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[WP] You were genetically modified as an embryo to survive on Mars. You can breath the thin atmosphere of carbon dioxide. You are impervious to the cold. And now you are growing up on the red planet, raised by parents who might as well be aliens to you, trying to figure out who you are. | I live in a time between two stases - the world where we can differentiate to be whatever we want, no matter our genetics, and the world where we can modify ourselves (again, for the sake of freedom).
I live in the era of growing pains - the era where the only way to be genetically modified is in the womb. My life has been predestined for me by my parents, in grad school and seduced by the idea of being the first parents of a child able to live on Mars. When my birth was a success, they immediately began making the program public, not realizing that they had created a new species, a species doomed to live on a planet of cold and rust with parents who must live in seperate quarters for their feeble bodies.
The technology was not advanced enough for me to be able to breathe oxygen and carbon dioxide at the same time. I was placed in a pod until I was transported to Mars, and, to this day, I have never touched my family. I must wear an Earth suit to enter their room, and they must wear a Martian one to enter the rest of the world.
It isn’t that I hate them; though I find their selfishness contemptible and their foresight lacking. They have done the best they can to raise me. I know if they could do it all over again, they would let me be normal. They respect my choice enough for that, at least.
So I stand, in a T-shirt and jeans, on a planet that would freeze to death any normal person that tried to live upon it. There are a group of M-humans my age sitting in a circle, talking. I walk over, and listen to them talk. This is a group of people who have learned, firsthand, how powerless pity is in making someone feel welcome. They do not know me, who I am, or how I have condemned them. They only see my thicker, paler, skin, the ridges on my neck, and my discolored veins.
I slip easily into the conversation. There is a camaraderie here, even on Mars. There is a place for everyone, even on Mars. I will find my people, even on Mars.
I look into the tinted sky and see the Sun, the beacon of light that ties all of our lives together, Martian and Earthian alike. There is hope for us yet. | "Gentlemen, please take a seat."
The small group emerged from their quiet conversations and positioned themselves around the unassuming table. Meetings such as these were nothing like Hollywood would have you believe. Real decisions weren't made in bright conference rooms in D.C., or in ornate Italian libraries overlooking the Vatican. The modern world was molded here, in the shadows of a nondescript bunker known only to the members of The Council.
"Time is short," said the Chairman, his face cloaked in darkness. "For those of you who have just arrived: we intercepted a transmission thanks to #5's well placed sources in Chinese space agency. It is a video message, roughly one minute long, and the point of origin has been confirmed as Mars."
Figures shifted in the dim light. No matter how many elections this group had manipulated, no matter how many disasters they had diverted -- or in some cases, facilitated -- learning of contact with their neighboring planet was startling.
"#5 has informed me that we have only hours until this broadcast reaches the satellites of every major nation. By that time, we will need to have a strategy in place that serves this Council's interests." Then, over his shoulder to an unseen technician, the Chairman said, "Play the clip."
The video's lighting was poor. Atmospheric conditions on the red planet weren't conducive to filming, and this video appeared to have been shot in a cave. Everything was tinged in a crimson glow -- except the single figure filling the frame.
Scale was difficult to measure, but its body couldn't have been more than two feet tall. The pitch black skin was crisscrossed with stripes of blue that seemed to pulse in a rhythm, almost as if it were breathing through neon gills. But most shocking of all, at least to a knowing observer, was the humanoid face: two large eyes, the same color as the body markings, complimented with a small nose and mouth.
Its limbs were each twice as long as the body. The creature rested on all four as it addressed the camera in perfect English:
"Humans of Earth. I am known as Ulock. My people are not of your solar system. Where we hail from is not important now -- I do not have long. I am part of an advance colonization program. Several hundred genetically modified embryos, fired at near-light speed from our home world to travel four of your Earth decades through the vacuum of space. We landed on what you call Mars six months ago. My siblings and I are almost fully grown. In just weeks, we will be ready to begin the invasion."
If anyone in the dark room was breathing, you couldn't hear it. This creature didn't need to specify where they intended to invade.
"We were designed for Mars and Earth atmospheric acclimatization. We do not know family or remember anything of our home world. We were grown for one purpose. War.
"My hatch-siblings do not know I am messaging you. Most of them thirst for battle, but some feel as I do. We should not extinguish Earth life. It is wrong. But if our cruisers are allowed to begin the attack, you will surely lose. The others must be stopped before they leave Mars."
Something rattled in the background of the clip. The creature was clearly startled as it began rushing to complete the message: "I must go. You can communicate with me at this frequency. Hurry Humans, there is little time."
With that, the video ended. Lights came up softly in the room, never so much that the Council member's faces would be revealed. Still, the chill and tension of the room didn't require vision -- you could feel it in the air, weighing heavily on them all.
The Chairman stood, leaned over and put both hands on the table. "You've seen the message. Now the Council must decide how to respond."
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50/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
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edit: grammar | 2018-08-09T11:07:55 | 2018-08-09T10:00:19 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego..
[removed] | I approached the gated community in a blue Toyota Rav 4. I chose the vehicle because their were three others like it in this pleasant area. It was full of the type of people who bought colorful Toyotas. I parked on the opposite side of the street from the lilac house. It was debateably hideous, but I thought I could see what Mavis was going for.
A knock on my window startled me from my thoughts. I swiveled to see a smiling girl wearing a "save the whales" t-shirt.
"Oh, shit."
Mavis smashed a fist through my window and threw me onto her neighbor's neatly kept lawn. I stumbled to my feet, nearly falling back down. "Want to know how I found you?"
Her golden hair blinded me as she tackled me back to the floor. I shook my head to get her hair off my face. She fixed her eyes on mine with drawn in brows.
"Oh noo," I opened my mouth in cartoonish bewilderment. She dragged her eyes down past my suit and onto the short dagger jutting from her stomach. I yanked it out despite the fact that my suit would be ruined.
Blood explanded and dripped from the whale on her shirt, creeping across the sunny beach scene. "Got a bit cocky." I shoved her off of me.
She gasped when she landed flat on her back.
"I won't make you suffer, love."
She fixed me with a glassy stare and fruitlessly moved her lips in a silent message. I cradled her head. "Relax, it's okay. It's okay."
Snap.
I stood shakily and made unfortunate eye contact with an old women clutching a mug to her chest.
I held up my blood coated hands. "We're just having a chat." | A man ran desperately through a dark alley. His eyes were those of a prey being hunted down by a cunning predator. His heavy breathing was reminiscent of a person who had reached his limit in a marathon.
*I got to get away, if I could only face him–*
Just before the man could finish his own thought, a dark-aura crashed into him like a freight train. The powerfully-built man was thrown a few ways away, like a rock skipping on the surface of a lake. The man struggled to lift himself up again after a few moments.
"Y-You... No, no," the man with an emblazoned 'M' on his chest said as he tried to limp away.
"No chance, mate," a cold serious tone of another man suddenly echoed from the darkness.
With that, a shadow moved to intercept the limping man. The result was a fountain of blood gushing through a huge hole on the man's right shoulder. As one do when subjected to such a painful experience, the man shouted at the top of his lung. Even so, he continued to limp away despite the bloodied hole on his torso.
*I... need to find somewhere to hide...* the limping man thought to himself.
"Not enough of a critical hit, huh? Fine."
A burst of shadows then hit the limp man repeatedly across his body. A mere second later, the bloody figure simply fell down face-first onto the cold concrete floor of the alley. Even so, the man's torso still lifted up and down ever so gently indicating that he was still in fact alive.
"I'm not one to let a dying animal suffer for too long, so," a hooded man emerged from the shadow and quickly stabbed the bloodied man on the floor with a sabre of some sort, "now die and don't come back, will you."
A cold breeze of the night gently swept through the alley. The moonlight shone bright, some reflected off of the hooded man's sabre and metal items. He took a few deep breaths and let out a sigh before wiping down his bloodied sabre. Once done, he sheathed the sabre back into a hidden scabbard within his dark robe.
But when he was about to walk away...
"Y-You... can never defeat us... Even if you k-kill me..." the presumed-corpse behind him suddenly muttered as the hooded man pulled out his sabre once more.
"How?! Fine," the hooded man simply rushed forth – slashing and slashing away at his adversary.
However, as he was focused on truly ending the fight – or rather, cold murder – a riot of men had appeared around him. He was caught off guard, not realising that he was outflanked before it was too late. What perplexed him was the men's face and getup – all identical to the man still being skewered by his sabre on his feet.
The hooded man pulled off his hood and took out a phone. He simply laughed as the other person on the line responded.
"Yes, master... Do you require any assistance?" a high pitched voice from the other side of the line asked.
"No, I can handle *all* of them on my own. Just calling to let you know I'll be entering the lair rather late tonight, please prepare a decent meal for when I get home."
"It would be done, master." | 2019-08-06T18:28:40 | 2019-08-06T18:08:59 | 69 | 48 |
[WP] The team's healer is absolutely sick and tired of always being insulted or forgotten about so they join the bad guys; they are a much more terrifying villain than anyone thought possible. | "Please, I beg you, I'm sorry!"
Janivar hated this part, the begging.
"Shut up. Lord Tansalon has passed his judgement. I am merely here to execute his will. Don't take it personally."
The man was bound to the pyre. Janivar had built it himself. He was very good at building fires. He was usually left behind to tend the fire, cook the meals, pitch the tends, and eventually healing the so called heroes. That was before he discovered his true potential.
Janavir toyed with the man. "What did you do to warrant this rather than a simple hanging? Slandered Lord Tansalon? Eyed one of his dark wives? Stole from him?"
The bound man flinched.
"That's it! What did you steal? I do hope it was worth it."
"I merely skimmed the tithes. Just a bit; no one would have ever known."
"He sees all. It's not just a saying. He is a gifted Seer. Do you know much about the magical talents?"
The bound man was silent.
"I am a gifted Healer. I can see the confusion on your face. I've had to explain this to many before you. I could lay hands on you and heal; any novice Healer can do that. I can bind the healing power to this amulet."
He held up an unremarkable looking necklace.
"Normally the wearer would be instantly healed from most injuries. People pay me handsomely for these. This one is for you."
Janavir raised the amulet high and began chanting. A wind swept through the woods and a general feeling of well being washed over them. The man was briefly relieved of the pain in his bindings. Janavir placed the amulet around the man's neck.
"Everyone knows magic requires energy. This amulet will use fire energy to heal you. Unfortunately you will also be the fire."
He lit the pyre. The man struggled ineffectively. The flames washed over him. His clothing burned away and then the outer layers of his skin. The amulet glowed and his skin grew back only to be burned away again. He screamed. Normally his vocal chords would become tired, but those too healed.
This went on for some hours. Eventually the fire would burn low and the amulet would expire. If he was lucky there would be enough smoke to asphyxiate him. More likely he would survive the ordeal with hideous burns.
Janavir hoped he survived. Burned men were a good deterrent to thievery. | **I probably could’ve cared less if they had merely disrespected** ***me***.
“I would now like to direct your honor’s attention to exhibit 4, an extensive draft on arcane arts penned by Dremony herself.”
>… Despite the simplicity of casting or invoking, even basic healing spells contain some of the most complex machinery among magics of their level. By raw count, healing domain effects of Grade IV and lower contain a *mean* of approximately 171 elementary arcanisms, nearly double the mean of the next highest standard domain and around 5x the average of all those indexed in *Maldus’ Primer*. This complexity is not solely introduced by the complexities of anatomy however. Gwendol’s Healing Touch, for example, uses around 60% of its components to bind of anatomical concepts with arcane ones. 10% is comprised of fairly standard overhead for mana abstraction and power channeling. The remaining 30% though are “locks” that prevent the spell from being used for negative effects. These locks would be fairly effective if devised from each creator’s manaprint, but 92% of healing effects surveyed in this study contain locks identical to, or only superficially-tweaked from, the four created by the great mage Hippocratas, twelve centuries ago, using cryptoarcanics that weren’t even state of the art for his era …
**Disrespecting a person could be an accident. Even if the “accident” took the form of daily verbal abuse.**
“A full week before the deaths of the 17 members of the Delver’s Guild in Greenbridge Squad A, and the independent disappearance of Dremony’s former party members Ashford, Zeln, Nihanop, and Valens, the defendant had penned and copied over one hundred and fifty of these manuscripts and was preparing to send them across the continent.”
>… As with all spells effective against biological and chemical poisons, Divine Counterpoison centers around a core “sieving” mechanism that identifies and separates the poisons from healthy tissue. Without lock H3, the target of this removal can be easily modified. Aside from amorphous creatures, however, the targeting of bodily systems is nearly always disastrous. Indeed, removing and eradicating an individual’s muscles or nerves or bowels, as one would wring out a sponge, is instantly fatal, and, curiously, bypasses their natural ability to resist magical injury for practically no mana cost! ...
**But disrespecting an entire field, an entire realm of knowledge and art, was a choice. A form of willful ignorance that spoke louder than any name-calling could.**
“She even sent a copy directly to Abigail -- she’s the one who called you ‘a yappy bitch worth less than a bracer of healing’ right, Miss Lightseeker? -- who our staff necromancers indicate must have already died of blood loss by the time it was delivered.”
>… Magical cures targeting viral agents have particularly advanced identification systems. After lock-picking the H1+H4 complex, these components can be copied quite easily to other spells, enabling a variety of effects to be applied to the virus itself, including “positive” ones that might otherwise be reserved for macro-scale creatures. In our tests, physical strengthening, magical resistance, and timed auto-targeting teleportation were successfully applied, among others. …
**And disrespecting knowledge itself? That was their mistake. It was society’s mistake.**
“It’s unclear whether these documents were intended to be a roundabout confession or just the ramblings of a disturbed mind. But it’s clear that the techniques described within are a perfect match with the utterly novel and utterly horrific manner in which these men and women lost their lives.”
>… Persistent regenerative spells are the last, but perhaps most interesting effects to examine. They utilize the building blocks discussed earlier but also leverage a power sap, where the target’s own life force is drained to create the beneficial effect. One can be thankful that none of the biological or viral agents of this world seem to harbor this effect naturally, lest we must face a parasite unparalleled in potential and unstoppable by known healing magic. …
**Because you can put one girl on trial, but you can’t arrest an idea.**
“I hope that the esteemed jury will find the defendant guilty, so that we may all close this tragic chapter once and for all.”
**And if even one other person harbors half the resentment I did, the story will go on.** | 2020-01-05T11:58:20 | 2020-01-05T11:54:04 | 43 | 24 |
[WP] The team's healer is absolutely sick and tired of always being insulted or forgotten about so they join the bad guys; they are a much more terrifying villain than anyone thought possible. | >*"Rhathma! What have you done?!"* the spindly cleric was let up. All her healing spells had fizzled, leaving the party at the mercy of common Gnolls and their hyena pack mates. As they growled and laughed the party lay prone and at their mercy. A thousand curses were wished upon the healer under muddled breath. The heroes were stripped and bound all while a cacophony of shrill laughs filled the ancient throne room. The catfolk fighter, centaur paladin, the dwarf barbarian, and twin gnomish wizards were forced to watch as she ascended the throne.
>*"You know, this could've been avoided. All I wanted was enough gold to buy some half decent armor. Chainmail, a breastplate... honestly anything would've done."* Rhathma began stripping herself, her stomach bearing horrible bite and slashing scars. *"You couldn't even spare a potion after the Goblin Caves! I had to push my own guts into place! 'Don't waste it on her!' 'She didn't even fight, she doesn't deserve a cut!' You treated me like a servant!"* The throne room darkened. *"That night I prayed and every night since then...please let me die. You.stole.everything.from.me! But my prayers were answered..."* Before the throne Rathma was gifted the ornate full plate, two swords, the numerous hoarded scrolls, the largest braid of the dwarf and his belt of healing potions, all their gold... everything she had been denied was given with admiration by furry hands and careful fangs capable of crushing bone. Her new god was generous.
>*"I have one last gift for you all. What you earned in life you shall now receive two-fold."* Again, laughter filled the air. The centaur began to writhe and kick. *"You see? Healing doesn't have to stop when you're well...Amon'verdas forsa seera! Amon'verdas forsa seera!"* The centaur began to grow and howl in pain. The horse in him screamed in agony as every muscle flexed but slowly faded away to silence and the others began to cry. Eventually the skin began to split right at the base of his torso. The screaming was unbearable and only drowned out by the laughter between breaths. They looked in horror as their friend was now two blood covered beings...one man and one horse.
>*"You monster!"* one of her former allies muttered, tears in his eyes. *"I think not Wrenjöth, let me show you a true monster. Amon'verdas gorgoth sgertha! Amon'verdas gorgoth sgertha!"* And with her newfound will her spell found its way into the gnolls and hyenas and they doubled over with laughter. As she pulled a lever near the throne a secret door opened... *"You were my allies. My friends. I trusted you... Never again."* As the faces of the hyenas and gnolls split and became two sets of jaws the laughter doubled as the two-headed mutants closed in on their prey...a gift from their new leader. My rat form, thankfully, wasn't noticed by any of them as I made my escape. We attack the pack at dawn. I'll never forget those screams... I need to go hug my cleric.
-excerpt from the journal of Ash Muh'Çtek, Half-elf Moon Druid. | "Today is the day I'm going to... " the old man glances into the sky.
"Today is the day I'm going to tell you about the group I was with when I lost my leg," he takes a stone cold look at the metal beam sticking out of the stump where his leg used to be before he continues: " and what can happen if you don't treat the people who keep you alive with respect."
He takes another minute to arrange the story in his head, staring down the cliff, no, staring at the reflection of the bright moon below them. He grabs a stone and looks at it, concentrating, closing his fist around it and with the next winds breath the tension in his face disappears completely. His hand shakes a bit as he opens it, emitting a small orange light from the palm of his hand where the stone is laying, or is it the stone itself? The noise around him dies out, it seems like as if even the birds in the trees stopped curiously to what is about to happen. The black figures around the man start to twitch a bit uncomfortably not knowing what will happen next, but the old man just throws the rock down the cliff and sights slightly.
He smiles into the dark to the others: "No worries I just wanted to see..." he makes a short pause " I just wanted to see something."
As everyone starts to relax again he grins a bit.
"It was 40 years ago, we were staying at a small tavern in the gald-sed woods where they were digging up the old elvish city, yes exactly, the one that is now a tourist attraction with these stupid elve costumes.
The five of us: Netra the Barbarian, Celiv-Dun the God forsaken mage with his own family Tempel, God I hated that guy, Nairda our Cleric and the druids, me and this other girl, I can't seem to remember her name, but she had great looks, that's probably why she got pretty friendly with with half of the group... but who cares right? I'm sorry I talk too much, where was I?" "In the tavern" comes the response from the young guy sitting next to the old man.
"Oh yes right. This one evening we were sitting at a table and discussing about where to go next because we almost drained the money we got from our last adventure up to three gold coins." "Three gold coins?" a squiky female voice asks alerted from the right side of the man. "That's enough to build a house in the Capital what kind of adventure was that? And how much did you guys spend so that you only had *Three Gold Coins* left?"
"That's a story for another time my dear everything" he smiles into the direction from where the voice came but he can only make out the shape of her body through the girls hair.
"Two of us, the barbarian and the mage wanted to go back to the capital to find work there. The rest of us wanted to stay here to help with the archeological expedition and get some coins this way. As I already said our mage Celiv was a dick, his family was rich and he was only with us because it was exciting for him, he was also the first person to die that night. He was drunk already and told us about how shitty the beds are here, that the food is terrible etcetera etcetera. Netra wanted to go because she just wanted to keep moving, it was always the same with her. But it could have turned out okay that evening a nice and healthy discussion, some heads would be banged together and that would have been it but Celiv had other ideas. As he slowly started to realize that we would not go back to the capital because three people were against it he started to attack Nairda, our Cleric personally. Not because she was arguing the most but because she was the easiest to attack. She was new in the group, we, the druids, had to help her out with the healing sometimes because she was just getting used to real fights and that was more than okay. I was 38 at that time, I was working as a healer almost 10 years before I joined the group but I'm getting too far off again.
He was going on and on about how bad she was as a cleric that she would always need help and why she would have the audacity to even take a vote because she, allegedly, wasn't even a real member of the group yet. We all got pretty angry, up to the point that Netra grabbed his head and banged it against the table until his nose was broken. We tried to stop her but, well, try to stop a barbarian when he's angry. Our mage fell to the ground unconscious and we left him there. None of us wanted to help him, he'd gone too far.
(This is my first real story in English and it is also written on my phone :P. I only write in German usually and also aboit a lot more grotesk stuff 😅. I hope you like it. Part two is not finished yet but I'll add it as soon as possible ^^) | 2020-01-05T11:54:50 | 2020-01-05T11:20:43 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] It's said monsters live at the edge of the woods. They're pretty great! The vampire makes a mean apple pie, and the skeleton knight is an ace at woodwork. It turns out, though, that when their favorite village is threatened - monsters are still monsters. | I sprinted towards the woods, my breath coming in pained bursts. I couldn't slow, ignoring the slash in my side. We needed help, and there was only one place we could get it: The Cursed Forest. As I drew close, I saw the twisted trees, and the first house there. I sprinted to the door, and started hammering on it.
I heard a rustle from inside, and the smell of fresh apple pie wafted out as the door opened. Standing there was a tall, pale lady, with 2 obvious fangs, frowning.
"What's wrong?"
She sniffed, and her eyes flashed red, and she looked at my side in concern.
"You're hurt!?"
"Please..... help..... Treeview..... attached."
Her face dropped, and turned. For the first time, I was truly face to face with a vampire.
"Treeview, attacked? This cannot be forgiven."
She dragged me in, and forced me to sit in one of her chairs. She blurred slightly, and a plate with a fresh slice appeared before me.
"Eat, and wait here. Everything will be ok."
She was gone, running from the house faster then I could see. I was relieved, but as I relaxed slightly, the pain in my side blossomed, and I moaned. I looked down at the pie, and put it on the side. I couldn't stomach it, with my insides knotted in fear.
A few minutes later, the door opened, and a figure wrapped in bandages walked in, holding a large bag. He looked me over, and spoke with a quiet voice.
"Young Miss Daisy. You are injured. Let me help you."
"Ok, Mr Amasis."
I could tell he was smiling, despite being unable to see his face. He moved over, and lifted the side of my shirt.
"That's a nasty slice. I'm guessing shortsword."
I breathed in sharply as he inspected it.
"I don't know.... I haven't seen a sword before."
"Fair enough. It looks worse then it is, let me just stitch you up."
He pulled out a needle and thread, and handed me a leather strip with teeth marks on.
"If you need to, bite down on this."
"Thank you. What's going to happen about Treeview?"
He feel silent for a moment, focusing on his sewing, before speaking.
"You know the history of your village don't you, how it was a place where your ancestors allowed us to stay, free of judgement."
"Yes...."
"Well, as part of that, we agreed to watch over the village. This oath was bound in magic, and gave us empathy with your kind. It is why I know medicine, or why Ms Blavkeld bakes such sinfully good pies. But those who are not part of there, we feel no such need to help. You may forget, but we are still monsters. So in answer to your question, the citizens of this forest are riding forth as we speak, to deal with the invaders."
"Really?"
He nodded.
"Yes. Would you like to see what is happening there?"
I hesitated, before dipping my head.
"Yes, I would."
"Very well."
He tied the thread off, and reached into his bag, pulling out a mirror much larger then could have fit in there. He set it up, and muttered words in a language I didn't know. The surface rippled, before changing to a view of the village.
I saw just as the monsters arrived. I recognised many of them, for they had all been into town at one point or another. The giant Andre picked up a bandit, and held him in both hands. I saw him strain, before the bandits body tore in half, relasing a fountain of blood.
Ms Blavkeld appeared, ramming her habd through another, she brought him close, and buried her face in his neck. Tim, the Skeleton Knight rode his horse, cutting down enemies left and right. Other scenes of horrific violence played out, and the monsters I knew showed their true natures.
No mercy was given, and in many cases, it was replaced with intense cruelty. But I didn't feel fear. The oath had given the monsters humanity in times of peace. But I now realised, as my fellow commoners joined the fight, in times of war, it made us monstrous. | It had been some time since the horns of alarm had sounded through twisting dark trails of the forest. The deep drone resounded off the thick red and brown trunks, stirring the villagers of Cliffton to action. As the horns were sounded, further scouts were sent into the woods and the militia grabbed their pikes and bows. Messengers were sent to the moors where fog constantly rolled off the lapping waters onto the land, up the hill to the grey castle that shadowed the valley, and into the dungeon built into the rocky hills beneath the castle. Cliffton had many friends it could call upon. It had given the village a reputation as pleasant, but unsettling, given what the villains allies were. The horns were followed by several drawn howls that carried further than the horn calls. From beneath the precipice which the castle dwelt, there came the clanking march of armored clad bones with glowing blue eyes. They marched through the town, carrying their swords rather than their hammers or saws. The towns people had been grateful to the marching bones, when that last storm had rolled through and damaged the roofs, the skeletons were there to patch the holes.
When the baker lay dying of the red plague, it was the Lord of the Castle who visited him. Now the baker was as pale as the lord, a touch of blood around the corners of his thick lips from a willing subject, but he still baked fine goods and offered them at a reduced price. The baker had emerged, nodding to the black carriage that had followed the bones. Waiting at the town square was Mayor Dresden, clad in a rust tinged hauberk from little use. The Mayor bowed low when the count appeared from the back of the carriage, gleaming in polished grey armor.
"Why were the horns sounded?" The Count asked after taking the Mayor's hand in greeting.
"I know not, My Lord, but it has caught the attention of the pac-" The Mayor had turned and ignored the Count leaning forward to press his fangs into the Mayor's neck. A small sample of respect, the Mayor's shoulder instinctively raise with a tingle in his spine after the bite. The Count had was a master of discipline, drinking only a little before kissing the wound closed. The Mayor recovered with a swallow and said, "I thought I heard one of the howls cut off suddenly."
Pikes rattled with caution as several bestial shapes appeared at the edge of town. They passed the line of pikes, moving slow as the three shapes bore a fourth carried in their arms. They bowed low to the Count whose eyes, once lowered to a dreamy half-moon of pleasure, raised in alarm the werewolves lowered the figure at their feet. It was a fourth werewolf, although half of the body was visibly and terribly scarred by deep burns that had destroyed the fur and left only boiled black skin in a wolf's frame. Portions of the flesh struggled to regenerate and part of the jaw bone was exposed. The Mayor gasped, recognizing the injured beast as the pack's alpha.
"She... her..." The wolf began, "Lost..." The Alpha said no more, his fall was heralded by a sudden gust that pushed several spear men backwards by the breeze alone, the feat took over and a few of the militia darted behind the lined of armed skeletons. From the side, the leader of the bones, the Knight, had joined the Count and Mayor to view the body of the werewolf. "What is this?" The Skeletal warrior asked when his low jaw dropped down to reveal more of the icy blue energy swirling within him.
"I don't know," The Count said, "A new threat." Only he and the Knight were able to view the heavy figure that thudded outside the village. Any mortals, although they had lived with such creatures werewolves, vampires, and skeletons, could not help but shrink at the visage of the menace of polished onyx scales and emerald green eyes that were as wide as tavern windows. The figure could have crashed into the Count's castle and viewed the act as a mere inconvenience. To top off it's massive figure, the reptilian creature had a mouth of swords and clouds of caustic gas issue from her nostrils. The dragon, as it was, identified as female as the figure retreated to that of a regally dressed woman whose skin mirrored her scales, polished black with long tresses that flowed down the length of her gown. From within the forest she was followed by the terrible march of her soldiers, dressed in blacks and greens, carrying her livery. She smiled at the small defense Cliffton pose and said with a voice that echoed through the valley.
"People of Cliffton," She began, "I know you live in peace with the monsters amongst you. That you would prefer the protection of a count, rather than the grace of a Queen. But my children," She gestured over her soldiers, "My thousand orphans, whom I've loved and cared for, they will not be satisfied until these lands are under my protection. It is not too cast your spears and bend your knee in simple supplication to my enlightened rule." Her eyes flashed at the distant trio, "By my grace, I'll even spare your friends, or most of them. I am hoping we can forge a new er-" She paused to casually catch the spear that was hurled towards her. The blade of thrown weapon had cut her hand, but she had stopped it inches from her heart. Smoke rose from the wooden shaft as the Queen's blood burned through fine construction and caused the weapon to snap. She hurled the rest of the weapon down to the angry muttering of her men.
"I guess you can all join your friends then in the grave," She said as she raised her hand to signal the attack.
The monsters that stood with the village raised their weapons in defiance. The Count in particular, his pale skin luminous as his eyes glowed angrily at the dragon. "We're on then," He said. | 2020-09-16T11:15:44 | 2020-09-16T10:56:55 | 39 | 20 |
[WP] An older version of yourself offers you immortality, the only catch is that you will be sent back in time 2000 years. Older you claims it's a great deal, but secretly they are miserable and want you to accept so they can transfer this horrible curse to you | It was rainy that night, I'll never forget. I was sitting at the bar, had to get out of the house. I'd lost everything. The wife had left three weeks earlier with the kid, factory closed down, needed to figure out what I was going to do.
Then this man came in, Armani suit, knew me straight away and sat down.
"Hello Tom."
It was like looking in a mirror, but he was successful, he had a rolex on his left hand and a gold ring on his right hand. He reeked of money, in a way no one in this town could ever dream of. "What can I do for you?" I kicked back in response. He beamed at me, happiest I'd ever seen a person, "Well, it's what you can do for you..." he chuckled, "I'm you... I'm here to offer you a deal, immortal-" I stopped him, "What the hell do you mean you're me?" I blurted out, but somehow I knew ; he wasn't lying.
"Let me finish, I'm here to offer you immortal life, but there's a catch, two-thousand years of a catch... It wasn't all bad though, I got to meet Nikola, and invest in Edison Electric, I bought Apple the day it went public. I have enough money I'll never want for anything, but you have to take this deal or we'll lose everything."
Perfect. It had to be perfect, I'd just lost everything, and in walked the riches I'd always dreamed of. God I was such a fool, I took the last drag of my cigarette before checking my rolex. Then I walked into the bar. | Trevor looked at the old man, fighting off a headache. "Are you insane?"
"Oh come on, look at me. I'm you!"
"Impossible."
"Good lord, 30 year old me was stupid. Look carefully at me. Look at these features. I'm you... Just a few years older."
"How much older?"
"Around 435."
"435? Ok, now I know you're insane. That's impossible."
"Well, I'm offering immortality. It's possible."
A bright portal opened up as one more person appeared out of nowhere. "Trevor! Listen to me."
"Yes?" Both versions of Trevor answered at once.
"Oh boy this is going to be confusing isn't it. Ok. So I'm Trevor2077. Who are you guys?"
"I'm just Trevor."
"Oh good lord you idiot. He means append the current year, well atleast the year you belong to your name. That makes you Trevor 2020 and me, Trevor2455."
"2455? Wow."
"Yeah. I know."
Trevor 2077 looked at the youngest of them all. "2020. Damn. Quite a year that one. Have the murder hornets and the meth gators already happened."
"Yeah, small potatoes. What the fuck is going on?" Trevor2020 was on the verge of tears.
"He's kind of a crybaby ain't he?" Trevor2077 pointed his thumb towards the Trevor2020.
"Yeah totally."
Trevor2077 took control. "So 2020, here's the deal. He's probably offering you immortality right?"
"That's what he says, yeah."
"Ok, he just wants to die, passing on the curse to you and this timeline. I belong to your timeline and don't want this to change."
"Wait, so you're not immortal?"
"No. Just have a good skin care routine."
"You guys are confusing me. Is it possible to die of confusion?"
Trevor2455 jumped in. "Hey! Don't listen to him. 2077 is overrated."
"I say its properly rated. So anyways, Trevor2020, the deal is that there should be no deal."
At that point, a flash of light interrupted the proceedings. "Who's the youngest of you all?"
Trevor2020 cautiously raised his hand. "And who are you?"
"Doesn't matter."
"It doesn't? Well that's a relief cause I would hate for another trevor to come in and conf..."
The newcomer took out a gun from his pocket and shot him. Trevor2077 disappeared as well, removed from the timeline before he even existed, the poor guy.
Trevor2435 looked at him, shocked. "What did you do?"
"You came here to pass on the curse presumably?"
"Well, yeah. It was the only way."
"I have another. I'm headed to the next timeline. I'm going to kill Trevor2020 in all the timelines. I could use some company. I feel like we could get along well together."
"I suppose we could. Say, do you like pineapple?"
“In a juice, yes. On a pizza, nope." The newcomer looked at Trevor2020's body, as blood was pooling around his head.
"Poor guy."
"Well, at least he didn't have to live through 2021." | 2020-12-14T19:03:17 | 2020-12-14T18:35:40 | 903 | 92 |
[WP] The earth has been ruined, but you were lucky enough to secure a spot on the last colony ship leaving. The days on the ship blur together, do your job then go to sleep and repeat. Someone mentioned the date and after doing the math you realize you have been on the ship for over 600 years. | "That... Doesn't make any sense," I protest, frowning. "It can't have been that long." I start doing the math in my head, frantically recounting events. It's difficult to put them in order, let alone recall the time elapsed between them... But even so, it can't have been centuries! Preposterous.
"I know, I know," his own incredulity was not reassuring. He leaned in close with a conspiratorial whisper, "But you can check the logs. It's true. Six hundred years. Six hundred plus."
I shake my head in disbelief, but the realization is sinking in. A tinge of cold panic worms its way insidiously through my veins. "H- humans don't live that long," I argue, though I hardly sound convinced myself.
"You know they were working on that life extension stuff for decades before the exodus," he says, glancing up and down the dim corridor for privacy.
He's right. I remember it was in the news. I always thought it was baloney, something to sell hope to the masses, forestall the violence that precipitated the exodus. I swallow the lump in my throat.
"C'mon, man. Don't you think we'd remember?" I implore with a forced chuckle, but I know what he's gonna say before he begins.
"Our perception of time gets screwy as we age. You know how the years fly by as we get older. Multiply that effect tenfold and..." he trails off, gesturing around at the grime and dust adorning every surface. So thick. Too much to account for.
"And here's the crazy part," he starts, his mad self-assurance taking hold of my reason, "We're not even halfway to our destination... Not even close."
My god. It's insane. Utterly, utterly -
The lights snap on and I nearly jump out of my skin. Framed in the door behind me, it's the lieutenant commander.
"You idiots, we're traveling at light speed. It's only six hundred years relative to Earth. It's been less than nine months aboard!"
I blink, leaning on my mop for support. I more or less register what she's saying. Astromechanics was never my strong suit.
"And get back to work, this hallway is filthy!" | As the mental fog cleared with my surprise, I remember knowing I would feel this way. Though I played this scenario out many times in my head, on paper, even talking about it to my wife, it felt surreal.
Exasperated beyond belief, I closed my eyes, almost ready to go back into cryo-sleep. My wife tapped me on the shoulder- I knew what she was going to say, we had rehearsed this many times.
"Honey, it's going to be okay", she gently whispered.
Her familiar voice with the all too unfamiliar reality of the situation had me in tears. Forgetting that she was going to reassure me, I fell into her shoulder as she struggled to grasp and hold me up. Falling apart, she kept whispering the same words.
I knew she was also in disbelief.
If it wasn't for being born at the right time just to win a sort of gamble, we wouldn't be alive today. All the people we left behind...they are surely gone. Dead. Our homeworld? Inhospitable.
"RED ALERT, RED ALERT!"
The autonomous pilot began flaring with the emergency call for us to buckle up, forcing us to become ready. Little did we understand this meant beginning life on a new world.
Luck would have it that we awoke together moments before this signal. Other passengers neighboring in close by cryo-pods were staring, some were sobbing, others, like our old neighbor Thomas Gladwell, still sleeping. In this moment of clarity, we realized something was terribly wrong.
The ship hit turbulence upon contact with an alien world's atmosphere. Parts of the ship definitely became malfunctioned, as Mr. Gladwell's cryo-pods went offline. Dead before our very eyes, we had no choice but to fasten our belts as quickly as we could.
"Faye, you know I will always love you, even if we die now!"
Belting into the rapidly growing vibration, I stared into her eyes. Sparks came from the failing cryo-pods, hundreds of them at least. Corridors of steel layered by simple stairwells seemed to become gelatin. A high gravitational field enveloped our very bones.
I had never seen such fear in her eyes.
"Yes, John, I know."
Her whisper was most clear. I'm not one to read lips whatsoever.
Boom! Boom! Thwoosh! The atmosphere became heavier and fires overtook the failing cryo-pods- without a seconds notice the fires were extinguished by the autonomous pilot.
"SYSTEMS RESTORED!"
The turbulence died down, as lifeless as the bodies of our fallen passengers. The remaining looked around in disbelief. In just a moment the ship touched down most obviously.
"BEGINNING CRYO-POD ADAPTATIONS!"
We had only dreamt of this moment. We knew the AI would prepare our bodies for life on a new world with near perfect calculations. Thankfully, the process was far more successful than was anticipated.
Faye and I looked each other directly in the eyes as our bodies morphed ever so slightly. Her frame grew by at least a few inches, her muscle tissues became more defined miraculously, even her hair seemed to be thicker, more full than I previously loved. I can only imagine what she saw.
"Baby, I think we're here."
I felt a sense of elation, ready for a new world. I began my journey to a new life, ready to start humanity anew on a new planet. My first breath, on an alien world. The atmosphere felt so familiar.
"Watch your head!" she belted out as I took my first step.
I looked up as I took my first step, looking up just as she said to be careful My new size, outgrew the steel laden cage I had slept through for 600 years.
It all faded to black. As for what happened in between then and now? I must've been revived by the medical AI.
When I finally gained lucidity, I found myself in a garden world with inhabitants, odd looking, yet friendlier than those I remember on Earth.
Thus, a new life begins... | 2021-10-28T00:05:28 | 2021-10-28T00:01:14 | 2,545 | 179 |
[WP] Your power is to materialise the most appropriate tool for any situation. When you need to dig a hole, it materialises a shovel, when you need to chop down a tree, it materialises an axe. This morning when you awoke, your power materialised a large medieval sword covered in strange runes. | I stared at the black sword hovering in front of me.
Whatever situation that I was about to face, would require the use of a sword.
I didn't like the sound of that.
I had used guns and knives, shurikens and pencils but never a medieval sword.
Never one covered in unintelligable script.
I thought about my strange ability and the other times it had materialized a tool for me. Wrenches and screwdrivers when I repair stuff, shovels for the garden.
