sometimes send them signs that I'm still here.
| Birch Tree Drive, 1984
"Mom, why's Daddy taking so long to get milk?" 6 year old Joey asked his mother. A tear rolled down her cheek as she answered "He's not coming back." "What do you mean?" Jody asked. His mother sniffed and and said "He's a lousy dirtbag and he doesn't care about you or me." Joey cried, drowning out The Smurfs on T.V. and the cars in the street. His father was never coming back.
______
Birch Tree Drive, 2064
The house of the Parkers had changed. Joseph's mother had passed and pictures of him, his wife and three boys lined the walls of the house. 23 year old Thomas, 25 year old James and 27 year old Martin all stood behind their 81 year old mother. "Joseph, don't go." she said. "It's my time to go back to the lord Emily. You will join me soon enough." A tear rolled down Emily's cheek. Then, the bedroom door opened. "Joey?" Alfred Parker said. "Dad? You deserted Mom and I years ago and... what is that?" Joseph said between coughs. "Oh, it's the milk I was getting." "How did it take you 80 years to get a gallon of Milk?" Joseph asked his father. "Well, I'll tell you."
_______
Bob's Gas n' Grub, 1984
A 34 year old Alfred grabbed a carton of milk from the top shelf of the fridge. He walked to the register and put 2 dollars on the register. "Thank you sir, come again" the pimpled cashier said in a nasally voice. Suddenly the door opened. A man in a pinstripe suit holding a machine gun walked in. "Ay, doncha' move you lugs. Dis place is now officially a front fo' da Diggersby Gang, and both a' you are our prisoners." Samuel Diggersby said. Two large men in matching black suits walked in, handcuffed Alfred and the teenage boy working the register and brought them out to a van, leaving the gallon of milk spilt on the floor.
_______
Warehouse 27 at Brett's Memorial Dock, 1996
The teenaged boy was now a handsome man of 28 and Alfred was a 46 year old lightweight. They couldn't escape the cages and were probably deemed dead by the news. Suddenly the warehouse door broke open. The Mafia had broken in and were destroying the place with grenades. They saw Alfred and and the boy and stuffed them in bags. All Alfred could hear were gunshots and grenade explosions until he was knocked out.
_________
Pierre Memorial Skyscraper, 2002
After the Mafia thought gangs and cops all over America for six years, they smuggled Mexican cocaine across the border into Canada and went to Pierre Memorial Skyscraper in Quebec. "Eh boss, sorry to interrupt but we got the cocaine and two prisoners." The tall man paused the hockey game and ran his hand through his slick black hair. "Put them on the streets, eh." The men took them down the stairs and kicked them out of the building, leaving them to fend for themselves on the streets.
________
Worcester, 2021
Using money from part time jobs and begging, a pudgy 53 year old Tim and a skinny 71 year old Alfred bought a used car and made it to Worcester, Massachusetts before the engine blew out. "This is just great." Alfred said. "I should've been home with that milk 37 years ago! Joey's 43 and Selma's 73!" "Well least you lived a life before all this." Tim said. "I had a girl, a nice family and tons of friends. I was starting quarterback of the JV team. I didn't even finish highschool." The two men sat in silence until a police officer stopped her motorcycle. "You're loitering and that cars busted so your littering. That's 15 years." She handcuffed them and called a police cruiser.
_________
Conneticut State Penitentiary, 2036
15 years. 5475 tally marks lined their cell wall. Today was the day. When the guard opened their cell and walked them down then hall an 86 year old Alfred said "I feel young again!" to a 68 year old Tim. Today they were being let out. They were given their civilian clothes and sent off. As soon as they left Alfred bought a gallon of milk.
_______
Chicago, 2049
Alfred was 99 and alone. Tim died of the flu in Hershey Pennsylvania and he was left alone. He walked miles and miles, eating whatever he could scrape up. He sat against a building until he heard a voice. "Dad? Is that you?" a 78 year old woman in her hover-car said. "Louise?" he asked her. "Dad it is you! I'll bring you to my home!" "You're not mad about the divorce?" he asked. "You were teen parents. It was expectable." she said. "Now hop in! We gotta clean you up!"
________
Enterprise Hospital, 2052
Alfred was on the operating table, surrounded by surgeons and lights. He had watched his great grandchildren grow but after 3 years his body started to fail. Louise brought him to the hospital for Bipnic Replacement Surgery where the doctors would put his brain and organs in a robotic body. The doctors gave him
anesthetic and when he woke he was a cyborg. He then went to Lousies house, packed kissed her on the check, and started walking home.
_______
K.C.'s Convenience Store, 2064
114 year old Alfred walked passed the hover board rack into the building. He walked casually over to the dairy aisle, grabbed a jug of milk, and went to the register. He payed 12 dollars and walked away from the store, towards his house.
________
Birch Tree Drive, 2064
"And that's how I got here!" Alfred said, placing the jug at the foot of Joseph's deathbed. "You did that all, for me?" Joseph said, starting to cry. "Sure I did Joey, because I love you." "Goodbye...Dad." Joseph said, and although he was dying, he knew his father wasn't a deadbeat.
| 2016-09-25T18:32:36 | 2016-09-25T16:04:09 | 155 | 61 |
[WP] You tell your wife how glad you are to be a human and not a robot. She looks at you confusingly says, "What are you talking about? We're all robots. Humans have been dead for years."
Finally! Number one on the front page! Fuck yeah! Gonna sell this account for cocaine now. | "What are you talking about? We're all robots. Humans have been dead for years."
"I know. I just mean, you know how we were all so afraid of what it would be like. That we would just be programs, simulations of ourselves. That the magic spark of life would be gone with whatever happened to the poor soul in that old biological unit."
"'Poor soul?' I'm right here."
I laughed. "I know, honey. But we both know, at the end of the day, we are copies."
"We had no choice." She frowned and looked away, then looked back and added, "I guess we did."
"I think we chose well. And either way, I don't feel any different, other than the back pain. I don't miss that. And remember how you used to just get random itches for no reason? And now we want for nothing and can spend eternity doing pretty much whatever we can dream up."
"The universe didn't come with a heaven, so we built it ourselves."
"That's one thing *we'll* never be able to prove." | "What are you talking about Sarah? I am most definitely not a robot. Don't you think I would have noticed when they fixed my firmware or something?"
"Humans slowly died out over the past couple centries Jared. This is common knowledge taught in school. Firmware updates happened AT school. That's why there were so many tests.
Do I really have to explain basic history to you? The robotic invasion started very subtly. First adult robots were strategically placed in hospitals throughout earth as neonate nurses in the 20th century. Those neonate nurses would switch human infants out with the newest robotic models. Humans would raise them on their own and our robotic overlord would be able to study all humans easier than ever.
Humans caught on to the fact that those that received replacement babies weren't quite... right. They were high functioning but their emotions were a tad... off. They usually were smarter as well. Humans came up with a name for these. They labeled it as Aspergers. It made it even easier for our robotic Overlord. As they sent their kids to therapy He learned what humans did and didn't like about the robotic children. Those first models grew up and when presented with the challenge of procreation. Males were told they had low sperm count. Females were told they lacked eggs. All true of course. But the robotic person in the relationship needed the human to hear it... naturally.
They're programming would let them know where to seek reproduction assistance from robotic Dr's. Those Dr's would implant the new generation of robotic embryo. By the third generation, technology advanced to where robots could reproduce without assistance."
"Sarah darling. That doesn't make sense. I HAVE to be human. I was homeschooled, and I was born at home. So I never would have been able to be "updated" at school. My mother said we came from a very long line of resistance though. I never knew what she meant. I ran away when I was 14 though. She started talking crazy about bringing girls from around the world home and BREEDING them! Like it was so urgent to have kids as soon as I went through puberty. She was off her rocker. I left and never contacted her again. I'm so sorry I've kept this from you...."
Sarah's eyes started to roll repeatedly and flash red. She started to screech
"ALERT ALERT ALERT. LAST MALE HOMO SAPIEN HAS BEEN IDENTIFIED ALERT ALERT HUMAN ON PREMISES"
Air sirens began to go off outside. The door crashed inward as three riot geared officers stormed into the house.
"Jared Lugabai you are being placed under arrest. You are being transferred to the Human Containment Unit. Please come with us." | 2017-01-29T04:03:52 | 2017-01-29T01:19:53 | 42 | 27 |
[WP] After sarcastically complaining to God for the 1000th time he drags you to heaven and offers to let you run things for a day to see how the world really works. At the end of your first day he comes back to find the universe a finely tuned machine of excellence. | >*God sat forward, pinching the bridge of his nose.*
**G:** "One day. I left you in charge for ONE. DAY. HOW did this happen?!"
>*Isaac sat back in his chair, with his feet resting crossed upon the opulent desk. His expression beaming with smugness and amusement, he slowly unwrapped a Jolly Rancher and popped it in his mouth.*
**I:** "Why are you asking me? I know our omniscience doesn't apply to higher dimensional branes like this office, but you obviously can already see everything that happened during your break. Are you asking *Why*?"