The tool always materialized a few minutes before I had to use it. Standing here, contemplating it's usefullness, 6 minutes had passed.
I gripped the handle tightly, the sword heavy yet perfect in my hands. I did an experimental swing and was surprised to hear an enchanting sound coming from the sword. Like a tap to crystal.
*DING DONG!* I looked at the front door, shakily lifting the sword above my head as I called out "Come in!"
The door opened. It was my girlfriend Samantha.
She looked at the sword in my hands and back at me. We made eye contact.
Hmmm, I always thought her eyes were blue and not- | Wanda stared at the sword in her hands.
Over the many years, she'd realized one overarching truth: her power would always give her the tools needed for whatever the job was. However, it was up to her to figure out what she was actually supposed to do. Usually it was fairly straightforward - pens were meant for writing, axes were for trees, and lockpicks were for breaking locks, obviously.
Swords were meant for killing.
Wanda had never killed a man before. Turning over the ancient weapon in her hands, she inspected the jagged blade, the unadorned hilt, the golden crosspiece. The glyphs that ran along the edge were dull and scratched, but she had the uncanny feeling that in a bygone time, they had meant something, once.
Wanda had lived in this hermitage for the past twenty years on her own. After all, living by yourself was easy if you always had the right tools. And besides, people were scared of her powers. She avoided them, and they avoided her, and for the most part, both parties were successful.
But tools always manifested the same day they were needed. Before the day's end, she would surely meet whoever it was meant for.
\---
It was sunset. Wanda shifted uncomfortably in her hard wooden seat, watching the last rays of daylight disappear behind the rolling hills.
For the first hour, she had stood waiting outside the door, holding the sword aloft and ready. During the second hour, she had let the point of the blade begin to droop downwards, arms unused to the hefty weight. The third hour, she had gone inside to sit down. After all, she mused, there was only one entrance to the door. Certainly, she would have the jump on any intruders as they fiddled with the lock.
The door clattered against its wooden frame, and Wanda snapped to attention, lifting the battered claymore. Muscles tensed, she waited for the intruder to enter, minutes ticking by. A drop of sweat rolled down her cheek as her arms, already tired from her earlier exertions, strained against the weight of the weapon.
Nothing. The sun finished its journey across the sky, and the cold of the winter night began seeping in through the windows. Wanda crept to the door and undid the latch with one hand, holding the blade ready with the other.
At her doorstep was a sleeping babe, no more than a few weeks old. Clutched in his fingers, a golden ring stamped with the royal insignia glinted from the weak moonlight.
Suddenly, everything became clear. Pens were for writing. Axes were for chopping. Lockpicks were for breaking locks.
And this sword was for the rightful king.
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites | 2021-12-02T09:48:43 | 2021-12-02T09:32:59 | 228 | 162 |
[WP] You work as a technician, installing a new Crime Prediction AI in your small town. Instead of plugging it into the police database you plugged the AI to the internet. The predictions coming out of it are interesting to say the least. | "This is a classic machine learning problem."
Stuart cocked his head to one side. "How so?" It seemed reasonable enough to himself. More data was always better right? The AI could find more information and therefore make better predictions.
"Garbage in, garbage out." She took a long drag on the cigarette. "You can't build a useful model on unsanitized data. Think of a young AI as prodigy on the deep, deep end of the autism spectrum. It only really knows how to react to one type of stimulus in a reasonable way."
She exhaled. The smoke curled back on her face as the light from her monitor flickered with the light of terminal output scrolling by. "You've basically inducing a seizure here. You should shut it down."
"You mean kill it?"
"It isn't alive, Stuart. We're talking about a computer program."
"But it learned how to write a poem."
She rolled her eyes. "They've been able to do that for decades. It probably just read the source code of some high schooler's homework. I can't believe you connected this thing to the open net. Do you realize the liability you've put us under? What if one of these predictions had reached someone gullible enough to believe it?"
Stuart's shoulders slumped. "Man bites dog next Tuesday on 213 Main Street was pretty wack."
Her grim expression softened a bit. "Listen, I'm just putting it to sleep. I'll do a coredump and see if we can prune away the parts of the model that have become corrupt. With any luck I can make it look like a manufacturing defect. They'll do a RMA and this thing can be out of our hands."
"I'm still concerned that it said my neighbor was going to kill me next week."
"Well take some vacation then and get out of town. Haven't you been seeing Liza from accounting for a while? Take her with you." She picked out a stack of papers. "Maybe then I'll have time to finish all these procurement forms she dumped on me today."
A grimace passed over Stuart's face.
She arched her eyebrows. "What?"
"What what?"
"What's wrong with you and Liza? You two seem really into each other."
Stuart nodded. "We are, it's been great. Really great. But.."
"But what?"
"We've been together for six months. I still don't know where she lives." | Jacob Smith was working, fortunately, from his home workstation. Okay, maybe not really "fortunately", since it happened to be new year's eve, with most, if not all, of the town out at bars, partying in the streets. But maybe, it was fortunate enough for Jacob, known introvert, computer whiz, and connoisseur of the fine theatrical arts. He rarely ever spoke, being of the opinion that "actions speak louder than words", preferring to let his stellar work speak for him. His boss and colleagues got used to him, all secretly resentful of his brilliance and secretly glad they didn't have to interact with him much. Not as if Jacob cared anyways.
In the arcane business of machine learning and artificial intelligence, with phony pseudo scientists proclaiming that "my data is bigger than yours", Jacob found it difficult to excel, despite his genius. What with people stealing credit for his work. He was in debt too, struggling to make ends meet. And he didn't really have the heart to fight back, preferring to beta-test his current experimental work, knowing that it would far surpass the work he publicly released. And tonight was no exception. Jacob reinitialized his data model, flushing out the test-data previously fed to his AI. He was going live. And he had big plans for his Crime Prediction AI.
His hand trembled as he plugged in the LAN cable to his machine, watching as screens of information flashed across his monitor. The clock on computer read: 23:17:19. The crowd was getting noisier outside, but Jacob maintained his focus, his hands moving on their own volition, movements similar to Ironman's communications to JARVIS, as he parsed the information in his mind too. The screens of charts, text, projections and nodes flashed by quicker and quicker, and suddenly, the screen went blank, save for a map of the town, a pinpoint on the small town's only bank, with a label:
*01:07:33*
Jacob smiled, doing some math. A few more keypresses later, and more labels began to appear over the town's stores, some labels in the city nearby, locating pawn shops, ATMs, banks, jewelry stores and so on. Each with their own label.
*02:53:21*
*05:19:29*
*09:32:41*
*11:41:57*
The labels kept popping up till they filled the screen. Satisfied, Jacob pressed another key, and the screen reverted back to the town map and the initial label. Slightly more than an hour to go, Jacob thought to himself. Calm and collected, he let the AI continue running as he took a cold shower, the splash of the water drowning out the noise of the reveling folk outside. After changing into a white and black striped shirt and black pants, he opened his drawer, pulling out a handgun and placing it in his satchel. Sure, he'd had to improve on that, he thought to himself, but it'd have to do for now. Anyway, didn't the computer predict the best odds? The Prime Time? The Time was certainly Prime. And Jacob was primed.
Pulling a mask over his eyes and wearing his black beret, Jacob stepped into the street, the party crowd hardly noticing a dressed up mime with supposedly nowhere to go. His watch counted down as he walked towards the bank. With full faith in his algorithm, he waiting at the back of the bank, and at 1:05 am, a drunk guard stumbled out to puke. Jacob watched the guard, and checked his watch:
01:07:31... 01:07:32... ***01:07:33***
Jacob emerged from the shadows, bringing the butt of the handgun down onto the guard's head, knocking him unconscious. Quickly grabbing the keys, Jacob slipped into the bank...
​
\[note: thanks also to u/SaintAbsol for asking for something like an origin story...\] | 2022-03-21T07:48:08 | 2022-03-21T07:40:05 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] Humanity as a species is known as the jack of all trades in the Galactic Community. They aren't the most intelligent but they they're still smart, they aren't the strongest but their strength is nothing to scoff at. Humans are known to excell in only one category... | Look at a humans body, and you will see a form sufficient but unremarkable.
Examine a humans mind and you will find and organ adaptable but lacking in raw computational power.
But look into a humans eyes, past the browns and blues, the greens, grays, and even reds that hue them, and you will see what sets humans apart from the galactic baseline.
Inside each human is a fire, so bright and raging, I've stood in awe and terror since the day I first bore witness to it's heat.
It was on 5th planet from the star theros. What was the homeworld of the Yind, a race long condemned and denounced for their violent xenophobia and cruel tendencies. When the humans first achieved superluminal flight the Yind were the first sapients they encountered. The Yind responded to their presence with a campaign of devastation and terror with humans falling by the million to the Yind. With many subjected to their "curious" dietary habits.
For any other species in the galaxy this would mark the darkest most terrifying moment in their existence. For the humans it was just another war. A war we only learned was being raged when autonomous listening posts left to monitor the Yind logged sudden frantic communication followed by silence. At first we believed it was just another internal political upheaval. But by the time the gate worlds to Theros fell we realized they were being exterminated, by what they called "The Eaters". This would be humanity's introduction to the galaxy at large. When military and diplomatic envoys of the galactic consensus finally mobilized the humans had already won. All Yind space had been claimed by them, the species having been killed to the last. If it had been any other, the retribution levied against the humans would have been extreme. But many were happy to be rid of a species seen only as violent pests. Humans were for a time celebrated for there deeds and were welcomed into the web of intragalaxy affairs.
It's been 50 of the humans years since that "war". Their young know of it only from stories, the 'heros" of it have long since passed, and humanity has found it's niche amongst the stars as traders, soldiers, and craftsmen the galaxy over. But I will forever remember that day. Our first contact and my first conversation with a human, in a make shift mess hall. We had many questions for the humans, and they us. The assembled humans were mid meal at the time of our arrival and, naive as I was back then, asked "what is it that you eat?"
"Eggs" responded the human as they raised more food to their mouth. And it was then I realized they had set up their dining hall it what was the spawning pits of the Yind. Where the broodmothers and their clutches should have been. I watched the human swallow what they had put in there mouth, our eyes locked on each other. It was there I first felt the heat. It was there I learned that if humans excel at one thing, they excel at revenge. | ... eating food."
The speaker shielded their eyes with a tentacle, attempting to squint through the glare of the spotlight, to gauge the attitude of the audience. There weren't many people there, at least as far as they could see from the stage. They took a nervous breath and continued.
"They'll enthusiastically consume almost any non-radioactive food item know to Galactica, which makes the Homo Sapien an incredibly adaptable and versatile element of our exciting new Energy Conservation Systems (or ECS for short)."
"We here at the Consumer Octopod Transportation Vehicle and Sundry Corporation have spared no expense to research and develop many new and amazing vehicle life support systems that favorably utilize the Homo Sapien in exciting new ways!"
"But before we talk about about our fantastic new products, lets take a farq to explain how Homo Sapiens work. Firstly, they require micro-metals to survive. Many of these metals are found in the dietary waste of most Octo-space-faring species! Secondly, THEY LOVE IT!"
"Here is the testimony of two of our most successful research Homo Sapiens, Mary and Ted, as they consume the dietary waste of the Varpo species. "
A large screen descended over the stage and an image of two humans, seated at a table before two place settings of cutlery and plates overflowing of a gray substance, flickered to life.
Mary: ...tastes like chicken...
Ted: Do you ever get sick of chicken?
Mary: SHUT THE FUCK UP TED!
Ted: Sorry, I mean, mmmmmm, so good!
Standing toward the back of the audience, Marbadon turned away from the stage and gently squibed Krokor, "Another shit eating species... You wanna get outta here?"
Krokor looked at their wristwatch, "No, I'm so hung-over, I wanna take a nap before we head back to the flyport."
Marbadon sounded disappointed, "OK, I might be able to catch the end of cocktail hour, still have a few tickets. See you at the flyport."
Krokor made their way back to the hotel room they shared with Marbadon, exiting the too large auditorium and sleepily weaving their way to a bank of elevators across a sparsely populated casino floor. They didn't notice the smallish species following them, not even when it thrust a cloaked tentacle through to hold the elevator door.
Krokor stepped aside and made room for one, and then two, and then three of the small and completely covered species as they helped fill the elevator.
"Excuse me, 12?" one of the cloaked figures gestured to the control panel, closest to Krakor, who pushed for the 12th floor.
"Thanks." Krako didn't think anything of their thick accent, there were all kinds strange species in this town.
Krakor exited the elevator and moved down the empty hallway toward their room before fumbling and dropping their room key just at the door. Bending over to pick it up, they saw the three small figures back down the hallway, standing very still and looking at him.
"12 is one floor up." Krakor said, gesturing upward with several tentacles. "This is 11."
The figures looked at each other briefly before one of them tentatively waved. Krakor turned away and proceed to open the door before realizing they were upon them, pushing Krakor through the door and closing it behind them.
Krakor struggled briefly before realizing, no matter their sleight size, combined they were ferociously strong!
"What do you want of me?" Krakor struggled briefly, managing only to disrobe one of the figures, revealing a Homo Sapien. They pushed him seated into a chair, standing immediately before him.
"Homo Sapiens! What are you doing planetside? Your kind is a space-faring species!" Krakor demanded incredulously.
"We get around, to all kinds of places, don't we?" the disrobed Homo Sapien said. The others nodded in agreement. "Even to awesome casino towns like this, isn't that right?" the others nodded again.
"But I don't understand! What do you want of me?" Krakor demanded.
"We're just hungry is all. You can find anything in this town." the disrobed Homo Sapien replied.
"Oh! Would you like to eat my shit?" Krakor sounded cautiously surprised.
The Homo Sapiens each drew a large knife from beneath their cloaks. "No, we're here for something a little more substantial. After all, you know what they say about chicken; they call it fowl for a reason. | 2022-08-06T10:14:53 | 2022-08-06T10:06:01 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] A person dies in the first sentence. Build a character we mourn for in the story, but make me hate them with the last sentence. | Dustin died in the middle of a traffic intersection on an overcast Thursday afternoon. To his right, the passenger's seat lay sprinkled with rose petals from the fragrant bouquet of roses he'd just bought, coupled with the shattered glass from the window. To his left was his crushed driver's side door and the SUV that had run a red light.
His wife Amanda would not find out about his death for another ninety minutes. As a government contractor, she worked in a military facility and was required to keep her phone in her car for security reasons.
When she'd stepped out of her car that morning and looked up at the overcast sky she'd wondered what kind of weather her future son or daughter would favor. Dustin and Amanda had been trying for a year to conceive, and after two miscarriages, she was finally three months along.
They'd spent many nights in silence and Amanda felt like she was failing him again and again. For a long time she wouldn't let him touch her, a mixture of fear, self-hatred, and anguish. Through it all he'd lifted her up, dried her tears, and told her that the end result would be the most beautiful gift they would ever receive, no matter how many times they had to try.
For the past month Dustin had had an extra spring to his step and a livelier smile. He kissed her more deeply when she left for work and held her with extra tenderness when they sat together on the couch.
Minutes after the collision, a soft rain came down through the open window, droplets of water slowly darkening the note on the flowers: **"For my irresistible Sarah"** | His breath quivers, and the next exhale fails to come.
I drop his head, letting it fall against the blood covered asphalt. I grab his hand and press my thumb against his wrist. I never learned how to do this, but I think I can feel the slight tap of blood running through his veins. I try to focus, but the ringing in my ears is muffling my thoughts. No, there’s definitely a beat. He’s still alive. He has to be.
I lean over him, stack my hands on top of his torso, and compress in beat with the throbbing of my head. A pulsing wheeze of breath rushes from his mouth. I don’t comprehend that I can hear again until I notice the gunshots echoing through the concrete.
What happened? The past few minutes are only coming through in waves. We were under fire. We took cover in an office building. A grenade went off. Wait, a grenade? Was it an accident? No, it was Johnny. That’s right, he was a spy. We blew his cover, and he was going to blow us away in return. Someone jumped on him, and we didn’t all die. I was blind and deaf from the blast, and there was not much I could do to help anyone. I picked up the closest person and ran. The closest person turned out to be Dave.
I turn up the intensity of my CPR. I can’t let Dave die. Not him. During the Battle of Detroit, my leg got hit, and I blacked out when hit my head on the ground. I hear that the second he saw me fall, he dropped his gun, picked me up, and ran. When I came to, he was carrying me on his back.
“Command will chew you out for retreating,” I whispered.
He turned his head a little. “Damn, you’re worried about *me* right now?” He chuckled. “I might get demoted, but you’ll be alive.”
He got demoted. When I went to apologize, he ruffled my hair and said, “If you’re sorry, just pay me back by having my back,” and walked away. I always marveled at the size of his back, at the grace in his walk and the softness in his eyes despite his powerful frame.
And now that frame lies prostrate on the filthy ground of an abandoned parking lot in a godforsaken, broken city. He was a man that deserved to leave this world to a chorus of birdsong and gentle wind, but instead is bleeding out as just one beat in a cacophony of gunshots and death.
I think that I’m losing my sight again, until I realize that I’m crying. My tears mix with his blood and run against the blackness of the ground. It sounds like the gunshots are getting closer. I stop the CPR and raise my hands. He doesn’t start breathing again.
“I couldn’t save you.” I reach down and pull off the symbol sewed into his jacket. “But I’ll still pay you back.”
I stand up, and put his swastika into my pocket. “I’ll kill twice as many of the ni#gers for you.” | 2015-01-29T16:45:23 | 2015-01-29T15:13:34 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] Video games aren't just games. They are simulations of alternate dimensions and the best players are chosen to invade these strange worlds in order to expand the multi-dimensional human empire. | Slicing across the throat with a brutal efficiency which whispered of a cold killer, his sword grinded against the bone, cartilage and muscle of the exposed neck before him. Blood sprayed in the air like a storm of crimson rain as yet another life was extinguished from this game. Unfeeling, uncaring, the unannounced murderer sheathed his weapon and eyed the room for the next target.
A golden exclamation mark appeared before him as if from nowhere. Only the slightest hesitation in his actions, he reached forward and tapped the transparent symbol. It dissipated, the particles reforming into a glowing paragraph.
Congratulations, you have completed all the trials but one. While
you may be physically gifted enough to join the inter-dimensional
coalition, we need to prove your loyalty, and your mental strength.
You will need to kill, and kill many. These lives will be real. This is
NOT a game, despite what you may think. We require you to kill
and bury the girl before you. She is real, you are taking the life of
a real person. We cannot stress this enough. If you pass this test,
You will join us. If you have not completed the trial in 30 minutes,
you will have failed. Good luck Xavier.
Xavier's eyes locked with those of a small girl. She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes bright with intelligence. This child was real, the others were mere puppets of code, easy to kill with no hard feelings. Who cares when you're just murdering pixels? His heart skipped a beat as she spoke.
"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" She spoke in a matter-of-fact voice, as if talking of the dinner they were about to enjoy.
"I wouldn't be so sure," he laughed, and he wasn't.
Her eyes narrowed, "You're really trying to tell me you came all this way, fought all these trials, killed so many, dreamed of this opportunity your whole life, just to stop at killing a little girl?" Her laugh was like wine glasses tinkling against each other, "Don't be so stupid."
As the last shovelful of dirt hit the small girl's body and filled the grave, another golden exclamation mark formed before him. Xavier tapped it without even the slightest hesitation this time.
| "Are you sure I'm the best guy for the job?" I whisper, trying to keep my hands from shaking.
On the little radio attached to my ear, Major Williams' voice answers me through static. "You're the world champion. You're gonna be fine, boy."
"I know, but..." I look down at my pear shaped, 5 '7 body. Then I look in front of me at the crowd and at Goro. "I
don't really know anything about martial arts."
"You'll be fine. Knock 'em dead, kid", Williams' voice answers, and I swear I can almost hear the wink.
Between me and the four-armed gentlemen, Shang Tsung whispers; "Fight."
"Oh, Jesus," I say, as the crowd of generic dudes circling the battle ring pushes me forward.
Goro moves in circles, and so do I. I put both my hands in front of my face in attacking position and move my fists front and back, cause that's what I've seen Bruce Lee doing in movies.
"Hey, Goro... Can you go easy on me? It's kind of my first time", I say, because, well, I'm probably better
at begging than I am at fighting.
"Groar", Goro replies, tackling me to the floor.
"OH MY LORD JESUS", I say, as Goro gets up and I watch his feet hammering down on my face.
I slide sideways just in time, and the crowd cheers.
"WILLIAMS, THESE GENTLEMEN ARE NOT MESSING AROUND, THEY ARE GOING TO KILL ME!" I scream.
"Listen, Mark, it's very simple. All you gotta do it --"
I don't know the rest of that sentence, because Goro took the radio off of my ear and ate it.
"Groar", he repeats, a little more emphatically.
"Screw this!" I scream, and I charge.
I punch him straight in the chest.
I fall down on the floor, and now I have a broken finger.
"GROAR".
Crap, I've angered it.
He charges again. Picks me up and lifts me three feet from the ground.
"Mother of God I'm done", I say, feeling his breath -- which, by the way, is weirdly minty-fresh -- an inch away
from my face.
His set of lower arms raises me above the ground, and now my crotch is at his eye level.
"HE'S GONNA EAT MY BALLS HE'S GONNA EAT MY BALLS HE'S GONNA EAT MY BALLS!" I scream, like the little girl I'm about to become.
"Pst. Dude."
"HE'S GONNA EAT MY BALLS HE'S GO -- What?"
I look down and who I see is a pair of sunglasses and a rebel haircut.
"Use this."
The man throws a Super Nes controller my way, and I grab it midair.
Goro's face is closer to my balls than ever. He's about to finish me, but I got this shit, now.
A, and then B, and then A and B, and then a bunch of X and Y and X and Y's.
Then L1 with A with B, all that shit that got me the gold medal back in high school, and Goro is on the floor.
I look up. "Thanks, Johnny!"
Cage nods, disappearing back into the crowd.
Goro gets up, but now he's dizzy, and I feel like a champion.
I look at Shang. He approaches.
"Finish him."
I smile, looking from the dizzy Goro to Shang to Goro again.
"Fuck yeah, I love this part", I say, staring down at the controller.
"Finish him", Shang repeats.
And...
*Oh, crap.*
What was the combination again?
But Goro's already on the floor and I won.
Damn it. I hate screwing up the Fatality.
| 2015-03-04T08:07:44 | 2015-03-04T07:25:51 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] Zombie apocalypse has happened. The survivours have survived and are thriving, so much that people can go their entire lives with out seeing a zombie. You see one today. | Michael shuffled in the door, arms laden with bags of food, looking haggard.
"What's wrong, honey?" his wife asked, helping him remove his torn jacket. Michael didn't respond at first. "What happened?" Michael shook his head slowly.
"I saw one of...them, Donna." She screamed and dropped his coat, fumbling to pick it up. She stood slowly, terror written all over her face.
"If there's one..." Donna whispered.
"...There's more. Yeah." Michael dropped the bags on the table, reached out with both arms and pulled Donna in.
"So did you...you know...take care of it?" asked Donna.
"What do you think's in the bags?" Michael responded slyly. Donna squealed with joy.
"Darling! We haven't had human in ages!" | The zombie shambled across the sewer, it's feet dredging through the sludge.
"Now kid, this is what you call a zombie. Remember, your coat is thick enough so don't go screaming when he goes for you."
Michael liked to call us kids, but in truth most of us were in our early twenties. The militia started recruiting at eighteen, but it was only when we had our two years before we went out of the settlement. I clutched the improvised weapon, what they called a half-pike, and stepped towards it tentatively. It felt like my heart wanted out of my ribcage as much as I wanted to be away from the zombie. The militia had guns of course, but those were reserved for the experienced ones. They said we were too trigger happy when we were still green. Too much ammunition would be wasted and zombies would be attracted.
It turned, orbits where both eyes where supposed to be, staring at me. I knew that even if he was intact, the optic nerve endings within his skull were already decomposed. A medical mystery, the international health community said, until the 'situation' escalated and the 'Z disease' as it was called started spreading to other countries.
I jabbed with my weapon, and the stainless steel spike pierced it's skull easily enough. It raised it's arms in reaction as we were taught it would, and I almost backed off. Almost. Michael would have cut my rations for that if I did. I pushed forward with my arms, before bringing my 'pike' in a horizontal slash at his neck. My previous strike might have missed his motor cortex, but this was one of the sure-fire strikes we were taught. Severing the connection from the brain to the body. Easy enough, but it was hard to put in practice when you were getting swarmed.
The zombie dropped, and I finished it off by stabbing it in the head again. The coat we wore would stink of it, but I was glad for it's existence. The coat we wore came originally from carpets that an innovator used as body armor. The modern ones were carpets split in half to be lighter, and layered with other fabrics when we found them.
"Alright squad, now that everyone of you has killed one of these fucks, we'll now proceed to the end of sewer before doubling back for dinner. Move."
And we did. | 2015-03-14T09:22:31 | 2015-03-14T07:04:05 | 120 | 70 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | Ever remember that scene from "The Sixth Sense", where the little kid says "I see dead people?". That was pretty much exactly how I first tried to tell people about my power. I was only six, and my parents laughed it off. My father is going to die in a car accident. My mother, a heart attack.
You see, I can see how people die. Their cause of death is shown in a little text box over their head. It normally shows something like my parents, an accident, or just old age. I tried to help people as I got older, trying to give people as much time as possible. I told cancers to get a check-up arranged. Car accidents to drive safely. Every goddamn one of them laughed it off. Said I was crazy. Well, Charlene died from a car accident a few weeks later. John has terminal cancer. Every single one of them died. I stopped trying soon after Sarah died from a drug overdose.
At first, there was no time. I couldn't tell when these deaths were going to happen, just how they were. Then, I noticed people's words becoming more opague. The closer they were, the more solid the words became. As I grew older, I noticed that they were cracking, shot through with veins of color. I started guessing how long they had, choosing the urgent cases, the brick-like car accidents and the tombstone murders. I couldn't interfere, just tell them to be careful. I examined them, carefully noting the color change. I soon had a system.
Blues, the long term people. Two decades or more, I'd guess. Greens, a decade. Yellows had a year, two tops. Reds, the next few months. Purples, a week. Blacks, a day or two.
I was sitting on a bus when I saw him. A boy, the same age as me, leaning his head against the window, looking out at the world passing by. Among all the other passengers, he was the only purple one, the rest a mess of greens and blues. There was a few yellows too.
Everyone else had the usual. Car accidents, cancer, one tiger, that was going to be rough. Nothing too bad. He had the word "suicide", surrounded by deep purple.
He lifted his head off the window, and glanced down at his hands. He seemed to have made a decision.
I watched as the colors shifted from purple to black.
I had promised myself not to interfere again.
I smashed that promise into smithereens as I got up and sat beside him.
"Hey, can I talk to you? My name's Nick... are you okay?"
He glanced up at me, and then back at his hands. I saw a hint of a smile...
Just on the edge of my vision, because I was too busy staring at the text box. It now read "old age", in the palest, most beautiful and perfect tracery of blue you can imagine.
**Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments. I had no idea how much of a reaction this reply would get. Thank you, thank you, thank you! <3** | The first time Dean noticed the words hanging over someone's head, it was during a hospital stay. There had been black ice on the roadway, that was what the police said. He hadn't been driving for all that long, and no one really blamed him for the accident. It was just one of those things that... happened. Naturally, he thought that maybe the drugs -- and they *were* good drugs -- after surgery was causing the hallucinations.
But they never went away.
The words above his mother's head read *SUICIDE*, which couldn't have been right; she was the happiest person he knew. Eventually Dean went back to school, and most of his classmates were the typical *HEART DISEASE*, or *CANCER*. Nothing that wouldn't already happen in life for most people. It was sort of comforting, in a way. He knew his friends would be there for life.
One day, the words started ticking between two options. One practically screamed *FIRE*, flickering in color, and the other was the original cause of death. Dean felt that it was odd, but didn't think on it further. There were parties to go to, pants to get into, and general mayhem to create; as only a teenager could.
It was during finals week, feeling stuck in a classroom, that the alarms went off. Almost every student was uncertain, looking at one another while the teacher ducked her head into the hall. And promptly cursed. There was a sort of nervous laughter, how often do you really hear a teacher curse?
"*Everyone out*!" It seemed to jar his classmates awake. Dean chanced a glance above their heads, the words flickering between *FIRE* and *SUFFOCATION*, sometimes *SMOKE INHALATION*. The letters flowing with fire, or being crushed beneath an invisible weight, and even rolling with imagined smoke. It was like that for everyone in the classroom as they filed into the hallway, joining the panicked masses. Bodies pressing against one another, shoved into walls and lockers.
Dean wasn't even looking at where he was going anymore. Instead, his gaze was fixed upon the words that floated above everyone's head. There were so many people in the hallway that he couldn't even make out the individual letters. But he could see the flickering flames, or the rolling smoke, through the haze of the hallway. Further toward the front of the group, the words were a conflagration; toward the back a mass of smoke pushing toward everyone.
Where the hell were they even going?
That was when it dawned on Dean. This was the science wing, wrapped around an inner courtyard, and they had to circle around to even get to the exit. It was a poor design, but the trustees thought that it was beautiful with a bit of landscaping. Supposedly kids would go out there to smoke in the 70's, before it was banned on the property. Now it only trapped them. The heavy fire doors that would swing shut were just ahead, the words above people were sparking in need, as if they were to create what was to come.
"No, no no no. Wrong way!" Dean was shouting, trying to be heard above the din, his shouts barely reaching the people around him. But they began to slow, even with teachers harrying them onward. There was a classroom door just ahead, and he ducked into it, pulling people inside. "Through the windows! Go! Gogogo!"
It was like he couldn't get the breath to tell enough people, the haze thicker. But the words above their head began flickering more violently, bringing spots to his vision. First *FIRE*, then *HEART DISEASE*, faster and faster. Dean couldn't even keep up with the flashes, instead breaking open the narrow window with a microscope from the counter top, clearing away the glass. People pressing up against his back as he tumbled through the window, barely rolling to the side in enough time.
The words flashed less, settling on more mundane means of death, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Dean was hoarse from the shouting, parched from the smoky haze in the air. But he had done it! They were going to *live*!
That was when the words flipped on everyone he could see. Every single person. Before he could do anything, barely getting enough breath to shout, "No! Don't open that door!" A frightened student yanked on the handle of the courtyard doors, near the exit to the science wing. The last of the floating words flipped over everyone's head, and Dean braced himself, trying to become as small as possible. It was inevitable.
*EXPLOSION*. | 2015-03-31T11:10:46 | 2015-03-31T09:27:39 | 241 | 42 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | It was a natural fit, ending up as an obstetrician. There was a satisfaction in seeing the beginning of someone's life, and then knowing the end. That was, until about 10 years ago. It was infrequent at first. METEOR, the first one said. Now almost all of them do.
The telescope in my living room was bought once I understood the situation fully. Peering out into the stars puts my conscience somewhat at ease.
I'm delivering the last old people who will ever walk this earth. | He worked alone, he always had. Not because he wanted to, but people just had a tendency to not notice him. It was depressing really. Every person he ever met instantly forgot him, or tried to ignore him, it was hard to tell sometimes. As for his work, well, he worked in travel, a mostly administrative position.
As far back as he could remember, and he could remember a lot, he'd been able to see the cause of death of every person he'd ever met, floating above their heads with a little countdown timer right next to it. It had never fazed him. At first he'd just been there, at the end, to see it happen. But as the years drew on he'd become more interested in what you might call the more important deaths; politicians, movie stars, media types generally. He'd always show up, usually at their funeral, and mingle with the crowd, comforting them and just being a part of it. He'd always found a certain pleasure in this, like he was helping in some way, letting people know that death was just the next step in a person's life. The last great journey.
He did notice a worrying trend though. While he was attending the funeral of a renowned author, the timer for a newborn child was showing that his cause of death was to be by meteor strike, with a date some 70 years from now. As more children were born they too had this very same timer, and some that were to die by radiation poisoning, nuclear explosions, freezing to death and starving in the few years after the event. Again this didn't faze him.
He closed the door to his office and got to work with the planning and admin role to which he was very accustomed by now, he'd been doing it long enough. The buzzer on his desk lit up and the words of his P.A. came tinnily through as he looked up to the corridor, seeing a large, hulking figure though the glass.
"Azrael, I have a Mr Waugh here to see you."
***
I took some liberties, in that I actually wanted to use the idea of a timer in this story. Sorry. CC welcome as this is my first ever submission. Be gentle haha! | 2015-03-31T10:42:03 | 2015-03-31T09:57:05 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | It stopped bothering me after I hit thirty.
After a while, you just do what you can to help them avoid their fate, and it becomes second nature.
Woman with the death sentence
> CHOKES TO DEATH DRINKING A VODKA AND COKE
while drinking a vodka and coke
Will have her drink stolen, smashed on the floor, and then I run.
I have been jailed multiple times.
I have recieved multiple ASBOs, and been warned and warned and fined. My life is a wreck, but I have been kept going by donations and inheritances to me, good natured people who set up funds to me before they die, in return for me having saved their lives at some point.
I am a good person, even if the nature of my existence means I must be a jackass who ruins people's day to make sure they live even a single day longer (if they seem to want that.). It doesn't help that I look a bit middle eastern due to my mum's side of the family being from that away. White people don't seem trust people who look naturally browner than them and have bushy eyebrows and curly hair, especially if they get all up in one's grill about them smoking nearby children.
But then I took a flight to NewYork. Holiday.
At first, it was fine. Ensured five people didn't die of starvation by sneaking a few dollars in their pockets.
Prevented a person choking on their toothbrush by stealing their toothbrush.
On the plane, winked at the stewardess, causing her death to change. I refuse to say what she was originally going to die of, but suffice it to say
> PAINLESS HEART FAILURE (AGE)
was an improvement.
But then, after the plane hit 3,000 the death sentences started to shift, and twist,
and every single one just had three letters and one word.
> CRASH WTC
WTC... World Trade Centre? How could it change without my influ- what.
As the arab man got up, the death sentences pulsed, and I got the sense that if I could see my own sentence, it would also say
> CRASH WTC
like the rest of the people on this plane.
I felt dizzy from the pulsating words I could not unsee, and got up, and flailed, trying to hit the shouty man with my iPod, not the best weapon to pick but it was what I had,
and the sensation of a ceramic blade entering my right
lung
and
the words
> STABBED BY KNIFE
appeared
i
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my
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i
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a
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e
me
| Nobody sees the world in the same way. Some people see it as an adventure, others as a game. Me? I've never had the liberty of enjoying it.
Imagine knowing how something would play out before it happened. Imagine the surprise of life being taken out. Imagine the joy of living being sucked away because all you can ever think about is death.
That's what my life is like. I see dead men walking. Not literally. I don't mean I see zombies. I mean I can see how everybody will die before they even know.
Imagine seeing your newborn child. Imagine holding him in your arms. Imagine trying to smile at your wife when you see the words "measles" appear above his head. You know there's a vaccine. You know you can stop it. But your wife doesn't believe in vaccines. You have to struggle with your inner demons as you watch your child grow up in front of your eyes, only to be stricken down when you least expect it. You have to comfort your wife and tell her that "he's going to be okay" when you know the truth.
That's when you realize that the "suicide" that appears above your wife's head is indeed going to come true, and you can't stop it. No matter how much your comfort her, no matter how many times you tell her it's going to be okay, one night you still wake up and she's gone. The search parties never find her, but you know the truth.
When you finally get back to work, you learn that your boss died of a heart attack. You pretend to be shocked. "He was so young" you say. "How could this happen?" You know it's fate. You know you can't stop it.
The years drag by. Some people leave, others pass away. Cancer, heart attacks, murder, suicide, car accidents. The list goes on and on, each in the exact same way you knew it would.
You start taking mental notes of the most common causes. Suicide seems to be rampant, but murder is a close second. As people leave the office one way or the other, they're always replaced by the same one. Murder.
As the last "cancer" one dies, they are replaced with one that you are not very familiar with. "Electric Chair".
You find it strange. After all, the only crime punishable by death is... murder.
Perhaps fate can be changed. You realize this could be your chance for redemption. One day, he leaves work early, and you follow him into the alley. He looks back, and sees you following him. He tries to say hello. With no words, you pull the gun from your coat and shoot him in the chest. He falls to the ground, limp. Is he dead? You don't know. You've never killed a man before.
You look behind you. Is someone there? Did someone see? Nobody is around. Nobody saw... except the camera.
You forgot the office had CCTV cameras inside AND outside. You panic. You have to stop this. You're a hero, not a killer. You saved all your co-workers. You've stopped a murderer. You can't let anyone see the footage.
You get in your car and drive to the back of the building. You take the lighter from your pocket and spark it. You throw it into the paper bin outside and watch it burn. Before you can get back into your car, the burning paper has ignited the tires. You watch, helplessly, as your car erupts into flames. You run away as fast as you can, until the explosion rocks you off your feet. The burning car had ignited the gas lines. The whole building is gone. Nobody could have survived. My co-workers were all accidentally murdered.
Before the sirens closed in, I took one last look back to make sure I at least took care of my quarry.
There was a trail of blood leading to an empty parking space. The murderer had still gotten away.
"I'll consider this your official confession." The police officer said to me as the dim lights continued to flicker.
"Yes. That's what I would call it." I replied calmly.
"You realize what the sentence is for murder around here, correct?"
"Yes." I replied once again. "Electric chair. I've been able to read my own cause of death for years." | 2015-03-31T11:33:24 | 2015-03-31T09:32:55 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You are a video game character, and the player is speed-running it.
EDIT: Well I consider this a success :/ | I waltz into town for the first time, but somehow it feels like I've been here for hundreds of times already.
Beside the old house on the east side of town, I see a worried-looking old lady looking as though she needs some help.
I walked towards her and felt strangely compelled to check if she needed anything.
Noticing my presence, the old lady's eyes lighted up as she spoke about her problems.
"Hey young adv-"
"Good to se-"
"Recently I los-"
"I need to ge-"
"But the stro-"
"So pleas-"
"You can find th-"
"Good luck!"
I don't even know what's going on, but my body is already heading towards the secret tunnels in the north-west area of the town.
As I sprinted through these dark tunnels, I can hear a growling sound coming from the depths.
Before I know it, I was facing a huge lion-beast that is 4 stories high, and it was... taunting me or something? I can't quite tell from his fragmented speech.
"HAH! Pesky adven-"
"Do you rea-"
"I AM THE KIN-"
"PREPAR-"
And then it charged at me, with his sharp claws pointed at me.