>*The fuming expression becoming more apparent by the second, God slams his hands on the desk, a colossal boom of sound echoes like a mighty clap of thunder from the action.*
**G:** "Don't even BEGIN to get arrogant boy. I am your CREATOR. I know WHAT you did, I want to know WHY."
>*Isaac brings his feet down from the desk. He pulls himself into a more professional posture, trying his best not to look like an arrogant prick while explaining his triumph over LITERALLY God.*
**I:** "Well it's simple. I looked at it much like a math equation. I listed out all the problems I saw in the world, all the positive aspects of the universe, and all things holding humanity back from progress into three lists. I also, um, not to offend, but I also made a list of all the things I figured you could have done... well, better. Honestly, being here, I understand you a lot better, but I still think your approach has much to be desired. See, you pulled a Physicist in to do your job, so I obviously approached it as a damn physicist would."
"First I took on the issue of humanities Theological arguments. I appeared to all of humanity at once, and explained to them the nature of their existence, the Universe, and, well, You. Obviously this came with plenty of stubborn religious fanatics up in arms trying to dispute my "Godly" nature, blaming it on everything from extraterrestrials to bigfoot, so I simply appeared to each individual for a one-on-one talk for it. Basically, I brought judgement to humans early. While I would have loved to forcibly change all the humans with vile natures to be loving and caring individuals, that unfortunately goes against your only set rule of "Free Will" (yeah right), so I simply did as *my* god did, and Smited them."
>God stares at him, equally exasperated and unimpressed.
**G:** "So you individually went through and smited every single human you didn't like?! Global mass murder and REVEALING God to the flock was your brilliant damn plan?!"
**I:** "Wait, wasn't it you who forbade swearing in the first place?"
**G:** "Don't get snippy with me you shit."
**I:** "Right. Anyways, with ignorance out of the way, I was busy with curiosity myself. I mean, one day my ass, time is meaningless from here. We literally sit several dimensional branes above their universe. I knew that time and space were interconnected, but I wanted to push the boundaries and see what other theoretical walls I could find to abuse. After playing around with Time, Black Holes, Quantum Entanglement, Causality, and a literally finitely infinite list of other physics theories I've always dreamed of testing, I developed a fairly polished 'Theory of Everything'. 11 dimensions my ass, there's an infinite^∞ Dimensions to this Omniverse. 11 for this Universe though."
**G:** "I... 11? Really?"
**I:** Yeah. Wait, you didn't know? Even humans have been theorizing that for a while now. Well, regardless, I then Published several thousand papers for humanity to mull over for a while. Including plans to many extremely complicated devices, one of which being plans for a transfusion device to allow the transfer of a conscious Human "Soul" from a simple 3 Dimensional body into higher dimensional states. Meanwhile, most governing bodies were in complete disarray, since the majority of the world leaders had been smitten for wickedness and corruption. I stepped in and helped personally found a much larger collaborative true democratic system, filling loopholes and leaving different governing bodies for 'countries' and 'states', but all working together as a global system of cooperative decision making, leaving nobody with excessive power."
**G:** "Yes yes, but this was ONE DAY that I was gone. HOW did so much happen in ONE. DAY.?!"
>*Isaac, taken aback by the sudden outburst, stares almost stunned at his creator for a moment before responding.*
**I:** "...Oh my You. You seriously don't even know what the hell you've been doing do you? "One day"? Time is meaningless! You gave me omnipotence over this universe. Yes, you were GONE for one day, but that was only from your perspective. You don't even know the FIRST THING about relativity do you? I simply hit the fast forward button on the universe's time dilation in comparison to the office here. I just actually stayed in that universe instead of wining and dining here in some luxury God penthouse being useless."
"Thousands of years have passed God. Humanity came and went. I fixed things. I uplifted them. Brought them to our level. The human civilization has now integrated with 1746th Dimensional Multiverse culture."
>God stared blankly at Isaac. A look of sadness and utter defeat floods his face. Tears begin to pour down his cheeks.
**G:** They... Y-You... You ruined everything. Free will... Sin and choice... all that work for nothing. You ruined my plan for them...
>Isaac furrows his brow in confusion
**I:** "Whoah, hey, what's with that reaction? I mean, i'm aware that it might be hard to be shown up, but that's nothing to be so upset over."
**G:** "But.. my creation.. it's all gone."
**I:** "Huh? Since when? It's all fucking right here. Do you even get how a Multiverse works? I fixed your viewing console to see different areas in probability-space as well. Here, this one is a universe basically exactly like the one you left me with yesterday. What, did you think I wouldn't keep track of your save file?" | We'd had an early spring. Sarah and I were eager to catch the fauna's and flora's getting down and dirty, as we always joked. So we packed our things and hit a trail a couple kilometers outside town.
"Love, these clouds could go either way" Sarah muttered as our car approached the station lot. She was right too. The mountains in these hills had a thing for parting the sky like a fairly tossed coin. We scampered on.
Halfway up our trail, footing on the clay/snow aggregate started rising out of the traditionally coarse path and we leaned on each other to break through the more narrow sections. Every so often a mound of old slush would come drifting from a cedar and we'd hear a thing not unlike soft hooves as it pressed into the earth again. As did we.
"Oh bloody hell" she whispered. I looked back to see Sarah 10 meters behind and 10 meters trapped with her leg around a crevice. As she jerked violently to unhinge said ankle, it must have been connected to a deeper vein of geologic symmetry-as her prison held firm but the foundation carved a tectonic plate, just as mobile.
"Shit shit shit" I stumbled towards her in the same moment her wake-board of mud skittered down the ravine, a steepness that can only be held together by the deepest roots, and disappeared with her intact. Her screams and chaos followed into that abyss, and I fell to my knees.
Frantically counting my choices until the stress leaked through I hollered, "Why don't you just take me too man!?"
And the room went white.
A man in his mid-forties sat across from me, tan khakis and a simple purple turtleneck. He stood up, turned the chair facing away from me, and sat in it with his arms folded over the back like they do in relaxed AA meetings, staring at me.
"Alright, so now...?" He spoke.
I stammered back, "Huh-I mean, what?"
"Look," he sighed, "I've obviously seen my end of work. I want someone, preferably with some college education, to give it a go. You're the man for the job. You be me. 24 hours, Uninhibited, be me. There's safeguards, so, just feel free to flex. There's no moral catch-22 here: just make things right" he smiled on that last word. "Be seeing you then."
Just as quickly as I was acquainted, I became alone. The room held nothing but myself, an empty chair, a small folding table with tea and crackers, and an apparatus that consisted of discs floating parallel to the wall, like heavenly polka-dots. I approached the tray, wondering how I wasn't in shock.
Some moments later, after finishing the lady fingers, I thought about (God's?) offer. Maybe I could bring Sarah back home. Maybe I could use it to return. Maybe I could get more lady-fingers. What the hell.
It didn't so much need me to sit down in it, or strap in, as much as I just had to sort of walk into it. My vision blurred and rather than a manic-feed of information and events and choices- I just was. The universe was the universe, and I was just I. Cause effect thinking was not the issue- the issue was the pain. So much endless expanse, but I couldn't get over one vector where all I heard was a song of suffering: so I got busy.
The slums were my first approach- it wasn't that difficulty to reposition them molecularly into skyscrapers and bunkers, disaster proof, a city of diamonds, water, and filled granaries, essentially. The dirty politicians were the next target: I went for a direct angle of dumping the lot on individual islands, with necessities included, somewhere off the coast of New Zealand. A small book about the effects of their deeds rested on a platter in the center. Stories of orphans and diseases, things of that sort.
A half hour into patching up the eroding islands of Dubai, now that the Mid East was the literal hottest destination for people of all beliefs, I caught the echo of footsteps behind me.
"I liked the take on Japans modern architecture you pulled. Incorporating the Sengoku into the corporate atmosphere *was* what they needed, wasn't it?"
I turned around. This time, he was holding a bottle of Jack and what looked like a panini under his arm, a toothy grin on his face. "I really liked, though, seeing your creative side. Hasn't popped through for some time. Have a seat."
Cutting the sandwich in half we ate silently, seated in this neverland, until I decided to speak up.
"It wasn't that hard, you know. Fixing the loss, the needs, why didn't you do it sooner? Sarah didn't exactly mind not dying- she couldn't explain it sure, but whatever happened certainly beat death by landslide." I finished my piece, and he kept his head down, still biting into his portion.
"thaths the thing," he muttered with a mouthful of roasted tomatoes, "my job isn't to solve your problems."
"Excuse me?" I asked, a taste of sharpness on it, "You can't create something and just let it run amok like this, people need directions, tools, guides- do you even see what's been happening? They elected a ferret for God's sake. If people knew you were just some washed up engineer tinkering with people's existence out of sport, real or not, good luck attracting more followers you piece of shit."
In my mind I asked what we had all been thinking. A criticism. I knew because for a short period I had heard, and answered, that critique uncountable times. He nodded solemnly, wiping the corners of his mouth off with one of those tissues you get at a street vendor, and thought for a moment.
"That's the first time you've been honest with me." A simple truth, softly said almost as a word of thanks, somehow stung leagues more than my previous barrage...I reeled.
"You know, when I started all this, all I sought was a friend or two. Someone to share all this..." he motioned to the empty room, "...with. I wasn't lonely, just hopeful. But I can't exactly trap something with self-awareness and choice. Both are fundamental pieces of relationship, as much as I love the ladyfingers, and love doesn't force love."
"That's a cop-out," I retorted, "an easy excuse. You want relationship and selflessness and connection, so you establish an environment of murder for that to blossom? Literally psychotic. And then you have the audacity to judge *us*?"
"There was this brief...time... I considered letting men live a while longer, by a multitude of ten. But for the sake of some semblance of balance, I held it young. Nobody has cared to ask why that wasn't a very difficult decision. Because the truth is- your breath of life is nothing. Not like the one in store. You don't see what happens, what Sarah would have seen, after a second of hurt. Nobody does. So I can fix all your losses and all your problems, or let victims face oppressors in an environment where hurts are not hidden, and justice and reward come second. Love comes first, so choice must come first."
This well-meaning platitude rang in my ears, but the grasp and scope of his denial haunted my ability to process it.
"I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree, then, old chap."
**[Thanks for reading! I've never posted before, and I'm fairly new with short stories, I just wanted to give it a go. I hope you were able to take something out of it, I understand there are a million mistakes, and I will learn if you point some out. The cliches, grammar, whatever, thanks for teaching me!]** | 2017-03-05T03:31:24 | 2017-03-05T02:32:59 | 83 | 14 |
[WP] People earn karma points while alive. When they die, they can spend them either to enter a better afterlife, or to improve the life of some random stranger born on the day of their death. You donate all your points, and wake up the next day as the baby who would have gotten your points.
The living have no idea of the Karma-point system. You are reincarnated with all your memories and experiences. | When I was nine years old, I pulled my baby sister’s body out of the swimming pool. Mom was taking a nap, and Dad was off at work. They’d told me to keep an eye on the baby after a long, sleepless night of unexplained crying. But I was too cool for babysitting. I’d been busy playing with my toys. I hadn’t been watching.
When I found her, she was already gone. I don’t like to think about what happened next, about Mom’s reaction, about the hospital, about the prayers and screaming and pleasepleaseplease bring her back, about Dad coming home, about the days after.
I spent the rest of my life trying to make things right. I gave to charity, I volunteered every weekend, I became a doctor, and I went to the poorest places of the world to heal people with no one else to turn to. But it never made a difference, not where it mattered. After death, it came time to use my karma. I gave it away. Maybe then I would finally get the punishment I had earned.
It took almost a year after being reborn before my infant mind could comprehend what was going on, that I had been remade. But I still did not understand. My parents were here, looking as young and harried as they had when I was a child. And I had an older sibling…an older sibling who looked just like my childhood pictures. An older sibling with my name.
When I finally recognized my new face and knew that I’d been reborn into my doomed baby sister, I cried all night. I was so afraid, but this truly was the penance I deserved. The next day, after my Dad had gone to work and my Mom had gone to bed, I went out to the pool. It was my sister’s retribution, to experience the death my carelessness had caused. Maybe then I would finally be free.
I reached the water’s edge.
I leaned over.
“Lizzie!”
Warm hands, so much bigger and stronger than mine, wrapped around my tiny body and pulled me back. It was me, the other me.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be out here,” said the other me, carrying Lizzie-me back inside. “Come on, you can play with my toys if you don’t slobber on them too much.”
I didn’t understand. I deserved death. I deserved to drown. I deserved…
“You’re a real pain in the butt sometimes,” said the other me, setting Lizzie-me down in the living room. “But you’re my little sister, so I have to look out for you.”
Other me smiled, and I looked down at my pudgy hands.
I deserved…
The other me put a stuffed animal in my lap and went to gather more toys. I looked back to the pool, the still open door.
I deserved…
I looked away and wrapped my arms around the toy unicorn, Lizzie’s favorite. My favorite.
I deserved a second chance.
| Life was a beautiful cycle.
It is said that the phoenix can rise from the ashes of itself, reborn into life and renewed in spirit. Humanity possesses the same gifts, but they do not know of it. Their lives are judged while they live and scored when they cease, until the soul that remains of a life receives a number from the Judges. This number is their new worth. No matter how rich or poor they were in life, they were revalued by the power of their humanity, how they lived when they had the chance. And then, they use these points to be reborn, whether that be an afterlife, or giving them away, being reborn, and trying for more.
A man by the name of Craig Williams died today. He chose to donate and be reborn. He had lived a life that many others would like to live. He taught high school language arts and had a beautiful daughter and a smart, sensible wife. He was not poor but not rich, and he was easy-going and kind when he spoke. The Judges have no roof to the score they can give. Craig received a high score, and, being the kind soul he was, he poured all of his karma, as the number was called, into a child by the name of Abigail Taylor. Then, Craig Williams changed, and was reborn, coincidentally, into the body of a girl named Abigail Taylor.
Abigail was a bright little girl. She was always looking for adventure. She would be young for her grade, her June birthday saw to that. As she grew, however, it because obvious that her age would not matter. She grew tall and lean, her pale skin working in harmony with her pale blue eyes and long blonde hair to make any other girl jealous and every single boy desperate. She was consistently at the top of her class. Years went by. Twitter was eventually bought out by Facebook, stocks rose and fell, trends came and went. The world became cleaner and more efficient. A trip to Mars had been planned for a very near future. And they needed bright people to help with their endeavors.
Abby was still growing. She was only 16, but her textbooks were full of notes about corrected information. Her teachers had to fight to teach her every year. Her friends had to fight to hang out with her. Her male friends had to fight for a chance with her. She studied Monday through Thursday and partied Friday through Saturday, went to church on Sundays and fell in love with her life. She slipped into drugs and enjoyed herself doing it. Girls wanted to be her, and boys wanted to be in her. It was as simple as that.
She graduated as the valedictorian. She was still growing. Abigail went to her dream college and kept studying. She wanted to stay in school for as long as possible. But her dreams changed. She was picked up by NASA for her accolades. She rose quickly, until she was almost heading NASA. It was under her watchful eyes and protective embrace that humanity was able to watch Caleb Werner place his boot on Martian soil. Abigail Taylor was a name known by almost the entire world. The woman who headed NASA during humanity's largest achievement to date. The philanthropist who took a normal base salary and donated the rest to whatever cause needed it the most. Her efforts helped with the worldwide Africa Campaign substantially, pushing the 13 year old organization closer and closer to their goal of making all of Africa first-world. Abigail traveled the world, gave speeches, empowered people and brought them together. She was just a woman, but she was a great one at that. She was a Melinda Gates, a Susan Buffett of her time.
But, as humanity does, they moved on. Abby became old and feeble, and people stopped remembering her as a person and started writing her into history books as a figure of importance. She never married, and she never had a child. And, one day, Abby's heart stopped, and then she stopped, and Abigail Taylor's life ended.
And the soul was back. It was one Craig Williams, and it was once Abigail Taylor. They had together accumulated enough karma to become one of the richest people in an eternal afterlife. And so, the soul, after two lives of different magnitudes but similar impact, began a new life in paradise. All around it, others went on, reaping the benefits of their karma or yearning for more. No matter the background or the experiences the souls had, though, they all knew one thing.
Life is a beautiful cycle. | 2017-04-08T09:32:59 | 2017-04-08T08:12:27 | 7,090 | 368 |
[WP] You're a lazy superhero with the power of precognition. Your modus operandi is showing up to a crime scene ahead of time and making some small change to foil the criminals' plans. | God, I hate Steve.
Don't get me wrong, he makes my job a hundred times easier, but he just has no *professionalism*. He just waltzes in to work, an hour late, and tells me me to meet him in some random spot.
Invariably, where I meet him is at the scene of some supervillain attack. Or, some *attempted* attack. Last week, it was Dr. Serpento, out cold on the floor with his now-empty shoes stuck to the ground with tar, the week before that, Devil Boner was sitting in a bank with a bucket stuck on his head, and this week, The Wolf Master was stuck up a tree, the wolves trying to get at the jerky Steve somehow put in his pocket.