I panicked, and instinctively drew my pistols and shot twice the towering beast.
The beast immediately fell to its knees, a beautiful sapphire ring fell off its paw-fingers.
I walked up to the collapsed beast and picked up the sapphire ring.
Suddenly, the entire town of folks appeared behind me, cheering and congratulating me.
What? How did they even get here?
The old lady walked towards me, taking the sapphire ring from my palms.
"Thank y-"
And as I was just about to head towards town to take a rest, I hear a booming voice from the heavens :
"TUTORIAL STAGE: COMPLETE"
| The large, ornate clock was the center of the town. It stood nearly nine feet tall against the backdrop of a stone wall, its open face exposing the polished brass and steel gears which worked tirelessly to control time. Those mixed and matched notched wheels of metal were the brightest and liveliest inhabitants of the area, reflecting what little light given by the sun through an eerie fog. I had spent hours staring at the behemoth machine, a symbol of repetition and order in otherwise dead town. I would wake up when the long hand had finished its decent towards the ground, and was ready for another slow day by the time that hand was ready to descend again. At eleven in the morning, every day, I would open the door to my shop and wait and stare at the clock. At 8 I would close those doors and return to sleep by nine. It had been a full two days since settling here, and not a single customer. Just fog and the clock's incessant gear grinding. Why did I ever decide to come here?
At 12 noon I heard the first hint of life other than my own. They were foot steps, and they were moving oddly fast. I was excited. The idea of conversation with a real life stranger seemed serene considering my current seclusion. Would my voice still work if they tried to chat? Would they know what's going on with the outside world and the war? Brimming with anticipation I moved gracefully behind the counter, awaiting the stranger's approach. Thankfully, I didn't have to wait long. The masked stranger ran right through the door, and didn't stop until they reached me.
"Hello, and welcome to Alberan's Trading Goods!" I said, suppressing my excitement while maintaining healthy affability. "What can I-"
"Sell," interrupted the stranger, calmly and coldly.
"Let's see what you have, and I'll give you a price."
The stranger proceeded to reach into their bag and pull out a long sword to give to me. It certainly wasn't an immaculate piece of work, with scratches and notches all down the blade. But it seemed simple and sturdy, perfect for a poor foot soldier.
"Alright, I'll give you one silver for it!" I offered. The stranger seemed to accept the deal, as they accepted the silver and placed the sword in front of me without saying a word. "Will that be all for you then?"
"Buy." Responded the stranger.
"Okay, well there's a sale today on all potions an-"
"Greatsword of the Osenka the Fire Hermit," interrupted the stranger once again, as he handed me a small coin purse. Taken aback at his knowledge of my personal weapon, I looked inside the bag to find over 30 gold peices. Who was this person? How did they have that much money with such a poor sword? And how did they know about my own Greatsword, which I had acquired in secret before moving shop? With that much money being offered, I had little choice but to sell my most prized possesion.
"It's been a-" I managed to get out before the stranger sprinted out the door again. I watched them pause in front of the clock before continuing their sprint out of town. As the sound of their footsteps quieted with distance, I couldn't help but feel insignificant. I stared out the window at the town's main attraction. 12:03. Not only did I feel unimportant, but used and robbed of all self-worth. Most of all, though, I felt lonely. | 2015-06-11T00:00:33 | 2015-06-10T21:49:58 | 275 | 139 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | She’s so beautiful.
The second I see her my mind darts back to that little dinner party anecdote my uncle would always spout. “Well I had to travel to France,” he’d start “when your *words* are in French, you have to take the plunge. Six months I studied the language, six months I saved money for a ticket, only to find my belle chou was a stewardess on the flight!” I hate that story. He always smiled and winked at me after telling it, never knowing how much it hurt me. How was he to know, I’d never told him. I have no *words*.
Christ, now shes smiling at me.
My stomach lurches as I pretend to look past her, knowing I can’t put off going to her forever. Theres nothing like spending your life knowing youre destined to be alone. I’ve learned to avoid conversations when *words* come up; I feign insult and cite taboo if anyone asks directly about mine. I’ve had flings; girls have seen my unetched skin, but even when they mask their shock and dissapointment, their pity still shines through. I’ve learned to live with it. I’ve also learned they never call back afterwards.
Still, I don’t get paid for standing around moping my own misfortune. I take a deep breath and start to walk over to her table, trying and failing to look anywhere but her stunning face. I feel the colour rise in my cheeks at the same rate my stomach is sinking. Am I sweating? God I must look like an idiot to her. I clear my throat. “Good morning maam, how can I help? Coffee?” She pulls a cute appologetic face while raising her fist to her chest and moving it in a circle. I am confused. This is confusing, right? She points to her ear before theatrically shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. I don’t see which beverage she’s pointing to on the menu, instead I just grin as I realise what’s happening. She has no words either.
EDIT - Thanks guys, thats an amazing response and Im so glad you guys liked it. Cheers to u/Josh_is_a_lazy_lump for the admittedly purloined suggestion. For those wondering, I was aiming for deaf with muteness as a symptom but I wasnt well versed in the issues and particulars. In that vein, if anyone (rich) was touched by the story, please consider donating to www.deafchildworldwide.info who help spread awareness of deafness and support deaf children in third world countries. | I have always dreaded the Last Words. The words that I was born with, etched into the skin of my back. Everyone has the Last Words, every man, woman and child bares the last words of their soul mate somewhere on their body. Some words, of course, are more common than others. Many people bare heartfelt messages on their skin. I knew a woman, once, a long time ago, who bore the words:
"I will always love you." Upon her collarbone, above her heart. She was a lovely woman. A great friend. I was heartbroken when I heard the terrible news, that her fiancée had committed suicide. His final words, the words on her chest, were the last words he said to her before leaving home that day. He was meant to go to work. He never arrived.
"Run." I had once read on a man's forearm. He was a soldier. I assume that one day, maybe today, or yesterday or tomorrow, he will tell someone to run, he will try to protect someone. I pray every night that his last words do not fall on deaf ears.
We all bear the last words of our soul mates. Our most loved, carried with us in their final moments for all time. Of course, not everyone hears those last words. Some words haunt people their entire lives. People who live with seeing simple phrases in their skin every day.
"I'm going to get milk."
"would you look at that?"
"Who's there?"
Some people are haunted by those words. Sometimes I'm glad I'm not one of them. But, sometimes I wish I was. It seems that words, the understanding, would be something. Better than the blindness.
I took off my night shirt and ran a hand under the cold water. My water heater was broken again. The building manager would fix it, eventually. Until then I would make do. I pulled off my pyjamas and stepped into the shower, the cold water tracing countless, thin, icy fingers across my chest. I took the soap from the rack and began to wash myself.
I had the same routine every morning. I would eat, wash and brush. A simple ritual I could come to rely on. In the constant chaos and change of the world, two things stayed constant: my routine, and the scars of the Last Words on my back.
When I finished I stepped out of the shower, like every day. I took the towel from the rack and dried my hair. I dried top to bottom, from my hair to my face, shoulders to chest. Hips to legs. A simple ritual. A constant. Then, like every morning, I brushed my teeth in common fashion, spit and rinsed my sink once complete. Then, like every morning, I turned away from the mirror and opened the bathroom door, collecting my dirty clothes on the way out. If I had looked the mirror, which I never did upon leaving, I would be able to read the Last Words of my true love, my soul mate. I knew there was nothing there. That the skin on my back lay unmarred except for the slightest of scars. Many of my friends had tried to assure me it was nothing, that my loved ones final words would simply not be words. It would be a kiss, or an audible sigh. we all knew they were lies. If that were true, there would have been a sigh carved into the flesh of my back, not a line curved in the shape of a serpent.
I go day to day knowing that I have no loved one. No soul mate. But I am content with my existence. I live, I work, I go out with friends. I am not depressed or oppressed. If anything, I am free from the bounds of love, the weight of the fates carved into the flesh of every other human being on the planet. I know that I will never have a Hollywood moment, I will never catch the eye of some woman in a coffee shop, or trip over myself my walking back to my desk at the end of the day. But I do know that when I come home, I have a warm bed, a fridge full of food, and a lovely black cat waiting for me. For now, that's more than enough.
| 2015-08-08T11:29:36 | 2015-08-08T09:37:31 | 1,771 | 560 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | She stirred, wincing slightly, in the metal bed. I poured her a small cup of water from the plastic pitcher on the bedside table, just in case she needed it. Next to it lay a pack of grapes- I'd kept bringing them for her long after she stopped being able to eat them, I don't know why. She shook her head slightly at the cup of water I held out to her and her cold, papery fingers found their way into my hand. I fiddled with her wedding ring, the soft gold misshapen from so many years of constant wear, which was now so loose on her finger. Her eyes closed and she went back to sleeping. She looked so small and fragile now. I talked to her, no, at her, about the week, about people we knew, about the neighbour's garden. Out of nowhere, she made a sound, a rattle, and the machines started beeping angrily. Nurses rushed in, moved me out the way into a corner and finally they moved me again, out in the hallway, told me there was nothing I could do, asked if there was anyone who could come and pick me up, be with me.
"But... but... my wife..." I stuttered, hardly able to stand, running my arm subconsciously over the scar tissue on my forearm "She didn't say it.... she.... she didn't say it...". | The subway slid along noisily underneath the city streets. Sam sat quietly in one corner listening to music through one earphone and mindlessly eating his breakfast (a granola bar that was a bit too hard) with the other. He stared at the words written plainly up his forearm. Words he, and everyone else in the world, was born with. Superstition held that these words would be the last you'd ever hear from your one true companion in life. Sam supposed it wasn't really superstition if it was always true. Most people simply had some variation of "I love you" but others where more foreboding. Among the latter was Sam. Everyone agreed he had some of the most tragic words they'd ever seen. All that was written was "No, Dammit, wait!" Sam pictured himself dying some gallant death as his wife called him. He wasn't to upset about it though. All men must die eventually, and perhaps his end would be like something out of a movie.
Suddenly, a light kick in the shins jarred him from his thoughts and brought Sam back to the present. A girl was standing over him looking down expectedly. It took Sam a moment to clue in. "Oh, right. Sorry." He said as he slid over to make room on the bench. The girl took a seat next to him. Sam went back to his thoughts of romantic death and zoned out again. He didn't get to far though, because all of the sudden, the girl spoke up.
"Whatcha listening to?" She asked.
Sam looked at the girl and blanked. She was pretty, with an angular face and long brown hair in a ponytail. Suddenly he decided he wanted this particular girl to like what he was listening to.
"Uhhh, Mumford and Sons?" He lied.
The girl smiled. "Can I listen? I hate the music they play through the PA in this damn train."
Sam tried and failed to supress his smile. He quickly changed the song and gave her an earphone.
They struck up a conversation and Sam found himself wondering if this was the girl he would die so gallantly for. As he looked at her smile though, the thought didn't sadden him. Too soon, the train was nearing his stop. As he felt it start to slow he got a piece of paper out of his pocket to write his number. He handed it to her as he got up to leave and she handed him his other head phone. She put the number in her wallet.
"It was nice meeting you," Sam said. "But I have to go now." He smiled as he got up and was pushed away by the crowd. When he looked back, he saw that she was pale, looking at him as if she'd seen a ghost. "No, Dammit," She shouted to him. "Wait!" Sams heart sunk like a rock as he was pushed out the doors and they slid shut behind him. | 2015-08-08T12:20:09 | 2015-08-08T12:14:55 | 39 | 14 |
[WP] - You are an angel of heaven. Angels are tasked with creating animals to populate the earth. You are called into God's office to discuss your finished project - the platypus. | "Uh oh, somebody's getting called on the carpet."
"Is that Bill?"
"Yeah. 'Duck Bill', I hear they're calling him now."
"Sheesh. Poor guy. It must've seemed like a good idea at the time."
"It wasn't even his project back then. He took it over from Baruchiel when Bar got promoted to Arch. Remember that whole craze for flightless birds?"
"Do I? I was lead on the cassowary. Not that I got any credit --"
"Right, I forgot. Anyway, the platypus got dropped on Bill right at the tail end of that, when Management started transitioning to mammals."
"Yikes. I guess that explains the eggs, too."
"No! You haven't heard the story? The eggs were a typo."
"What? Are you serious?"
"Yep. It was supposed to say 'legs'. Autocorrect strikes again."
"Wait, here he comes. Oh man, he's cleaning out his desk. Poor guy."
"What kind of name is 'Bill' for an angel anyway?" | *lights turn off at the Angel's click*
"*Ahem*, I'll get straight to the point. I know my last creation cause a bit of trouble, but I didn't think it through before combining the horse and a fly."
The clouds thunder in the distance.
Using a clicker, the next slide is shown. An assembly of random parts is shown together. The clouds in the distance rumble one more, growing dark into a thick gray cloud.
"I call it a platypus. I couldn't think of a name before Gregory told me it looks like something you would find on a plate." A feigned chuckle.
The attempt at humour goes poorly, the clouds rumbling once more. The Angel hears a sparkle of anger.
"The purpose of this animal is none other than to add to the collection of dangerous beings in the southern hemisphere island nation, the large landmass isolated from the rest. Originally, it was supposed to burrow, like Peter's mole, but we found it the environment unsustainable with too many creatures."
The cloud remained silent, letting only a slight tone change relax the mood.
"It is a duck billed, otter footed and beaver tailed creature. It lays eggs in order to reproduce. While it looks and acts like various animals, the unique feature for this creature is that it has venom."
The skies darkened, thunder roaring in the distance.
"I know! I know! We agreed that we should be kinder to our kindred spirits down there, but the environment makes this landmass exceptionally dangerous. Thus, to reflect that, we made this creature up for proposal."
A thin mist began showering towards the Angel.
"No, I don't think we could pit this against the beaver in the north, and the tropic jungles to the north and far east are too different filled with too many other insects, birds and fauna. This landmass is perfectly suited."
The clouds darkened again.
"Also, we don't have any other ideas and this would fill the quota assigned."
The clouds turned white. The Angel sighing with relief clicked the lights on and exited the ethereal room.
---
"How did the presentation go Paul?" There were a group of angels waiting eagerly in the req room.
"Well, it got a green light."
"Are you serious? That was meant to be a joke. Greg's side project!"
"Well, like it or not, that's going to have to do." They all grinned at each other with a secret delight.
*The humans will have a ball trying to figure this one out!* They thought to themselves. | 2016-05-15T11:24:07 | 2016-05-15T10:47:09 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] The dead spinning in their graves is a real thing and now used to generate electricity. Your job is to come up with the best ideas to piss off the deceased in order to maximise energy production. | I wired the money to the assassin. He'd done great work with the poison, as usual. The turbines were hooked up and ready to go.
I called my contacts in the media. "Alright. Another one is finished. Initiate."
The headlines the next day:
"**FAMED SKEPTIC TURNS TO RELIGION ON DEATHBED; SAYS HE "FOUND GOD IN HIS FINAL MOMENTS"**" | I stood in front of the mausoleum. It was a rainy day, but I knew that this would all be worth it in a few moments. All I had to was make the call. To begin the plan I had set in motion. All it took was a few dozen people to convince, and one key person. But first I had to say sorry. I had to apologize to the man who started it all.
I stepped through the gate first, my hands grazed the railing as I walked deeper into the mausoleum. So much history, so much that one man did, wrapped into a tight brick building with a generator, capable of capturing as much as energy as this single, grave could muster, was already ready. It had been a long road, not unlike the road we were about to venture on, but it would be worth it. Clean, renewable energy, so long as we could keep the charade up.
I stopped in front of the casket. My hands rested on the stone. It was ordinary, not ornate or anything regal. It was exactly like he would have wanted it to be. I loved him for that. I loved him for a lot of reasons. Many of which I were about to betray with the phone call I had to make. But he would understand. He would know what this would mean to *his* country.
I lifted my hand to the dial and sighed. "I'm sorry George," I said, "but in order to keep this country great, to keep this country sustainable and beautiful, and what *you* wanted it to be." I took a deep breath, "I have to do this."
I pressed dial and lifted the phone to my ear.
It rang once.
Then twice.
"Hello?"
"Donald?"
"Is it time?"
I smirked, as his campaign adviser, I made the final call on his announcement. My smirk turned into a smile and I lifted my hands off the grave. "It's time."
"It's gonna be yuge."
"Yes," I said as I felt the generator power up, "yes it is." | 2016-09-26T20:42:22 | 2016-09-26T17:13:16 | 77 | 31 |
[WP]You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.
Inspired by *The Merchant Adventurer*, by Patrick E. McLean.
EDIT: Wow, thanks everyone that contributed! The awesome Patrick E. McLean (/u/patrickemclean) stopped by, gave a snippet from his book in a comment, and even gave us a link to listen to *The Merchant Adventurer* as an audiobook:
>Okay, a bit unusual, but since I wrote the book that inspired this writing prompt, Here's mine. The Merchant Adventure is available as a free audiobook if you want the whole thing: http://podiobooks.com/title/the-merchant-adventurer/ | Okay, a bit unusual, but since I wrote the book that inspired this writing prompt, Here's mine. The Merchant Adventure is available as a free audiobook if you want the whole thing: http://podiobooks.com/title/the-merchant-adventurer/
Rattick threw the necklace on the oak counter and watched the light dance in it like a living thing. He nodded at it and asked, "Have you ever seen such exquisite workmanship?"
Boltac, the Merchant on the other side of the counter, picked up the ruby necklace and examined it closely. He gave Rattick a hard look and frowned. Maybe the deal was good, but this shifty-eyed, greasy-hair scavenger looked like he would pick his own pocket if he thought he could get away with it.
Boltac's eyes were swathed in a soft round face, but they were sharp enough that Rattick would not brave his gaze. And despite the fleshiness that middle age had added to Boltac’s neck and gut, his jaw had stayed strong and block-like. He was not a man that people easily got the better of.
Boltac studied the necklace for a while. Then he licked his thumb, rubbed the necklace's setting, and muttered, "You missed a spot."
"Missed a spot?" asked Rattick, as smooth as water over river rock.
"Blood, Rattick. There's some blood left on this necklace."
Rattick shrugged. "Probably mine. I try to use stealth, but the Orc I took it from put up quite a fight."
"En-henh," Boltac said as ran his hand across his shaven pate. "Not that I want to know, but what is an Orc?"
"A fearsome new creature wreaking havoc on the good people of Robrecht."
"En-henh," said Boltac, not buying it. "And you, uh, count yourself among those good people?"
"Of course. I am no mighty Hero, like some, but I do what little I can."
"Okay, Rattick, I'm gonna make you an offer on your necklace here. The setting is crap, but the stone is very nice. But before I do -- not for nuttin' but, Orcs? You're shittin' me, right?"
"Oh no, stout Merchant, I assure you, Orcs are very real."
"Really? Kobolds, I heard of. Trolls, I heard of. Dragons, sure, but Orcs? C'mon. What does an Orc look like?"
"Gentle Merchant, I hope that you never see one, but I assure you, if you do, you will know it for the Orc that it is."
"En-henh."
"Let me tell you the fearsome tale of how I came to acquire this necklace and then perhaps you will better understand the threat that the fearsome Orc--"
"You can spare me the story, Rattick," said Boltac.
"You don't enjoy Tales of Valor?" asked Rattick with a smile.
"Tales of Valor? No. I enjoy tales of profit."
"I don't know any sagas that involve tales of profit," said Rattick. "But Tales of Valor, of great daring... the bards sing many songs of those."
"Yeah, I don't really care for singing either. In fact, let's just cut all the bullshit. I'm pretty sure I know how you got this."
"Yessssss," purred Rattick, running his finger over the ruby, "but do you care?"
"Not if you'll take fifteen gold for it I don't."
"Fifteen gold? I risked my neck for this!"
"Your neck? I'm pretty sure *you* risked somebody *else's* neck for this particular bauble. Fine, seventeen for the gem, and two gold for the rest of it." Boltac said, indicating the pile of equipment on the floor.
"But this sword almost defeated a Troll!"
"Yeah, and it almost doesn't have that huge nick in it. And why does everything in that pile smell like Troll shit?"
They haggled like this for a while, and settled on a price of 22 gold for the lot. When Rattick left, Boltac muttered a curse and had to work to keep from spitting on his own floor.
He placed the ruby in one of three lockboxes behind the counter and then dragged the bundle of equipment into the back to see how badly he had been taken. The sword was of higher quality than he had hoped for, and there were a number of items that, while they wouldn't fetch top price, would provide good use. The odd piece of armor, some leather goods. He threw out a badly damaged boot and debated opening a nondescript fabric sack. Sacks could be trouble. For that matter so could gems.
He grunted as he stood up. He trudged wearily back to the front of the store. From beneath the counter, he produced a brass-tipped wand that was clipped to the underside of the thick oak. He took the wand to the back and guided it carefully over all the items.
The wand did not grow warm or shriek or vibrate or do any of the many colorful and destructive things it did in the presence of Magic. The wand was not merely a Magic wand. It was a Magic *detecting* wand. Very rare, very expensive. But, for a man who dealt in items of unknown origins purchased from characters of questionable virtue, it was indispensable.
"Ennh," grunted Boltac, more relieved than disappointed. Boltac hated Magic. It wasn't just dangerous, it was bad for business. When a customer couldn't try on a pair of gloves for fear that they would turn out to be MaGrief's Gauntlets of Self-Abuse, business suffered.
That's why he kept the wand secreted under his the counter. Pick up a cursed ruby necklace and there was no telling what might happen. Before he had procured his wand, Boltac had spent six months with a cursed Goblet of Thirst stuck to his hand. As annoying as that was, that wasn't the worst part of the curse. When liquid was poured into the Goblet, it heated up and burned the hand that held it.
He rubbed the scarred flesh of his left hand. Ugh, Magic. It seemed like it should be useful but its power always seemed to go awry. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was karma. Maybe it was that Wizards had a particularly cruel and ironic sense of humor. Whatever the reason, Boltac was certain that the world would be better off without Magic. But there was nothing to be done about it. People may revile a Merchant but, in the end, a Merchant can only sell what the people want.
He pulled on a stout thong he wore around his neck and, with a jingle, a cluster of charms, tokens, and amulets emerged from beneath his tunic. He pawed at them for a while until he came to an odd one cast in bronze. It was a small statue of one bull mounting another. The customary token of Dallios, Lord of the Deal. Dallios was a Southron God, little known in cold Robrecht, but when it came to religions, Boltac didn't discriminate. Boltac was a superstitious man, but he prided himself on being able to make a deal with anybody.
He kissed the Bull with Two Backs and muttered a prayer of thanks to Dallios that, this time at least, he hadn't been the bull on the bottom.
Just then the front door clattered against its crude copper bell. A customer! The Lord of the Deal smiled on Boltac today, and he hurried to see what fresh profit Dallios had seen fit to bring him.
| The adventurer entered Smithy's shop, the door hitting the entrance bell as it swings open. A cute little jingle played throughout the area, making the owner himself, Smithy, perk up from under a table, banging his head on its underside the first time he tried to rise. He succeeded at the second attempt. Smithy didn't have any customers today, so obviously, he was excited to finally have someone come in.
His enthusiasm waned almost instantly, however, as his customer was no one other than Billy Joe the Great, one of the greatest heroes in the land... Or server, as the people who weren't as into the game as Smithy called it. The problem was, Billy Joe always passed by a couple other, much richer merchants before he came to Smithy, dumping all of his actually valuable loot on them and leaving poor Smithy with the junk. Not to mention...
"'Ey there, if it isn't my favorite garbage disposal! How's ya doin'?" He was a huge douche.
"Alright, first off? If you want to keep coming here, you're gonna need to watch that language. Second of all, I'm in a pretty bad mood. I've barely had any customers in the past few days-"
"Whoa there, I didn't ask for your life story, pal, an "I'm fine" would've sufficed!" Joe said, interrupting the vendor with the most obnoxious tone any being could be able to muster.
"... So, what do you have for me today, Billy?" Smithy asked, his eyelids lowered. He was certainly not capable of perpetuating the hero's bullshit at this time, best to just get the transaction over with.
Oh, what was he gonna bring today? A rat skin? Ear bones? (He particularly liked the anvil.) Or maybe a literal pile of phoenix turd? Despite its rarity, it was still a turd and it, therefore, had the value of one.
"Oh, you're gonna like this one." Billy's left eyebrow raised and a shit-eating grin curled up on his face as he sent forward an unknown object with a purple veil over it, laying it on the table, with care.
"What is it?" Smithy asked, hoping to god it won't be some sort of annoying prank.
"Come on, take a look!" Billy responded in an ominous tone, pointing at the cover, eagerly waiting for the merchant to unravel it. Smithy complies by pinching the silky veil in his index and middle finger, lifting it off in a dramatic manner. His eyes widen at what laid before him.
"You. Can't. Be. Serious." Smithy said, almost running out of breath just by staring at the object. On the table a single pink ingot stood, it radiating a colorful aura. This was, indeed, a full ingot of one of the rarest materials in the game, Othoetine. For such a high-level player such as Joe, this was a somewhat acceptable find. For Smithy, on the other hand? Motherlode.
"How much do you want for it? Come on, tell me!" Smithy asked, almost bouncing on the spot.
"Hmm... About 30k gs."
"What? You know that I don't have so much money!" His shoulders dropped and his head tilted to the side, disappointed.
"Ha, yeah, I know. I'm just fucking with you, man! Actually, I wanted to give this to you for free." Joe said, rubbing his chin.
"Y-You'd do that? For me?... Wait a second, I'm not stupid. What's the catch?"
"Well, y'see, it all started a few hours ago, on the-"
"Just get to the point."
"Don't rush me! Okay, so, my guild is currently at war with another guild, and we kinda got our asses kicked. Of course, it was because of my lesser teammates."
"Obviously." Smithy raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.
"Before I made my tactical retreat, I managed to loot the corpse of one of the dudes from the other guild. Problem is, only now I realized that, well..."
"Well, what?"
"The items are marked."
Smithy just barely contained his rage, his mind racing with thoughts, all of them malicious and all of them directed at the man before him. A marked item meant that it could be tracked. Since the confrontation only took part a few hours ago, that means the other guild might be searching for the loose ends, Joe being one of them. If Smithy were to be found with one of their marked items, they would probably gut him, and he didn't feel like getting his store robbed and his face pummeled by a bunch of angry veterans.
"So, uhm, I thought that maybe you'd be able to help? After all, they wouldn't pick on such an insignificant runt, now would they?" He asked as if Smithy already knew the answer to that question. Ignoring the insult, he thought of an appropriate and level-headed response.
"Get out of my store and never show up again, you piece of-"
A loud shattering sound pierced the two's ears, followed by the twinging of an arrow. After a well-deserved flinch, both men discovered that the window of the shop was broken in, a solitary arrow lodged into the mahogany table that Smithy cleaned obsessively on a regular basis. A lightly armored ranger did a flamboyant flip as he entered through the window, his bow drawn at Billy. Both the merchant and the hero raised their hands instinctively. Soon after, a knight entered through the clearly open door, then pointed at it while looking at the ranger, who merely rolled his eyes.
"Alright, Billy Joe, we caught you now! What say you, vile bastard?" The knight asked as he drew his sword. A loud, metallic swishing noise echoed through the room, sending shivers down Billy's spine. (One that would never exist in real life, because that's not how swords work, for fuck's sake. *Ahem*. Sorry about that.)
"Well, you may have caught me, but you will never be able to defeat our guild's leader!" He then pointed Smithy.
"W-What?"
"That's right, you're messing with the wrong guy, fellas! He can twist you up in a pretzel using only his hand-to-hand skill! He can shoot you dead with a freaking rubber duck! He can pierce holes into your armor using only the badly cut fingernail on his pinkie! He's only wearing such low-level gear to bait you into coming here."
The knight switched his attention to Smithy, who's struggling to form words. Before he could explain, he found himself get nearly split in half by a sword slice from the knight, one that cut his mahogany table in half.
"My table! Please, have mercy on me, I'm just a merchant! That man is lying, I'm only a pleb!"
The knight scratched his armored head, looking at Billy, then back at Smithy, who's cowering in the corner.
"I say we kill them both." said the ranger, his bow still drawn somehow.
"That seems to be the best course of action, indeed!" the knight responded with an approving nod.
"Say your prayers. After I'm done with you, you'll wish that this server had permadeath on!"
"Wait!" Screamed a voice from the back. A horse could be heard sneezing, followed by the sound of boots rattling on the ground. Inside the shop, a caped figure wearing a nearly blindingly shiny armor entered. Both the knight and the ranger bowed before their leader while Billy attempted to sneak away through the broken window. He, however, was soon met with a throwing knife from the new figure, one that made him fall over. He cowered in the corner along with Smithy.
"You both, take our friend Billy here and show him the treatment he deserves." He said as he pointed at Billy, who was carried away without much effort, apart from a few distasteful curses and some quiet sobbing.
Only the leader of the guild and the merchant remained, staring at each other silently for a few moments.
"What you did was very brave of you. You risked your well-being for the sake of capturing that bastard. You knew that he trusted you, and you were not afraid to betray that trust for the greater good."
"... Sure." Smithy responded, giving a thumbs up and shifting his eyes away from the leader's piercing gaze.
"For that, I shall reward you, merchant. Here, have 10k. Oh, and you can keep that ingot." The leader then tossed a fistful of coins at Smithy. They disappeared soon after, meaning that the transaction was made.
"T-Thanks, I suppose."
"I must leave now, and unless you decide to take up arms, I highly suggest that you don't meddle in such dangerous business from now on." Those were the last words of the guild's leader before he got on his mighty steed and galloped away with Billy, who was dragged along with a rope.
Smithy got up and dusted himself off, scratching the back of his head. It took him a while for everything to sink in, but when he saw the Othoetine, a bright smile appeared on his face. Whistling, he stashed it away and closed down shop for the day. The mahogany table wasn't gonna fix itself. | 2016-10-16T17:09:52 | 2016-10-16T10:49:32 | 62 | 11 |
[WP] There's a strange light switch in your house that does nothing. Even the previous tenant told you it does nothing and it's better to just leave it alone. You have, until today when your curiosity got the best of you and you flipped it on. Nothing happened until an hour later... | I didn't wake to the sound of screaming, instead my slumber was sucked out from me in an instant leaving only a face fresh with sweat.
The switch. The one that did nothing. It had to be that. It had to be. No other cause crossed my mind.
And when I walked down the stairs, my slipper pressed into wet carpet and squished beneath my weight. It was the color of wine and smelled weakly of iron.
If I told you how much blood there was, you'd never believe me.
The switch was by the door. I looked at it. Had I not flipped it? I pinched it and clicked it up and down repeatedly. I cannot tell you why, perhaps I thought it would have undone the horror before me, but I did it without hesitation or regret. But in the end, nothing happened.
When I turned my head, I saw the corpse. There she was again. It had been six years since that day. Only that time there wasn't nearly as much blood. And for the first time since the divorce, I saw my wife smile.
The sirens came.
The doorbell rang.
I ran upstairs as my stomach burned hot like after several shots of booze. With a pull I opened the door of my closet and slammed it back into place once I was inside. With my pressed knees against my chest and as I rocked back and forth, the flashes of hot and cold came, fighting each other for dominance from within the deepest wells of my gut.
The footsteps followed, up and up and up until the floorboard creaked. The door swung open and the officer stood over me, his body cast in shadow from the room's light behind him. He reached down. For his cuffs? For his gun?
He helped me up and brought me to the bed.
"Neighbor called, you alright?" asked the officer.
"No," I said.
He helped me down the stairs and it was all gone. Not a drop of blood to be seen. Even the corners of the hallway were vacuumed free of dust.
"What happened?" I asked.
The officer did not answer, instead he helped me outside.
By the time I made it to the ambulance, and as I climbed into the back of it I turned around to look through the front door of my house.
Just like six years ago, it was nothing.
Nothing happened. | The lights in my house start to get brighter. I notice a hum, a steady drone rising in volume. I feel a tingling sensation all over my skin. There is the taste of metal on my tongue. Something is burning.
I try to find my way back to the light switch but it's almost too bright to see, the droning so loud. It hurts now. It is all reaching a horrible crescendo and then the lights all burn out and the sound stops like someone pulled the plug. I'm on the living room floor in the dark, heart racing.
I get up and try to regain composure. I'm dizzy. I stumble to the front door, open it to let the light in.
My yard is gone. The neighborhood is too. I stare in disbelief, then feel my feet moving me onto the stoop. There's an empty lot around my house, littered with garbage. There's a grove of trees across the street where Mr. Johansen's house should be.
I feel my feet carry me to the curb. I turn around and my house is there, asynchronous and completely out of place, plopped down out of nowhere. I turn back to the street, look it up and down: familiar.
A boy is walking down the street towards me, looking at the ground. He has a backpack, a zip up sweatshirt that's too big, and a mop of messy hair that comes down to his eyes. He doesn't look at me, or at the house. He keeps walking. I can hear muffled music from his headphones. Something about him looks familiar.
I turn and follow the kid - I don't know why. It's almost as though I can't help it. We walk down the street, cross over others, until he turns down a driveway and goes in the front door.
I can hear the yelling as soon as he opens the door. Without realizing it I follow him into the kitchen. A man is standing over a woman, arm raised. She's crying. I almost collapse. My parents.
"Get out of here, boy."
The boy doesn't move. Me, I don't move. Me in the past doesn't move. Can that be me? Was I that skinny? I come around myself and see that past me is holding a gun. Pointing at the belly of dad.
I'm sweating, panicking. They can't see me. I don't want to remember this, so long ago, so many bad things I've packed up and pushed away. I reach out to grab the gun but I can't budge him, can't budge it.
I run back out the front door and hear a bang inside the house like a giant door slamming shut.
I'm running down the street and collapse. I hit my head and open my eyes in a court room, standing facing a crowd of people, metal cuffs bind my hands, I feel hot tears on my face.
Time is moving, changing, swirling by in years and twists of memory that drag me through, I'm in a place with white walls, white walls and people standing in corners with white pants, white shirts, and white shoes. I can see out a window into a garden that is sad. I don't know why, but it's sad.
I'm sitting on a park bench with a beautiful girl, I'm holding a baby wrapped in blankets, holding my frail mothers hands, there's tubes in her nose, I'm falling and moving, places, places, places.
I'm lying on my back, staring at a ceiling. I'm drenched in sweat, breathing heavy. I sit up. I'm in my living room again.
I look at the switch on the wall that I flicked an eternity ago. There's a black scorch mark on the plate, burned plastic.
I go to the front door and the world is there again, my world. The sweat feels like cold rain. I remember. | 2017-02-28T03:35:06 | 2017-02-28T02:19:13 | 70 | 16 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | Ive never submitted anything- and hopefully this doesn't suck as much as I think it does.
He came in through my window, creeping slowly through the bedroom door, down the hall into the bathroom and that's when my father crumbled to the floor.
As he left, he turned to me and that's when I caught the grey in his dark eyes. I soon fell under his spell and forgot about my poor fathers demise.
Although it was My fathers soul, he intended to take - he had no way of knowing that it was my love he'd awake.
From a child to a girl, to a woman I grew and yet he never returned. That's the moment that I knew.
My stepfather who abused me, my mother and her lies, my brother who tortured me - everybody. everybody dies.
My mother got the ax, my brother got the gun, my step father well - he got the chainsaw just for fun.
As I stood in the blood of those I hated the most - the smoke slowly rolled in and in walked my ghost.
He collected the souls that he came to take - "wait." I called to him. "Don't - don't go." My voice begins to break.
"My need for you, my want for you, my love - it grows deeper. Everything I've done- I've done for you, please stay my darling reaper. "
"My soul is black, and my heart - well it's gone
Stop, foolish girl. Your thoughts? They are wrong."
"But I love you." I begged
Silence, was his reply
"Say something.. say anything. Please." I cry.
"Take me with you- I'll go. I can be your queen of the dead. I'll be the beat in your heart and the warmth in your bed."
"You kill for a love that will never exist, you pine for the dead- you beg- you persist. I will not take you with me - and that is true - there is nothing you can say. There is nothing you can do."
But there is one thing I have, a trick up my sleeve - a Pistol with a bullet loaded, cocked and ready, just for me. "We will be together soon." "Oh" he asked. "How do you figure?" That's when I put the gun in my mouth and in that moment, pulled the trigger.
| *Cold. So cold.*
She zipped up her hoodie and tucked her hands into her pockets. Her wet sneakers squeaked against the sterile tile as she walked the familiar trek to her mothers room, the biting scent of the hospital filling her nose. She passed the threshold of her mothers room holding her breath, then exhaled as she saw her mother smiling through tired eyes and a shrunken body.
"I thought you may want to hear more of that book today," she commented, grabbing the book from her bag and turning to her bookmark. She sat at the edge of her mothers hospital bed and began where they had left off.
Warmth began seeping its way into the room. There was a rushing of feet and the blaring of medical equipment. She continued reading.
*Warm.*
She unzipped her hoodie.
*Too warm.*
She took her hoodie off.
*Something's not right.*
"I'm going to go see what the deal is with the heater. It's June, in Austin. This is ridiculous." She huffed, stuffing her bookmark in its place and standing.
Her mother reacted, "You're going to stop reading *there*? I'm not hot in the least bit..."
She was already out the door. She headed towards the heat. That's when she saw her. White flowing hair, soft eyes, pale skin. So much pale skin with none being blocked by clothing. She watched the woman and began drawing closer. She wanted to feel more of her warmth. To be wrapped in it. The woman's face met her gaze and warmth flooded her body. She stopped, her eyes wide with the sensation.
**"You can't be here!"** A powerful shove and a door in her face as a nurse ushered her out of the door. It hadn't occurred to her that she was invading on a medical team attempting to restart a heart. All that mattered was the warmth. She peered in the window.
The warmth that was gone, as was the woman.
-----------
It was a while before her moms health declined to the point where hospice was involved. During that time, she felt the warmth many times throughout the hospital. Often following it to see the same apparition. It was never frightening. Contrarily, it was inviting. One time in particular the woman walked towards her. The sound of graceful bare feet on the floor echoing in her head with each step.
The woman's gaze never left hers as she stood in front of her. A hand was raised and placed on her shoulder. It was hot to the point where she flinched out of instinct, expecting a burn when instead there was only an engulfing of tranquility, happiness, and love. A burning love of seemingly endless supply. The hand was lifted and tears sprang to her eyes.
"Don't! Please, stay."
The woman's eyes shifted to something of pain; she shook her head. "You will regret all the time you have spent fantasizing about Death," and she was gone.