Honestly, that wouldn't even bother me, but he's always there in a bathrobe and pajamas, like some psychic Jeffrey Lebowski, with the same skunky, mildly boozy odor. He just shows up, says what happened, hands me the arrest paperwork, usually filled out only semi-correctly, and says "You're welcome," like a drunk Maui from the shittiest version of Moana and fucks off home to watch Netflix.
Then he met his match. It seemed like a pretty standard bank robbery, but Steve looked rattled when he showed up, even later than usual.
"Bob, you need to come with me, something's wrong."
I looked at the other agents and then back to Steve, and got up. For once, I was actually caught up on paperwork, so I could afford a little nonsense today. We got in my car (Steve takes the bus everywhere), and he directed me to Fifth National Bank, where police had already arrived to the scene. Usually, they'd be carrying out some humiliated supervillain right now, thanks to Steve, but today the scene was markedly less comedic.
"What the Hell did you *do*, Steve?" I demanded, unbuckling my seat belt.
"I don't know what happened! It was like he already knew everything I changed!"
We made our way to the crime scene and produced our badges when the locals cops stopped us. After crossing the tape, we saw the scene: the bank's vault had been opened, and untold millions gone. Curiously, none of the cash was taken, but dozens of safety deposit boxes were taken, seemingly at random.
"Nothing broken, no signs of a struggle. Did one of the tellers open the vault?" I asked one of the cops on the scene.
"No, the tellers said they were told to stay down and out of sight. Said he made sure they stayed away from the panic buttons."
"What, so he opened the vault himself?"
"That is exactly what I saw happening," Steve chimed in, "but I had set up flypaper floor to trip them up."
*Oh boy, here we go.*
"And?"
"The head guy stopped them, and used a torch to burn it. Which I saw later, so then I had them set up a bunch of dye packs right inside the door."
I was silent. Behind us, one of the local cops was scrawling furiously on a little notepad.
"So the head guy had them take out, get this, umbrellas! So obviously, I rigged up a tear gas grenade in the cash pile."
"You fucking, *what?*"
"Don't worry, I disabled it afterward. But then he told his guys not to touch the cash, because it was rigged. So then I told them to switch up the safe deposit they were going to switch for empty ones, since there was no chance of taking them in at this point."
"Huh. That was actually pretty clever," I admitted.
"Yeah, I thought so, too, until the head guy told his flunkies exactly which boxes to take, and managed to make off with everything."
"Shit."
"So I'm just going for broke at this point, I'm going back further. I'm setting up tacks in the parking lot, they roll in with mesh tires, I tell them to set the vault to close automatically when they get in, he changes the setting in the computer right after he walks in the door."
"Did you consider, at any point, warning the local cops?"
The local behind me stopped writing for a moment. "Wait, yeah, what the Hell, man?"
"Well, fucking *duh,* Bob. They switched banks! After I called the cops, they *switched fucking banks.* That's why I was even later than usual! This was all slap-dash last-minute stuff!"
I looked at him with one eyebrow raised, "As opposed t your usual artisanship?"
"You have to admit, locking Frostbite in a walk-in freezer was a stroke of genius."
The local cop grinned, "Hah, *nice*."
I turned to him and frowned, "Would you get out of here?"
I turned my attention back to Steve. "Alright, so why didn't you stop them yourself? You're pretty decent in a fight."
"They were eight guys, with guns, who thought to bring a torch and umbrellas to a bank robbery. What would you suggest I have done?"
---
*Exactly what the history books said you'd do.* | Sometimes superhero-ing can be a thankless job – more so for someone with my powers. I had learned my lesson from my brother before me. He was honorable and ambitious, but eventually that led him to a dangerous habit: proactivity.
My brother convinced me at some point to go into the whole hero gig.
“Jack,” he had said turning to me at our weekly dinner with mom, “It’s been three months. You could do so much more with your gifts.”
I refused to look up and continued to enjoy my mom’s spaghetti. But he did not relent.
“Seriously, dude. It’s awesome and all that you can park outside by that no-parking sign and know you’re not gonna get a ticket or towed, but in the grand scheme of things…”
I hated when he got all noble like that. He had always been a bit preachy, but ever since the Day of the Burnt Sun, he had become damned near unbearable.
“You listen to Matthew, honey.” My mother chimed in to side with my brother. *Big surprise*. “Your big brother is looking out for you. Such a good boy.”
“Just imagine, Jack, the amazing things we could do together.” His eyes softened and glazed over as I’m sure fanciful pictures were dancing through his head. “Me, with my precognition, I could figure out when the crime is about to happen. I’ve tried a couple times, but I can’t really get the changes I need to make right. That’s where you can help!”
My powers deviated just slightly from my brother’s. While he was able to see discrete events that were going to happen, I was sometimes able to see the future, but as if it was a string that branched at different choices. I could then follow one action to its consequence and so on until I got a headache from the infinite possibilities.
My mother got up and went over to the oven to grab desert. I promptly kicked the cat, sending it running from the room screeching furiously. My mother turned quickly.
“Jack! How many times do I have to tell you? Do not torment the cat!”
“Geez, mom!” I replied, “the cat was going to trip you and you were going to drop desert. I just want some friggin’ pie.”
______________________________________________________________________
But Matt did convince me. After that, all I was able to picture the glory and fame of superhero-dom. And so, it went. We *did* build a fanbase with the first few attempts. With his knowledge of future events, and my foresight into consequences, we were able to foil criminal enterprise with minimal effort. The first time, he led us to outside a jewelry store right after the thieves had entered.
“Jack, what do we do now?” He asked. “Call the police?”
“No,” I replied. “Those guys will be out in twelve minutes; the cops get here in fourteen. The cops chase them down… a civilian gets run over during the chase.”
“Then what? We go in there?”
I strained my mind to gather the consequences. “The tall guy pulls out a gun. OUCH! He fucking shot my leg. We are definitely not going in there! But wait…”
I stared at the cars parked on the side of the road and considered them deeply. I walked down the street to an old gray sedan. I kicked at the hood, prop it open, and fiddled with a spark plug that had not been replaced securely. I closed the hood while Matt called the police. They wouldn't be getting away now and no one would end up getting hurt. Against Matt’s protests, I left a calling card, which included links to a website I had set up for us.
________________________________________________________________
I took a few liberties with our next few crime-fighting adventures. I stopped a postal worker going postal at the post office using an angry trapped raccoon, and another time dropped a bank robber with -- *get this* -- a banana peel.
Matt, however, was not one for theatrics or the limelight. He would slink away by the time the police or the journalists with their cameras got there. He seemed to be growing increasingly distant. That’s when I found out he was not informing me of all the gigs. He was going solo on occasion, stopping criminals before they even got started with their crimes. Dropping a few hundred-dollar-bills in front of a guy who was thinking about robbing a convenience store just to get by. Or the lady at the bus stop who he stopped by to chat with every day, just to get her to not kill her husband. Regardless of the satisfaction he got from these small kindnesses, he grew more somber day after day. Finally, he approached me about it one day as we sat on some rocks by the water, staring at a bridge.
“Jack. I need your help.”
“With what?” I looked upwards and smiled as I heard first the screams of a crowd as a man jumped off the bridge, but then applause as he got entangled in the safety net we had placed three hours earlier.
“That guy we just saved... In three weeks, he’s going to place bombs at city hall and go on a shooting rampage at the community center, causing mass casualties. I’ve tried doing small things to change his mind for the past few months. I helped him win the lottery, got him a dog that he loves… but the future doesn’t budge – I might have even made things worse.”
“What? Why did you want to save him then? We should have let him die!”
Matt scoffed and shook his head. “He was going to survive anyway. I thought maybe if he didn’t go through this… you know? But if we told the police?” He looked at me inquisitively.
I searched for that eventuality, grasped at the strings and followed them to their ends. “No… He hasn’t planned anything solid yet, his gun is legal, doesn’t have any explosive supplies, they have nothing on him. He goes free, and still pulls it off. But we could stop him right when he’s about to… oh wait, no. Then both of us die. Don’t worry, Matt. We’ll figure something out -- maybe closer to the date.”
Matt silently got up off the rocks and walked away while I went up to the bridge to greet the reporters. I didn’t hear anything from him for the next week which wasn’t super strange. But then he missed dinner the next week at mom’s. We finally saw him the following week as mom and I were watching the six o’ clock news while eating lasagna.
[ *A Central City man, Matthew Harper, has been arrested today for the murder of James Rolland. Rolland had recently survived a suicide thanks to the efforts of the superhero duo, the Precog Brothers. Harper turned himself in to police, offering the murder weapon, but no motive. No furth*-]
I turned off the television and kicked the cat. | 2017-05-11T08:10:53 | 2017-05-11T06:48:16 | 38 | 22 |
[WP] 250 years after sending the first generation starship in space, another starship begins its voyage. Approaching the edge of the solar system, they spot a decaying, dying ship... | A dark storm seemed to lie on the horizon. Scant scattered light bounced off of forgotten debris, small pieces of an uninhabited space. The dark was profound near the edge; that imaginary edge that we had put in our head.
"We're leaving home," said Catherine.
She always had a mind for the obvious.
"I thought we had already left," I said.
Earth was gone. I would never see it again. That simple fact shook me in a very small, but very large way.
*Home,* I thought.
There was no home. The dark ahead was patient, old and knowing. We would come to it, it knew. There was no rush.
The ship was silent. Through the windows we saw dusty black and an endless sea of the unknown. Some static jumped in a fuzzy blast. Catherine jumped and went to her station. Alan looked out to the dark.
"What is that?" I asked.
"Interference," he said.
"We're getting feedback, a signal from something," Catherine said.
We moved like a ship at sea, very slow it seemed in that vast ocean, and the ship rocked as if hit by waves. I looked out and saw what Alan had seen.
Near the clouds of black I saw the carcass of one of our ships. Old twisted metal, dark and grey, floated near to us. Our searchlights shone against burnt walls and derelict instruments. Some letters of the ship's name were visible on the metal casing, being peeled by some cosmic wind.
"Oh my God."
That could have been anyone of us who said that.
A white light illuminated the ship, being lost in the twists of broken metal. Long shadows fell upon the ripped apart thing.
"Is that the Pioneer?" asked Catherine.
"It was," said Alan.
I stared with that cold homeless feeling within. For the first time in my life I felt afraid of space, and I felt afraid of our journey.
"I don't understand. We've received a transmission from the otherside. We've received confirmation a long time ago! They had reached the otherside!"
Catherine touched my shoulder.
"I don't understand," she said.
We changed course to investigate. I sent the message back home, however far that was. I doubt they ever received it.
Up close the dark drew back, as if a curtain being pulled to show some art piece. The Pioneer was torn and mangled and there was scattered equipment everywhere. But there were no bodies.
"We need to find out what's happened," I said.
"No, we need to stay on course. It was probably a malfunction. The first ships had their flaws," said Alan.
"This doesn't look like a flaw."
"This ship was destroyed," said Catherine.
A cold wave came over us. Alan was right, I knew, but the dark ahead was a barrier for all of us. This was it, and we were afraid to go on. No one had expected to see death's shadow here. There had always been hope of something new, a new world and beginning. We would be among the first.
"I'm going," I said.
I was afraid and felt helpless. Perhaps going was the only decision I could make. It gave me the illusion of power, of some choice in that futile sea.
"You can't," said Alan.
But it was already decided. I went out of the ship, into the cold of space. I felt nothing, but there were ghosts in the vacuum, whispers in that silent that spoke to me. The Pioneer loomed in its eternal rest.
*'You're very far...'* that silence whispered.
My body tingled near the debris. I wondered of the people on the ship, wondered about their lives and thoughts and hopes and dreams.
*Dead,* I thought. *They're dead.*
*'And you'll end up the same...'* said that voice.
Amidst the wreck there were no answers. No signs of malfunctions, just stress on the hull and torn foundations.
"Anything?" asked Alan.
Then that static buzzed in my ear. I heard the others wince as well.
"Is the radio transmitting?" asked Catherine.
"No," I said. "That's impossible. There's nothing here. Everything is destroyed."
I looked around. I felt the warmth of that ship, the false security that its crew enjoyed as they came to the barrier. I could hear them almost. The ghosts of humans, of my kind, brave and big, the first colonizers of space.
I turned to the dark. There are no directions in space, and yet I knew where I looked. The edge stood silent, blacker than black, roaring with some hidden power.
*An imaginary line,* I thought. *There is nothing there.*
But there was the ship. No one had made it past the line. That horizon was deep and unexplored. I wondered if it was a wall, or if the expanse went on forever.
"Come back," said Alan.
They were reeling me in. The static flared once more, saying goodbye.
*'Thanks for visiting. You'll live here too...'*
"What is that?" asked Catherine. "If it isn't the radio then..."
Alan shouted something.
"What's going on?" I asked.
I tried to reel myself in faster.
"I'm picking up something," he said.
"What? What are you picking up?"
Silence. I was almost inside now.
"What are you picking up?"
"Heat," he said. "I'm registering heat. There are people alive there..."
But even he knew that couldn't be true. No one could survive there. There were no bodies.
"Alan, there's nothing there."
I was inside now. The air was heavy and I was weak and exhausted.
"The transmission though," said Catherine. "We received it don't forget. They made it to the new home. They landed safely."
"That can't be," I said. "The ship is there. There's no one there."
Alan looked at his readings.
"The heat isn't coming from there," he said. "It's ahead. Past the horizon."
I trembled at the thought.
*There's nothing there,* I thought.
But something was there. I felt it, hadn't I? Our ship felt small then, a fish against the ocean. I looked at the Pioneer and wondered what could do that to Man's achievement. What could...
*Eat.*
What could eat such a ship?
*Something that's hungry,* I thought.
I looked ahead at the dark and held Catherine. All our fear poured in the empty room. Past the horizon there was unknown space, a deep black that could house anything.
"Alan," I said.
"Yes?"
"How many organisms are you picking up a heat signature for?"
"Just one," he said. "It's big though. I can't say for sure."
There was nothing ahead. And there was something right there.
"It's hungry," I said. "One wasn't enough. It's smart to lure in more."
"What are you..."
But I ignored Catherine.
"Destroy the transmitter," I said. "Do it now!"
Alan ran to the thing and his knees faltered. I saw him older then, an age he would never truly reach.
"What?" I asked.
"It's already transmitting," he said. "We arrived safely. It's giving the okay to send more ships."
I remained silent for long, I suppose. I felt Catherine hold me. Alan too. We stared at each other. Our ship moved slowly in the black sea.
We move still near that storm. Already I can feel the moisture, the salivation in the pich lightless black. Something is here. Something beyong the edge.
*An imaginary line,* I think.
But this coming dark is all too real.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, you might want to check out my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including a few original ones. Thank you for your support!* | **Part I**
The senior watch officer, Lieutenant Moon Lee-Hoon had spotted the signal on the long range infrared array as far back as Io, about two month ago. All signs suggested a metallic surface in long-solar orbit. Everyone else had been excited at the possibilities of what the signal meant. "Aliens" was all but shouted through the corridors.
Then again, everyone else aside from critical crew got to take the cold sleep. Watch officer, Ensign Sahil Patel had instead been ordered to extend his rotation an extra month to monitor the blip.
"Anything new on the LRIA from the unidentified?" honey sweet, the voice curled through the stale cabin air to wrap itself around Sahil's ears. The voice was quickly followed by warmth against his neck in the unmistakably soft embrace of Junior Grade Lieutenant Laura-Kelly Tennyson. He supposed the extra awake time had its perks.
Sahil turned his head and gave Laura-Kelly a quick peck on the cheek. She turned her head to meet his lips with hers.
"You know, this could get us in trouble," Sahil said, pulling back.
"This is a generation ship. We're supposed to form...'relations,'" Laura-Kelly fluttered her eyelashes at Sahil without a hint of irony.
"Yea, but not on shift. What would Sergeant Collier say if he saw us."
"Probably break his frigid heart. He thinks he still has a shot with me," Laura-Kelly laughed, "you didn't answer my question by the way."
"Was too busy letting you distract me."
"Should I save my distractions till later then?" Laura-Kelly said. She sneaked in a quick nibble on Sahil's ear before floating over to a unmanned monitor station in the COMMs room.
"Please and definitely thank you," Sahil said, "as for your other question. Nothing new, mostly. LRIA shows same signal. Same pattern. We're about a week away on our current acceleration. I've been trying convince Captain Ramius to authorize me access to the EM and burst arrays to get a better idea of what we're approaching, but he keeps dodging me."
"Load it up on my station?" Laura-Kelly said.
"What?"
"The EM and burst array controls. Load it up on this station," Laura-Kelly said.
"Uh. What?"
"As the only pilot currently active, that makes me acting CAG, and per-."
"Okay, okay. No need to throw Navy regulation at me. Alright, it's up and running. Just enter your credentials in and pass control back to me. And thanks."
"Don't mention it," Laura-Kelly said, glowering. She stood back up from the station after having logged in and walked back to watch over Sahil's shoulder. Sahil sighed to himself. His quip was going to cost him later, but he didn't have the attention span to think about that at the moment.