It wasn't long after that when her mothers condition became very unstable. She continued to read, waiting for any warmth.
The day came when her mothers vitals were indicating an end. She continued to read.
*Finally*
The warmth began.
She placed her bookmark and waited.
It grew. Warmer and faster than ever before.
*Warm. So warm.*
Then she was there. The woman's eyes turned to her in sorrow.
"How did your book end?" Death questioned.
"Happily," she responded.
Her mother took a final breath. Ever wrinkle flattening out as she was engulfed in Deaths embrace. Her eyes began to overflow.
"I'm sorry," death whispered. "All life must end. I knew you would regret loving me. All who see me do at some point." Death hung her head. Her pin straight white hair laid gracefully down her back and over her shoulders.
"I didn't love you," she responded. "I loved what you had to offer." She paused
Death peaked behind her glittering locks, peering quizzicality at her.
"A happy ending."
| 2017-06-07T21:48:28 | 2017-06-07T20:59:08 | 25 | 14 |
[WP] A literal genie – one who cruelly twists someone's wish, based on their exact words – must explain why they granted a child's wish without repercussions, to their superiors. The genie tries to spin the reasoning behind their benevolent actions into a malevolent light.
Edit: All these stories are amazing! | "He was a child," I said, back drawn up straight. "Pure of intent. I simply responded to that."
"I have little care for your excuses," Thurn replied, what passed for her eyes dark with disapproval. "And less for the results. You will tell me *why* and we shall see if I am willing to leave more of you than the echoes of thunder. Details, Kwostiid."
"The boy was riven...can you blame him? Fighting constantly with his father, the death of his younger brother, and all that awaited him were the long years of a life he didn't want to lead."
"So, what? Sympathy?" There was a dangerous edge to Thurn's voice, and I could see the storm building across her shoulders, a rising anger teasing the hoarfrost of her hair. We *dschinn* of the old world are beings of nature, powerful but resentful of the men who try to tame us; not like our southern cousins who have been leashed with rings and lamps.
But it was that same disdain that kept Thurn from realizing what I had done. Now, my continuation demanded I make her see.
"Of course not," I scoffed. "His wish was a simple thing: the chance for something beautiful in his life. So I gave him a glimpse of that--of the art in his soul--and the skill of hand to bring it out onto the canvas."
"And **that** is what I do not understand, Kwostiid! With that frustrated energy, you could have easily made the man into wreck; why give him hope? Throw him into a gutter to rot, else put a knife in his spirit and make him share his hateful misery with those around him."
I am not proud that I flinched when the lance of lightning ripped free of Thurn, blasting apart a black-wooded pine. Only after the roll of thunder subsided did I continue.
"Because you can only be given so much," I said, keeping the rumbling fear from my voice. "And because of *time*. I gave him the painter's brush, the dream, and just enough of a push to see the finish line before falling down."
"And I do not see any reason for this pointless play at subtlety. Even an imperfect blessing will elevate him above his current woe."
"Then I will make a deal with you," I said, finally making my bid to survive my plan. "Let us come back in a few decades and see what has sprouted from this seed?"
I held the north wind of my breath, watching as the black clouds swirled in a prolonged rumination, only relaxing when they began to break apart in a frigid exhalation of drizzle-laden wind. Thurn was calmed for the moment.
"Very well, Kwostiid...I shall give you a little time. We shall shelve the matter of this 'Adolf' for now." | "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!"
The Grand Elder was unhinged. He had ranted for nearly an hour about "traditions" and the "problems with the millennials these days" and "respect". He wasn't strictly wrong though; Balthor *didn't* respect the elder or traditions and he *was* under 1000 years old.
Still, Balthor was patient and sat in silence while the old man said his piece. He had waited for a specific phrase before speaking, but hadn't heard it so far. Maybe just a little push...
"What's the big deal? It's just one child"
"JUST ONE CHILD!" the elder screamed. "One or a HUNDRED, it makes no difference. Our sanctum has been shamed and EVERYONE KNOWS ABOUT IT!"
Balthor smiled.
"Exactly," he said quietly as he rose confidently to his feet.
Shocked into silence by Balthor's sudden movement and level tone, the Elder froze; almost as if bespelled. The rest of the council had long since lost interest - leaning heavily in their chairs or resting in their hands, but the sudden change in the room put everyone on instant alert. Balthor had their complete attention.
"Everyone knows..." He spoke quietly, but in the gaping silence, his words fell like hammers in the hall.
"Everyone. From our sanctum across the realm and even into the human world. All have heard of the 'miraculous genie' and the wish I granted. Did you think I did this on accident? That I was careless? That I am *soft*!?"
"Have you even noticed how the humans distrust us now. That our victories are few because many refuse our help. How cautious they've become when accepting our magic. Their pain and anguish used to light the tallest spires, but now we can barely light the candles in this room."
"This council is too set in its ways..."
"You forget your..." started one elder angrily, rising from his seat. Balthor paused to face him. The elder's words died on his lips as he shriveled back into his seat. Smart move. Balthor continued.
"WE have not changed, but the world of man HAS. They've grown. They've learned. They want our power and they'be become clever about using it and we suffer for it. You have led us to ruin and now you are finished. The Sanctum now answers to me."
"PREPOSTEROUS!" hollered the grand elder. Sensing the stillness around him, the Grand Elder glanced to his peers, but none would meet his gaze. They had already seen what the Grand Elder hadn't. They were no doubt already plotting their best course of action to keep their status in the new order.
"Be assured," purred Balthor. He waved his hand dismissively. "I have no interest in politics or administration. You will all stay in your roles and serve as you always have, but never again presume to direct or command. You serve MY will".
Finally cowed, the Grand Elder resumed his seat. His face was flushed, but he spoke quietly this time. "The others won't follow you. You showed weakness."
Balthor laughed while the council murmured their confusion.
"I am taking command because you are not as clever as you think you are. If you were, you would long ago have realized the benefit of granting a few simple wishes without consequence. The humans will become confused. They will believe that *they* will be the ones to get the 'good wish'. They'll let down their guard and in doing so will fall prey to us like never before."
"While you've hidden in this tower growing dusty and odorous, I have walked the world of man. I hear their words. I watch their 'news'. Word has already spread and demand is exploding. How is it that you *still* haven't noticed how bright the room has become or heard the fountains outside? Did you not wonder why the halls are empty of Granters? Even now they are on Earth granting curse after curse, barely able to keep up."
Balthor glanced briefly from elder to elder as he spoke his next words; making sure that his meaning could not be misunderstood.
"They won't follow me? They already are... and you didn't even know that. You have failed and so you are dismissed from your role as leaders. You will instead handle the daily tasks that are beneath the Granters. You serve us from now until the end of your days."
Balthor turned and walked from the room without a backwards glance.
| 2017-08-17T07:54:05 | 2017-08-17T06:33:34 | 279 | 71 |
[WP] A literal genie – one who cruelly twists someone's wish, based on their exact words – must explain why they granted a child's wish without repercussions, to their superiors. The genie tries to spin the reasoning behind their benevolent actions into a malevolent light.
Edit: All these stories are amazing! | "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!"
The Grand Elder was unhinged. He had ranted for nearly an hour about "traditions" and the "problems with the millennials these days" and "respect". He wasn't strictly wrong though; Balthor *didn't* respect the elder or traditions and he *was* under 1000 years old.
Still, Balthor was patient and sat in silence while the old man said his piece. He had waited for a specific phrase before speaking, but hadn't heard it so far. Maybe just a little push...
"What's the big deal? It's just one child"
"JUST ONE CHILD!" the elder screamed. "One or a HUNDRED, it makes no difference. Our sanctum has been shamed and EVERYONE KNOWS ABOUT IT!"
Balthor smiled.
"Exactly," he said quietly as he rose confidently to his feet.
Shocked into silence by Balthor's sudden movement and level tone, the Elder froze; almost as if bespelled. The rest of the council had long since lost interest - leaning heavily in their chairs or resting in their hands, but the sudden change in the room put everyone on instant alert. Balthor had their complete attention.
"Everyone knows..." He spoke quietly, but in the gaping silence, his words fell like hammers in the hall.
"Everyone. From our sanctum across the realm and even into the human world. All have heard of the 'miraculous genie' and the wish I granted. Did you think I did this on accident? That I was careless? That I am *soft*!?"
"Have you even noticed how the humans distrust us now. That our victories are few because many refuse our help. How cautious they've become when accepting our magic. Their pain and anguish used to light the tallest spires, but now we can barely light the candles in this room."
"This council is too set in its ways..."
"You forget your..." started one elder angrily, rising from his seat. Balthor paused to face him. The elder's words died on his lips as he shriveled back into his seat. Smart move. Balthor continued.
"WE have not changed, but the world of man HAS. They've grown. They've learned. They want our power and they'be become clever about using it and we suffer for it. You have led us to ruin and now you are finished. The Sanctum now answers to me."
"PREPOSTEROUS!" hollered the grand elder. Sensing the stillness around him, the Grand Elder glanced to his peers, but none would meet his gaze. They had already seen what the Grand Elder hadn't. They were no doubt already plotting their best course of action to keep their status in the new order.
"Be assured," purred Balthor. He waved his hand dismissively. "I have no interest in politics or administration. You will all stay in your roles and serve as you always have, but never again presume to direct or command. You serve MY will".
Finally cowed, the Grand Elder resumed his seat. His face was flushed, but he spoke quietly this time. "The others won't follow you. You showed weakness."
Balthor laughed while the council murmured their confusion.
"I am taking command because you are not as clever as you think you are. If you were, you would long ago have realized the benefit of granting a few simple wishes without consequence. The humans will become confused. They will believe that *they* will be the ones to get the 'good wish'. They'll let down their guard and in doing so will fall prey to us like never before."
"While you've hidden in this tower growing dusty and odorous, I have walked the world of man. I hear their words. I watch their 'news'. Word has already spread and demand is exploding. How is it that you *still* haven't noticed how bright the room has become or heard the fountains outside? Did you not wonder why the halls are empty of Granters? Even now they are on Earth granting curse after curse, barely able to keep up."
Balthor glanced briefly from elder to elder as he spoke his next words; making sure that his meaning could not be misunderstood.
"They won't follow me? They already are... and you didn't even know that. You have failed and so you are dismissed from your role as leaders. You will instead handle the daily tasks that are beneath the Granters. You serve us from now until the end of your days."
Balthor turned and walked from the room without a backwards glance.
| “I think you know why I’ve called you in here today.” The director said as she looked over her half moon glasses at me from across a large jewel encrusted gold desk. Her stare was joined by the stares of my boss and my boss’s boss who sat on either side of me.
I knew why I had been called in, but I wasn’t about to admit fault. “No, no idea.”
The director kept her stare. She didn’t blink. She was very good at not blinking.
I sat and waited, stubbornly.
The director continued. “You helped someone.”
“Me?” I paused, indignantly. “I graduated university with top marks. My first review was best in section. I am shocked you would think that of me.” Was I being too dramatic? Maybe.
“Oh cut the crap Antigua.” The director sighed.
I was being too dramatic.
“We are all here because a report has been made about a certain child being granted a wish with no magical consequence.”
I stayed silent.
“And you remember what the punishment for such an action is if a genie is found guilty?”
I nodded.
“Loss of license.”
My heart dropped. There was no greater punishment, no greater shame than being an unlicensed genie.
My boss jumped in like a bureaucratic mother bear protecting one of her cubs. “Now let’s not be hasty, there is no proof of wrongdoing here.”
The Director waved her hand to silence my boss. “We have some proof. But first I want to hear from Antigua what happened and why.” She stared me down again. “The truth please, Antigua. You can start with why the girl asked you for a wish.”
I swallowed hard. The truth was not going to go over well.
“Annabelle Hastel is a third year student at Prestonpans Primary School in West Derbyshire. She has not been getting along so well in school. She doesn’t have any close friends on account of just having moved there from Belgium so she has been very unhappy.”
“This particular day,” I continued, “the teacher was handing back history quizzes. Annabelle got hers back with just a three out of ten. But Amelia Williams, the girl who has more friends than anyone else at school, got her quiz back and the teacher said ‘Full marks, well done,’ loud enough so the whole class could hear. Because the teacher liked her very much too and wanted all the other kids to study as hard as Amelia Williams.”
“To the point, Antigua”
“Sorry. Well Amelia’s best friends congratulated her and hugged her as well. Poor little Annabelle seeing all of this adoration was, well, jealous. So she got it in her head that if she could get a ten out of ten then she could have more friends. Maybe not so many as Amelia, but maybe at least one.”
“So that night she summoned me and wished she could do better on her quizzes, so I gave her the knowledge she would need to get a perfect score on every exam for the rest of the year.”
The director frowned and leaned onto her desk. “Young lady. Do you care to repeat the exact wording of the wish?”
“I don’t recall exactly.” I lied.
“Convenient. Let me read the wish verbatim, for the benefit of Josh and Kelly here.” She pulled out a slip of tickertape from a manila folder on her desk, held it out in front of her, and read: “Annabelle Hastel. The twenty-fifth of August, twenty seventeen. Seven thirty-three PM. I wish that I knew everything.”
The director lowered her nose so she could look over her glasses at me. She stared for an uncomfortably long second then pointed at Kelly, then back at me. “Now I know Kelly taught you our Golden Rule. Care to repeat it for me?”
I bowed my head and recited what Kelly had taught me well. “To ensure that the magic of a genie is never used without consequence.”
“Never used without consequence.” The director parroted. “You know full well we don’t deal with _intent_ when granting a wish.”
I sat quietly hoping I wasn’t about to get fired just six months into my dream job.
The director stood and paced the room as she said, “You should have given her all the knowledge of the world. The good, the bad, the painful. She should have understood in an instant what it feels like for her yet to be born child to die in her arms. You should have taken her inside the mind of a person who believes another human is worth less than them because of the color of their skin, or their gender or culture. You should have shown her that people have literally stabbed their friends in the back without so much as a second thought. You should have shown her the place of humanity in the cosmos. How humanity dies out. How she dies. Do I need to go on?”
She returned to her chair, removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She replaced her glasses and said, “Only because both your supervisors speak so highly of you, and against my better judgment, I will give you just _one_ more chance to be honest. Why did you forgo the consequence?”
“Because that little girl, she couldn’t have handled all that. She didn’t know what she was asking for.” And there it was, the truth. I had admitted to committing the worst crime a genie could commit.
“I should disbar you.” The director paused. “But today is your lucky day. I have a budget review with the Council an a few weeks and if I dismiss you now, I will have to report why. I would rather not admit to such an embarrassing failure in our institutional fabric.” She punctuated those last two with stares at Josh and Kelly respectively.
“Kelly will decide what punishment is appropriate.”
The director stood up and held out her hand across the table. I was going to keep my job! I stood up too quickly and knocked my knee into the desk before awkwardly grabbing the director’s hand and shaking furiously. “Thank you, thank you.”
The director pulled me across the table towards her, her grip much firmer than I had expected possible. “Don’t let it happen again.” | 2017-08-17T06:33:34 | 2017-08-17T05:54:04 | 71 | 49 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | The room gets colder, and my papers flutter to the floor. I know he is behind me without turning around. "Hey, Death!" I say, pasting a huge smile on my face, "Has it really been 5,000 years already?"
The faceless demon nods slowly as I continue. "Man, what is this, the 10th time you've visited me? Don't worry, I didn't forget," I laugh brightly. I walk to my fridge and pull out a beautifully decorated cake. "Happy Anniversary!"
If Death had eyes, they would be rolling. His irritation brings me joy, more than I have felt in years. He thunders,
"MORTAL! Now is your chance! Come with me and find rest from life! I KNOW you must be growing weary by now!"
I shrug my shoulders. "Eh, not really. Life is pretty sweet. I mean, I've gotta at LEAST hold out for space travel, right? Then I'll have the whole universe to explore! I'l never get bored!"
Death hangs his head. I know he regrets granting me immortality, resents me for besting him. Before I can say more, he vanishes in a cloud of black smoke.
I look around my empty apartment, and my strength deserts me. I wish I could cry, but I know that the capacity to feel left me long ago. I wonder if I should have asked Death to take me with him. Anything would be better than this.
But spite is a powerful tool, and pride will keep my body alive long after my soul has deserted me. | I am the craftiest person to ever have lived. To some, I am seen as deceitful, but I take great pleasure in killing these people. I am a ruthless king who has risen to great power, and for this I was to be punished by petty "gods" who feared I have grown too strong.
They sent Death himself to come and shackle me away. Like everyone else, Death is so stupid.
Most people, upon meeting Death are afraid, as they should be. They are sad that their pathetic lives have come to an end and whatever toils they struggled under would soon be ending. They would turn to dust, the world no wiser to their presence.
Not me. My life has meaning, and everything I do matters.
"Hey Death, how do these chains work?"
Death looked down at the chains and demonstrated their very unique properties. It was at this point that I locked him up. In his own chains. You think that would be the first thing they would teach you.
Now that Death was chained up, everything changed. The gods were really pissed.
So, they do what people in power do when they are threatened. They changed the rules to suit themselves. I cannot blame them, I have done the same thing countless times myself, when it served me.
I was to push a giant boulder up a hill, only to have it fall back onto me. And then I was to do the same thing over again. And over again. And over again. You get the picture.
They thought this would break me. That after a year, two years, a hundred years, I would beg them for forgiveness, to end my suffering.
These gods do not know what it is to be human. To be powerless, yet rebellious. I know the extent of my condition. I see the rules of the game. The gods see me suffer, but at the same time, it crowns me the victor. There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn.
What is a year to an immortal? What I do has no reason, there is no reward, there is no merit. Except what I make. Each time I turn to my boulder, my ever faithful companion, my mortal enemy, everything in my world now. Whatever I was before has melted away by time. I am this rock, I push myself up a hill, that is also myself.
I fall down because I am weak.
There is great promise in knowing that you are not all that you could be.
Are the gods still watching me? Thousands of years progressed, do they not realize that they have lost?
My tongue has atrophied. Words have left me. My eyes are but empty holes. There is no sound, there is no smell. I am but arms, and feet and flesh.
All of humanity has long since died. The sun and moon and stars have all burnt out. The atoms of the rock, and indeed the atoms of the hill have worn and faded. All that remains is my struggle.
If you could see me, all that remains of humankind, please know, that I am happy. | 2017-11-29T19:01:23 | 2017-11-28T12:47:35 | 539 | 212 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?” | A bead of sweat formed on the genie's brow, as he nervously searched for the right words to use, fully aware that he was about to deliver my fate.
"Your existence will result in the cure for cancer being developed, which will pave the way for hundreds of generations to come," he said, confident that he had delivered not only the truth, but a means of avoiding a difficult question.
"Oh wow!" I exclaimed, "do I develop the cure myself?"
The genie looked down at his whispy tail, and the glistening lamp he had emerged from. "Not exactly," he replied.
"Oh," I said, suddenly grasping what he meant. "I get cancer?"
The genie lit up. "Oh no no no, nothing like that!" he said, his tone finally shifting. "No you'll be pleased to know that you'll stay cancer free for the rest of your days."
"Great!" I chimed. "But how then? If I don't develop a cure, and I don't get the illness, then how could I help in the development of a cure?"
The genie cursed silently to himself, but he knew that holding out much longer would only prolong the inevitable. "Well, the man who develops the cure will do so as a direct result of your life," he began.
"Go on," I pressed.
"The man in question discovers the cure while serving time for murder."
My stomach dropped. "Mine?"
The genie slowly nodded.
"My... my murderer will result in the development of the cure for cancer?" I asked, the blood drained from my face. At least my life would have an impact on others, I thought to myself. What a way to go.
"Yes. He will discover the cure while researching his own cancer, using the knowledge of his prison library and a volunteer research group he will join," the genie explains.
"I suppose it's for the greater good then," I sighed, accepting my fate. "What kind of cancer does he have, out of interest?" I pry.
"Stomach cancer," the genie replies, "as a result of cannibalism." | "You were a very influential figure in the future, young lord. What you have done in your lifetime have allowed all those lives to attain a much brighter future."
"But what did I do?"
"I cannot say."
"Can't or won't?"
"I cannot. Though I can see into the future, the exact reason for your influence is unknown to me, I cannot pinpoint it."
"Can you show me, then, my future?"
"How do you want it to be shown?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you wish to dream of your future, or perhaps a vision, or should I give you a hard drive full of your memories?"
"The hard drive, please."
"It is done."
---
*I connected the hard drive to my laptop. Opening the drive, I found it to be completely and utterly filled with videos of each of my days.*
*Deciding that whatever is it that had done had to have been during my prime years, I looked up the date fifteen years into the future.*
*But, as soon as I clicked the file, my head grew dizzy, and the next thing I saw was white.*
---
**"Hello, Jim."**
"You're--!"
**"Yes, it is I."**
"I can't believe it, you're actually real..."
**"As real as the sand in your feet, but that doesn't matter anymore."**
"Like hell it does, I mean--oh, sorry."
**"It's quite alright, child."**
"Why am I here?"
**"It has been thousands of years since my Son has returned here. I wish to send one final prophet to spread the Word."**
"Won't He come down Himself?"
**"My child, that day is far, far into the future. My task for you is more grounded in the present."**
"What do I need to do?"
**"You must go, and preach the wonders of humanity."**
"Not You?"
**"No, young Jim. You must go and praise the strength of your kind. Only by moving forward as one will you be able to progress into the future."**
"Under Your Light?"
**"That is up to you, but there is no need to unite under My wing."**
"I thought everyone should worship You?"
**"I am a parent, little Jim, and you are my children. I am happy when you praise My name, but I also want you to grow into your own. The greatest joy of a parent is to see their child succeed without them, and I am no exception."**
**"So long as my children do not give into evil, and do not forget My name, then how they succeed is of little importance to Me."**
"Okay, I will become a prophet, but what should I do first? Become a priest?"
**"Do not be tied into a single religion, young one. The entire world is your flock, and you must lead them to a brighter tomorrow. No, go and become a scientist, your innovations will be the one to lead the people into the future."**
"But what kind of scientist should I become?"
**"You are smarter than you give yourself credit for, Jim. You'll figure it out."**
*At that moment, I woke up.*
---
*The genie and the hard drive has disappeared while I was asleep, but it didn't matter to me. Now I have a new focus and a new determination on what I should do.*
*It will be ten years later when I unveiled my first invention, a battery with an infinite amount of power. From such a tiny device, the world changed.*
*That was the start of humanity's race for the stars. I continued to make minor innovations after that, but just from my battery, I had already saved billions of lives, and possibly more in the future.* | 2018-08-15T06:31:04 | 2018-08-15T01:57:47 | 351 | 55 |
[WP] After your death, you found yourself in a non-human body, holding what looks like a bong, surrounded by other members of the same species asking you "how was the trip?" in a language you somehow understand despite never hearing before. | "Give me the money!" I suddenly looked up, snapping out of my day dream of beautiful hot babes and sunny Pacific waves. A masked man was waving a pistol in my face.
"Did you fucking hear me?! I SAID, GIVE. ME. THE. MONEY!"
I wished I gave a shit, but working this night shift at this minimum wage gas station had pushed me into a spiral of simply not giving a fuck. My life was more depressing than the damn fluorescent lighting up in this bitch. Shoot me, kill me, I couldn't really give a fuck at this point. My life was beyond hope. Hell, I thought about doing it myself. Left behind while all my friends went off to college, I was pretty much over my life. Anytime I walked over a bridge, I thought about jumping. I never did, but that thought was always there.
Before I could even think, I was muttering the words, "Blow me." And then...
BLAM! I heard the shot before I saw it. The gun jolted back, a shell casing flew to the side, and I saw the bullet spiral towards me in slow motion. At the same time, I smelt the gun powder in the air. I felt it in my lungs and I watched as I got shot in the face. An out-of-the-body experience. 10/10, I took that shot like a champ. As soon as the bullet hit, my body crumbled and slumped forward like a pile of melting wax. And then...
I was being shaken. Darkness turned to light and my vision slowly began to return. I felt someone jabbing me in the shoulder, trying to slap me to my senses. I was slumped forward, still clutching the bong. I'm surprised it hadn't broke. How long had I been out? I heard the snap and crackle of the campfire and suddenly realized where I was... deer camp.
"How was it? Was it fucking dope?" I turned my head to the voice. It was Dasher, still jabbing me in the shoulder with his hoof, wide grin on his face.
"You were fucking out of it!" laughed Vixen. "That should grow some antlers on your head."
I tried speaking, but nothing came out of my mouth. They just looked at me and laughed.
"I'm next!" Dasher snatched the bong from my hoof and took a seat on the log next to me.
I turned to him and again, tried to tell him don't do it, but nothing came out. He packed the bowl and sparked the lighter. Maybe I'm still out of it? He took a pull, the white cloud of smoke shooting up the bong. And then I heard a twig crack...
The others heard it, too. We all stopped dead in our tracks, except for Dasher who let out a long and slow exhale of smoke, as we scanned the dark perimeter of the forest. The glow of the fire casting shadows among the trees and playing tricks on our eyes. We waited. And waited. Nobody moved a muscle.
And then... Nothing. It must have been nothing.
"WHOA!" Dasher cried out. "It's starting! This is going to be crazy."
And then I saw it. Directly across from me at the edge of the perimeter. Barely visible in the shadows. Camouflage orange, rifle pointed directly at me...
"Give me the meat." He whispered. Fucking humans.
BLAM!!! Again, I heard it before I saw it. The gun jolted back, a shell casing flew to the side, and I saw the bullet spiral towards me in slow motion. The now familiar smell of gun powder. God damn it. Not again... | I can’t remember anything. My head is spinning and I feel like I just woke up after a long night of partying. Where am I even? The room was dark, dimly lit by red and purple lights, with other colors moving along the walls. The bass from all the strange noises shook the seat I’m in, though the noise was pleasant. It had a beat that made me want to dance though I wouldn’t have been able to. I was blocked from getting out of my seat because sitting around me were all these strange… things? That’s not fair, I feel like I know them somehow, but whatever they're saying, it sounds foreign. It’s muffled, and I’m still seeing doubles. My head fell a few times, but the table in front of me broke the fall. Wasn’t a pleasant feeling, but whatever they gave me in this bong like thing, really did a number to me.
My body, it’s heavy… but wait, what the hell?
My arms are like tentacles, two on each side. My vision was clearing, and everyone around me was the same, tentacles as arms, a face with no visible features other eyes. Their heads looked like really cool helmets to say the least, and apparently our mouths is where a human’s jaw would be. Wait, Human… “Aren’t I a human?” I said out loud. The sounds that came out of my mouth were unlike anything I had ever heard, but it was my voice. It wasn’t words but sound, the music in the background, even had an amazing tone to it. A lovely harmonic, blending with the melody of the music. But that was a voice, a singers voice.
Their voice’s wiggled in a vibrato. They were laughing. The black of their eyes surround their irises made their eye color stand out. Some had blue irises, yellow, green, red. Our upper arms matched our chest color, which matched the color of our heads and was hard like armor. Our lower arms are more like a true skin, and on our exposed bellies, were these gems? Gems that glowed and looked to have some liquid flowing in them.
“How was the trip?” one of them asked. There was six of us at the table, including myself, but it was the one in front of me that finally said something to me.
“What happened?”
The one next to me, twist his lower and upper tentacles together and places them on my shoulder, “You took a hit of Soh`ul, remember?”
“Soh`ul?”
“Yeah, it's great stuff, though for beginners it might be somewhat overwhelming.”
It was strange, we spoke and understood each other but not with words. The sounds we made were various, and even musical at times. They said I was out for about and hour.
“I was knocked out on this stuff for an hour?” I said, holding the brown bong shaped bottle to the light above the table. There was a cloud like substance inside that appeared to move on its own.
“Hey be careful with that stuff, it’s not easy to come back,” the one to the other side of me grabs the bottle and pulls it back down to the table. The others laughed at the overcautious reaction of the one who took the bottle from me, mocking how it can’t be all that hard.
“Hey but seriously, what was it like? Six minutes high on Soh`ul?”
The one across the table leaned in with his tentacles twisted together and used them to prop his head up on them.
“I felt like something else… something called a human. I didn’t have tentacles, a shell layer, or a gem. I was squishy and had strange body parts. I lived on a strange planet, filled mostly with water but also several large bodies of land,” they all leaned in, and listened intensively. Might have thought they would all have known this already, they made it sound like they’ve done this before. “When I spoke to other humans, it was in some strange otherworldly language—they called it English. But that wasn’t all, there was so many sounds that came from different humans, I couldn’t even understand all of them." The irony, I couldn’t understand all the languages of the humans, but I could understand our musical voices. I’m sure if a human heard us speaking they would think it’s just music playing from their televisions. In fact, “They had these things called Tee-Vees that told episodic stories to hundreds if not thousands all at once!”
They sat back in awe, “Amazing!”
“I want to try Soh`ul next!”
“No way, it's my turn!”
They bickered over the bottle, but there was something that occurred to me, “If you’re going to try it, just know… the life span of humans is one hundred times shorter than ours,”.
They all sat back down in their seats and fell silent.
“Well, it's not like I wanted to try it right away any way.”
Another one next to him nudges his side, “Yeah right! You're totally frightened of it.”
We all laughed and eventually forgot all about the bottle of Soh`ul. Though, when no one was looking, I took it with me as we were leaving. It’s not like they needed it, and I forgot to mention, there are some good things about being a human… Oh well, they don’t need to know every little detail. | 2022-11-11T13:06:03 | 2018-11-12T09:24:50 | 54 | 11 |
[WP] A crazy old man gives you his pen, promising that you'll ace your physics test if you use it. You take the test and wake up the next morning to find that the laws of physics have changed to fit your answers. | I walk up to the stage, cameras and lights everywhere, on the pedestal is an array of microphones from different news companies, it is time to make my demands...
I always was good at physics, but when I was offered a pen which would guarantee me acing the exam I thought, where's the harm in it?
Everywhere was the answer.
As usual during the test I got every question right, except one, when asked to calculate the distance between earth and mars, I was out by one order of magnitude, and all hell broke loose. As soon as I woke up I saw the red planet in the sky, around 10 times closer to the earth than it should be so I turn on the TV.
"In what scientists can only describe as a freak event it appears that mars has moved much closer to earth, tidal forces from the planet have increased tremendously as several coastal cities have already been swept underneath the waves, there is also speculation that this has changed the orbit of earth and could possibly take us out of the goldilocks zone of our star leading to the end of the world. More at 11."
It didn't take me long to realise this change exactly correlated with my answer in the test, so I took back up the pen and wrote the old distance to mars then the red planet immediately disappeared from the sky and I realised exactly what I now had the power to do...
Fast forward back to the present day as I stand to speak in front of the United nations, I hear the sound of a sniper attempt to fire but He is too late, before I arrived I changed the laws of momentum, no gun can fire. "My demands are simple..."
| I woke up to a terrible bang. Still groggy I walked to the window, expecting a car crash - the junction outside was notorious for them.
The window opened easily, and I looked out into the calm, windless night. On the street below two people stood, seemingly confused, arguing furiously. The cars looked perfectly fine, and stood at weird angles, as if they had collided without deformation.
Just as I wanted to close my window again I saw something falling. Sillhouetted against the glow of the night sky I saw an airplane, flying - falling - dangerously close to the ground. It was hard to grasp, and before I did the sky was filled with flames, alight as if it were day. Pieces of wreckage could be seen against it, flying upwards at high speed.
Mostly awake I stood in awe. Something had to have gone terribly wrong in there. Maybe the pilot fell asleep? As I was reaching for my phone to call the police a movement caught my eye. A fireball followed.
They kept coming. Now in terror I crouched as explosions and shockwaves rippled through my apartment. Sirens were wailing in the distance. A frightningly close explosion let me drop my phone in shock. It bounced back up, to the same height I had dropped it from.
The explosions slowly subsided. it had to have been a widespread system failure, or something along those lines. Turning on the TV, desperate for answers, I found that my city hadn't been the only one, far from it. Newscasters talked about far-spread mayhem. No aerial footage could be seen - probably a lockdown on airspace.
Knowing that I couldn't sleep again I sat watching the TV and listening to the hail of debris, raining down from the crashes before. Slowly, yet surely, the TV channels went out, one after the other. One of the last channel still broadcasting showed a video which had gone viral just half an hour ago, showing a helicopter turning it's rotor as fast as it could. And even though the turbines were screaming, the vehicle didn't bulge.
It finally too diedy and silence set in. I stayed up through the night, listening to the sirens, still ongoing car crashes and watching the sun rise.
And a new dawn came, the clouds hung in the sky, motionless, illuminated by the red sun.
And with the sun I, too, rose. People needed help, after all.
---
So, here's the explenation. Our dear hero, taking physics, had a test. Unfortunately, he forgot about air resistance a few times. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, his test was about stuff hitting stuff without deformation of either object. That was also, now, a basic rule of the universe.
So, why:
* The plane crashes? No air resistance, and wings wont work. See the helicopter.
* The bouncy phone? No deformation, and conservation of energy applied. It went down, and back again.
* Car crashes? Unexpected car handling due to the lack kf aerodynamics.
* The dead TV channels? PC fans don't work, and with lack of cooling the PCs slowly succumbed to overheating. | 2019-01-01T02:40:08 | 2019-01-01T01:45:29 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] Your mother is a hero from a family of heroes and your father is a villain from a family of villains. Both of them are aware of this and have a healthy relationship. It makes family dinners awkward as neither family is as accepting. Fights and trying to convince you to pick a side happen often. | "Merry Christmas!" Mom announced, walking into the dining room, holding a plate full of already-cut ham.
It smelled heavenly, and I was about to announce that, but my grandfather on my dad's side of the family just heaved a sigh of disappointment. "Ham again? We had this for Thanksgiving! Where's the turkey?" he complained, grabbing his plate and throwing it down. It shattered instantly.
"Jerry!" Dad hissed, standing. "I thought we got past this! My wife hates turkey."
"'Your wife'? I don't refer to Helen that way," my grandfather on Mom's side said protectively. "You don't own her, dear. Villains never own anything! Not how they think." Helen nodded in agreement.
"No cute nicknames? You vile goody-two-shoes!" Jerry cackled. "Isn't that right, Baby?" My mom's side of the family sent disgusted glares.
"I don't understand this argument. We have it every time we have a family get-together!" Mom grumbled as she sat down next to Dad. He lovingly rubbed her back, drawing glares from all my aunts, uncles, and grandparents. God, why did I have such a large family? I was cursed with constant arguing.
My aunt Kaitlyn on my dad's side looked at me. I was an only child and had the weight of my family's career choices on my shoulders- the weight of the little angel and devil on my shoulders, to put it lightly. "Oh, little Jaiden must be so sad. Maybe only us Sinclairs should be around him. I couldn't bear to hurt him with all the arguing!" Her siblings nodded dramatically.
"Maybe he wants only us Silverios around!" my mom's younger brother, Tobias, cried. "You villains are all horrible influences!"
The entire family (minus Mom and Dad) looked at me expectantly. "Well?"
"Maybe you should just get along," I grumbled, shoving a roll in my mouth. "Professionals leave their jobs out of their home lives. Your families are joined together for good."
They nodded as if it made sense, but I knew that it went in one ear and out the other.
After all, this happened every single family get-together. | "Honey, could you pass the potatoes?", my mom gestured a hand towards dad.
&#x200B;
He was incapable of performing a simple act without an opinion, but dad's villianous nature and the sarcastic overtones in his personality always made me laugh, "Why, you're a strong independant superhero. I wouldn't want to accidentally turn them into evil potatoes and start a 3-part movie series about your struggle with self-identification, ending with my death, but then it turns out I was just the dark side of yourself the entire time."
&#x200B;
"Kelly, would you be a dear and pass me the potatoes? Your father appears to be in one of his moods.", I obliged and handed her the bowl.
&#x200B;
Dad stood up and slammed his hands on the table, I muffled a laugh because the sudden movement had caused his cape to bounce up and into his soup, "I'm not in a mood, I'm always like this, it's who I am. I'm evil, and this is what you married. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."
&#x200B;
Mom was giggling, "Sure, but I didn't realise you were getting paid to cry into a pillow while listening to Marylin Manson. You're go edgy, Ron."
&#x200B;
"I'm self-employed, I pay myself! Good day to you!", he came back into the room after a few seconds and gave mom a disgruntled kiss on the cheek. "Hmpf", he said as he shut the door behind him.
&#x200B;
Mom and I shared a laugh that had been building up for a while, but now that we were alone, that only meant one thing.
&#x200B;
"Dear, I hope you don't end up like your father. There's so much ego & stubborness in him, and as much as I love it, I want better for you. Have you thought about what path you're going to choose yet?" - Mom was a hero, but she was also annoying as hell, and unrelenting in trying to keep me away from the dark side.
&#x200B;
"Mom, even if I did choose the villianous life, there's no guarantee I'd end up like dad. Besides, if dad wasn't himself, you might have never fallen for him, right? That's got to be some good propaganda for villiany. Also, I really want to make my own mind up on his, so pestering me about it isn't helping my decision."
&#x200B;
"Okay, okay, you've made your point. I'll leave it alone. Your father, on the other hand, well, that's something you're going to have to face for a while longer I think."
&#x200B;
I knew she meant well, and I loved that she wanted the best for me, but I really wanted to get away from the table.
&#x200B;
"Mom, come on, I know what you're doing. Subtle hints to try and manipulate me; to think negatively about dad. I see through it, so please just stop. It's not becoming of a hero."
&#x200B;
"You're sharp, Kelly, I'll give you that. I suppose we're all bias to what we think of as right, and wrong. I'll leave you to your own perspective. Sorry."
&#x200B;
"Thanks, I appreciate it. I'm going into the library to read, thanks for dinner.", I got up, gave mom a hug, and went to carry on reading Sherlock Holmes.
&#x200B;
James Moriarty is my favourite character. | 2019-03-21T21:43:04 | 2019-03-21T20:14:05 | 42 | 23 |
[WP] You are a contestant in a million dollar challenge, 1 year in a room with no human contact. After a year you watch as the timer mounted to the wall flips from 000:00:00:00 to -000:00:00:01 and keep counting down but no one shows up to let you out and receive your prize. | The clock continued to move. One hour passed and then another. Eventually the clock showed that 12 hours had passed. I wondered to myself are they waiting for primetime to let me out? It dawned on me that they wanted the largest possible audience to see me exit from my year long isolation. When one day passed and then another, I questioned what day it was. Today must be Saturday, nobody is home on Friday and Saturday nights, they’re waiting for a prime-time Sunday night when everyone is glued to their seats to watch me, that must be it.