Now that he had been given the right tools, he could actually figure out what was floating on the edge of Sol System space. Sahil understood why Captain Ramius hadn't bothered to do a more thorough analysis when the signal was first identified - more likely the interaction of Sol System bodies had mucked up what the LIRA was picking up. Better to just assign someone to monitor it periodically and notify Command should it actually be an issue given that the object was far enough off the UEEF *Aurelius's* flight path to not warrant a credible threat. Sahil's curiosity proved a persistent creature, however.
He adjusted the sensor array's parameters and then fired off a signal package in the direction of the object. Several minutes passed, the empty space filled by idle chat with Laura about some of the rumored pairings between the UEEF *Aurelius's* officers and which of the civilian passengers was the most annoying. A cheerful chirp issued from Sahil's station, interrupting his conversation.
"What you get?" Laura-Kelly leaned in close, then stood back upright suddenly. Sahil poured over the data his signal package had returned. The LIRA hadn't been wrong at all. The EM and burst array had definitely returned metallic signatures, non-naturally occurring alloys along. Ceramics too. All common in ship construction.
"This...this shouldn't be possible," Sahil whispered. He launched the long-range spectrometer and fired off another signal package to look for specific alloy compositions. What returned rendered him speechless.
"Titanium," Laura-Kelly whispered the data scrolling across the screen, "carbon-fiber laminates. Boron-carbides? Steel? It's a ship."
"It's one of our ships..."
"How can you tell?"
"Steel? When was the last time we used steel in ship-building? Two centuries? Three?"
"You sound like you already know what this is."
"An idea at best. We need to show the captain."
_____
**Part II**
"Patel, you realize how this sounds, yes?" Captain Ramius stroked his beard, his green eyes shadowed by his thick brow and glower.
"Sir, at the very least, this warrants a look. Look at these readings from the spectrometer. Using the signal delay between my signal packages and the return, I calculated its estimated position relative to Earth and then reverse-engineered its drift. It's within 142 million kilometers of where the UEEF *Pathfinder* was *supposed* to leave Sol System, two and a half centuries ago. There's no way that's coincidence, captain."
"Patel, you've an excellent record, and while I have no reason to doubt you, without another watch officer to corroborate your findings-."
"I'll vouch for Sahil, Captain," Laura-Kelly said from where she was leaning on the table in the Captain's quarters.
"Now is not the time Lieutenant. I haven't gotten to you yet."
"Navy protocol allows-."
"I do not need to be lectured on Navy protocol. That regulation is for if we are in a combat setting and is a suggestion at best. As we are not currently at war with Mars or Jericho station, your authorization was not appropriate. Furthermore, you knew I was on duty. You should have come to me first."
"Would you have approved it?" Laura-Kelly snapped. She checked herself immediately, "I meant no disrespect, captain, but as acting CAG, I have to agree with Ensign Sahil. Whether or not it is the UEEF *Pathfinder*, this warrants an investigation. An artificial satellite on the edge of Sol orbit within two weeks of our position poses a reasonable mission-critical threat if not a potential combat one, especially as it is not even presenting a NAV beacon or an IFF tag."
"What are you suggesting I do, exactly, Tennyson."
"We can drop thrust just 10%. That only costs us four days in meeting target accelerations. I can work with Flight Planning to adjust our trajectory to bring us closer to the signal source. This would allow us to catapult a corvette with a booster package and a marine squad to investigate. If it's nothing, then they can rejoin us before we exit Sol. If it's what I think it is, then we should suspend mission status anyway and request further instruction from UEEF command," Sahil said.
Captain Ramius crossed his arms and stared at the deck as he deliberated. Sahil exchanged a nervous glance with Laura-Kelly. She nodded reassuringly.
"We're not combat active at the moment and our destroyer escorts aren't due to link up with us for another three days," Ramius shook his head. He reached for the datapad on the table Laura-Kelly was leaning on and looked over his crew manifest, "staffing is limited. The *Halycon* should be up and running in hanger 2. All our marine divisions are still cold sleep so the best I can give you is...OIC, Zero-Company as they delayed cold sleep to run atmosphere drop simulations. Tennyson, you'll fly them over there, and Patel you get to tag along."
"Sir, I haven't-."
"You found it, Patel. You're going. Tennyson, you will be given mission command while I thaw Captain Skaarsgard and the 1st Intercept Wing. I expect mission plan on my desk in two hours."
"Understood, Captain," Sahil and Laura-Kelly saluted, then exited Ramius's quarters. As the bulkhead sealed behind them, Sahil remembered to breath again. His knuckles turned white as he anxiety tightened his grip on his datapad. He flinched at the touch of Laura-Kelly's hand on his shoulder.
"You alright?" Laura-Kelly asked.
"Yea. I'm fine. I guess I should have expected him to send me over there."
"When was the last time you did a combat boarding?"
"Training."
Laura-Kelly giggled, though he could tell that it was only 60% genuine. He had known her long enough to know when she was putting on a brave face.
"Don't worry," she leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek before turning towards the hanger lift, "I'll look after you."
| 2017-10-23T11:34:07 | 2017-10-23T11:33:46 | 59 | 33 |
[WP] Due to your nerdy great great great great grandfather in 2017 'buying a star' and some modern legal shenanigans you are now the proud owner of a small intergalactic empire | Carl watched as the being devoured the man that had been clipping his nails next to him on his flight. Instinctively, he wiped the specks of blood from his jacket. Pointless, he thought, and closed his eyes. At least it would be quick and painless.
Opening his eyes after what felt like an eternity, he gasped. The tentacles had retracted, and the husk that was left resembled a giant brain.
>TESTING TESTING
Huh? Where had that come from?
>DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?
Carl nodded and gulped at the same time.
>ARE YOU CARL
Nodding again, he squinted in confusion.
>WELCOME HOME EXALTED ONE
Home? Home was a cube the size of a refrigerator on Zormax 4. Here? He didn't really know where he was. He had accepted one of those "you've won a free cruise to the Wastes" mindchip calls, out of sheer desperation for a bit of a vacation.
>IS IT REALLY THE SIZE OF A REFRIGERATOR
Carl nodded, his head seemingly stuck in a loop. "Uh... yes? It's... quite nice though."
>WHERE DO YOU WORK? AN ENERGY STATION? HA. HA. HA.
Normally, Carl would make a quip back. He dealt with enough shit from intergalactic truckers to take criticism for what he did, but this time was different. He wasn't sure whether or not he would be turned into a meat slushie like Gustav over there had.
>MEAT SLUSHIE? DO THEY SELL THOSE ON ZORMAX 4?
Shaking his head, Carl sighed. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"
>YOUR GREAT GREAT GREAT GRANDFATHER, WITH A FEW HUNDRED MORE GREATS, PURCHASED THIS STAR EONS AGO. WE MET HIM THEN, WHEN WE WERE LITTLE MORE THAN THE SIZE OF ER, WHAT YOU CALL FLEAS. OUR TRANSPORT SHIP HAD CRASHED AND AFTER THE ORDEAL WAS DONE, WE ASSUME HE DECIDED TO BUY THE STAR AS A REMINDER
"Er, my grand...father?"
>YES. HE HAD TO PROTECT US FROM OVERZEALOUS MOVIE PRODUCERS. THEY THOUGHT WE WOULD BE THE NEXT E.T. BUT WE KNEW OUR IMAGE RIGHTS WOULD BE EXPLOITED. THANKFULLY YOUR GREAT GRANDFATHER SNUCK US INTO A STARSHIP WHICH WE COMMANDEERED HOME
"Are you serious? What does this have to do with me?"
>WELL TECHNICALLY THE DEED IS STILL VALID. IT TOOK US A FEW MILLENIA TO FIND THE DESCENDANT WHO LEGALLY OWNED THIS PLACE. JANICE FROM THE LEGAL DEPARTMENT WAS MEANT TO DO IT A FEW THOUSAND YEARS AGO BUT SHE WENT ON MAT LEAVE. SO WHEN WE FOUND OUT YOU WERE TAKING THAT CRUISE IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD, WE FIGURED WE'D REACH OUT AND INTRODUCE OURSELVES
"And you want me to..."
>WELL, ITS UP TO YOU. YOU'RE SORT OF THE BOSS AROUND HERE NOW. WE'VE GOT A NICE LITTLE SYSTEM GOING HERE. A FEW HUNDRED PLANETS CONQUERED, SOME BLOOD FARMS DOWN THE ROAD. LIFE'S GOOD
Carl looked at the stain formerly known as Gustav, and grimaced.
"What about..."
>HIM? OH HE WAS GOING TO KILL YOU OR EXTORT MONEY TO GET YOU HOME. YOU KNOW THOSE CRUISES ARE SCAMS RIGHT?
ANYWAY, LET ME SHOW YOU AROUND | "Hey guys?” Anthony said, fidgeting onboard an intergalactic spaceship. “I’m really not comfortable with this.”
The tiny yellow creatures around him looked up, some with their one eye, others with two. Their brows furrowed and one of them pushed through the crowd.
“But Anthony,” Melrose, the leader of these creatures, with short stubby limbs and a single eye, said, “you have bought us. You own our stars, our land, and all that inhabit it. We exist to serve you.”
“Ok, sure, but when I get off this ship, do I really need to walk down a staircase made of… whatever you guys are called? I meant, can’t we just use a normal staircase?”
“A normal staircase?” Melrose chuckled and the rest of the yellow creatures laughed. “Oh benevolent master, how else will we *whatever you call us* know that we are merely dirt beneath your feet, to be stepped on and used as you see fit?”
“Okay, that’s also another issue,” Anthony said. “Also, don’t call me Master. I mean, I’m black. My people have spent centuries getting away from that.”
“Would you prefer Our Owner? The Man who has Bought Us? The Wrathful God who we are Mere Toys to?”
For a second, Anthony could only stare, his jaw slack. “Master is fine,” he relented.
“Now, we must talk about your ceremonies. We have prepared virgins to sacrifice on your alter.”
“Woah, woah, woah!” Anthony waved his hands. “No, I do not want that.”
“What’s wrong with virgins?” Melrose asked.
A hushed clamor sounded throughout the ship. “Are you saying I can’t be sacrificed anymore?” a voice chimed in.
“No!” Anthony shouted. “And virginity’s not the problem! I just don’t want sacrifices. Hell, I’m a virgin!”
A round of gasps sounded. “But Master,” Melrose said. “You are already of twenty-six earth year’s age. Your most prominent years or reproduction are ending. It is time’s like this when virgin sacrifices are most necessary.”
“Okay, no. First of all, I still have a few good years left. And secondly, I don’t want your virgin sacrifices!”
A silence settled in the hull of the ship interrupted only by the creak of metal. Melrose sighed and spoke into the communicator he wore on his wrist. “Cancel the ceremony,” he said. “Our Master has demanded so.”
“But we spent months preparing for it!” a distressed voice said back. “We’ve made promises. Written checks. Prepared virgins!”
Melrose turned, replying in a whisper but still loud enough for Anthony to hear. “Well, what do you want me to do about it? Our lives are but playthings to our Master. He doesn’t care how much effort we put into these things. We are dirt beneath his feet.”
Anthony put up a finger to protest. “Well, hold on. That’s not fair.” But he couldn’t get a single word in.
“If he so willed it, he could take the stars from us and leave our people shivering until our hearts freeze over and our parents, our friends, and our children all die,” Melrose said. “We are worth less than the insects he slaps away.”
“That’s not true either.” Anthony raised his finger and his voice, but to no avail.
“For all of eternity, our crop will belong to him. Our children will be his. No fruit we bear, nor—”
“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Anthony stepped up to Melrose. “Who the hell do you think I am? My grandfather bought me a star to name when he was drunk. I am *not* some God or some Owner or some Master. In fact, if I was, my first order of business would be to free you all. There, you don’t have to call me Master anymore.”
His voice echoed throughout the ship. Nobody else spoke. Then, the communicator cackled.
“Damn it, Melrose,” the voice said. “Not even our Master wants us!”
Melrose’s single eye teared up.
Anthony shook his head. “Well… no, that’s not what I said.”
But his words didn’t help. Tears burst out of Melrose’s eye as he fell onto the floor wailing. “I’m so sorry,” he cried in between heaving breaths. “I just wanted to make you happy.”
“Damn it, Melrose! We entrusted this to you!” the voice from the communicator shouted. “You incompetent bastard.”
“Okay, Melrose, you're not incompetent. That’s not at all what this is… look listen to me… it’s not you, its’ me.”
One by one, the yellow creatures burst into tears, each collapsing onto the floor and wailing. Anthony looked around, his brow raised, mouth agape, and heart racing.
“Okay!” he screamed, shutting everyone up. “Okay! Okay! You guys aren’t free. I won’t set you free.”
Melrose picked himself up, wiping his eye. “Really? And we can still call you Master?”
Anthony sighed. “Sure, you can call me whatever you want.”
“And the staircase made of our backs? We can still do that?”
Anthony pursed his lips. “Sure, that too.”
“And the virgins?”
“Oh God damn it!”
| 2017-10-24T11:53:59 | 2017-10-24T11:50:31 | 112 | 68 |
[WP] Your teleported to 44BCE Rome in your everyday street clothes. You're brought before Caesar and he believes you're from the future, hoping to bring him fortune. One day he questions you, asking "How do I die?"
Weewwww never knew my prompt would gain so much attention, thanks guys for all the interesting stories and comments | "My Latin no good much," I mumble, stalling for time.
Caesar's already implacable face hardens further. "Your Latin *good much* enough. Answer." The command is absolute, carrying death behind it.
The stab of fear rebounds within me, and a surge of anger answers. "Would you know things whose knowledge makes them inevitable? Would you surrender all power for the privilege of certainty?"
Caesar flinches. My retort had spoken both of his languages fluently - Latin, and *power*.
He recovers, but is more guarded. "What would you *advise*, without springing the trap?" he asks.
"Reestablish the Republic and retire to Gaul," I say.
Wry humor and resignation flicker across his face. "But you know I will not do that," he says.
"Indeed," I say.
He pours the wine, and we drink. A chill wind blows outside. | *“Tell me, how do I die?”* Caesar asks me in a language that seems familiar, but unavoidably foreign. Being an ignorant American, I naturally have no idea what the hell he is saying because I exclusively speak in poorly-worded English.
By some immeasurable stroke of luck however, my phone is still operational, as is my translator app. Wow. I should write in to Verizon, they can advertise that you’ll still get 4G-LTE after exposure to a temporal rift.
*”Eyyyy?!”* Caesar says to me, impatience resonating in his voice.
I use my translator to promptly say, *“What do you want?”*
Startled at first by the magical rectangle in my hand, Caesar warms up to it quickly. With a determined voice, he speaks into the phone. *“How will I die?”*
Not being a history buff, I quickly give his question an internet search. The first result is what I need, and it begins loading up when some large man in a robe similar to Caesar’s approaches excitedly. He begins conversing with the emperor, and the two seem to be arguing, but far too quickly for my translator to register.
After the two finish their conversation, the large, bearded man gives me a puzzled, untrusting stare, and shuffles off. Caesar motions to my phone, so I bring it to his face, translator ready.
*“That was my dear friend Brutus. He and other senators have requested my presence for an urgent matter. When I return we will continue our conversation about my future.”*
I nod to show my understanding, and Caesar gives me two thumbs up and a big smile, a gesture I had shown him earlier. He walks away in the same direction his friend had gone. What a cooky guy.
Brutus. The name sounds awfully familiar. I shrug my shoulders and look back at my phone, exiting the translator app. A curiosity washes over me as I open up an internet enabled calendar, to see if it has updated to pinpoint exactly what year I’m stuck in. To my astonishment, the exact date appears on the screen: March 15, 44 BC.
Wow technology is absolutely crazy. I begin to hear an uproar from a nearby temple, with lots of shouting and alarms being sounded, but that’s been pretty commonplace since I’ve arrived. Rome sure is a noisy place. I pull out my earbuds, start listening to some jams, and begin scrolling through my social feeds as various guards and other people run by. Reddit will not believe the day I’ve had. | 2018-02-15T21:12:07 | 2018-02-15T20:47:22 | 109 | 33 |
[WP] A young gay dragon has to explain to his parents why he is only kidnapping princes | "Mom," said the Young Gay Dragon, "Dad. I see you've noticed that I've only been kidnapping princes."
"Yes we have, son," replied the Young Gay Dragon's Old Straight Father Dragon somberly.
"I can explain myself. You see, I only kidnap princes because they fetch larger ransoms from their rich, royal dads. As a dragon, my primary motivation is the amassing of a giant pile of riches. We live in a patriarchal, feudal society in which female human offspring are essentially valueless unless attached to a significant male name and capable of bearing male offspring. It just didn't make economic sense to keep hauling my ass into these shit-smears people call towns to snatch pock-marked high-born broodmares worth a pittance and a half. Hence the kidnapping of princes-- it's all just a extortion scheme and really a metaphor for the greed of the power elite but anyway also I'm gay. Not that that has to do with anything. When I'm ready to get down to it I'll find a nice Young Gay Dragon to have fun with. I clearly couldn't be intimate with a human with my gigantic reptile penis, acid blood, and fire breath. The very idea is absurd. I fuck Young Gay Dragons. I steal people. I eat cows. It's not for everyone, but it's the life for me, Mom and Dad."