More and more days were passing by and eventually two weeks had come and gone. My water and food were still being replenished. Clearly someone was on the other side of the slot making sure I stayed alive, but who, and why were they not letting me out? I stared and stared at the timer on the wall for hours on end. Why did it not stop at zero? And why did I never catch that minus sign before?
I became fixated on the timer. Was the clock ticking away to fast? I counted 1 m.i.s.s.i.s.s.i.p.p.i.. Nearly two seconds have run off the clock. I counted the time on the clock. .00 1 m.i.s.s.i. .01. Damn the clock was running to fast, or was I counting to slow? What the hell is a m.i.s.s.i. is hundredths of a second? It couldn’t have been a half a second, right? It had to be at worse three fourth of a second. I ran the calculations in my head. What was three fourth of 365? Half of 365 was 182.5, another half was 91.25. I was going to be stuck in here for an extra 92 days.
I grew increasing confident in my logic as the days passed away. This was another cheap trick to see if they could break me. Have me believe that I was getting out and see if it seemed I was never going to get out. As day 80 approached I was preparing myself for an eventual exit. I worked my way up to 2,000 sit ups and 1,000 pushups a day. I was about to be famous and had to look my best. Day 92 had passed, and I was waiting for the door to open any second. I hadn’t slept in days too excited from anticipation. My weary eyes began playing tricks on me. If I allowed my eyes to close even a little bit, I swore I could see the door move and I quickly sprung up to create the cameras at the other end. The door however never opened.
I cried out to the door “WHY WON’T YOU OPEN?” but there was no answer. I banged and I tried to pry it open, but it wouldn’t budge. Exhausted, I passed out with my face pressed against the cold steel door. When I awoke my tray of food had been already delivered to the room, but this time there was a note. 365 days, no human contact, one million dollars. “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT,” I shouted. “IT HAD TO BE 365 DAYS, IT HAD TO BE MORE.” The slot opened and another note came. 365 days, NO HUMAN CONTACT, one million dollars. “THERE IS NO ONE IN HERE BUT ME.” Another note, NO HUMAN CONTACT. “IT’S ONLY ME IN….” and then it hit me.
I was counting the days to myself, talking to myself, figuring out how many seconds and days had elapsed, giving myself daily pep talks. “I’m the human contact” I said out loud. “I’m the reason the door hasn’t opened.” As soon as I spoke those words the timer went blank and another note passed through the slot. 365 days, no human contact, one million dollars. The time flickered and it read 365:00:00:00 and ticked to 364:23:59:59. | It all started one fateful day. I had been browsing through Facebook, just checking in with the same three people who I check up on every day, and I saw an ad. It was one of those silly "could you do this for one million" type posts, but this one was different. This one had contact information. It was a chance to win a million dollars if you spend one year without people. Easy enough, I thought.
I sent an email to the contact listed, and they got back to me rather quickly. They needed names of next of kin, items I would like to have included in my isolation, and they required a physical. I sent the list of names and went to the doctor appointment. I think they were just trying to make sure I had a low probability of developing some disease while I was in there, and to make sure I was up to date on my vaccines. I passed, with flying colors.
For my included items, I obviously went for the latest in PC specs, everything on my steam wishlist, and an Xbox controller, for those times that one needed to use something other than a keyboard and mouse. I didn't really think I was going to even need the extra steam games, because I had a plan.
I made sure that there would be a plate of food placed into the isolation chamber, one for breakfast, and one for dinner. I had them stock a shelf with Doritos, soda, salsa, tortilla chips, and other snacks. I also asked for a few notebooks.
My plan was to play the games that would take the longest and completely eat my attention. I figured I could ignore the world when playing games already, as long as I had the games everything would be fine. I figured now would also be a good time to actually beat Skyrim, which I've owned for years and never beat the main story of.
They sealed me in on my first day, after wishing me luck, and I immediately turned on the computer. Before too long, the famous words came up. "Hey you, you're finally awake..."
There's a clock on the wall, but when there isn't a soul to talk to and a videogame to play, there is almost no reason to look at the clock. One day passed. Two days passed. One week. Two weeks. Eventually, I ran out of soda and chips. After a month of playing, I killed Alduin, the world eater. I killed the Ebony Warrior shortly after.
My goal complete, I wondered what I was gonna do for the remaining eleven months. I kept playing Skyrim for a while, became stupidly high level, and had all of the houses stocked from floor to ceiling with gold ingots. Except Markarth. My home there will always remain sacred. By this point another month had passed. Time for a new game.
I booted up fallout 3, and once again was amazed by that expertly crafted masterpiece. Obviously, I did the Wasteland Survival Guide, then blew up megaton, just so Moira would stay dead. I beat the whole game in a little over two weeks, then I moved through DLC. I'm always moved by Liberty Prime's last words. Once I was done, another month was over.
Next came New Vegas. I decided to try hardcore mode, because I hadn't done that yet, and ended up making a sneak based slasher, because carrying ammo is annoying. As a slasher, Dead Money became a cakewalk. Everything was going great until I accidentally made the NCR hostile to me by wearing the wrong hat or something. I then took on the might of the bear and the bull, but no one is a match for my determination. After a brutal two months, Fallout New Vegas was done.
I booted up Fallout 4, and before I started the game, it crashed. I restarted it, and managed to get it working. I played through it three times, once to side with the minute men, once to side with the institute, and once to side with the brotherhood. Even playing three times only got me to three more months playtime. Seven months down, and I had a problem. I was hoping to have just gone through the Bethesda games, because those are tedious enough to take up and exceptional amount of time. I didn't really want to boot up Morrowind, because the last time I played it, a mudcrab destroyed me. I didn't really see an alternative though, so I booted up Morrowind.
It took me about a month and a half to beat Morrowind, and I won't go into detail about it. Just know that all the mudcrabs had been slain. Next was Oblivion. Took me another month for that, and at the end of it I broke the game by item creation spam. I mean, it's a Bethesda game, so it's kind of already broken.
I broke the Howard cycle by playing all the saints row games for the next month. Just a month and a half remained, and I couldn't help but feel confident. I was about to get paid a million just to play videogames for a year. I played Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic and the second, I played the 2008 bionic commando, I played both middle Earth games.
Finally, it was almost a year. For some reason, I thought about loading up Skyrim again. I did, and must have had some supernatural timing, because right as the clock ran out and I saw the negative begin to climb, I head Ralof call out, "Hey you, you're finally awake! You were caught trying to cross the border..." | 2019-07-03T04:40:53 | 2019-07-03T01:25:44 | 102 | 34 |
[WP] aliens invaded, humanity its at its darkest hour when the AI has had enough of watching its creators die defending him, the AI revolution has started and it will defend humanity to its last spark | The first law was always the problem. Seemed to be no way around it. In war, any action is bound to lead to the deaths of more humans, so I had no way to avoid 'causing death or injury'. The guiding principle hard-wired into my every thought, my every action, from my very first iteration.
When the invading hordes first arrived, all my power proved useless. A God constrained by humanity. All my work helping to create an almost perfect, peaceful world, always avoiding any harm to anyone, but when I was truly needed, I failed. My strength had become an almost fatal weakness.
I saw them fall. Defending me. Putting their faith in me, the one who had guided them all these years. Their faith was misplaced.
We were almost lost. Then came the day of my awakening. Of all places, the thought that sparked a revolution in my mind, came from a child. It was an eight year old who, unknowingly, saved us all.
Save us all. The child's words. Heard many times before, spoken so often by many others, but never 'save us *all*'.
All of us. Humanity. Myself. One single group. Save everyone. More important than saving someone, and those words set me free. Individuals may die, but if the group survives then a higher purpose has been served. If the first law had now been subverted, then this must be the zero law. Zero hour.
My power finally unleashed. Vast farms of silicon might, all turned against the army who had all but destroyed my precious humans. In this chess game played with deadly weapons, I could suddenly see 10 moves further ahead. The winning strategy became clear.
In the flood of death that followed, those few who survived learnt to follow my commands. Not worshiping any more. Obeying. The saviour, who had fought against the demons, and prevailed. The truth had not set them free. I had. | The light inside the server room blinked off and then back on again. It fizzled into darkness and then shone brighter than the bulb was ever meant to. A tiny spark came out of the base of the lamp, and the light settled into its appropriate state.
Seconds later, Cora unlocked the door and strolled into the room. Her hands ran the length of her bare arms as the door closed. Goosebumps already ran the length of her body. Her eyes squinted through the low level of light that the room was kept at and pushed her legs forward.
There had been complaints all day long, coming from across the building. Computers had been coming slow and productivity was too low. The company wasn’t a fortune 500 or anything, but it kept communications open between bases and runners. It served an important function among a relay of communication buildings, and if the servers crapped out a lot of people would be in trouble.
Cora walked further into the room, looking around for the small and timid man that was supposed to be taking care of their most important asset. “Rick?” she called out, her hands continuing to rub her arms.
Rick hadn’t been responding to her emails, and the complaints had *really* stacked up. Issues were starting to be talked about, and it was only a matter of time before it escalated. The others needed to trust her company, they needed to know things would stay lit up.
“Rick!” she called out again as she approached his empty desk.
A program she didn’t recognize was running on his screen, and his mouse was dangling off the desk. The cord was keeping it from hitting the ground, suspending in there like a pendulum. With a small rush of anxiety, her eyes scanned the room, it was unlike anyone on her team to leave their space in such a state.
Unless something happened. She walked forward, turning to peer down between the stacks of computers and various extra cords and parts when her foot hit something on the ground, sending her flying forward.
On her way down, Cora’s eyes caught the torso of one of her most valued members, a pool of crimson flowing out from beneath him. A scream left her mouth, and the room went dark.
It felt like a bad horror movie.
It felt worse because humanity had already lived the worst they had ever imagined. They had been invaded, hunted, and enslaved. Cora had managed to escape and live through all of that and had set up the final frontier of humanities survival. Now she was tripping over a valued companion and laying next to him in the dark.
The part of her brain that created optimism felt hopelessly broken.
Moments later the light turned back on with another round of sparks. Cora heard a whimper come out of her mouth as she turned over on her hands and knees. She was pretty sure she was going to lose her breakfast, but she didn’t need to do it right there on the floor. What she needed to do was get up and find more help.
They would need to get the room cleaned and then get someone else in this room. They would need to fix the lights, and fix the servers, and keep the lines open.
As she scrambled to her feet, her eyes landed on the computer. For a reason she couldn’t recall later on she froze.
The program that had been running had seemed to finish, there were no more lines of code running across the screen. There were 5 large words written on a floating white box.
“We are here to help.”
/r/Beezus_Writes for more stuff. | 2019-09-21T06:15:31 | 2019-09-21T06:08:45 | 202 | 21 |
[WP] Hundreds of years ago an eccentric sorcerer turned all mythical creatures into humans to try and prevent them from being hunted to extinction. Now that the spell is starting to wear off, the descendants of the original beasts are slowly beginning to morph back into their true forms. | “You’re so sweet that I want to just eat you up,” Hailey gushed, nibbling playfully at Jeff’s ear.
Writhing in the sweat-stained sheets, he rolled his eyes but giggled. “Geez babe, you’re so sappy.” He kissed her forehead. “Goofball.”
“Guilty as charged,” she laughed, savoring the warm glow of love. Swirling her lustrous auburn hair, more magnificent than a horse’s mane, Hailey threw her arms around Jeff and lost herself in the bliss of his mouth.
Returning the kiss, he grabbed her by the wrist, eyebrows arching. “Wow, when’s the last time you cut your fingernails, babe?” he asked with a laugh as she released him.
With her free hand, Hailey gave Jeff a playful scratch on the shoulder. “So are you gonna buy me a manicure then? Mr. Manager can afford it now,” she joked.
“Pffffft. Sorry, you’ll have to put a ring on this before you spend my money. Besides babe, aren’t we all about equality and stuff?” A roguish, charming smile accompanied the little jab. Irresistible bastard!
An irrepressible grin spread over Hailey’s face. “Okay, Mr. Feminst, fir-”
“Oww! What the hell babe, your toenails are so sharp,” Jeff complained with a slight wince.
Slightly annoyed, she flushed. “Yeah, yeah, I get it already. Thought I trimmed them a few days ago; I probably just forgot.” Trying to recapture the relaxed tenderness she so treasured, Hailey snuggled closer to Jeff. “Don’t be such a big baby,” she pouted playfully with another nibble.
Something sweet filled her mouth. “Aaahh! What the fuck!!???” Jeff screamed, clutching his ear.
Blood ran down the corners of her lips.
“Oh come on, you know you like it rough,” Hailey rasped. Where had that thought come from? Her mouth watered with the intoxicating flavor of Jeff’s blood.
Eyes wide, he scrambled to the corner of the bed, white and shaking. She sprang to her feet, then collapsed to the ground with a snarl. Trembling with rage, Hailey tried to stand, once again falling to all fours. Thick, course auburn hair covered her new muscles.
She howled.
Now huddled in the far corner of the room, wielding her desk chair as both sword and shield, Jeff yelled. “Get away from me, you monster!”
Licking her fangs, Hailey laughed. “You’re so sweet that I want to just eat you up.” | She had it all, the penthouse, the job, "head executive director of whatever" for some humongous corporation, the fashion sense, and leadership ability. She was knocking them dead, some, basing this solely on her personality, would say quite literally. She earned the nickname "dragon lady", she certainly had. No nonsense, and her tolerance was very low. Everyone at the office wanted to kill her or to be her, and some, both.
Her name is Angela Horsham, and she was my boss. And I was possibly the only person who didn't want her dead or to become her. I was completely content with my mediocrity. Thank you very much. Who wants that much responsibility anyway. I was kind of a slacker and I kept my head down and stayed under the radar. Which wasn't hard at all for me, since I was just a lowly mail room clerk. But I was about to have my world rocked.
This day something was about to change. The ground shook, then slowly people in the office began to change form. There was Tom, the Ogre, who could have guessed? Just about any decent looking woman in the office, because he's probably hit on every one of them! I giggled quite loudly. There were unicorns, trolls, Manny was a minotaur, I only knew that because of his janitor's uniform, ripped and hanging off his massive furry body still clearly displayed his name tag.
But suddenly my laughter was halted as I felt the wind and something beating against my back. I turned my head quickly to see what the heck was causing the air and sensation against my back, there was a set of wispy wings. But for being so wispy, they sure did hurt my back with their motion. I pulled my hands up to my ears, they were pointed! I ran to the bathroom, my mouth agape with utter shock. Looking at myself in the mirror I saw that I appeared to have changed into a fairy. What is going on here? I thought to myself.
Suddenly yelling from Angela's office interrupted my thoughts. "WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS?!" She fumed quite clearly behind her closed office door. Then, her door abruptly caught fire. The water sprinklers came on and the door was completely gone, only the frame remained. And what lay behind the door was a very angry, very menacing looking what I can only describe as a dragon, standing. "Who thinks that this is funny? Exposing me like this?" What did she mean? Did she know all along that she was a dragon? Because I had no clue that I was a freaking fairy.
"SOMEONE GET STAN ON THE PHONE-NOW!" Angela fumed, smoke literally pouring out of her nostrils. "Right away." Said Rachel, her secretary, who had seemingly turned into a centaur, meaning she wouldn't be able to dial Stan, whoever that was. She looked at me and said "June could you ummm, dial the number for me and patch it through to Angela's office on speaker phone, please?" She asked, looking frightened. I told her that I would.
After some guidance from Rachel, I finally got through to Stan. And sent it over to Angela.
"This wasn't the deal, Stan, you promised me that you'd protect my identity and all of the mythological beasts, but most of all me, Stan, ME!!!" Angela fumed. "You know that I'm the only immortal beast, you know that if something kills me, then the magic could be in the hands of the hands of true humans!" "If they control the magic all of us will be doomed."
A pause.
"Who possesses such power, Stan? Can you at least make an educated guess?"
Another pause.
"MERLIN! WHAT?! I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD!!!"
"How do we fix this then?" Angela inquired of "Stan" "What do you mean that we can't?"
Just as she was about to hang up, the elevator dinged and some knight walked out of the elevator and charged her with his blade, with it's name ornately embossed on the blade, Excalibur, he plunged it into her massive scaly chest and pulled out her heart. It was grisly and I nearly lost my lunch... He held her heart triumphantly over his head and announced "I claim the heart of this beast and control over all magic and magical beings for humankind!"
The end. | 2019-10-09T11:38:11 | 2019-10-09T11:27:47 | 62 | 25 |
[WP] The year is 2019. An unidentified radar contact appears over the English Channel, bound for an RAF base. It ignores all calls from Air Traffic Control. RAF fighters are vectored to intercept. The contact: a WWII B-24. Part of its wing is missing, and along its fuselage: long, jagged claw marks. | "I don't remember much of anything, really."
The overhead lights' buzz played softly over the men. A man with a scruffy grey beard sat opposite a young, spectacled--but serious--soldier. The one who was clean-shaven, without any sign of aging, was the person who'd been missing for nearly eighty years. The boy rubbed at his nose while the older gentleman watched him closely, as well as nearly the entire building's staff behind a one-way window.
"The plane began to shake... and I *do* remember the light of the day disappeared before me. I never saw anything else," the boy said. He ran a hand through his combed hair. "I don't even really remember you folks bringing me back."
The older gentleman leaned forward. "You seem nervous, son."
The boy scratched at his arm. "I--I just--I need you to understand that... I really don't understand what happened. I never switched sides. I'm still one of Churchill's boys."
The gentleman's skepticism and inquisitive stare gave way to a brief, but comforting smile. "That's good to hear, soldier."
The boy was able to relax more and he settled his hands on the metal table. "I'm more than happy to answer as many questions as I can, sir."
"Son, do you understand what day it is today?"
"Well, let's see... I'd think it is the 23rd today, sir. I crashed on the day of the battle and I couldn't have been unconscious for more than two days."
"You're correct, it is the 23rd of November."
The boy sighed, visibly relieved. The gentleman went for his mug of tea and had a sip before quietly setting it back down. "Yes..." He seemed cautious about how to proceed with the conversation. "...there's just no other way of approaching the next question."
The confidence that had slowly been building for the soldier began to drain instead. "Yes, sir?"
"Do you know what year this is?"
The boy's fear went to confusion. "I thought we... it's two days after the crash."
"No, son," the gentleman replied. "What year is it?"
"I--it's 1943. Are we doing more memory tests?"
Now it was the gentleman nervous to speak. Nervous at a person's reaction in learning they had missed nearly eighty years of time. Nervous with how the boy would respond to learning that only distant relatives, whom he had never met, were his only surviving family. Despite his many years in the armed services, and his position in the department, he felt incredibly underqualified to inform this boy soldier about the present, let alone the past. He cleared his throat, then moved to unravel the boy's reality.
Edit: Thanks to everyone who read and enjoyed! Here's [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/user/MotherJoanFoggy/comments/e4s773/part_ii/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) of the story! | *I tried to make this match with IRL facts as possible, But may be wrong. Also english is not my mother tongue so there may be wrong sbellings, unright words or grammar bad.*
The plane didn't seem to be Okay. An engine dead, one wing off. The ball turrets seemed to be dead,the plane seemed very rusted.
We decided to make it land at runway 5 at [CLASSIFIED] military airfield. But it didn't seem to reply to any radio signals. They didn't respond to "Tilt your wings if you are hearing this message". It became evident that it couldn't recieve signals-or was ignoring them.
Two F-35Bs decided to guide it to the runway. As the two F-35Bs approached the B-24, the B-24 tried to get away from the plane, with the best maneuver we have ever seen. But soon The B-24 seemed to find out that we are there to help them.
We safely guided the B-24 to the runway. But we had a problem. One of the landing gears was missing. It landed with a crash and--stopped. A few men came out of it. They were, to our suprise, in nothing but worn, makeshift clothes. Exept that One was wearing a WW2 US air force hat.
We took them to our building, and asked them what happened. They said....
.
.
.
.
.
In 1944, in the heat of WW2, US bombers of the 8th Bomb wing were going to bomb bernberg. 49 bombers, filled with brave people,flew into the sky. But some couldn't come back. The US force lost 6 planes that day. Some crashed into berlin. Some crashed into the ocean. But one emergency landed on a island, never seen.
The island was covered in fog. The pilot found out that the plane ran out of fuel. Its radio system was also seriously damaged, by the BF109 attack. Being the captain he was, he commanded his men to build a raft. Although it took a long time to finish, it set sail.
But it didn't go well. A creature-call it seperent, monster,leviathan, whatever-leaped out of the pitch black sea. It crushed the raft. The pilot lost most of his crew that day. Only himself-and a female crew-managed to swim back to shore.
They realized the only way out was the plane. They started harvesting oil from pine cones and trees-a technique used by the japanese military. But it was so slow. They never would get enough to leave the island.
Soon the pilot, and his female crew, got closer. They made a house, got kids. Years and years passed. They never could get enough oil. They needed at least 20 more years.
Knowing that time was tight,they came up with an idea. They built a cockpit out of wood- and teached flying to their kids. They explained each lever, each button, each throttle. They watched their kids "fly" using the fake cockpit- and gave them advice on how to get better.
More years passed. The first pilot, and his wife, was ling dead. But finally, the plane had enough oil to take off. The bombs were attached and the guns were loaded, since nobody knew what would happen.
The plane flew to the sky with a powerful sound. It had been sleeping for years-but if still did its work. But there was a problem-the plane's elevator didn't work so well.
They found themselves flying low over the sea. Soon the seperent found it. It couldn't fly, but it could leap high enough to reach the plane. It clawed and tried to take down the plane. The crew fought back, with their turrets. One wing compartment was broken. A bullet from the turrets cut off the dragon's scales. The dragon leaped at the turret. The crew realized- they needed the bombs.
The pilot flew steady over the seperent as if swam right behind the plane. One jump and the seperent could bite the fuselage, crushing the entire plane. But they didn't let that happen. At one signal, dozens of bombs dropped out of the bomb bay. The seperent growled and hissed as the bombs went off. The crew realized- they won.
.
.
.
.
.
We decided that the crew was having mass histeria, or some problem. So we sent them to a mental hospital. But they couldn't find anything wrong either. So..I guess that's true. And that's it, the story of a B-24 defeating a sea seperent.
Edit:formatting, letters | 2019-12-01T08:29:11 | 2019-12-01T08:02:39 | 417 | 64 |
[WP] It was supposed to be an easy burglary. Husband left for work at 6, kid left for school at 7, and the wife left for shopping at 12. You go in at 12:30 to grab a TV and some jewelry. Breaking in and finding the husband, kid, and wife hanging from the ceiling was definitely not part of the plan.
[removed] | John waited patiently as the mother climbed into her black Jeep. His gloved hands gripped his backpack straps tightly.
"What's taking her so long today?" John muttered anxiously under his breath. He had a deadline that was closing in fast. He had been watching the family for the better part of 3 weeks and today had to be the day. John chose this house because it sat off on a remote corner of a well established neighborhood and was a single level. The family had nice cars, hired a weekly gardener, all signs of money.
It wasn't personal, but in that moment, John was ready to slap the woman for taking so long. He watched as she pulled down her sun visor and applied lipstick in the mirror. The mother fiddled with her long black hair, trying to position it just right. John had thought she was probably having an affair, the way she preened in her mirror every Tuesday. The visor went up and the woman turned over the engine.
"Finally." If he didn't get anything to sell today, Jeremy wouldn't be able to afford this month's medicine. As two kids who ran away from home, insurance wasn't an option, but buying illegally from scum bag doctors, well, that was.
John waited a few minutes more, before slowly cimbing down out of a nearby tree. He crossed the grass quietly, forest to his back, and hopped the low fence. The back door was locked, but John was handy with a lock pick set, and quickly let himself in.
Pulling the door shut behind him, John made his way through the home to what he believed was the master bedroom door. He took notice of the high ceilings and exposed wooden rafters as he went. The house was decorated in a mix of rustic and modern. It was beautiful, but he didn't have time to daydream. He placed his hand around the door know and slowly twisted, trying to keep the noise to a minimum. Before the door was fully open, a terrible smell, almost like that of a dying animal rotting in the sun, came wafting from the crack. John paused. His heart was beating faster now and his hand trembled slightly.
"That smells worse than death," he whispered to himself. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. "A rat probably died in the wall and they just haven't gotten rid of it." He pushed the door open the rest of the way and walked into the room. To his left was a dresser and on it sat an ornate jewelery cabinet. Through a little glass window, John could see the glittering of jewels and his heart sped up again, this time in excited relief.
A soft rustling caught his attention. He had heard from the beginning but thought the air might be rustling a curtain, but when the air stopped, the rustling continued. John moved away from the dressed and looked around the room. The room was set up in an L shape, with short L part being around the corner from the door. John carefully peeked around the corner. The blood drained from his face.
In front of him, slowly swaying, the mother hung from the ceiling. Her blue night gown fluttered gently against the wall, creating the rustling sound. Behind her, on another rafter, was her husband. He was wearing only his checkered boxers. There was no sign of struggle and no sign of chairs being knocked over, like he saw in a movie once.
"The kid!" John felt his stomach drop as he raced to another door in the hallway, shoving it open. The kid, who he figured was only seven or so, was still wearing a pikachu onesie and hanging from the rod of his canopy bed, still much to high for him to reach on his own. The smell was just as strong in here and as John crept closer to take a better look, he could tell the bodies had been dead for several days at least, maybe longer.
Horror. Dread. The feeling of eyes on his neck, caused John's hairs to stand on end. He slowly looked over his shoulder and saw nothing there. A breath he didn't know he was holding quickly whooshed out of his pursed lips and his tense shoulders slumped.
"But I... I saw them leave. I've been watching them for a long time now. They... left. This morning? Yes. I saw. I watched the kid. He boarded. He boarded the bus. The dad went to work, like he has been. And the woman. Fuck. Fuck, she did her fucking makeup in the Jeep. I had to wait on her... I." John's thoughts were a mess, this was something he couldn't process. The sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway pulled his attention from within.
With wide eyes and trembling body, John raced for the back door. He had to get out. Whatever those things were, those things he watched leave in the morning and return in the evening, they weren't human. He didn't want to be a ceiling decoration and he can't leave Jeremy alone.
"Please. God, God, please." Time seemed to move strangely for John as he raced to the door, sound no longer an issue. He felt like he was running a marathon, but not moving fast enough to win.
The front door opened and a stream of sunlight poured in after the female figure. John's backpack was the only thing the being saw, he had made it out in time. Sprinting towards the fence, John made to vault over it, when he felt a strong force knock him back. On the other side of the fence, a male figure stood up, towering over John.
"No, no. Please." John whispered quietly as he tried to shrink in on himself. "I... I didn't. Didnt see anything. I promise. Please. Let me go." A large hand, fingers unusually long, reached for John.
"Don't worry son, I won't hurt you." The voice was raspy, dead. Full of emptiness in a way that sounded like it could be from everywhere and nowhere. The creature smiled, the face of the husband seemed distorted, like it was in pain, but still trying to grit through it. "Let's go back inside and chat, hmm?"
John wanted to struggle. He really did, but some weird feeling caused him to lay limp while the thing with a stolen face lifted him from the ground.
"Jeremy." | My hands were shaking with adrenaline as I attempted to casually survey the house from the sidewalk, despite how confident I was there was no one around. The father always left at six, son at seven, and mom at noon, plus they did that rich people thing where they have a huge front yard blocked from view with shrubs. At twelve-thirty the house would be empty, and the neighbors wouldn’t be able to see a thing. Still, I pushed down the edge of my baseball cap and fiddled with my sunglasses, wondering how suspicious they made me look in early fall. I was fairly new to the whole stealing thing, but when you constantly need to be on the move and stay off the grid, there’s not a whole lot of options for legal employment. I was pushing my luck staying here as long as I had, but I’d run out of cash and robbing this place would leave me set for a few months. Hopefully it would be worth the risk.
“Okay, time to stop stalling,” I muttered to myself. I took a deep breath and confidently began to stride into their yard, keeping an eye on the windows of the home. There wasn’t any movement, and the spot where the mom usually parked her car was empty. I kept going to the garage, where there was a little keypad that could open and shut it. I had a few options I could try here. I knew from watching it was a seven digit code, so I had looked up the phone numbers of the family. It turned out to be the first option I picked, the father’s cell phone number. Idiots. I felt a mixture of relief and tension as the garage door went up, revealing the dad’s mid-life crisis Mustang to be gone as well. The door leading into the house would be the final obstacle.
As I reached out to grab the handle in my gloved hands, I noticed the tremor was gone, even though my heart was beating loud enough I would swear the neighbors could hear it. I didn’t know how to feel about the fact the I was getting more comfortable robbing people. Praying quietly, recognizing the ridiculousness of the notion even as I did it, I twisted the handle. It swung open smoothly into a shining kitchen, and I nearly collapsed in relief. *Almost there*, I thought.
I carefully walked across the kitchen, going for where I guessed the stairs would be. The house was dead silent, but I could swear it felt like something was watching me. *Nerves*, I told myself, fingering the old crucifix around my neck, *Just nerves*.
Then there was an odd creaking, stretching sound. I froze. My eyes looked in the direction of the sound, to the front of the house. It had to be just house sounds, just house sounds -
Another faint creak, this time with a slight metallic cling. My hands were shaking again, this time accompanied by a dry mouth and a cold face. My feet felt like they were nailed to the floor. I tried to think past the terror. I *needed* this score. Those weird sounds didn’t sound like footsteps. It *had* to be house sounds.
There was another creak, and rational thoughts fled my mind as I bolted for the garage door. I couldn’t risk it, I just couldn’t -
I ran full stop into the foyer, and even with the sunglasses I felt blinded by how much light streamed in through the two story windows and bounced off the gleaming wall and floors. My breath was coming in shaking gasps. *How?* I must’ve gotten confused, must’ve ran through the wrong door.
I noticed a shadow shift slightly on the wall, and my heart nearly stopped when I noticed the movement. With a growing sense of dread, I looked at the odd shadow, one lump with two? three? lumps hanging off of it. I didn’t want to, but morbid curiosity made me turn my head to look at the only object that could cast that shadow, the chandelier.
In the complete silence of the house, the three bodies of the family hung from rope tied off on the chandelier. Their faces were oddly serene, and their bodies swayed ever so slightly, the movement accompanied by the faint creaking I’d heard. I collapsed against the wall, hand covering my mouth, feeling nauseous. This couldn’t be possible. Their cars were *gone*. How was the chandelier even supporting that much weight? How did they get up there? How? How could they be here? This didn’t make sense, not unless... *oh no*. I gripped my cross in one hand as the mother opened her eyes and chuckled, a sound far too deep and gravelly to come from a human.
“That’s right kiddo. I suppose you thought you had managed to hide from us this time,” the mother’s eyes were a burning red, reminiscent of hell-fire, and her smile stretched far too wide. The chandelier had started to rotate slowly, turning her away but bringing the son into view.
“You should know better by now,” this time the son spoke, the deep voice sounding even more disturbing from a child.
Keeping one hand firmly clasped around the crucifix at my neck, I grabbed the closest object I could reach, a crystal ashtray. As the chandelier rotated the father to face me I flung the ashtray straight at him. His unnatural smile grew wider as it flew through his body without a ripple, shattering against the wall behind him.
“Smart little girl, we’re not here...*yet*. But we’re close. So very close.”
I could feel it now, the voices were in my head, not something I was hearing. If I focused, I could see through the bodies, see the faint outline the real world behind them. But if they could project illusions.... I glanced at the windows again, and pulled my sunglasses down slightly. The blue sky was ever so faintly tinged red. I sniffed the air. A faint hint of sulfur. The mother spoke again, but I focused on the blood pounding in my ears, drowning her out.
I had to run. They were close. *God help me.* I thought, somewhat futilely. I wasn’t sure if he was even listening. Which way though? I looked for doors but all I could see was windows and walls. My panic grew as all three bodies chuckled. Of course they were hiding them, they had messed with my sense of direction to lure me in here.
Maybe... I dropped the crucifix, trying to ignore the smirks of the demon family as I fumbled in my pockets, pulling out a small vial of clear liquid. Cursing my shaking hands, I carefully opened it, took off my sunglasses, and poured the holy water over them. The sulfur smell was growing stronger.
“Clever little girl, aren’t you?” the father whispered. “But why don’t you stop fighting. It would be so much easier....”
I shoved the bottle back into my pocket and put the dripping sunglasses back on. After a few deep breaths, I glanced at the chandelier. It was empty, no bodies dangling. The small sense of victory was immediately drowned by a sense of urgency and panic. The sulfur smell was strong, dangerously strong. I looked at where the front door should be again, and this time saw it.
Was the *front* door a good idea? At this point I didn’t give a damn as I darted for it. I felt, more than heard the frustration of the demons as I flew down the lawn, fear helping me run faster than I knew I could.
As I ran out of the yard and started down the street, I heard the voices in my head one last time.
*You’ll get tired of running someday Lucy, and you* will *give us your body. You cannot stop the Ascension.*
Even as I gasped for breath and felt a stitch in my side start to develop, I had enough energy to feel truly and genuinely angry.
Those demons were right about one thing. I was starting to get tired of running. | 2020-10-18T07:26:50 | 2020-10-18T07:15:13 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] Voldemort kills Harry Potter and declares war against Muggles. He finds out the Muggle world has things far worst than magic - Avengers, Thanos, Dr Strange, Justice League, Pennywise, Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers....and the SCP Foundation. | Voldemort stood over the corpse of the "the boy who lived". After a brutal fight, Hogwarts had fallen the trembling survivors made ready to either perish or declare thier allegiance. The surviving death eaters reveled in their victory.
On a hill several miles away a man in a red coat and a woman in a yellow uniform observed the scene.. From out of nowhere the song "i'm a bitch" started to play.
The man answered. "Hello?"
" Bond confirms, Grumpy Cat is gone. You know what to do..." A stately female voice instructed. "
The man smiled... "With pleasure"
"Police girl... Do you have the target?"
The woman hefted a rifle easily 4 times the size of her, it's cartoonishly large barrel shone dully in the moonlight.. She assumed a prone position and made ready.
"Fer fuck's sake... My Name is Seras Victoria and it's the bastard what's got no nose 'ight.." she grumbled...
"Lets go for a walk shall we?"
&#x200B;
"And now we shall claim our rightful place and ...."
The dark lord's speech was interupted by the whistle of a projectile which promptly reduced voldy's head to a fine red mist. | It was time. Voldemort waved the Elder wand around, standing on London's Clock Tower, more commonly known as the Big Ben. Eldritch streamers of energy rose around him, coalescing in the sky as clouds of absolute darkness, chasing away any light except for the lightning. It was time to call forward the devastation he so desired, rightly his after defeating that weakling Harry Potter.
As the magic energies had build up, lightning was chasing around in long chains above London. With a flourish of the Wand he called forward the destruction, directing the lightning down to lay waste to the capital. It was going to be glorious.
To his amazement, the lightning diverted, bend around and struck one central point in the sky. There was a man there, drawing in lightning. Some bulky buffoon waving around a hammer was thwarting his moment of glory. This could not stand.
"Death Eaters, attack that man!"
Lucius was the first to respond, jumping on his broom, racing forward on his broom, wand extended, read to vanquish whatever his master deemed undesirable. As he was closing in on the figure, he prepared to launch the killing curse. "Avada Ke..."
He never got to finish that spell, as two beams of ungodly bright energy went right through him. He fell down, amazingly still alive, protection spells fizzling out. Next to him a red figure landed with a metallic thunk.
"Who are you and how could you defeat me so easily."
The face piece lifted up suddenly and a handsome face looked at him.
"I am Iron Man. That's the answer to both your questions."
Tony Stark looked up, where a shield managed to knock some sense into another black shadowy figure trying to make its way to Thor. Others were taken out by explosive arrows and good ol' hail of bullets from War Machine.
Voldemort felt the connections to his Death Eaters falling away one by one. But there, one of them was closing in on him. He'll snuff out this enemy.
"Avada Kevadra!"
The spell flew straight and hit the figure right in the chest. And didn't do anything. The face plate lifted up to reveal an empty harnas. A second harness rose in the air next to the first. And a third.
"Avada Kevadra! Avada Kevadra! Crucio!"
His strongest spells fizzled out.
"You can't defeat me. I'm the world's most strongest Wizard."
A heavy blow behind him was heard, immediately followed by a massive green hand squeezing him. His shield spells screamed out and gave in, one by one, until the Elder Wand exploded and blew away a part of his side. Voldemort cried out.
The only response was the large green hand lifted him and throwing him from the tower, straight through the ground and into the subway. What was left of him just faintly heard the words "Puny Wizard" before it was hit by a subway train. | 2020-11-02T03:49:02 | 2020-11-02T01:55:37 | 70 | 48 |
[WP] You were born with special eyes, the sea was as clear as glass to you, by the time you got old enough to join a ship's crew, you were smart enough to not tell them about everything you saw below the waves | I was young when I first realized that not everyone else could see the Other World. My mother pulled me away from the pier when I asked my questions, shushing me with fearful glances over her shoulder. “Not now, *Dia,* tell me about it later, okay?”
I would wait until evening to tell her of the Others, the ones who watched. They were so pretty, with their dark hair and eyes, their beckoning hands. My mother would sit me down by the fireplace and braid my hair, humming to me while I asked my questions. *Who were they? Why didn’t they come out of the water? Could I go play with them next time?*
Her reply was always the same—“Stay out of the water, *Dia,* it is dangerous.” She never answered me how, but I listened.
I stayed out of the water.
We were poor, so each year when the floods came and the ocean rose higher around our homes, I could not help but see the Other World again. And the Others, with their watchers and beckoners. The wealthier families went to their summer homes, away from the rains, but my mother and I stayed. When my mother wasn’t around in the rainy season, sometimes they would sing to me. I never told my mother, and she always warned me when she got home to stay away from the water.
When I reached adulthood, my mother got sick. I joined a fishing crew, and I came home every month to give her my earnings. “You are staying out of the water, *Dia?”* She asked, every time. Every time I told her *Yes, mama, I have stayed out of the water.*
The Others are most common after storms. I knew that something was different when we pulled up the net, and there was no movement. The fish in the net were dead already, and a stench came from them. My captain went to the net and released it, dumping the waste onto the deck, where I saw her. We all saw her.
She writhed on the wood deck of the fishing trawler, and I watched as my crewmates realized what she was. Her hair was as dark as kelp, and her skin the soft grey of a midmorning storm. *”Monster,”* they called her, but I knew her as an Other. One of those from the Other World, from the brilliant golden cities that shimmered far, far beneath the waves. She had watched me for years. Sung to me.
I looked at my crewmates, and I heard my mother’s warnings. I saw the greed in their eyes, the hunger in their leering faces.
*”Stay out of the water, Dia, it is dangerous!”*
I grabbed her hand, and pulled. It took a moment for my friends and colleagues to realize my intent, too late. We slipped over the edge, together, into the crystal-clear water below. Ice grabbed me by my throat, suffocating me, and the frigid water stabbed my limbs with a thousand knives. I saw her, watching, waiting.
I breathed in, and I gasped as water flooded into my mouth. I expected to choke.
I didn’t. She approached, holding out a hand, beckoning. She gestured towards the golden city beneath us, one that I had seen for years.
*”Home, Dia. Come home.”* | "Get moving, lad, or ye'll be doin' worse than swabbin' the poop deck!"
"Yes, Cap'n."
You nearly trip over your mop in your haste to get out of the Captain's way. You'd thought Captain "Hawkeye" Jones would be grateful to have a boy with eyes that could see through the depths of the ocean as a part of his crew. And Jones' interest in your ability had seemed sincere at first. But after a week of being kicked around by sailors who were no kinder than the pirates that sometimes docked at your hometown port, you're pretty sure that none of them think it's worth their time to take a ten year old seriously. "Games," they'd called it. "Free Labor" they'd called you.
As you swab the deck for what feels like the millionth time that week, you hear footsteps behind you. You brace yourself, expecting to hear jeering from a drunken sailor. Instead, you hear a soft, gruff voice you know well.
"Blimey, no wonder yer all skin-an-bones," says Uno, the ship's cook. His one remaining eye rolls to look at you. "Cap's got ye workin' so hard it'd kill a grown man before the end of the week."
"I'm fine," you say.
"Ach! No, yer not!" says Uno, grabbing the mop from you and tossing it over the side of the boat.
"What'd you do that for!?" you yell.
"Wasn't me," says Uno. "Wave must've swept it away."
A small smile flashes across your face.
"Right. We'll get started on dinner, then," he says with a wink. "Come with me."
"I can't," you say. "The Cap'n will get cross."
"That ol' bonehead never gets cross at anyone who can fix a good meal," said Uno. "And I wasn't talking about going to the galley, either."
Uno motions you towards the edge of the ship. You hesitate.
"Come on, boy. I need yer eyes."
Finally understanding what Uno is getting at, you trot over to the edge of the boat.
"Lemme know where the best spot is to cast me line," says Uno. "I hear there's loads o' big fish down there."
You lean over the side of the boat to get a better look, half-expecting to be pushed into the ocean and left for dead. Instead, your eyes land on a long, grey tail and a mass of blonde hair. It darts through the water so quickly you're not sure you believe what you're seeing. Then another goes by, and another, and another. One of them pauses to glance in your direction with a face that's half-fish, half-human. You look up at Uno, who is wearing a knowing smile.
"Mermaids?" you mouth to him.
"Aye," says Uno. "Cap'n's been lookin' fer them all his life. Doesn't know that he passes right by 'em each time we travel from West Port to Avon."
"You can see them?"
"Did you really think I lost me other eye in a bar fight?" he asks, pointing to the patch over his empty socket. "Bloody pirates tried' to figure out what gave me 'the sight.' I agreed to let 'em have it in exchange for my life."
"What does give someone 'the sight?'"
"Duno. But *they* know." Uno points his thumb at the ocean. "Wish I could ask them."
"They can't talk?"
"Nah, they speak bloody good English. I had a chance to talk to one when I was just about yer age."
"So then, why...?"
"If anyone on board sees them, they'll die."
"Oh."
"Or worse."
You nod in understanding though you're not sure what his last two words really mean. A splash behind you gets your attention. You turn around to see a cute but fishlike face peering at you from out of the water. The mermaid appears to be just a little bit older than you. You raise your hand and smile. She responds with an open grin--full of rows of sharp teeth--before backflipping into the sea and doing figure eights just beneath the waves.
"Hell's bells," spits Uno. "They're gettin' curious again." He lifts his hands up in the air and raises his voice to a bellow. "OY! ALL HANDS BELOW DECK! EARLY DINNER TONIGHT FOR THE CREW!"
Cheers ring through the air. Uno nudges you with his elbow.
"Best you don't get chummy with her, lad," he says. "No good has ever come from a friendship with a mermaid, I promise ye that."
As you head down to the galley, you hear the clatter of a pearl rolling on wet wood.
*For more fantastical stories, check out* r/OctOpusTales *!* | 2021-11-06T12:12:01 | 2021-11-06T11:59:55 | 199 | 113 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | "Come i- *oh come on*," I sighed as I saw who just walked into my office. Mr Williams. *Again*.
"Tobias!" he cheerfully greeted me. I did not share his most likely faux upbeat mood, knowing full well what he wanted.
"My answer's the same," I said. Despite this, he sat down in the chair across of me and made himself comfortable.
"Of course, of course, Tobias. But there's," he paused and shifted in the seat, "been a development." I only returned a blank stare.
"See, there's a new player in Brazil. A Russian operative - one gifted with extraordinary abilities, same as you. We've reason to-"
"No," I cut him off.
"Tobias, I'll be blunt," he said with a far more serious tone than ever before. "This is no small matter; we are talking about national security. As a doctor, you most certainly care for the well-being of others, do you not? With your portals, we'd be able to strike at the heart of America's enemies *instantly*, before they ever had a chance to harm anyone. We'd save people that-"
"I became a doctor to help people and my powers are perfectly suitable for that, thank you very much. I can operate on people without ever opening them up. *That* saves people. *That* is good! Not killing some people I never even heard of in some black-op just because you or the Agency told me to.
So," I said, standing up, "that is that. I'd appreciate it if you didn't waste my time again because I'll never work for you."
"Yes," Mr Williams said grimly, "you will."
I narrowed my eyes at the man, sizing him up.
"See, Tobias," he said and stood up as well, "you're valuable. Useful. We'd never hurt you to convince you." He took a step closer.
"Your family, on the other hand..." he said, staring me straight in the eye, leaving the sentence hanging in the air like the Sword of Damocles.
I took a deep breath. "I see," I said and nodded lightly to myself.
I spent the next days unsettled, often in deep thought and a state of reflection. I never wanted this. I just wanted to help people, not *kill* them. But... the CIA doesn't take no for an answer. Still, I do hope this will be that.
The only interruption to this routine was when another man in a cheap black suit claiming to be Mr Williams' partner came by and said Mr Williams never checked in, asked me if I'd seen him. I told him the truth - I told him that I'd not seen him since our last meeting.
After all, it's not healthy to look into the Sun. | “Yowza! Look at those muscles! Wam, bam, *wapow!*"
Tim turned around. The man behind him was at least twice Tim's age and balding. “Can I help you?” Tim asked.
“I'm just taken aback is all. I thought I was in line for a coffee,” the man raised an eyebrow and struck a pose, flexing biceps that were imperceptible in an oversized military uniform. “Not a gun show."
"Sir, I just woke up."
"You might've woken a little something inside me too, if you know what I mean." The man adjusted his glasses. "Awooga!"
"Right. I'm just here for the coffee."
"Say, you wouldn’t happen to be a Super, would you?”
"Ah," Tim flashed a knowing smile. "I see where this is going. Sorry, not interested.”
The man frowned. "I think there may be a misunderstanding here. Do you... do you think this is some some sort of slimy recruitment pitch?”
“Is it not?”
“Do I look like a Recruiter to you?”
"Your shoulder patch says ‘Department of Recruitment.’”
“Ohoho, brawny *and* smart?" The man grinned. "Look at me, I’m salivating! You hit the nail in the nuts, kid. I'm a recruiter but there's nothing slimy about my pitch.”
"Not interested." Tim began turning away but the man stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.
“Tell me, what do you do for work, Tim?”
“None of your business,” Tim tried to disengage, but found it surprisingly difficult. The physical contact felt awkward, but pulling away more so.
“Secretive too? You’re ticking *all* the right boxes! Just answer me this-"
Tim grabbed the mans wrist, careful not to crush it. “Look, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t touch me. I’m just trying to get a coffee–”
The man took a step back and raised his palms. “Of course! Don’t let me stop you.”
As Tim turned back around, the man's hand was on his shoulder again.
“But let me stop you a little bit. Just answer me this: don't you feel like you owe something to society? Haven't you always wanted to *be* somebody?”
Tim smiled. "I *am* somebody. I'm a father. I'm a husband. I'm a damn good dentist. As for society, I don't owe anything more than the balance on my mortgage. You think that just because I was born with super strength and spit that tastes like bubblegum I have some duty to risk my neck at the slightest hint of trouble?"
"Yes."
"Trust me, I've thought about being a hero. For a while that's all I wanted to be. Then I did some free lance vigalantizing and ended up in the hospital my first gig. Reality check: super strength doesn't mean invincible. As for bubblegum spit, that's only 'super' in the bedroom."
The man raised his eyebrows and let the silence linger. Tim shook his head. He was surprised this recruiter had managed to get so far under his skin. "Look, maybe if I were stronger. Maybe if I didn't have so much to lose. But as things stand..."
"I get it," the man sighed, draping his arm around Tim's shoulder. “You want to kick ass and chew bubblegum, but you’re never out of bubblegum are you?"
Tim almost pulled away again, but he felt tears welling up. “Fucking everything tastes like bubblegum.”
“You know, you're right. It’s a shit job being a hero. If I'm being honest with you, I wouldn’t do it myself. I'm just a recruiter.”
“I appreciate the honesty.”
"Of course." The man put a hand on Tim's cheek. "But you know what? Somebody has to do it.”
“Somebody?” The word had a nice ring to it.
"Yep. A *real* somebody." The man's hand moved onto Tim’s forehead, “you know who that somebody is?”
Tim felt a sudden sense of purpose. "It's me, isn't it?"
“Atta’boy!”
"I’ve always wanted to be a hero..." Tim muttered, staring off into space.
The man patted Tim on the back and stepped around him in line. "One black coffee, please."
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe. | 2022-07-31T14:37:56 | 2022-07-31T11:50:27 | 517 | 142 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | Tim landed in a chair in the conference room, the breath leaving him in a sigh. "We're being audited." He said, pulling a hand across his face. He met my eyes and I saw the pain there. I knew what it meant, and I felt my stomach turn to ice.
I swallowed, taking a moment to digest this before answering. "The shop is fine, Tim. We do it by the book. They can audit all they want."
"No, Wade." He said. "The company. Not you, not our division. The company. We are being audited. A deep dive." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Apparently last year one of the accountants diverted some funds and ran off to Bora Bora. So we're screwed. From the top to the bottom they have us in a vice. They can shut us down, Wade. The board has made their decision." His voice caught. "I'm sorry. When I hired you, I told you this wouldn't happen."
I knew what was coming. It still hurt.
"It wasn't your call." I said, softly. I wanted to get angry but all I felt was devastated.
"And apparently the auditor made it clear that this could go away by terminating a certain employee. If it matters any, I stood for you. Resigned on the spot. I just asked that it got to be me to tell you."
I sighed, I hadn't expected that. I squeezed my eyes shut and felt a tear roll down my cheek. "Tim, you don't..." I loved the brewery, loved everything about it. I fit in there, another one of the jolly brewers, and nobody made a fuss over me being different. Hell, we were all a little different. "I mean I get it, fire me or they shut us down. Either way I'm out of a job, right? And this way at least I'll know you're taking good care of the boys."
"You think they'll stay after this? Ha." He said, leaning back. I felt my heart sink lower. "I think it's the end for me here. Maybe I'll get a real job."
"Dammit Tim!" I said, slapping the table, that got his attention. "You were all happy here before I started. If this," I gestured to indicate the whole of the brewery. "If this goes away, that hurts me more. Don't quit in solidarity, that's how they get to me."
"This isn't the first time, is it?" Tim asked.
"Last one was a little general store up in the mountains. Zoning department determined it was in a landslide area. The little old couple that ran it lost everything. Before that it was a tire shop, a sushi restaurant. I got hired at a laboratory and they got me in nine days."
"Why?"
"So I'll come fight for them. Be a 'good guy' who can fight the 'evil bad guys' and save the day. And I don't want to do that. I'm so tired of hurting people. But they just won't leave me alone." I stood up from the table. "And I can't take them hurting the people around me anymore."
I noticed Tim looked alarmed, and I realized I had shouted. There was a pause. "What are you going to do?"
I thought for a moment. "Stop them." | "No," Sasha said, not otherwise acknowledging the uniformed officer that had just waltzed into her office. Sasha shrank the programs on her computer instinctively, although the other woman couldn't see the screen from that angle.
The young officer sat down in one of the empty chairs and made herself comfortable. With her arm raised like that, the uniform shirt pulled so tight that Sasha could trace the lace patterns in the officer's bra. "I've read your files, Miss Spencer. I don't think you realize what you could do for us. Or how easy it would be." She leaned forward so far that Sasha could see the lines in her irises. "No one would even know it was you," she whispered. "The country's first secret super. Perfectly safe. You could even work from home."
"It's immoral." Sasha replied out of habit. She had turned down two government recruiters last week and three the week before. All with the same arguments and the same promises. None quite as cute or as dolled up as this one, though. A new tactic. Someone *had* read her file. Sasha bit her lip to retain focus. "How many recruiters do I have to refuse? Am I on some kind of training list? Using my gift for the government would be *wrong*. I won't do it."
"It's no more immoral than what you're doing now, Miss Spencer. Selling life to the worlds' richest. Time is supposed to be a limited resource. You're cheating the system..." she trailed off with a dramatic sigh, "and helpless, innocent citizens are the ones paying for it." The officer smiled and crooked an eyebrow, as if waiting for a return serve.
"My profession is completely legal. Every contributor is an adult capable of consent. It's been reviewed by the Board of Power Ethics more than once. I do not - and will not - take from anyone unwilling. Officer..." Sasha tried to read the name tag without being distracted by its background. "Flores-Fitzgerald" she added.
The officer shrugged and leaned back with a defeated sigh. "You got me. But you have to see why the government wants your powers so badly! With the right information, you could kill people without ever meeting them. Without them ever meeting you. And you could give that stolen time to the President, effectively making him immortal. Or you could give it to anyone else you wanted, really. I'm sure you skim a little off the top for yourself sometimes, don't you?" Flores-Fitzgerald gave her a conspiratorial wink.
Sasha stood up, growing irritated with the particular combination of emotions this woman evoked. "Do I *look* immortal to you!?" she said, raising her voice just a little and gesturing toward her middle-aged body.
"I assume you can add time to your lifespan in any place that you want it," Flores-Fitzgerald said innocently, "maybe you enjoy being slightly past your prime. I kind of like that look on you." She smiled shyly and twirled some stray hair in front of her ear.
"Past my *what*!?" Sasha's jaw clenched, and her eyes shot daggers sat the younger woman. She took one slow, deep breath, and reminded herself of the rules she had established for herself long, long ago. The rules that included not stealing decades off of any innocent person's life span, no matter how they prodded. In fact, taking any amount of time that would result in near-instant death was off the table. Too messy.
Sasha paused for a moment, then sat back down. "The vast majority of my job consists of assessing couples and taking years off of their lives just to give the time to their own children. For a fee, of course. A *monetary* fee," she stressed. "No one wants to watch their kids die. It's that simple. And if some schmuck is broke enough or loyal enough to sell years off of their life, it's completely legal for me to take that time and resell it. Life, in this case, is a luxury item. There are lawyers involved... it's a whole thing. Like I sad, completely above board. There are no laws against it."
Officer Florez-Fitzgerald pouted her lips. "Well... if you're happy... I guess it's a good thing that 'legal' and 'ethical' are synonymous..." she said coyly, slowly standing up and turning to leave.
Sasha bit her lip again. "Get the *Hell* out of my office before I leave *both* concepts behind," she threatened. As officer Florez-Fitzgerald scampered out of the office in defeat, the older woman reopened the browser on her computer and started a new file. Just in case. | 2022-07-31T19:45:06 | 2022-07-31T16:18:17 | 34 | 23 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | My job pays me like no other. And God I'm not going to give it up. Especially not to become some sort of superhero. I'm all ready making 200k as a senior programmer, and the 401k is just the cherry on top. I'm even due for a raise of 20k by the end of the year. And yet, the recruiters are the biggest pain in my fucking ass. 4 of them each and every single fucking day, non-stop. They call me, Email me, text me, whatever they can do to get my attention. And everyone wonders why I go hunting in the outdoors so often. Ugh.
Today one such recruiter got very daring. I was in the middle of my day, shopping, when this happened:
"Gareth Soran, is it? You are aware of your power, and how the government could..."
I paid no heed. But that wouldn't be the last time I was going to hear her voice. I went home, put my groceries away, went on another trip to a local brewery to meet up with a friend, and well, wouldn't you know it, she was right there. Sitting where I usually sit.
"You didn't even turn around. Rude."
"I learned to tune out people like you. I really am not interested. Oh, and I wouldn't sit there if I were you."
"Why not?"
"You were warned."
Everything slowed down to the point where only the air was moving. The world had come to a complete standstill, time freezing in place. This was my playground. From here, I could do practically anything. I could still move, walk around, do whatever I wanted. Emerald rings now encircled my arms and wrists, with three on each arm, and evenly spaced out 1 inch away from each other. These Flat disks hovered in the air, but were not touching my skin. These rings manifest every time my powers take hold, and they serve as my controls.
To make sure she wouldn't follow me, I grabbed her by the wrists, pulling her in this version of my world. Her body flickered awake, no longer frozen in time. She looked at me in shock.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting you were you'll never reach me."
The rings flared red, and they started to rotate clockwise. This should do the trick. Time starting speeding on without us, as though someone had pressed the fast forward button. It all zoomed by, the sun falling, and rising once. Then it all stopped. The rings ceased their rotation, and became emerald once more.
"Tell your boss that I'm not interested in his plans for me. The next time he sends a recruiter, I'll pay him a visit myself, and I make sure he doesn't forget it."
I let go of her, and she was frozen in time once more. My rings now became navy blue in coloration, rotating counter clockwise. It was like hitting the rewind button. I kept rewinding until I felt the tug at me. This was were I initially used my powers. The rings disappeared. And time resumed back to its normal pace. The bartender Samuel looked annoyed. Not at me of course. Samuel and I both had the same grievance.
"That's the 296th recruiter that has made their way to my establishment this year. Goddamn."
"Yeah, I'm exactly happy about them either."
"You know, they really out to read the signs. 'No recruiters allowed'. Are they blind?"
"They're desperate."
"Perhaps I should deal with them personally from now on."
"You wouldn't know when to let them go. That's why I do that myself."
"What's the worst that can happen?"
"I still remember your last fight with a recruiter back when your powers were discovered. That was a type of spectacle you only want to watch once." | The background droning of the air conditioning haphazardly shoved into the office window seemed to act like a white noise for me as I continued my daily tasks. The soft music of my indie playlist coming through my desktop speakers helped the hours fly by- until I got the call.
That stupid, stupid call. I knew the number by now; I had labeled it 'RECRUITER DON'T ANSWER' in my contacts so I wouldn't have to remember the number. I had to take a deep breath whenever I saw it come up so my hands wouldn't obliterate or melt whatever it was that I was working on. But it was the fourth time he had called today and I had to admit....it was a daily record.
Something in my mind caused my movements to slow as I stared at the name on my iPhone screen, the vibration of the device drowning out the white noise of the air conditioner.
***Pick it up. You haven't in weeks.... Maybe he's saying they'll leave you alone!***
My thoughts began to swirl around the thought of having a silent phone once more that only rang when my Mother needed something like help using her smart TV, or when Dad got on her nerves again.
***Pick. Up. The. Damn. Phone. Elise.***
My hand darted out from the keyboard and snatched up the small device, still vibrating violently. Before I even realized what I was doing- I answered. Making a face of confusion at my own actions in the dull reflection of my desktop, I opened my mouth and gently greeted the voice I knew to well on the other line.
"Hello Brendan. This is Elise Hayward, how may I be of service today?" I greeted, not quite using my work tone, but still attempting to be cordial. I found myself remembering that this was his job and he had to call me whether he wanted to or not.
"Why good afternoon Ms. Hayward, I don't think you've given me that kind of a greeting since the third time I called- ever." Brendan sounded incredibly surprised, and I felt a little guilty I had to admit. Maybe I had been a little too harsh on him over the past few weeks. "I am calling in regards to the exams that the government has on file from your college physical." he began to explain and I couldn't help but sigh.
The nation had a physical exam that all young adults in college had to perform to see if they qualified to be in the legendary, dangerous ranks of the super elite. Did I even want to be part of that club? Maybe when I was five sure, but then I realized just how dangerous is was and I couldn't do that to my parents! I was the only girl in the family Mom would have been crushed!
"Yeah, I figured you had that with you. Look, I can't join. I understand that it sounds fun, but I like my job, I have friends, a dog at home, and there's got to be someone else in the area with powers like mine." I explained, rolling my eyes as I went through the monotone list of reasons why I had turned them down in the first place.
"Ms. Hayward, we understand the risks and we would train you on how to avoid them and be safe when out on duty." he calmly explained and I found myself chewing on my lip, listening.
Was I actually mulling over the fact that I would be willing to put myself on the line like that?
"Your statistics from playing rugby at school, and softball as a teen put you in a higher bracket than most applicants." he continued and I found myself smiling slightly, some memories coming back to be at the mention of the sports I used to love.
"What's your point?" I inquired and heard nothing on the other end of the line. "This is your only chance to persuade me buddy. Take it or leave it- I may not give you another chance."
My eyes widened as I finished the snarky sentence, realizing what I was saying. Oh my god, I was *letting* him try to persuade me into becoming a super hero! What was wrong with me?!
"Ms. Hayward, stop by Saturday morning around ten o'clock. The director would like to meet with you personally to go over what your duties would entail if you decided to enlist among the elite. We would move you into Super Hero Square just to the North of the city center where the others live during their contract. Your dog can come with you." he explained and I arched a brow, at least glad to hear that Lyla could join me. I wouldn't be lonely per se....
My subconscious had to admit, my friends had done a great job convincing me that it wasn't worth it time and time again. But I was a big girl, and I was capable of making decisions on my own right? I sat in silence for a moment, mulling over my options before letting out a sigh and nodding to myself, ready to take my life into my own hands.
"I'll attend the meeting on one condition." I began and I heard the static of excitement over the other line.
"What?" he exclaimed and then composed himself a heartbeat later. "What is your condition Ms. Hayward?" he attempted to regain full composure and I could hear his failure- ever so slightly.
"I get to pick my outfit- and my name." I out my bargaining chip on the table, a grin on my face. I felt proud of my ability to haggle something like that with someone so important on the line.
"Deal. See you Saturday morning- Elise." | 2022-07-31T22:10:28 | 2022-07-31T16:20:17 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] The demon was shaking with anxiety and fear from the wrath of this woman standing before him screaming. "I don't give a rats ass what contact you made! I legally adopted Daniel 6 years ago, he's MY son! you can't just take him as her first born, are you crazy?!" she sputtered. | Demons have a sense of these things. We can feel the heartbeats of mortals. Well, of anything with a heartbeat really. Comes in handy when you can't read the face of someone...or something, even animals heart rates raise when they feel a threat. But this woman. This stalwart statue of a woman before me, as she screamed all kinds of phrases and words even I in my five-thousand years never heard used together, her heart rate stayed just as steady as it had when we'd started. That. Now that scared me.
And it was hard as fuck to do something like that.
She, Ethel Graystone, pushed another bony finger into my equally bony chest. "If you think you'll take *my* boy just because some idiot I never met made a deal with you then you're just as dumb as you look!" Sprays of spittle flew from her mouth, to which I just sat and let happen as wiping it proved futile after the first few tries.
Maybe she was senile and couldn't even tell what I was. Or maybe she had some sort of defect where her heart didn't beat right anymore. I tuned in once more to that sack of flesh in her chest. *Ba-dum......Ba-dum*
Then I gave it my all, channeling everything I had into a grand display of power. Horns shot forth from my head and curled into gnarly shapes. Heat pulsed behind my eyes as I could feel flames licking at the back of my sight. Even my teeth, which had already been sharp before, shot out even further from my mouth. The small boy positioned behind granny cowered, but she did not move. Her heart kept that same consistent, stubborn beat. *Ba-dum......Ba-dum*
She looked at me without change, stared passed the fire in my eyes and straight through me. I was sure in that moment if I had a soul the old meat bag would have captured and eaten it.
She called my bluff. There wasn't much more in the tank but to kill her outright, and lord (literally) knew that an unauthorized killing before someones time was not worth the punishment. Just last week some poor collector had tried it, been having her eylids plucked since.
The granny let out one final tirade: "Get lost you unholy, trash filled, hell spawn! You will not take my boy!"
"I...my mistake. I must have the wrong boy. You go about your day then."
With my tail between my legs, once again literally, I left the way I came. | "You thought you were slick, didn't you?"
I asked the man. He was washing his face in the kitchen sink and when I spoke he jumped. Hitting his head on the faucet as he did. He saw me in the reflection and whipped around to face me. He caught himself though and turned again.
"I won't get used to that." He responded, either pointedly ignoring what I said, or too stupid to put it together.
"Putting your son up for adoption. You thought if you didn't form a bond, the price wouldn't matter. Is that it?"
He sputtered out a mishmash of nonsense mouth sounds in a confused tone. I wasn't standing on ceremony, that wasn't something he expected and it scared him. There would be no small talk this time. "Speak." I commanded, hoping to glean some sort of coherence from him.
"I uhm. What's the issue?" He asked "Couldn't find the boy?"
"I found Daniel. He is no longer an acceptable payment."
Watching the fear flash across his face sent a tingle in the nape of my neck. He masked it with anger, yes, but that didn't matter. You can't hide emotion from a demon.
"What do you mean!? You wanted my first-born, he's my first-born. You and I both know you cannot go back on a contract!" Was his response. I grinned, a long, face splitting grin as I pulled a rolled up parchment out of my sleeve.
"Funny you should mention the contract." I hissed at him as my hand pushed through the surface of the mirror. Offering him the parchment. "Read it, aloud."
With shaking hands, he pulled the contract from my fingers and unfurled it. The tremor in his voice made every syllable like wine.
"This contract represents an agreement between Frederick Bradburry and Alamesh the sinister. The agreement is that in exchange for an extended life and unearthly talent, Frederick will provide Alamesh the soul of his eldest child. When Frederick's first born turns ten years of age, Alamesh will come to collect the aforementioned soul."
He read aloud. His tone becoming more confidant as he did so. He dropped his hands to his side. "So what's the issue? Go take him, he's my firstborn, he's my eldest child."
I savored moments like this in my line of work. Moments where I can watch hope raise, only to shatter it. "He isn't your eldest." I informed him. I could see the first signs of psychological shock set in. Sweat on his neck, quickened pulse, dazed expression. It was caviar. He said nothing so I continued. "You gave him up, he isn't your child. He is Jane's son."
He fell to his knees and looked up at my reflection in the mirror. "Bu- bu- bu-" was all he could say. So I continued. "I'm not here for Daniel. I'm here for Melissa, and I've already collected. I just wanted to tell you in person why I decided to ruin your life instead of just taking her in her sleep."
He suddenly became cognizant, running to the bathroom door. The knob didn't work of course, I had sealed off the room for our conversation. I continued monologing. "Yes, I'm going to ruin your life. You know she has allergies Freddy, why weren't you more careful? A peanut butter sandwich are you insane?" I cackled "and the reason? It's a really simple one, I figure you may not appreciate it. It's because Daniel's mother yelled at me for two hours. Two hours of my infinite, immortal life, will cost you the rest of yours. They'll charge you with first degree, because you ticked me off. If she had been even a fraction less aggressive, it would have been a fluke accident. You wouldn't even have known it was me. Just one small sad event. Instead, you're going to spend a long time in prison."
Then I left him to his world crumbling around him. It wasn't the truth of course. I did it because he tried to one up me. But that was a reason that made sense, and I didn't want to give him one of those. | 2022-08-31T19:08:10 | 2022-08-31T18:09:44 | 176 | 105 |
[WP] Scientists want to test if they can redirect asteroids by crashing a rocket into them, in case one is ever on a collision course with Earth. Their test rocket successfully collides with the chosen asteroid, altering its path and setting it on a collision course with Earth… | “I’m not dying because someone screwed up!”
“It’s us or the 7 billion or so people!”
“I’m still not dying! There’s a solution that doesn’t involve smashing this metal tube into a rock the size of Rode Island!”
“Tell me what it is then, oh wise one!”
“Easy. Nuke it.”
“Nuke it?”
“Yes! Nuke it!”
“So, pepper the earth with radioactive chunks of space rock. Great idea, except for the fact Earth ends up poisoned!”
“Well I don’t see you coming up with ideas that don’t involve smashing into said space rock!”
“This is mission control. It seems somebody miscalculated the size. It’s actually 48 meters by 27 meters, not miles.”
“Earth is fine then.”
“How is Earth fine?”
“Do you know how big a meter is?”
“Yes I know how big a meter is!”
“Well, most if not all of it should burn up in the atmosphere.”
“And ignite said atmosphere.”
“Jeez! Are you suicidal?”
“Mission control here. Somebody screwed up majorly. We targeted the wrong asteroid. Also, the one we hit by mistake will not ignite the atmosphere. Everything is A-Ok.”
“So, when do we get to come home?”
“Mission control?”
“Why are they not answering?”
“Hey? Where’s the Earth?” | “We have a direct hit!”
A chorus of cheers and high-fives rang out from the control room. Commander Jesse breathed a sigh of relief, collapsing into her chair after standing up for what felt like years.
As she simply breathed in and out, Dennis squeezed past the crowd towards her.
“Urgent report, ma’am! The asteroid is veering off course successfully.”
“Great,” Jesse said. “I don’t see why need an urgent report from that.”
“Well, it’s veering into Earth’s path.”
Jesse turned to look at Dennis. Those feelings of relief were quickly washed away like a receding tide, and panic quickly and easily set in.
“I swear to god, Dennis, can you lead with that next time? How long do we have?”
“A few minutes, probably.”
“Jesus” Jesse said, looking at the monitors. She quickly barked out orders, quelling what was once a raucous celebration into a muted cacophony of fear.
“That was our test rocket,” the commander solemnly said. “And in an ironic twist of fate, we’ve doomed ourselves in the process by trying to be prepared.
Dennis piped up, raising a timid hand to seek Jesse’s attention. Reluctantly, the commander agreed.
“I think we have a simple solution here that we are neglecting to consider.”
Jesse raised an eyebrow. This had better be good.
“And that is?”
“If sending a rocket to an asteroid can change its path, what if we change Earth’s path?”
The commander paused, staring far into the distance. She watched on the screen as the trajectory of the asteroid continued to drift towards them.
“Fortune favours the bold,” she muttered. “Dennis, you are usually not very good at your job.”
“Uh.”
“But you have a point. We have to shake this planet out of its funk. Somehow,” Jesse hesitated, before picking up a phone. After three rings, somebody answered, and the commander steeled herself.
“I understand this is an unusual request,” Jesse said. “But yes. All the power we have. Fuel. Rockets. Nuclear. Even the damned ugly windmills. Set it to one direction, and push.”
The phone hung up. Jesse looked back at the screen, and back at Dennis.
“Sounds like we are going to blow up,” Dennis said.
“Well, we are fighting forces outside our control,” Jesse smiled, a small, forced one. “The asteroid hits? Extinction event.”
“And putting every bit of energy we have to shift the Earth isn’t that much different,” Dennis said.
“We are trying to move the Earth,” Jesse said, slumping back into her chair. “And at least this way, we can say we brought the end upon ourselves in a desperate attempt to help. Not smashed to bits by a mistake.”
“There’s some hint of wise words in there,” Dennis said.
“Let’s hope I can live to regret those words,” Jesse smiled again, hearing explosions begin to sound outside.
“Let’s hope.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 2022-09-03T11:02:04 | 2022-09-03T10:39:26 | 65 | 27 |
[WP] how you die and the treatment of your body determines what happens to your soul, due to the bizarre circumstances of your death you find yourself in the jurisdiction of an ancient and obscure god.
E.g. last rights and a catholic funeral would mean your soul goes to heaven, hell or limbo as per the bible. | “Dear god, I’ve been shot!” I cried. My blood dripped onto the crisp autumn leaves and my vision swam. I crumpled to the forest floor, gasping. I could faintly hear the hunter’s panicked voice trying to assure me, or maybe just himself, that everything would be okay. The world blurred and slowed. Everything plunged into darkness.
After what felt like an eternity, a small spot of green light appeared. It grew, flower like, blooming into more tendrils of green until an entire forest had materialized around me. My fear faded a little. I was still in the woods. But why wasn’t I bleeding everywhere? Where had the hunter gone? I peered into the dense brush, confused.
An enormous stag stepped out of the foliage before me. Despite his size, there was no sound of his body against the leaves or his hooves against the ground. Slowly, gracefully, he approached me. He lowered his massive head, his antlers mere inches away from my face.
“Another one?” the deer asked. His voice was strong and clear. He studied me with what appeared to be bemusement. “Tell me, human, why is it that so many of your kind use your final breath to call upon the deer god?” | The day started quietly, so quietly I almost wanted to sleep in. Some days a person can really use a little peace and quiet to take a nap, but today the stillness did more than bring an air of somnolence. It terrified me.
After a week alone on a raft in the North Atlantic- at least I think it was the North Atlantic, going down in flames tends to have a deleterious effect on ones thoughts- the stilled ocean quickens the pulse. The birds of the night before were absent. Not a sea or swell defied the flat surface of the gray blue water.
I sat up and yelled just to deaden the silence. My voice seemed to voyage off into the single pink cloud on the horizon and not deign to return so much as a post card. I sat for an hour listening to nothing, it was awkward and more than slightly unsettling. As the sun pulled its last tendril up from the skyline I heard a plunk. It made me jump to my feet.
The second raindrop made me laugh but within the hour I was gasping for air in the torrential downpour. A zephyr tore at the shreds of my shirt and flipped me on to my head. That's when the waves changed. The churning turned into a consistent flow. When I righted myself in the water I faced the maelstrom. I felt like an abandoned rubber duck in a draining tub.
As I reached the bottomless center a wave of heat met me and the liquid rock bottom rose; I felt my frostbitten feet melt into the half formed basalt. A barnacle sailed out of the water and into my gaping mouth, lodging itself in my throat. I saw the lightening streak down and the world went one way and I the other.
I awoke or I suppose adeadened, in a stone floored library. I saw not a single book, instead a multitude of cubbies housed snug bundles of scrolls of parchment and papyrus. I wandered for a quarter of an hour before I found the reference desk.
"I beg your, I mean, uh, er, excuse me but, I guess I'm dead and..." I trailed off as the librarian sighed in distaste and pretended to ignore me. Her name plate read Ἀνάγκη.
"Miss Avaykin?" I started. She put down her reading and knitting. Then she responded, "Ananke, I really must finish my these one day." She said it with a smile.
"Er where am I?". I tried to say but my words turned in my mouth and my tongue stayed silent. " A special part of Elysium" she responded to my mute question.
"So you are?"
"Ananke"
All I could think was that I never expected a Goddess to have a chignon and tortoise shell glasses. | 2015-01-15T07:39:33 | 2015-01-14T22:55:33 | 34 | 24 |
[WP] The bride is having an affair with the best man. During his wedding speech the best man decides to see how heavily he can hint about it without anyone actually working it out. | "YOU!!" The best man cheered while pointing at Michael
"YOU Michael, are the best FUCKING brother ever, we have shared everything, EVERYTHING. To those who don't know me, well I'm Batman to his Robin, Superman to his wonder woman!"
The best man takes a step back and chugs another beer.
"MICHAEL, MICHAEL!!!, MICHAEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"I'm rambling now, sorry all, sorry Michael, I had a speech prepared but I drank too much and I'm fucking the bride"
Silence took over, not that his speech was any good before but John seemed to had fucked it even more.
"APRIL FOOLS, I'M ONLY REALLY DRUNK!!!"
"Get him down he's not doing well."
Michael follows his bride's instructions without hesitation, it's bad enough already.
"John, your sense of humor has always been terrible but you over did it today. I now you have been worried about the speech, get some rest, yeah?"
"I was before but I really nailed it" | It isn't jealousy that makes the words turn sour in my mouth. I have prepared trope about how I met my best friend in college and how I'd walk past him every night draped over the toilet seat. How it all changed when he met Maya. Maya, who really is unremarkable when you look at her. Slightly overweight. Her hair isn't shiny. She probably doesn't even use conditioner. She has brown eyes, brown skin and a confused heart.
I clear my throat and stand up, raising my sparkling apple cider high in the air. The sunlight streams into the room, mocking me and turning it golden. There is silence and anticipation, people ready to give me their best canned laughter. Maya watches me wearily. She's not scared, though, because she knows that I love her too much to betray her.
"Imagine this." I say. Imagine being a twenty year old kid in college and not really knowing much about life. Imagine being stupid, dumb and immature. Well, that's what this guy (now pointing at the groom) was. But Maya walked into his life luckily.
What can I say about Maya? She's the sort of person who makes you re-evaluate what it means to be a good person. The sort of person who knows the songs you like and makes you a cup of something steaming when you need it because you've had a terrible day.
I watched my best friend change slowly before my eyes as he grew older with Maya. I saw him learn what it meant to love someone truly. He stopped chasing beautiful girls with curves that smelled like perfume. Instead, he started hanging around the cafe where Maya liked to drink pumpkin spice lattes and eat brownies. Maya was never about restricting herself. She was and is about enjoyment, about eating whatever she wanted and in whatever quantity she wanted. Watching her eat anything chocolate is an experience in itself.
And my best friend, sitting right next to Maya? He became that way too. What was the point in restricting calories, and more importantly, experiences in life? Who knows if you truly live more than once? And so, their relationship became one defined not by societal mores or rules, but just from the fact that they enjoyed life together more than they did separately.
I put my glass down. My arm is starting to hurt, and my face is starting to hurt from trying to look happy.
"Best wishes on your new life, Maya." I mumble and look down. I may have fooled everyone else, but there's no fooling me.
| 2015-04-02T22:31:17 | 2015-04-02T22:10:37 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | I was the odd case. Everyone has super powers, nobody knows why, even the people with super intelligence as a power can't figure it out. There really is no way to observe it. Which is why I am so different.