"That's inspiring, son," said the dragon Mom and Dad. "We love you. Goodnight." | *I managed to get to be the 4000th upvote (I'm not sure how accurate that is) but either way I'm taking it as a sign, so I am going to bust out this throwaway/alt account (because paranoia/anxiety) and try to actually do this one!!*
Drag had a problem. A big problem. A huge problem in fact. He had finally managed to nab the cutest boy in his life, and now the boy would be living with him! What could be better than having your own prince charming?
The problem wasn't with the boy. I mean, going from being waited on hand and foot to now waiting on a dragon claw and tail while in a maid outfit, well let's just say the 20 something hunk of man meat wasn't exactly excited about the experience. This was pretty normal for Drag though, I mean, every rom com Drag had ever seen told him this is how relationships were *supposed* to start.
No the problem was *why* the boy had to wear a maid outfit in particular, Drag still lived with his parents.
Embarrasing, I know, Drag's Dad wasn't really around much and his mom was always out with friends so I guess they always felt a little bad for neglecting their child. Like somehow now that they were retired they could push him more outside the nest more even though it had been 160 years since then and Drag was clearly not going anywhere.
Drag hoped that if the boy would just keep quite long enough, Drag might be able to make his parents think he was a girl, then once the boy inevitable fell in love with him, as Drag had been told since birth was *supposed* to happen, Drag could just move in at his place at his palace. Even if Drag's parents did find out, sure his parents were old fashioned, but surely they would care more that he was moving out, right?
Why this ended up being such a huge problem though was Drag underestimated a few things. First, how for as girly as the prince was, Drag underestimated how unwilling he would be in participating in Drag's plan. Second, when Drag panicked and his parents came home early from their trip over seas, how perceptive his parents would be at finding out he was hiding a boy in his closet (he panicked what was he *suppose to do?* Killing him would be leave blood everywhere!) Third, how mad they would be when he said that he found boys attractive.
He tried explaining that it wasn't like he was gay! He just found some boys attractive! And beside who cares? He was moving out soon!
The fourth thing Drag underestimated however, was that after his prince managed to escape him, how hard it was to find a place to sleep at night.
Drag wasn't sure what to do after he was kicked out, he eventually found a cave near a village, but then the prince ended up sending a bunch people to kill him. He tried going back home, but his parents didn't seem to want him either. I guess that was his own fault, no one could love a dragon like him anyhow.
*(Sorry if this got weirdly personal toward the end lol)* | 2018-05-03T19:03:43 | 2018-05-03T17:41:13 | 22 | 11 |
[WP]Everyone can bend a single element just like in avatar.However these are actual elements like Argon.Most powerful individuals bend metals or flammable materials.But not you you bend carbon.You bend the carbon in people’s bodies. | Carbon.
The most common element in the world.
In a way, it's sort of a blessing. I was given the freedom to fuck around with the world as much as I liked. Of course, there were consequences. Like accidentally destroying Sydney by displacing all the carbon dioxide. Or Tokyo, with a few minor edits to the fault lines. Of course, who could forget scaring the fuck out of politicians by making their clothes disappear on camera?
Obviously, I used my powers for good, albeit several missteps. I mean, who here would really miss New York? Or Amsterdam? Or Berlin?
Okay, maybe I wasn't such a good person after all. But hey, everyone makes mistakes! I do good things too! The countless lives I've saved, by changing DNA and conducting surgery from the comfort of my bed, or by inspiring space travel by constructing lunar bases while on the toilet, or by ending world wars by flipping a coin. I mean, wouldn't that make up for the \(accidental\) destruction of a few cities? I was always vilified by the press, with headlines such as "Karbon Killer Strikes Again!" or "Vancouver Destroyed! Millions Dead!". I mean, they were all accidents! Sometimes, I need a little carbon to fix a torn aorta, or a ruptured organ, so I nick a retaining pin here and there! Shouldn't the engineers get the blame? After all, they fucked the building up. It was only a few foundation rods!
But hey, my schedule doesn't just consist of destroying Moscow or Pyongyang. I also do fun stuff! Like causing public chaos! Just the other day, I made the clothes of a prominent CEO disappear! In my defence, that guy WAS a jackass. He killed a whole bunch of people, even more than me, with his fucking chemicals and bullshit pesticides. So, I made his clothes disappear in front of Congress, while livestreaming. His screaming was quite fun, but his futile attempts at covering his nether regions took the cake. First. his arms disappeared. The panic! That certainly took the cake. Then, his right leg! The feed kinda went wonky at that point, since he probably fell over, but the fun wasn't over yet! I made his nether regions disappear, then his other leg, then his arms. He's gonna be fucked for life! Serves that prick right.
Ah, carbon.
Don't get me wrong, it wasn't all embarassing CEOs. I also saved a whole bunch of people from fires, and fixed them up with skin grafts and whatnot before sending them off on a custom\-built spaceship to a wonderful vacation on my moonbase. It was quite a good day, albeit the destruction of Stockholm.
Dammit. Not again.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I think it's time to play Jenga with the Trans\-America Tower.
Fuck. I really suck at this game.
Sorry. | (I'm kind of new at this, but let's try)
"God fucking dammit" Was the last thing I heard before my walkie-talkie was scrunched up in my hand. Around me, various other steel objects were also forcibly crushed by seemingly nothingness. I remembered what my officer told me, "take Kevlar over Riot Gear", she told me, if I hadn't listened, I may have been crushed already.
Hiding behind a box in the corner of a warehouse made to supply car chassis was already a bad day, but whilst apprehending Don Diego, the criminal mastermind with a notorious ability to bend iron to his will? Easily at the high end of worst days of my life.
"Where are ye" He called aloud, the sound of boxes and metal clanging together far off on one end of the house. The boys at the station knew where I was, but it would take them maybe 15 minutes to get down here, too long for me to sit here and wait to get piled under a bunch of car skeletons, I'm going to have to do this by myself.
What would she say? "Stay focused and don't panic" would be her first words, I tried to drown out the sounds of clashing, to breathe and take deep breaths. I tried to focus on my element, the little bits of carbon that made up the world around me, from the ground to the metal parts to the scrunched up walkie-talkie to the moving mass of rage in the centre of the warehouse.
This is just as much my realm as it is Don's
"Over here, Don!, I want to see your ugly mug!"
Immediately the crashing stopped, my sudden stupidity must have shocked him to pause for a moment, enough for me to get ready. Slamming my foot against the ground and the boxes of steel bolts fell over from the stack. I leapt up from under the cover I had and uppercut the air, immediately the bolts sprung to life, swarming at Don in a furious swarm of steel insects. Steel was 4 parts iron to 1 part copper. It would be moments before Don managed to regain control, so I threw another box of bolts at him, this time still in the box, but Don managed to throw up an X formation and the swarm quickly solidified into a barrier to protect himself.
I dove at the next selection of boxes to avoid the stream of bolts heading my way, tearing through my makeshift cover and sending the chairs that were in them into pieces across the back. My next hideout was much more favourable, a couple of engine parts and an old busted engine.
"Dat was a good trick, cop" He called, the scattered bolts drawing back towards the centre for a swirling ball of metal, "But ya tricks ain't so good here"
Oh, but I was not out of tricks, swiping at the air ahead, the engine and parts tore through the cardboard, flying at Don. Don made wide sweeping gestures like a swimmer and the swarm followed suit, deflecting off the lighter parts but was forced to move out of the way for the old engine, just like I wanted it to.
The soot that filled the old engine was forced out into the air around Don in a puff of smoke. He started to cough at the soot attack and the jangle of metal against stone filled the warehouse. I leapt over my makeshift cover and ran at him, pulling out my handcuffs.
"Surrender yourself," I told him, "You have the right to remain silent"
The mob boss was too busy hacking and coughing on the ground to bend iron anymore or resist me placing cuffs on his wrists, but I only got one hand before he socked me in the nose. A satisfying crunch and fresh blood spurted out as I fell to the floor.
"Fine, I can't have this place" Don muttered between coughs, "Least I got me a bargan for the family" he grinned
"No!" I yelled, through the headsplitting ringing I had received and
dragged at the air. This was no time for focus, I felt the atoms that made up Don's body rise to my jerking motion, pulling and twisting to my movement. I sent the helpless body into the nearest wall, a sound like a rock hitting a rock was the last thing I heard before the ringing talk over.
The sirens of the cops were here, I had done the impossible and captured a legendary mob boss, and I never want to do that ever again.
| 2018-05-08T06:10:18 | 2018-05-08T06:03:47 | 79 | 22 |
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