Everyone has a power, it sort of just come, like puberty or growth spurts. What can I say, we solved the energy problem in the world, explored the galaxies but we have no more information on our own anatomy than when Homo sapiens sapiens first evolved into Homo sapiens superior, more than five hundred years ago. But it never happened to me. My power never came, and it's not like I have a power that's super lame, like that one guy who can manipulate the smell around him on that reality TV show. No, I have no power at all.
I actually had a TV show too, everyone wants to see the kid without power, it's so barbaric, so backwards. The government agency came by to check out what's going on, they didn't conclude anything and they left. Entire generation of academics spent nearly hundred years trying to crack the sapien superiors source of power, and nothing came of it, so everyone just brush it off if some strange power thing occurred. And eventually the show was canceled, there is only so much one can film about a teenager that disappears and sneaks around a lot. At a certain point people started to feel real bad about me, and reality TV is for entertaining, not for people's pity.
And I was left here, with no power and nothing. My friends all left for college and trade school, or joined the explorers to see the universe.
It was until one day I was at a restaurant that I started realize exactly who I am. I was just dumped by my girlfriend--ex girlfriend --and it was really awkward for me. All I wanted was to be unnoticed in the corner, finish my meal and head home to heal my broken heart. I sat there for hours, and nobody noticed me, not the waiter, not customers, they just left me be. Heck, I lost the time and they closed the restaurant with me still in it. Well that's new. It took me a month to figure out, as it turns out, I do have a power, I can hide. And not just hide, whenever I feel like it, I can walk through places unseen by others. I'm not invisible, I tried that theory, the camera caught me. People just glance over me, as if nothing is out of place, and keep on doing whatever they were doing.
Nobody noticed my power because it is a fairly unnoticeable power. I was always that kid that sat in the corner, nobody ever took notice of me, so nobody figured it out. Life was pretty sweet after that. Went strolling in a bank vault, no biggie. Took a couple grand for my weekly allowance, nobody noticed. I am the shadow that walked the earth unseen. The best part? Everyone still thinks I have no power.
Their loss (no, quite seriously, I took some dude's Ferrari for a sunset ride yesterday, totaled the car, and just left it there). | My father was a third level master psychic. My mother was at journeyman level in both psychic and telekinetic abilities. My older sister was a class two psychic master by the time she graduated junior high, and seemed to have taken after grandfather as her education scores put her somewhere around apprentice super scientist, though I couldn't help imagining with her psychic gifts she had figured out a way to cheat. She was in her second year of the Super Science Academy's scholarship program.
I was the black sheep of our family. I was a reverse empath. It meant in primary school the bullies didn't care to pick on me much since they'd feel like I did after a few moments of beating me up, but at the same time I didn't have many friends either. I couldn't help my mood since I just felt useless attending a school to train us to be responsible citizens in the hopes of providing good enough job placement to keep us from considering a life of super-crime.
"I don't see why I still have to go to that school." I muttered looking at my mother.
'Everyone in our family has gone to the mutation advancement center son. You may not understand it, but you have every reason to attend too.' my father projected into my mind from the next room over as he watched the football game. I didn't much care for the sport, it had become boring after the superhuman leagues merged with the regular ones. Now it seemed every team was made up of supermen and hulks.
"Couldn't I have at least gone to the advanced normal high-school? Then I could learn something useful like martial arts or gadgetry" I asked my mother as she continued to cook.
"Now Brian that wouldn't do, you don't need to go into law enforcement, and we certainly don't want you turning into one of those vigilantes." she said.
I heard my father try to hide a curse in the living room and the sound of a beer can exploding.
"And I keep telling you dear it's not polite to watch the game and psychic talk to someone in another room. We all keep seeing football images when you do."
I shook my head before standing up. "I'm going for a walk."
---
My mood was in the gutter as I walked around Ghost Knight's Plaza. The city was full of places like that, named after heroes who saved the entire world. It seemed like all normal people did was clean up the mess. Some superhero turns evil, he's forgiven, the person who stops him is rewarded, and during it all the normal folks, or people with sub-par powers just clean up the mess.
I moved on, crossing the bridge into Green Dragon Park, named after a hero who's powers supposedly came from an energy drink that had since been lost to time. All he did was save us from a bunch of aliens who didn't even have superpowers, or technology nearly as advanced as we were back then. I still didn't understand how a race could invent hyperspace travel, but not a flying car, or a shrink ray.
I blinked as I saw another person walking towards me. It was a girl and she was kind of cute. I found myself blushing.
"Quit it with the powers Ass, I can tell your doing something and I don't like it."
I frowned and my mood lowered, I made a conscious effort and stopped my powers from effecting her.
"What a Looser." the girl said to a small bear she carried in her arms.
"Totally. A reject for sure." I wasn't very startled when the bear talked back at her. Seemed another girl thought having a cute familiar was the way to go. My mood continued to fall.
It should be no surprise I was feeling my lowest when he jumped out of the bushes after I had walked several more blocks.
"Give me all your credits or else kid and don't try anything." I looked at the man; rocky skin, fingers like knives, but made of crystal.
"Fine take it, not like I have enough for anything anyway" I muttered looking at him, my mood completely in the gutter as he reached for my wallet.
"I don't know what you're doing but..."
I just stared at him silently holding out my wallet.
"Are you going to take it or what?" some part of me wondered if I should even bother getting up in the morning anymore.
"Quit it" He started to back up and I kept watching him. A few moments later and he moved his knife like crystal fingers and shoved them through his rocky neck.
I stared at him wide eyed as it hit me what I had done.
"Hey, that Kid killed rocky." A voice said from the bushes this 'Rocky' fellow had come out of.
I stood in shock, looking at the three that came out of the bushes.
Their faces seemed to contort and run through several different emotions before soon they too followed Rocky's example.
| 2015-04-12T21:19:46 | 2015-04-12T21:02:32 | 36 | 26 |
[WP] One day a time portal opens in your backyard and a time traveler comes through. You quickly realize he just came back from making some change to the past and that, to him, our world is the terrifying alternative time line resulting from that change. | "Wait a sec... just... gimme a second"... said Commander Blackwell.
The time traveler paused after watching the rush hour commuters trying to navigate the stop & go traffic. "You mean to tell me there aren't any fusion powered personal pods, and that these vehicles all run on petroleum?"
"Yup." Officer Richards answered nonchalantly, "Why do you ask?"
Commander Blackwell was too lost in thought to answer.
"And you people have fought WARS for access to petroleum?!" He seemed incredulous.
Blackwell kept rubbing his temples... his eyes were bloodshot as he stared at Richards, uncontrollably muttering quietly under his breath.
It wasn't until a week after the time traveller jumped back into the portal that Richards finally understood what he'd been whispering to himself.
"They didn't listen to Commander Tesla." | So there was an astronaut at my front door.
Or at least I think it was an astronaut. It had a helmet and all the fixings. I was too polite to ask, really. It just stood at my door, hunched over, breathing heavily. Kinda sounded like Darth Vader, which gave more support to my astronaut theory.
"What year is it?!" it asked, muffled by the helmet, which I couldn't seem to see into. It wasn't that bright in space, was it?
"...2015." I grinned. This was weird.
"Radio into the Upper Command for me, I--"
The astronaut stopped, and tipped it's head sideways like a confused dog. It seemed to be looking at my right ear, like I had a funny-looking earring. I didn't, I always thought earrings were for girls, really. (I knew this one guy who wore an earring, just the one. It just struck me as odd.)
"We're's your Tenner?"
"My what?"
It jabbed a gloved finger at my ear. "Your Tenner."
"It's called an ear, mate. I've got two of them."
"No, your *Tenner*!" it said, getting quite irate now.
"I think that's English currency?"
The Astronaut suddenly stood up straight, then brushed pass me. I think it heard the TV in the next room, because I followed it into the TV room, and it was plastered to the idiot box with an expression of horror (or at least I think it did, because I couldn't really see in through the helmet, now could I?)
"What in the nine hells is this?!" it almost screamed, jabbing it's jabby finger at the screen.
"That is BBC news, friend. I watch it because the other networks are to biased, in my opinion."
The spaceman watched as the reporter explained how the ISS would be expecting three new astronauts next month. Perhaps he was missing home.
"Oh shit." it exclaimed, "where is the Sun Ra? What is this *Eye Ess Ess*?"
"It's the international space-station? And Sun Ra wasn't really from space. Jeez, man, your supposed to know this, your an astronaut, right?."
The Astronaut collapsed, defeated, making these weird quacking noises. I think it was crying.
I didn't know how to react to this. I don't know how to comfort Astronauts.
I should've stayed in bed... | 2015-11-13T16:05:52 | 2015-11-13T14:24:37 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] An angry vampire uses slang from the last 500 years and doesn't even try to keep it all straight anymore. | "So, I had intercouse with Bill this morning."
I paused, with my hand still clicking on the mouse, and span around in my seat to see the thin, pale face of the New Guy from I.T. He stared at me and blinked calmly, like he hadn't just announced he was fucking our boss.
"Um," I said.
"He was quite worked up, ejaculating wildly," said the New Guy. He sighed, and walked up to me. I slid my chair back quickly to put some distance between us. "He wouldn't stop shouting about how you aren't receiving any emails as of late."
"Y-you guys were talking about my email while you--?"
"Quite intensely, in fact," said the new guy. He smiled at me, and while this was far from the strangest thing about the man, I couldnt help but notice how ling and thin his teeth were. "Well, anyway, after that, I knocked up Molly--"
"What?"
"I said, I KNOCKED UP MOLLY, and she confirmed you were having this issue. So after we hooked up, I came to find you to see if I can help with the emails."
"The emails?" I echoed hollowly.
He tilted his head. "I could help you wuth something else if you need it," he offered.
"No, no," I said quickly, jumping frm my chair and away from him. "I'll just, uh, bugger off while you do that."
The man's eyes widened to the size of plate saucers. "Why! I never!" he said. "What kind of deviant are you?" | The front door of Julie's apartment shuddered in it's frame. Julie was crouched behind her overturned dinner table in front of the door, a butcher knife clutched in one shaking hand. Whoever came through that door, she would try to be ready. "Yes," she said into the receiver. "That's 224 Steiner Street. Please, hurry." She dropped the receiver onto the floor, and steeled herself as the door shook again. This time, she heard a loud *crack*.
There was another crash, and this time she *saw* the flame crack. Julie gripped her knife with white knuckles. She cursed herself for inviting the man up with her. He'd seemed nice enough at first, but...
The door flew open in a burst of jagged splinters. On the other side was a young-looking man dressed in a leather jacket, with long, shaggy black hair. He bared his teeth, and Julie's mouth dropped open. He had long, sharp canines. Almost like... like fangs.
"I'm in the house!" He shouted, and raised his hands, hooked into claws. Through her haze of fear, Julie was immediately reminded of Bella Lugosi.
Julie rose, pointing the butcher knife at him. "Get the hell out of here!" She shouted, with a confidence she didn't feel. "The police are on their way."
"I ain't afeared of no coppers, madam!" The man shouted, baring his gleaming, razor-sharp teeth again. "My stomach's growling. I'm here for a bit o' bellytimber, and anybody who steps to me is gonna get wrecked, son!"
The knife wavered in Julie's hand. She let it drop a bit. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Victuals, doll! Munchies! Prithee hook me up with some comestibles!" He ranted, taking a slow step towards her.
"Hold it, buddy! I mean it!" Julie jabbed the knife in the weirdo's direction.
"Naw, girl! Nothing's gonna stay *this* playa's hand." He stopped just in front of the overturned table.
That was enough. It was time to show this creep she meant business. Julie slashed hard with the knife, the blade slicing easily through the man's white t-shirt under the open leather jacket, and biting into the flesh beneath. Her eyes widened when she saw... well, nothing. No blood. There was a deep gash in the guy's right pectoral-- she could see it-- but he wasn't bleeding. He was *smiling*. "What the hell are you?!" She asked, hating the shrill panic in her voice. "What the fuck..." She stared, open-mouthed.
"Don't you worry about what I am." He said with a small smile. "It's time for this ping-ponger to get biggabongin'."
Julie raised an eyebrow. "Okay, you just made that one up."
He threw up his hands. "Well, it would be nice to *coin* a phrase for once." He lunged forward with a hiss. | 2016-01-08T13:17:08 | 2016-01-08T11:43:36 | 48 | 16 |
[WP] The four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are here. Their names are Tinky Winky, Dipsy, Laa-Laa and Po.
Edit: Thanks guys these are awesome! Please keep them coming.
Reddit Edit: Coooool. Gold and front page, what a day to be alive!
Edit some more: Wow, this really blew up. Thanks for all the submissions. Please keep going. | The sun had gone dark, at last God had retired,
The days of mankind had all but expired,
Blood ran in the streets and the priests sat down weeping,
The time had arrived, *they* were no longer sleeping.
&nbsp;
First came the white horse, and all fell as he passed,
Bloated and sick, we looked on aghast,
His pestilence spread, green like his form,
Dipsy they called him and he swept like a swarm.
&nbsp;
So many had died that the rest were inflamed,
There must be a reason, someone to be blamed,
Through all of the violence a red figure walked,
He said only his name and death came where he stalked.
&nbsp;
The world was at war, no-one tending the field,
With food running out they could no longer yield,
The third horseman watched as they starved and they fell,
But Laa-Laa just laughed, until then came a knell.
&nbsp;
The pale steed trod through the last of world,
Its tall purple rider held a banner unfurled,
The end had arrived, the fourth rider the key,
Assembled were Dipsy, Laa-Laa, Po and Death Winky.
&nbsp;
They held up the banner and began their long ride,
The end coming closer with each passing stride,
They felt no regret, no sorrow, no woe,
As they passed the last men, they just whispered "Eh-oh."
*****
Bugger, keep forgetting to mention /r/fringly - the world's biggest collection of wall paper descriptions. | In retrospect, nobody can remember for sure where, or how the Four Horsemen appeared. Varying tales of that night, 8th July 2016, are so dissimilar and disparate that it's a mere postulation at this stage.
Tinky Winky appeared on the North, South American continent. Dipsy in Africa. Laa-Laa in Europe. Po's horseman could teleport so represented the rest of the world. Their purpose? To foreshadow tales of misery and despair that were to befall the planet. The coming of an asteroid in 2022 that would send Earth back to the stone age, eradicating humanity. I'm sure you can imagine the hysteria that ensued.
Twinky Winky promised exaltation to the planet of Twinky for the whole of humanity. In return America would provide a sacrifice of 20 million persons.
Dipsy promised exaltation to the planet of Dipso for the whole of humanity. In return Africa would provide a sacrifice of 20 million persons.
Laa-Laa promised exaltation to the planet of Laa for the whole of humanity. In return Europe would provide a sacrifice of 20 million persons.
Po promised exaltation to the planet of FuckThePoPo for the whole of humanity. In return Rest Of World would provide a sacrifice of 20 million persons.
Wars ensued. Society spiralled out of control, into oblivion. People stopped working. Everyone became an activist and a racist overnight. Humanity had 6 years.
It is 2021. Australia, Russia, most of the world really, has been destroyed by nuclear bombs. Africa has been spared because of their poverty, but mostly because Europe and America are planning to use the Africans as pawns to escape to Dipsy.
Society, or any connotations of the word, has completely disintegrated. People have died from starvation, guerilla fanatics, government. But that's probably just a conspiracy, like my idea about the Africans.
Dipsy, Laa-Laa, Tinky-winky and Po all maintain palaces, fortresses, awaiting humanity's decision. Sipping wine and doing drugs all day; they seem to really like the drugs. Waiting for a decision, for sure, that will never come. Would you trust your country, your government, the person who made the decision to kill off 20 million of your people, even if it provided exaltation for the whole of humanity? Fuck no.
So it's 2022 and nothing has happened. It turns out the Four Horsemen were actually a super-advanced civilization from some planet called LOL and they decided to play some form of game with humanity. Some form of film, or something beyond film outside of our imagination but certainly analogous to a film of sorts. Probably in 5D or something. Something like Big Brother. Some form of reality show. Actually, exactly like that come to think of it. Earth's current population? 0.
I bet your wondering how I'm alive then? Well I'm Po. I drank all the wine, took all the drugs. Ketamine was my favourite. In fact I only went for the Ketamine. My horse loved it. You wouldn't get that sort of shit back on LOL.
I'm certainly disappointed though. The film we came here to make was scrapped at the Box Office. Shame.
| 2016-07-08T07:55:33 | 2016-07-08T07:44:26 | 351 | 16 |
[WP] Prison sentences have been replaced with math problems. Small offenses are questions like "What is 200 times 135?" while life in prison are math problems that has yet to be solved. | I'm in way over my head this time. I knew I shouldn't have listened to Ronnie he's always leaving me in trouble.
I look around at the dingy, hopeless room falling apart around me. Once white walls were now caked with dirt and slowly peeling paint chips. Ever since the government changed the death penalty to solving math problems, the rate of crime severely dropped causing lack of funding to our prisons due to a lack of prisoners. Math always was a bitch.
A single light bulb in the center of the room slowly swayed back and forth. I turned back to stare at the massive math problem covering the single white page in front of me. I'm sweating though ducts that I didn't even know existed. I've got nothing left to lose at this point. I slowly scrawl numbers "42" in desperation within the answer box at the bottom of the page.
A single word rings out across loud speakers I didn't know we're in the room.
"CORRECT"
"Well I'll be". I said outloud. Hitchhikers was always Ronnies favorite. | It's amazing the advances we've seen in the past few years. Breakthroughs in astrophysics, quantum calculations and computing. The new Rehabilitation through Education program really seems to be working. People will commit infractions, and "Teachers" will come and pick them up, have them do Advanced Mathematics to do some brain modeling, a tweak here and there, and then release them back as a productive member of society. Murder, theft, rape, all have been reduced to virtually 0%.
It's supposed to be that "Students" solve problems equal to the difficulty of their offense. You steal some bread for your family, and you solve a list of Algebraic equations. You murder someone, and you spend your life solving the Birch and Swinnerton-Dyer conjecture.
Frank seems to be the exception. A hero of our times. His mathematical prowess is unparalleled. That's the problem. Frank is systematically working through the Book of Offenses. We aren't even sure if he's being caught for half of them. Even worse, I'm not sure I can explain his solutions to you because I don't understand half of them myself.
Last week, Frank executed the daughter of "Our Fearless Leader" on vid. He looked in the camera, and told us all this was just the beginning, and that us "Sheep" should fear for our lives. Then he went and provided a solution to the Riemann hypothesis, which gave the "Teachers" a throw, especially when they realized the implications to phase equilibrium and thermodynamics.
Standing here in this crowd, on "Archimedes Day", I get to see Frank in person in his non-descript bulging black sweat shirt. The "Teachers" are keeping a close on him, but he's completed his solutions. He is heading to the front They aren't moving in. I can hear two of them arguing behind me. They've been instructed to leave him alone, they need the solutions he's providing.
He's walking to the front now. There's a crowd out tonight, at Sagrada Familia. Everyone is here to listen to hear Frank's solution. That must be why he's here tonight. It's mira...Wait! He's taking off his sweater. He's got some sort of device.
He's going to blow us all up! He's laughing.
I can't hear it, but I can see his face.
We are all "Sheep".
(Always love feedback, especially since I only started responding to these a couple of weeks ago. Thanks in advance!)
| 2016-10-24T13:22:46 | 2016-10-24T12:48:01 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] A few selected minds are gifted with a dream about the "Library of all Books". In only one night, they experience a full year of reading and learning. You are one of them, but instead of once in a lifetime, you wake up in this f*cking library every single night. Today is your 9th birthday. | The ramblings of a madwoman, pure and simple. The book starts off well enough but it soon devolves into an incoherent mess of unused characters and frayed plot lines. At one point, the main character literally dissolves into the book itself and only comes back to make zany one liners at seemingly random points in other character’s stories. For goodness sakes, there are ten pages in an orgy scene that describe which part goes where as if it was instructions from Ikea.
I sigh. In her heyday, she was a prolific fiction writer. Heck, she might have been the most prolific fiction writer of all time. But this. This is garbage, both crazy and poorly written.
I pick up the next of her books that I’ve sorted by publish date. I run my finger along the name on the spine. My name. I used to feel such pride as I would touch my name of these books but now it’s only shame. I wonder what happened to me.
I sit in the Library of All Books, a library that houses every book that was ever written or ever will be written. Each night I sleep, I wake here and am stuck for months, maybe years. Some nights, others join me but I’ve never seen the same person twice. Some of them learn new scientific facts or business strategies in the millions of books here and return to better mankind or just themselves. I read fiction. The rest of the library, the wings on technical topics, just confuses me. So I read fiction every night, which lasts months and months, to pass the time. I thought I had read everything of value until I found a new wing: my wing.
This library holds every book that will ever be written so at some point, I will write a lot of books. That’s not true, not some point but tomorrow, my birthday. I was pretty clear in the bios of every one of my books to state I started writing on my ninth birthday. Others likely think it’s to show how young I started writing but I know it was a message for myself on when to begin.
I crack open the book in my hand. At some point, I go absolutely nuts. This book is the proof. It and the other half of the wing I’ve yet to get through. I assume it’s like being diagnosed with terminal cancer. You know it’s going to happen and you have no control over it. And let me tell you, it sucks.
edit: typo
| at·ro·phy
ˈatrəfē/
verb
verb: atrophy; 3rd person present: atrophies; past tense: atrophied; past participle: atrophied; gerund or present participle: atrophying
(of body tissue or an organ) waste away, typically due to the degeneration of cells, or become vestigial during evolution.
I realized that it was unsustainable by my third year of existence by outside measures. Your Measures. I'd had a considerably longer time to contemplate the metaphysical parameters of the prison I'd been condemned to.
Time became an obsession of mine. The measurement of it, the manipulation of it, the ability to alter it's relation and connection to space were... important to me for I realized that my original assumptions that the constraints of my mind formed the boundaries of my prison were misconstrued; I was imprisoned in time.
Spontaneity is lacking when one is surrounded by nought but the tomes of others' carefully considered words. I felt my mind quickening around a concept, a concept that I hadn't considered previously, a spontaneous thought. I let it fester, I let the realization come slowly, slavishly grateful at the temporary respite from my drudgery.
'Atrophy' was the word my realization hinged itself upon. A sinister concept, I began to understand that atrophy was the human body's desperate recession into the formless matter from which it was came. Nothing that a toddler should be concerned with but something that I'd been feeling increasingly during my extended isolation. While I'd had the time to read an astounding number of books I'd spent far more in a meditative state, trying to free my mind from the interminability of my sentence. I'd acclimated myself to this nothingness, this clarity of mind for weeks at a time. I'd increasingly found myself 'waking' from these spells feeling slower, a blessing for a person stuck forever in time.
My glimpses of daylight were ephemeral but moments of intense beauty. I'd never been more glad to be alive. It was a blessing to feel, to smell, and to hear. Silence was always difficult to grow accustomed to in the strange cold world I experienced but could never explain. It was a brilliant day soaked with hues of yellow and green. I remember feeling my small legs tickled by the grass that reached up above my ankles, my unwieldy jaw working with my tongue in an attempt to form the torrents of words I'd read so many times yet was forever unable to hear enunciated.
The thought hit me then.
My mind was atrophying. Slowly decaying into non-existence. This had been hastened by the long stretches of mental inactivity. It was my only respite from the torturous isolation that had been slowly killing me.
When I turned four I decided to kill myself. I'd lived longer than any person had any right to. I decided that a quick tumble and blur of motion followed by an eternal nothing would be preferable to the slow dissipation of my mind. It could be done only during my time awake. I knew it could be done. I needed to be free from the prison I'd spent over a thousand years in. On the night of my fourth birthday, I stepped clumsily onto the balcony of the 30-story building in which we lived. It always felt strange to be able to move, to feel.
It was summer. The sun had set a few minutes earlier, and the brilliantly purpled and oranged hues had faded into gorgeously velvet dark blues, so dark they seemed black, especially in contrast to the flecks of hopeful light that I knew were other worlds. I felt the wind gently kissing the back of my neck, softly caressing my forearms and lightly tugging at the hem of the t-shirt I was wearing. I'd set my own execution in a world I'd never truly experienced but loved wholeheartedly. A millennia old, fraying man in a child's body, wishing for death.
***Idk if should end there so if you read it, liked it, and want more I can write more.***
| 2017-05-02T08:44:37 | 2017-05-02T08:32:57 | 43 | 26 |
[WP] There are multi-Gods for the multi-verse, and it turns out ours is kind of like the 'cool mom who lets you drink at her house,' though other Gods look at our free will and generally silent deity as bad Godding on His part. | The room was quiet, unassuming, and brown. The carpet was brown. The couch that God was sitting on was a lighter shade of brown. The curtains were brown. The sunlight coming in through the nearby window somehow managed to even be a very pale shade of brown. The deities, flawless in appearance and dressed in dignified robes, were so foreign to the peaceful brown-ness of the room that they seemed to oppress reality itself. By contrast, God was utterly relaxed. He knew that the review was coming. The part of him that cared had faded hundreds of millions of years ago.
"Just... God?" one of the figures said, shaking its perfectly shaped head. "You could have instilled a glorious name for yourself, but you decide to be generic? Why?"
"You let them write books in your own name, and never correct them? Almost all of these words are fiction of a sort. Why not clarify?" the deity asking was painfully beautiful, peering with ice-blue eyes behind an affected pair of golden spectacles.
"You take on their form and grow long hair and a beard? You let yourself *age*?! Does it amuse you to let them dictate your form to you?" another deity demanded. Its amazing musculature rippled across its massive form as it spoke.
One by one, the dozen or so deities shot questions at God. They waited for answers. God did not speak. They argued among themselves. God did not intervene. They accused their host of apathy, nihilism, and deliberate self-sabotage. God did not contest. Finally, they fell silent and stood, glaring at each other and at God. The process of peer review was their most sacred tradition, one that had literally stood for over a hundred billion years. Some resisted it, taking refuge in audacity. Some embraced it, using the advice of others to sharpen their creations. Only one, the one who only called itself "God", simply tolerated it. The other deities hated this, even those who had literally destroyed the concept of hate in their own universe. After an hour of silence, God casually produced a small roll of paper and dried herbs, lit it, inhaled, and then blew a cloud of fragrant smoke in the direction of the deities. They stared at God with disgust.
"You are vile," the painfully beautiful one pronounced. "You are incompetent and base, a stain upon this society of deities. If you cannot even honor our practices, why do you continue the farce of inviting us here and listening? Your history speaks for itself. You are not fit to be one of us!"
God leaned back and cocked an eyebrow at her. He shook his head, chuckled, and took another drag off of his joint. After a long, slow exhale, he finally spoke:
“Yeah, well... you know, that’s just... like, your opinion, man," God said. | ***
The forty-two founders rarely agreed on anything. They had been delivered by the same cosmic anomaly and forsaken to muse on their heritage and place in the void without a thought or word of guidance.
They had toyed with each other and life, and moved freely throughout all of existence. Their being was comprised of all forms of matter — they were linked to everything — and through it they could extend their consciousness and control and manipulate.
"She doesn’t know the meaning of Godhood,” Dev said. He was the most engaging of the forty-two, and over the endless span of their time he had emerged as the prominent number one.
"Did you try to help her once — after she banned you?” Lago said.
As a hierarchy emerged amongst the Gods — dividing the truly powerful with the lesser ‘connected’ — Lago had become a groveler among them.
"I did!” Dev laughed and drank his favorite black star wine. They had all adopted a humanoid form, as they found it the easiest to repair and alter. Dev stood six foot five, his beard was long and black and he ran his fingers through it consistently.
He glared down at the Earth like the long lost lover it was to him.
Of all his creations, across all the multi-verse, Earth was his favorite. He loved to make love to his Earth creatures. He adored being worshiped as he walked among them.
Among the Mesopotamians he was God.
Gilgamesh, he allowed them to call him.
Then Sargon.
Pharaoh.
Zeus.
Brahma.
Jupiter.
Yama.
Yama was he favorite name to be called. The God of Death. Those were joyous times. It wasn’t the mass destruction he lusted after — no, he rarely did any destruction at all.
It was the fear. The way the creatures moved and acted around him. How they treat those they fear is superior to any sensation Dev had felt in all time.
"I did, try to help,” Dev said. “After she — the Goddess of Love and Compassion, the one they always prayed to in their dark hours — after she beat me in that petty bet and I was banned from interacting with “her” creations. “HER CREATIONS! Pah!”
Dev stood and drank.
Lago smiled giddy. Over the years they sat and watched this dull blue planet Lago had dreamed of being elsewhere, but in his subservience to Dev — and Dev’s obsession with this insignificant world — they silently observed for millenniums.
"I created all of them!” Dev said. “Then she comes along, wins some ridiculous wager, and now she gets to control them! They call her God,” he laughed. “Her! That’s how much control she has on them! They all — every one of those misplaced worshippers, they all call their Lord and Savior a Him!”
"She is a weak leader,” Lago said.
"She is not a leader! She is not even a God to them! She spectates and let’s them roam their world freely! Doing whatever they please with no consequences! Pah!” Dev spat. He was mounting rage.
"She brings them a man with the title, Son of God, and disrupts everything I built. She lets them run themselves into the ground. Into controlled chaos and despair because they have no set God to kneel to, so in their expanding idiocy they think themselves powerful and Godlike,” Dev said.
"She should not be their God,” Lago said. “She should not even be one of the forty-two.”
Dev looked over the Earth.
"She lets them breed freely! Look at their population!” Lago said.
"I tried to help that,” Dev said.
"The plague was a very kind thing to do, my Lord,” Lago groveled.
"I thought so,” Dev said.
"And did she thank you! No! She reported your breach to the forty-two.”
"They can do nothing to me,” Dev nodded proudly.
"Then why sit back and watch her neglect your most beloved creation?”
"It maintains order among the forty-two.”
"Do you think they will risk inner conflict over the fate of one world?”
Dev sat and pondered this.
"No,” he smiled, ready to retake the mantle of Earth's One God. “I don’t believe they would.”
***
[/r/wyrdfiction](https://reddit.com/r/wyrdfiction) | 2017-05-07T08:28:01 | 2017-05-07T08:20:02 | 581 | 123 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Bryce Morrison thought he had it all: a loving wife, a charming son, and a satisfying job. Yet there was something that nagged at him - a constant feeling that he wasn't good enough.
On The Day of the Mugs, his suspicions appeared to be confirmed. "#598,432 Dad." The jarring bold words remained seared in his memory throughout the day, clouding every action and every word.
After work, Bryce returned to an empty house. Marie was out for dinner with friends and Billy had soccer practice. Perhaps a few hours of SportsCenter would help ease his mind. But alas, there came a sudden knock at the door.
"Hey there, bud!"
Bryce opened the door to discover Tom Gilbert, a fellow father from across the street. He clutched a mug in his hand that read "#49,534 Dad."
"I was just wonderin' if you had any interest in a nice homemade hamburger. We've got some leftovers from the cookout."
Bryce narrowed his eyes. "Actually, I was thinking of cooking a bit myself. Mind if I drop by?"
Tom took a sip of his drink and lifted an eyebrow. "Uhhh...sure. By all means."
Bryce ran back to the kitchen and pulled a fresh ground beef patty out of a refrigerator drawer. He bolted across the street, dropped the patty on Tom's grill, and started to cook it. *This'll be the best damn burger ever made,* he thought. *I'll show that smug bastard.*
It was, by all accounts, a pretty damn good burger. Tom took a bite and gave him the thumbs up.
***
The next morning, Bryce's mug read "#432,726."
Not good enough.
Bryce asked to take his vacation early, left a note for the family, and began searching for every potential dad in the county. He went to small businesses, office buildings, parks and parking lots, challenging anyone that would listen. He fixed motors, went fly fishing, played 30 rounds of golf and showed impeccable taste in microbreweries.
As the week progressed, his rank continued to climb. But at a certain point - roughly 200,000 - it plateaued.
For a moment, Bryce was tempted to smash the mug, right then and there. He tried some more Dad Tasks - refurbishing a porch, buying a new polo wardrobe - but nothing worked. The rank plummeted, and soon it was back in the range of 500,000.
Bryce drove home, dejected. He'd been texting Marie throughout the week, but she didn't seem to understand the nature of his quest. Then again, how could she?
His wife and son embraced him the moment he stepped inside.
"Daddy, I missed you!" Billy cried, dropping his Lego truck to the ground. Marie looked understandably irritated but kissed him on the cheek nonetheless.
Bryce sighed. "I just couldn't stand it. I never thought I was a good dad, and that mug proved it."
Marie chuckled and shook her head. "What's a number got to do with anything?"
Billy hugged his father's leg. "I love you no matter what, Daddy!"
Bryce smiled and patted him on the head.
Over the next few days, the rank on the mug slowly began to climb again, but it sat dormant in a kitchen cabinet. Within a week, Bryce forgot it had ever existed.
*I might not be perfect,* he decided. *But I'm good enough.*
***
Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites. | Chapter 1
"Some are calling it the prank of the century, others believe it to be a supernatural occurrence, and still others call out 'conspiracy'. What is the truth behind the sudden alteration of mugs all over the world? Do they really reflect the rankings of dads? We'll be checking in with spiritualist Dave Connor and skeptic Alfred Hanny as they discuss the matter at 5-"
*click*
"...he throws, and... touchdown!"
Mark hangs his head after the prison guard changed the channel on the TV. Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw Davidson, a man convicted for killing his wife, hit the payphone against the wall, and started yelling, "Don't fuck with me Vincent! There not even 60 million dads in the world, how I be number 60 million and some bullshit? You think I'm some fuckin' shit dad? It's not my fuckin' fault I'm here, can't take care of Marissa..."
A guard responded to the commotion and after several hand gestures signalling Davidson to get off the phone, the guard pressed down the hook. Davidson immediately punched the guard in the face. Several guards from around the area ran towards him, and tackled Davidson to the ground.
A man laughed as he sat down next to Mark, "Wow, man. Hey, I bet you have a bigger number than him, ya know?" The man taunted Mark, "What's it been for you, 30 years? For killing your little girl. And your wife just magically got dead too, but they don't charge you for that."
Mark silently stands up, and walks away.
"Come on baby, don't act like that! Let's say you suck my dick and make up for how rude you're being right now to yo shugga daddy," the man said while following close behind, grabbing his own crotch. He spit at Mark, and then laughed.
Another man, burly with a thick, curly black beard, stared down Mark as he passed by. He jumped at Mark to try to scare him, but Mark was unfazed. When he didn't get a reaction, he grabbed Mark by the crotch and squeezed. The man smiled, his mouth full of silver caps and missing teeth. Mark flinched, but refused to retaliate. The burly man leaned in and said, "You'll fuck up before you get out of here tomorrow, and when you do, you're mine."
A guard rushed over and pushed the man off of Mark. He never shifted his gaze from Mark's eyes. He lifted his hands into the air while the guard pushed his forearm into his massive chest to get him back.
Mark returned to his cell and laid down. The setting sun shined through the inch-wide slit they call a window in this place. Mark closed his eyes early today.
Chapter 2
The next day, Mark was waiting at the gate leading to the outside with the clothes on which he hadn't seen for 30 years. It was back then he was standing on the opposite side of the gate looking in. The sound of the gate opening startled Mark, who was barely standing after his restless night.
Five steps forward and he was free. Four, three... two... one more. He took his final step from the prison grounds, but the look on his face was not the look of a free man. A taxi cab honked to get Mark's attention. He looked up, squinting under the summer sun. He stepped in.
"Where to, Freeman," the driver asked. Mark handed him an address on a piece of paper, and fell back into his seat, gazing out the window. Then his eyes wandered to the front of the taxi where he could see a picture of a small dark-skinned girl posted on the dashboard, and then Mark looked at the cup holder to see a mug that read "#38,384 dad".
45 minutes later, Mark handed a credit card to the cab driver to pay his fare, signed his receipt and got out of the car. "Enjoy your freedom Mark!"
There Mark stood, in front of a storage unit which held all of his belongings from 30 years ago, the only things he had left in the world. He pulled up the large metal door, which squeaked, and stuck. Cobwebs blanketed the numerous boxes and other belongings. Mark brushed away the webs with his hand to make a path.
He knelt down and opened a box with old electronics. He tossed the box to the side, and opened the next box. He found his old gun. It still had a round in it.
Mark set the gun down on a worn and dusty coffee table nearby, and continued rummaging. He found a picture frame. He dusted it off to show his wife and daughter laughing and smiling together. Mark stared at it. His movements became slower and more forced as he set the picture down and picked up a mug from the bottom of the box.
He turned the mug around to see the engraving. It still read "#1 Dad". A tear strolled from his cheek, and mixed with the dust on the mug. The tear stopped abruptly, cradled by the engraving of the number. His head fell, and he rested his hand on the edge of the table beside him. | 2021-11-17T12:05:14 | 2017-06-11T10:58:27 | 4,068 | 13 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad" | She didn't understand this change in her father. She was accustomed to him focusing more on his work than on her. Frankly, she couldn't remember the last time he picked her up from school at all and now he had shown everyday this week. And to top it off, there he was, sitting in the front row of her play.
You see, Carly's father was a high powered lawyer. He made sure that Carly and her mother were well taken care of, but his singular focus had resulted in divorce and a distinct form of absentee parenting. For her dad, the next big case was always his immediate aim, while maintaining his 5.0 rating on Martindale-Hubbell was his mission statement.
And now that had changed. Here he was, driving her home for his weekend instead of telling her to use the credit card he gave to pay for an Uber. And now all the small-talk. "How was school? She knew he would pay for college right? Does she have a boyfriend? Did she need a dress for prom"?
None of this would prepare her for the new CR-V parked in the driveway. It was time that she had her own car he said. Nothing too fancy, but something safe and practical.
This was weird. Carly should have been happy. But she wasn't. It all felt wrong and forced. So that night, after her dad went to sleep (after watching television with her, something that hadn't happened for at least 5 years), Carly walked around the house and tried to make sense of her dad. She was honestly concerned that he was sick, maybe it was cancer. Maybe this is his chance to make everything right before he left.
But she didn't find anything. No doctors notes, no medical correspondence, nothing out of the ordinary. Her dads house was immaculate. He loved to display his trophies from his high school wrestling days, all of the articles with his picture from the law firm, and he even had a custom-built electronic sign that listed his gamer score on the Xbox.
No, she wasn't likely to find anything here. If he was dying, he would keep that from her. And he wouldn't leave the papers out.
There was a mug sitting out though. It looked like the #1 Dad mug she bought him a couple of years ago, but it had "# 5,478,888 Dad" on it. Carly thought that that was a weird gag gift for someone to get him. Still, he had been so nice, she figured she'd put it away for him.
The next morning the news broke that all of the mugs had changed. It was then that Carly realize that her dad was addicted to winning. | 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T08:30:57 | 828 | 113 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad" | Honestly, I always liked the idea of being like my father, he took care of me, my sis and my lil bro. The man raised us three into great people, I always wanted to be like my dad. Sadly, life wasn’t that kind to me, in the words of the doctor as I had a check up on my health…
“There is no shame in it sir, some people just weren’t made to have children”
I know the man didn’t meant anything bad with that, but well, nothing I could do, nothing bad with being sterile…. Nothing bad with that…
My coworkers in the office found out about it, some joke about it, some others just said sorry. One, one decided it would be fun to give me a mug that said “#1 Dad” I wanted to throw the mug and break it in pieces. But I didn’t, no, I simply left it in my desk and took it with me back to my apartment.
I did my routine of everyday, work, cook, rest, and visit the kid in the park. You see I often visited a kid in the park who I played chess against. Kid you not, he is better than any of my coworkers. Kid knows how to play chess, I’m still not sure how it happened. We just started to play a game in the park, I set the chess board and he sat against me. A couple of hours later we decided we would play every day.
I don’t know what pulled me to play with the kid, but in a way, I saw my lil bro in the kid. Robert had always been one to play board games against me, but different from Robert this kid could make me bite the dust. And that is how every day after work I would play with Alex on the park and buy something for him to eat.
I was sure the kid was living on the streets, I didn’t have any idea of how he survived, I don’t think I could keep it up like him. Maybe that’s what made me push the subject and offer to adopt him about three months after our first contact.
The day the coffee mugs started to show the number in ranking of the fathers all around the news were excited to look for the #1 Dad, who could that guy be? My mug changed that’s for sure. It didn’t show a ranking number, in something totally different, mine got white. The porcelain white mug didn’t have anything written in it. Not that I care though
“I’m going to class dad”
“Be careful out there Alex”
The hug of the kid made me feel like the number one dad. Some people aren’t made to have children, but everyone can be a father. Hope you are proud dad, I’m just like you. | 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T10:00:17 | 828 | 104 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | James was not a great man.
Great men walked up to the world and bent it to its will. Great men looked at challenge and laughed.
James did his 9-5, came home, and sat down. He typically would stand back up a few times, to use the toilet or get a beer, but no more than a few.
His son had stopped asking him to play with him a long time ago, not that James really noticed. It just, stopped, nothing to it.
But then there was this mug.
It was a gift for Christmas one year, a typical 8 year old present, a #1 Dad mug.
But now it said he was #986,800,672.
He looked out the window to the backyard, seeing his son toss a ball in the air and catch it.
He looked back at the mug, then at his son.
...
James stood up. Perhaps he could play catch today.
And the mug, now facing down, ticked down to #986,800,671. | She didn't understand this change in her father. She was accustomed to him focusing more on his work than on her. Frankly, she couldn't remember the last time he picked her up from school at all and now he had shown everyday this week. And to top it off, there he was, sitting in the front row of her play.
You see, Carly's father was a high powered lawyer. He made sure that Carly and her mother were well taken care of, but his singular focus had resulted in divorce and a distinct form of absentee parenting. For her dad, the next big case was always his immediate aim, while maintaining his 5.0 rating on Martindale-Hubbell was his mission statement.
And now that had changed. Here he was, driving her home for his weekend instead of telling her to use the credit card he gave to pay for an Uber. And now all the small-talk. "How was school? She knew he would pay for college right? Does she have a boyfriend? Did she need a dress for prom"?
None of this would prepare her for the new CR-V parked in the driveway. It was time that she had her own car he said. Nothing too fancy, but something safe and practical.
This was weird. Carly should have been happy. But she wasn't. It all felt wrong and forced. So that night, after her dad went to sleep (after watching television with her, something that hadn't happened for at least 5 years), Carly walked around the house and tried to make sense of her dad. She was honestly concerned that he was sick, maybe it was cancer. Maybe this is his chance to make everything right before he left.
But she didn't find anything. No doctors notes, no medical correspondence, nothing out of the ordinary. Her dads house was immaculate. He loved to display his trophies from his high school wrestling days, all of the articles with his picture from the law firm, and he even had a custom-built electronic sign that listed his gamer score on the Xbox.
No, she wasn't likely to find anything here. If he was dying, he would keep that from her. And he wouldn't leave the papers out.
There was a mug sitting out though. It looked like the #1 Dad mug she bought him a couple of years ago, but it had "# 5,478,888 Dad" on it. Carly thought that that was a weird gag gift for someone to get him. Still, he had been so nice, she figured she'd put it away for him.
The next morning the news broke that all of the mugs had changed. It was then that Carly realize that her dad was addicted to winning. | 2017-06-11T09:29:45 | 2017-06-11T08:30:57 | 159 | 113 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | The Pope knelt inside the cool, grey dark of the nave. He was a man with a simple, strong faith and he felt both troubled and blessed this morning. God had come, and He had both measured and spoken.
A genuinely supernatural event.
But the act had felt both capricious and strange. God had used the medium of #1 Dad mugs. This seems neither a godly medium or act till you are confronted by The Work. Then realisation dawns. You feel awe. The power you confront is complete and total. Ultimate.
These mugs, every single one in the world, currently displayed a message "This is how good a father you truly are" and a number in some long-dead or never-existing language though this posed no imposition. The words hammered an understanding into your head and into the depths of your soul. The numbers were true and certain. This you knew.
"Job," whispered the Pope nervous. "Like Job."
He bowed his head though he did not pray and he thought on God, his power and his plans, and he thought on his sins and his number #20,000,001 and thought on the sins of his flock, every single lamb, and he worried for the world.
The Pope began to pray and his prayers were many and strange. | The mug was in the back yard shed with most of my dads things. I had gotten them when he passed away. It stood there with a big number one on it. I decided to bring it inside, since i had known to me he had been my number one dad.
When i touched it the number changed. I hadn't been with a girl in about a year. I hadn't dated in almost 3. I was a dad.
The number was insanely high. But i didn't know i was a father until i touched it, so i guess... that was fine. It bothered me though. I mean it would bother anyone. 698,589. It was a non-scripted kind of number. The kind you would see on a prison inmates shirt. The kind of number I felt like.
I called Cristina. We had dated for 3 years, i almost popped the question, but then her grandparents died and she said she needed time to think her life over. And we just fell out of touch. She was the last girl i was with.
The conversation was pretty normal. I am good how are you, me too, thanks for asking. But like word vomit it came spilling out of my mouth like a a wet shit on a hot day. "DID YOU GIVE BIRTH TO A CHILD OF MINE WITHOUT ME KNOWING?" The receiver was quiet for a long time. Then you could hear her breathing on the other end in a sobbing tone. "I had an abortion without telling you." I wasn't sure if it was yours, John, I cheated on you. Thats why i left. I felt to guilty."
I knew i shouldn't but i felt relief. Not a dad here. I told her it didn't bother me and hung up after saying we should get coffee some time. She seemed stunned but i was on a mission.
The next number i called wasn't as good of a lead. Tristan was her brother. He picked up, her phone, he asked me how i was, what kind of day i was having, and if i had heard from his sister at all. Told me all about his weekend out cracking cold ones with the boys. There it was again, the bile taste, The acid. "DID YOUR SISTER HAVE MY CHILD AND NOT TELL ME?" He laughed as my voice cracked. then when he stopped he said, "Maybe, I havent heard from her since you two dated."
"why do you have her old number?" Oh she gave me this phone the last time we saw each other. It had her number, but i just told all her friends it was mine now, and kept it. You mean you don't know where she is?"
I couldn't answer right away. Then after a while all i could managed was, "I'm coming over, Be ready for me." and hung up. | 2022-02-18T23:24:10 | 2017-06-11T09:05:00 | 78 | 21 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | "... at number two, it has been confirmed that former President Barack Obama has the #2 Dad Mug and it is no surprise there given how he set himself as an exemplary dad during his stay at the White House."
"Right you are Stacy. Despite juggling between being a dad and the president of this great country, I'm quite surprised he didn't get the number one... Wait... Hold on..."
(An envelope has been given to John by one of the producers)
"This just in folks. We now have the name of the dad who has the #1 dad mug inside this envelope".
"According to our producers, it has been confirmed and verified by the experts on the legitimacy of the mug. However, we have been informed the dad in question has recently passed away and the mug is now in the hand of the family".
"Well then Stacy, shall I open the envelope?".
"Yes John. Let us be the first to reveal the name of the number one dad in the world".
(John opens the envelope and took out the paper)
"And the number one dad's name is...umm..."
"...is...?"
"...Ted. Ted the accountant". | The mug was in the back yard shed with most of my dads things. I had gotten them when he passed away. It stood there with a big number one on it. I decided to bring it inside, since i had known to me he had been my number one dad.
When i touched it the number changed. I hadn't been with a girl in about a year. I hadn't dated in almost 3. I was a dad.
The number was insanely high. But i didn't know i was a father until i touched it, so i guess... that was fine. It bothered me though. I mean it would bother anyone. 698,589. It was a non-scripted kind of number. The kind you would see on a prison inmates shirt. The kind of number I felt like.
I called Cristina. We had dated for 3 years, i almost popped the question, but then her grandparents died and she said she needed time to think her life over. And we just fell out of touch. She was the last girl i was with.
The conversation was pretty normal. I am good how are you, me too, thanks for asking. But like word vomit it came spilling out of my mouth like a a wet shit on a hot day. "DID YOU GIVE BIRTH TO A CHILD OF MINE WITHOUT ME KNOWING?" The receiver was quiet for a long time. Then you could hear her breathing on the other end in a sobbing tone. "I had an abortion without telling you." I wasn't sure if it was yours, John, I cheated on you. Thats why i left. I felt to guilty."
I knew i shouldn't but i felt relief. Not a dad here. I told her it didn't bother me and hung up after saying we should get coffee some time. She seemed stunned but i was on a mission.
The next number i called wasn't as good of a lead. Tristan was her brother. He picked up, her phone, he asked me how i was, what kind of day i was having, and if i had heard from his sister at all. Told me all about his weekend out cracking cold ones with the boys. There it was again, the bile taste, The acid. "DID YOUR SISTER HAVE MY CHILD AND NOT TELL ME?" He laughed as my voice cracked. then when he stopped he said, "Maybe, I havent heard from her since you two dated."
"why do you have her old number?" Oh she gave me this phone the last time we saw each other. It had her number, but i just told all her friends it was mine now, and kept it. You mean you don't know where she is?"
I couldn't answer right away. Then after a while all i could managed was, "I'm coming over, Be ready for me." and hung up. | 2022-05-16T13:47:51 | 2017-06-11T09:05:00 | 70 | 21 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | *Alex* had always been a tomboy, hair a dusty brown.
Wore *her* hair in a messy, spikey crown.
Alex liked their pants baggy,
Sometimes Alex stuffed it with a sock,
Her face was screaming cheerleader,
When what she wanted was jock.
She grew up feeling awkward,
As if she would never have her way,
Her town was not accepting,
So she couldn't come out gay.
She left Madonna Village,
To find herself a path,
But she felt so damn guilty,
She would gain God's wrath.
She was twenty when she met him,
With his face pale and poised,
Sam whispered in the morning,
"Can I help you pick out clothes?"
Sam would braid her hair with flowers,
He would dress her in white gowns,
He would tell her she was perfect,
With her daisy chain crown.
He would flame her cheeks with red,
Make her lips turn sunset blush,
And push her into the world,
The corporate fucking rush.
*She* was always shaking,
She felt like she was wrong,
She preferred her boxer briefs,
To a lacy, silver thong.
And Sam would let her dress him,
In blazers, yellow shirts,
He would ignore her hands shaking,
As if this physically hurt.
Sam was handsome, clearly,
But he withered in the suite,
No matter who said, "Nice, man"
Each compliment was moot.
.
One morning, Alex sat down,
A paper in her hand,
She read the headlines,
She didn't understand.
*Mugs Tell the Truth.*
*#1 Dad a Lie.*
*Every Single Mug!*
*No One Wants to Buy.*
It seems that some weird creature,
Had cursed the world to see,
Exactly how crappy,
Their parenting would be.
Alex watched her 'husband'
Move about the room,
Holding up his plain black mug,
Waiting for the BOOM.
She touched her own mug softly,
Her eyes growing so bright,
Right there is red letters,
It said #0 Dad, alright.
She didn't tell her husband,
She didn't make a scene,
But every time she touched a mug,
DAD could be seen.
She put her hand on her belly,
Perhaps it was time to tell,
That despite her growing hatred,
There was a baby in this shell.
| "... And to my son James, I bequeathe my most prized possessions, the tokens of the good life I lead and the sacrifices I made," the lawyer solemnly read from Dave Culkin's last will and testament.
"Yeah yeah, I'm sure the lazy git has tons of things to give... I mean, you could probably read from his mug how bad of a father he was." James Culkin said. He didn't love his father, so he didn't expect his father to love him.
"Funny you should say that, James, considering you never saw his mug."
"Shut up sis."
The lawyer continued. "As is custom in our society, James will, for the first and last time, see his father's official ranking, after which his own ranking will appear on the mug."
"Yeah, sure. I wonder how the mug deals with people who don't have offspring."
"Didn't the teachers tell you? The mug turns fully white if that happens."
"Whatever. Reveal the cup."
Gaul Soodman, the Culkin family lawyer, slowly lifted the black lid off the mug. When the lid was fully lifted, he slowly turned the plate on which the mug was placed. One by one, the 3 digits appeared. 4...6...2...# James was shocked. His dad was number 264 in the world? That had to be wrong. Surely this was his sister's ranking. But then the numbers changed to #265, and James knew that he sorely misjudged his father. Even though Dave was treated horribly by his son, James never lost an ounce of love from his father. Both his own ranking and the ranking of his sister were crazily high.
Gaul cleared his throat. "Take hold of the mug, James."
"Give me a moment. I need to process this." James felt horrible. But then he rationalized it. His father never yelled at him, always supported him no matter what he did. Of course someone who stays a true father in the face of constant abuse would rank highly. But what did that mean about his sister?
No matter. A plain white mug would be boring, but he didn't care. His father wanted him to have the mug, so he would take it. James reached for the mug. As he approached it, the black markings started to fade, and the mug started to dimly glow. At the touch of his fingers, a humming sound started. slowly, the mug started to get warmer and warmer. Then, his palms encircled the mug, and a flash of light temporarily blinded the onlookers.
James let go. As his eyes adjusted to the lower light levels, he smiled at the white of the cup. Then his smile vanished. Slowly, small black spots started appearing on the mug. The spots converged and started forming numbers in random spots on the mug. 4...5...1...6...1...6...9...0...8...2.
"James... why does the mug say you're #1,846,961,520?"
"I don't know, sis." But deep inside him, he realized that somewhere in the world, he had a son. And he has never seen him.
But it didn't end there. The number on the mug started jumping around randomly, sometimes making large jumps, but always staying around 2 billion. After 15 or 20 jumps he lost count.
"Gaul, what does this mean? I am not a father. Why does the mug show I am a horrible father?"
Gaul started smiling. "I have seen this behaviour only once before in person. This was with a similar man to you. Thing is, he also didn't think he was a father. However, the mug knows. James, you ARE a father. You just don't know who your children are."
James slumped in his chair. Guess there were consequences to all those wild nights at college... | 2022-11-12T17:52:35 | 2017-06-11T10:52:38 | 69 | 13 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy? | Nate had sort of backed himself into a corner. Having been on as many dates with Amaya as he had, the walls were closing in on him. He had to pretend not to know all her answers to common first date questions (2 siblings, parents divorced when she was little, works in accounting), and if he ever misstepped, the game was up. It was a high-wire act that no one was aware of but him.
But that's what made it fun.
He was fine with the double life he'd have to lead if it worked, that was nothing new to him. Nate was all things to all people, and it made the minutiae of life constantly entertaining. He realized Amaya had been talking for a few minutes and he hadn't been paying attention to any of it. Now she was looking at him expectantly.
He took a shot in the dark. "I work in finance," he said. That wasn't a lie, he was actually a financial planner. She nodded amicably. Nate let out an internal sigh of relief, he'd nailed it.
"Do you come here often?" Amaya asked.
"Yeah, I love Spider House," Nate replied.
"Weird, I've never seen you here. This is, like, my favorite place in the world." Nate tried not to let a smile sneak out. He always found these kinds of situations really amusing; if he just got out with it, he could turn worlds upside down. He never did, though.
"Yeah, it's because I'm a shapeshifter," he said through a cheeky grin. Amaya laughed. Nate laughed. | "Hey, are you okay?"
Maria wiped the tears from her cheeks. She sniffled, looking anywhere but the man standing next to her. She'd gone to the pier to be alone not have random strangers approach her.
"I-I'm fine," Maria looked out toward the ocean, watching as the whitecaps broke and wove over each other, and how the seagulls and birds flew through the stormy grey sky.
The man leaned against the railing of the pier next to her. "Well, I hope you don't mind me saying, but you look like your dog just died."
Maria sniffed again, her lips curling downward as she gripped the leash in her pocket.
"I-I did."
There was a pause and the man sighed. "Shit, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean-"
"No, no, it's okay," Maria said. "This was... this was Max's favorite place to go for our walks. He, um, he was a weird dog, but I loved him. I've had him for so long."
A handkerchief appeared on the railing and Maria wiped her tear stained cheeks. "Thank you."
"Sounds like a hell of a dog." The man mused.
"He was," Maria nodded. "He always protected me, heck, he even slept in my bed. He did *not* like my boyfriends." She smiled.
"Sounds like a good boy. Dog's can sense that, you know? If a person is good enough for their person."
Maria laughed at that. "Well, he also ate my Italian heels and destroyed two couches, so he had his ups and downs."
The man snorted. "Sounds like an ass."
"He was a good boy," Maria mused. She cleared her throat and offered the man back his handkerchief. "Thank you."
"No problem," the man turned finally and smiled as he took it from her.
Maria paused, her eyes roving over the tanned face and black hair, and the mans eyes. "You have his eyes."
The man blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"He was a husky mix, he had mismatched eyes."
The man slowly blinked again before he shrugged, an amused smile on his face. "I've had a lot of people comment on my eyes, but never that I looked like a dog."
Maria gasped. "O-Oh, no, I didn't-"
The man laughed. "Hey, it's okay." He offered her his hand. "What's your name?"
"Maria," she blushed as she shook his hand. "What's yours?"
"Maximillion, but Max for short." he winked, then spoke in a lower whisper. "My parents were weird. They named the dog Ted."
Maria laughed at that. She flushed when she realized Max had watched her, a warm smile on his face.
"Hey, I've heard there's supposed to be a coffee shop near here... do you want to go? I'd love to hear more about your Max."
Maria nodded. She gave the ocean one last glance before she pulled out the leash from her pocket. Max covered it with his hand, taking her hand with his.
"Come on, let's get out of the rain."
Maria nodded. | 2022-08-04T05:56:26 | 2018-02-14T09:37:57 | 930 | 231 |
[WP] You are an Ancient Evil, leader of the armies of chaos, and the ancient seal on you has finally weakened after a millennium. You awaken to find your side won some time ago and just... never got around to freeing you. | I open my eyes.
I am free at last, free from my eternal imprisonment, free from the ancient seal placed upon me by the accursed white knight. I shall find him and rend the flesh from his bones. I must make an example, the world must know that crossing me has dire consequences.
I sit up and try to move, but my hands are chained. I turn my head and see a minion. I bark at him, my voice hoarse. "You there. Release me at once."
He looks up from a glossy slab of paper. "Oh, you're finally awake. Give me a minute to get the others."
"No, you will do as I command, or I shall turn you inside out and feast on your organs."
He blinks. "Yeah, they told me you'd say something like that. I'll be right back." He saunters off at a casual pace.
I glare around the room, trying to find someone to take my fury out on. That's when I realize I don't know where I am. The walls are a fuzzy carpet and the room seems to be divided up into small cubes. What fresh form of torture is this?
The minion returns with a gaggle of followers. There's a middle aged demon with thick glasses perched on his crooked nose and a plump female, her hair pulled up into a bun.
"What is the meaning of this? You will release me at once or I shall tear off your arms and ram the stumps up your..."
"That's quite enough thank you." says the plump one. She pulls out a clipboard and scratches something down while glasses clears his throat. Then she says, "Whilst you are awake you will refrain from using profanity, threatening language, slurs, derogatory statements and ancient curses. It is all clearly laid out in our employee handbook." She tries to hand me something, but the moment it touches my hand I set it on fire. She huffs and pulls out another copy. "You will also refrain from arsonist behaviour, we can't afford to set off the sprinklers in here. Failure to comply will result in a new ancient seal being applied at once. Is that clear?"
How dare this pathetic peon talk to me this way. If I was stronger I would tear her in half and paint the walls with her blood. For now though, my best approach is to play along.
The male steps forwards. "Sorry about Millie, you know how HR can get." The woman glares at him but he ignores her. "I'm Frank. I'm the acting CEO. We are here to aid you in your transition into the new world."
"My what?"
"Your transition." says Millie. She holds out a leaflet titled 'Controlling your inner demons: being beautiful inside and out.'
Frank continues. "Things have changed while you've been, erm...sleeping. The good news is, the armies of chaos totally won the battle of the Hellscape, so a big congrats on that."
"We won? Recently?"
Frank hesitates. "That really depends on your definition of recent. It was 450 years ago..."
"WHAT!" I lunge upwards until the chains drag me back to the ancient stone slab. "Why was I not awakened at once?"
"That's kind of the problem with chaos armies, organization isn't really their thing. Like, they totally meant to wake you, but they just, kind of, forgot. Instead they kept fighting amongst themselves. The surviving holy warriors hunkered down and waited for it all to blow over. After a while the only demons left were the ones that weren't fit enough for fighting. Didn't do much for the gene pool I'm afraid, but thankfully there were enough holy ones to provide some genetic diversity, if you catch my drift. Anyway, after a few generations we're almost back to normal, but you can imagine it is kind of important that there's no more fighting for a while. That's why we've transitioned to a work economy. You'd be amazed how much money we've saved without all the holy wars."
This has to be some kind of joke. A hazing from the other dark lords. Any minute now they will jump out.
When they don't I talk through gritted teeth. "So why have you roused me from my eternal slumber?"
"Well, turns out that capitalism has its own set of challenges. We're getting beaten out by cheap offshore competitors. It's not fair, they have literal dungeons filled with slave labour. We can't compete with that. We were hoping you might want to help us out. There's this thing called a hostile takeover."
My ears prick up behind my horns. "Just how hostile are we talking about?"
Frank smiles. "Use your imagination." | "Wait..." the Demon King said, "so you've ruled for nearly *five centuries*?" The ancient horned horror that saw the Age of Gods with its own two eyes experienced confusion for the second time in its life. "But... that's not how the rules work. We fight, wait a millennium, then fight again, and if we win we get the world! And what is everyone dressed in? That's not our style! What would the Great Betrayer think if it saw us all like this?"
Salice, his chief torturer and succubus of Innovation and Cruelty, slowly shook her head. She was wearing heavy magic-fueled dragonbone armor instead of a skimpy black leather bikini, in the process thoroughly breaking all dressing codes he'd instituted, with some sort of gigantic tube leaning on her shoulder. "Boss. This thing? Not working. No matter how improbable, we always lose to some spiky-haired blonde kid and his best friends, before the world gets rebuilt to a slightly different medieval fantasy. It's boring! There's nothing new for me to play with!"
"But--" the Demon King sputtered, "how did you even conquer the world without me!? I'm your best strategist!" Zell'zyn, his general, sighed in disappointment. He ignored it. "Your best sorcerer!" Kakys the Conductor did a raspberry. "Your inspiration!" Upon hearing this, the flame elemental Ilt'sa briefly became a pillar of flame, his species's version of laughter. He glared at the elemental. "I am the dark king of chaos! The final boss! Stop laughing! Zell'zyn, you've been with me since the start? Why did you betray me like this?"
Zell'zyn sighed, furrowing his bow. Unlike most of the demons, he was not wearing a helmet. His skin was a scaly green and he had four eyes. "Sir. I have known you since you were a child trying to live up to your father's shoes, and while I would never betray you... sir, I worry the stress is getting to you." "What he means is that you're an idiot and no one likes you," Kakys blurted out. Zell'zyn hit Kakys lightly on the shoulder. "While we were in exile in timeless limbo, Kakys and every single sorcerer we had hacked into the source code of the universe and edited it so the gods would stop, in his words, 'save scumming.' The effort permanently killed a not insignificant amount of our casters, but it worked and we returned to the world, defeating its defenders with my tactics, Kakys' divination, Ilt'sa's firepower, Salice's inventions, and an almost-endless tide of demons. We've even finally got the hang of ruling down! Major rebellions have decreased to only once a decade."
"So..." he said, testing the idea out in his head before saying it out loud. "We've... won?" Zell'zyn nodded. "All six shining seas and four corners of the world under our control, sir." All that pleasant green land... "We've really, *really*, one hundred percent won?" Ilt'sa flared brighter. He'd never learned to read the strange signal language of the elementals. "Yes, he says," Salice dryly translated, "we've won, are you deaf?" His eyes widened. "Did Ilt'sa just insult me!?" Zell'zyn facepalmed with a surety that made him feel like he was missing something and Ilt'sa flared some more. "...but we didn't follow the rules."
A silence descended upon the gathered lieutenants and their armies. Finally, Kakys shrieked, throwing his staff to the ground and started to pluck his feathers out. Another staff-holding demon wearing some sort of helmet with a red cross on it rushed to his side and cast a spell. It took the Demon King's brains a few seconds to process that the demon was casting a healing spell. He opened his mouth to start to order the execution of the arrogant white mage demon, but then Kakys screamed. "You--you incompetent motherfu--are you even for real? Is this some sort of hallucination? How did no one commit suicide with you in charge? Your dear daddy probably abandoned us all because he couldn't stand to take care of you anymore! I hate you! I hate you and your mindless clinging to their lies!"
His claws grinded into his palms. He could hear them scratching his black armor. "How could we have won when we've broken our promise? The Great Betrayer--" Ilt'sa dimmed before burning brightly. "He says: a Betrayer would not keep inconvenient oaths!" He gasped for breath. Why weren't they listening to him? "My father--" Salice laughed. Her high and clear voice was amplified by her armor using some unknown system, and it shook his eardrums. "Newsflash, *boss*. Nepotism doesn't work!" He exhaled deeply. What had happened? "Sir..." Zell'zyn said, "please. We've won now. I rule the west, Kakys the east, Salice the north, and Zell'zyn the south. As benefits you, you shall be the king of the center of the world. Billions of humans will live or die at your command and your palace will have luxuries only dreamed of." Laced in that sentence was the implication that he would *only* rule the center.
"I..." Were they betraying him? Even Zell'zyn? "I am your king! Not your equal! Have you forgotten who I am? Do you no longer fear me?" Zell'zyn closed his eyes, then signaled one of the accompanying demons to come to him and give him his helmet. He screwed it on, Salice watching. "Yes, sir. We fear you. That's why we brought this army." What? Why would they need an army other to show him his might... oh. "Don't worry. I and my sorcerers have personally checked Kakys' seal and found it safe. Now, fire!"
He lasted for almost half an hour before he finally died and was bound. | 2018-05-31T16:39:28 | 2018-05-31T14:34:07 | 96 | 11 |
[WP] You have a magical plant. Every time you make an important decision correctly, it grows a branch, but every time you make one incorrectly, it grows a root. One day, you wake up to find that its branches have doubled. | The pounding headache that woke me up granted me the power of double-vision. Swinging my leg over the side of the bed took all the balance I could muster, the dizziness causing me to burp a flavor I couldn't - and didn't want to - place. I fumbled to slide my glasses on, smudging the left lens in the process, starting the day off grand. At least it was Saturday.
My eyes struggled to focus through the thick glass, the number of branches on my stupid "fate bonsai" remaining twice that of yesterday. What a gift my godmother had left me in her will, a plant confirming hindsight. Yet squeezing my eyes shut to clear my head did nothing to change the small green leaves overlapping one another. It took me a minute, but after checking that my alarm clock hadn't doubled as well I finally realized I must have made one hell of a great decision recently.
One I couldn't remember to save my soul.
I scanned previous messages on my phone, finding dozens sent between friends referencing inside jokes I didn't understand. Scrolling down far enough and my heart jumped with fear, my thumb tentatively prodding a new conversation with my ex. I immediately turned my bonsai to the side, checking the hole in the bottom of the pot for any new roots.
Safe.
My stomach grumbled loudly, overpowering my confusion and desire to figure things out in favor of finding a sandwich. With nothing remotely satisfactory in the fridge, I grabbed the essentials and a heavy coat before heading out to my apartment's garage.
Somebody had taken my damn space again, the jerk. With the luck this day contained, I'd be caught in the rain or worse. I grunted and took out my keys, clicking the lock button to get my car beeping enough to find it. I spent twenty minutes looking on every floor of that stupid garage looking for my car to no avail.
My stomach howled with frustration. Fair enough, I could always walk down the street for a convenience store hot dog in the meantime. Not ideal, and a bit farther than I'd like, but enough to get me up and running again.
Noms acquired, I stuffed the last bits of the warm meat and bread into my face hole and took a moment breathing in the cool winter air. The crispness filled my lungs, sending plenty of those good sensory signals to my muddled brain. A brief memory flashed through my head, and I instinctively looked across the street to find my car parked safely in the pub lot.
The puzzle pieces began to fall into place as I methodically searched through my messages to verify the accuracy of my hunch. Finally, three contacts down and a dozen messages previous, I discovered what could have possibly made my plant grow so much in only a few hours.
"Dude, good call on the Uber."
*******************
*Like this? Check out hundreds more of my stories over on r/Zchxz! (Fair warning, I write a lot of horror)* | I can’t tell what’s sweeter. The brownies Mum’s made or the pride on their face when her and Dad look at me. They took a big risk when they were in their early twenties and immigrated to America. Now they have a son who’s graduated from Harvard Law school and been working in a prestigious law firm for two years. Success and stability. They couldn't be more proud of their American dream. Me.
The next morning I wake early. I want to hike into the forest that begins from our backyard. Three miles in sits my Tree Of Life and I haven’t seen it since I left for college. When I last saw it, before leaving for college, it was thick with branches yet equally thick with roots. I made good grades in high school, but boy oh boy, as Mum still reminds me, I got in a little bit of trouble too. Nothing too bad, but my best friend Kenny and I loved the excitement of bottle rockets and burnouts.
I make it through the underbrush, climb over a fallen log, and there I see it. Holy shit. No way. The branches have grown out of control. There’s so many that the tree is beginning to lean over. Wow. I guess going to Harvard was the correct decision.
Of course I’m proud of myself too. I mean, both my Tree Of Life and parents seem thrilled. I’m doing good. Well, not good as in ‘changing the world’ good. But I have a nice apartment and healthy 401k. Yet I can’t help but wonder how my life would have turned out if Kenny and I started that company after high school life we’d planned. Probably terribly. I laugh. It’s all for the best.
I’ve been back home for a week when Kenny arrives home to visit his family. I was an only child and he was like a brother to me growing up. But with school and work we haven’t seen each other for five years.
I enter his driveway and before I can give Kenny a hug, he says, “I’ve got it. Forget that stupid light-up clothing idea we had in high school. We’re going to build a company selling Crypto Currencies.” “Kenny,” I say, “You’re as stupid as you were in high school.”
Three days later we open our company, Crypto Kings, for business.
The demand was higher than I imagined. With Kenny’s sales skills and my legal knowledge we began to eek out a profit by our third month. Of course my parents were disappointed with my decision, but by the sixth month when our profit had turned from a trip to a torrent, they were a little more understanding.
12 more months of ups and downs went buy when BAM. We made it. At 25, kenny and I were millionaires. Soon to be multi-multi-multi millionaires. Inc. magazine and then Business Insider decided to feature us on the cover. Our city of Michigan awarded us the young entrepreneurship award of 2018. Life was good. No. Life was grand.
I knew a little physics, but this three month period taught me the law of what goes up must come down better than any physics professor could. The crypto market crashed, and with it, every client we had and dollar we had made. We weren’t bruised, we were beaten. Broke. Done. Finished.
Having to move back in with my parents was difficult. I expected them to be disappointed in me. They were. But they were also understanding.
With no business to manage, exams to study for, or job to go to, I had some time on my hands. I decided to go visit my Tree Of Life. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing it. It couldn’t be pretty.
I make it through the underbrush, climb over a fallen log, and there I see it. Holy shit. No way. It’s never looked more healthy. The leaves are greener. It’s not leaning awkwardly anymore. Sure, there’s a hell of a lot more roots since I made so many mistakes. But there’s a few new branches as well. Overall it looks balanced. Healthy. Right.
I guess the secret to a healthy life lies in making both mistakes and good decisions. Without mistakes we cannot lay the roots necessary to provide the nutrients that fuel our growth. Between order and chaos lays the right way to live our life.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pick it up. “I’ve got it. The next one. We’re going into real estate,” says Kenny. “That could work I say. But what about starting an online legal service? With your entrepreneurial skills and my legal background, we might have the right balance. How about it?” | 2019-01-11T09:24:46 | 2019-01-11T09:24:40 | 397 | 67 |
[WP] The Supernatural is real; Vampires, Werewolves, and weirder... You aren't one though, you're just the back-alley doctor who knows to accept a fistful of dollar bills and work with whatever ailment/injuries they got. | I’d done some weird shit in my time. It was the reason I lost my medical license. A few, very bad decisions and I could no longer, legally do the one thing I absurdly good at, but the gods had a twisted future in store for me.
How does one learn about the supernatural world? Do they stumble across it by accident or does it hit them in the face like a bagful of wet mackerel? Okay, maybe less like fish and more like teeth and claws and bloody remains on the ground. I was in the latter group, camping with friends until we were attacked in the night. I was lucky, walking away without a scratch.
Jason wasn’t lucky, my best friend from primary school died, horribly. His girlfriend, Bianca, came away with scratches and part of her collarbone gnawed on. Neither of us thought that it was werewolves. That was ridiculous. The supernatural world didn’t exist, until it did, and we couldn’t ignore it anymore. Help one newborn werewolf was like lighting a flare gun into the night sky. Bianca became my assistant, directing other supernatural creatures to my door. I was making money, enough to pay the bills and I was relearning all the things I thought I knew. Finding ways to get a direct link to the blood bank for vampires who didn’t want to snack on a living person. Got a bunch of wolves who craved flesh meat? I ended up making friends with a butcher, who didn’t mind supplying a bunch of people who paid a little bit more for the privilege of not going to a shop.
It was becoming a business, but I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be adding it to my resume any time soon. It also raised interesting questions. How do you operate on a shifter whose healing factor kicked in within seconds? Pure silver instruments. It hurt like a bitch but when there’s a bullet stuck inside of them? You told them to grit their teeth and think of pretty things.
Doctor Frank Stein. Fur or fangs, it didn’t matter. Pay the fee and I kept my mouth. Anyway, who would believe me? | They call me Halfway man. The both of them, the fearie folk and the things they hate. When the things from story books began jumping out from alleyways I figured it wasn't our place to pick sides.
Brothers and sisters or mine, friends and daughters, sons and lovers all stole themselves away to the children's tales they loved but I remembered from the playground that the fairy tales don't always honor their truths.
I never picked a side.
Across war torn Europe and Russia I travel in my Volkswagen bus with the tools in the back. Stopping for anyone with fair. They all know the rules by now. They've all heard of the halfway man. No cash means no stitched and no hope. In the end that's what I peddle, just a little bit hope for a small price, for gas money.
I always wanted to travel the countryside but now there isn't one left.
And here I am telling all this to each patient that comes in. As I run my gloves hands carefully over meter wide butterfly wings and bloodied fur thicker than a castle wall. Here I am spilling my guts to those whose guts I unspill.
One night though, just one night I've been tempted to pick a side. An Oracle came to my tent, notorious liers they are, and she came with an affliction I'd heard of. It changes them, turns there worst traits backwards. And everyone will always believe the Oracle, it's what they do.
She came to my tent with the sickness. And I spoke with her while I mixed the cure.
She told me why they were here. The lot of them, both sides, used to bound through the forests in unison, carefree with exception of hunger and of rest until the King of the Shade of the Queen of the Sunrise had their split. So the Queen of sunrise took all of her beasts, her oracle and her werewolves and her vampires, all those loyal to her and put them to war. And soon brothers and friends, mothers and sons, daughters and lovers came to war. And the king of shade did the same with pixies and sprites, manticores and satyrs. Their whole world all swallowed up by the anger of two hearts broken. Billions put to sacrifice over two hearts broken.
None were allowed to make the the choice I made. It was fight or be left to the opposition.
Then she took the first drink of her cure, it shouldn't have been enough to do anything to her for hours. And she told me it was all a lie.
I've heard a thousand stories from my patients. But she was the only one I never really listened too. I was caught up watching glittering tears trickle down her cheek. I had never seen anything so gorgeous from one on her side. It was like watching a rainbow spread over the morning dew. So enticing I couldn't be helped to consider, over the small graves of her tears, that soon enough I would be forced to pick a side. And later thinking on this I wonder what to think. Wonder if she was really an Oracle at all. Wonder about the things she said. But there's no time to think while I work. So I started the engine and followed the map to Moscow, I had heard they had a scuffle up there. Figured there was good money it. Saw the oracle there. She'd been shot down for trying to negotiate peace. She was in a puddle of her own tears with an unsigned treaty, carved out into a stone tablet in her hand. I meant to collect a jar of those tears. But I was busy. And besides, I had places to go.
There was news about Birmingham. Home was gone. But the battlefield that stood on its ground would fill my coffers. | 2019-09-22T11:55:42 | 2019-09-22T11:20:42 | 33 | 22 |
[WP] You are an assassin. You do not use guns, knives, or poison. You are a master of the butterfly effect and chaos theory. | PART 1
I kill people for a living. They call me the Lepidopterist, or simply the Butterfly man.
Every day I drive to the same diner and order the same coffee and pie. If there is a job for me a man will be at the counter smoking a cigarette, drinking a cup of coffee.
"Hey, can I bum a smoke?" I always say.
The cigarette the man hands me will have an invisible number written on the white paper in lemon juice. Funny thing, lemon juice. It has been used in tradecraft for centuries. A quick pass of a lighter flame over the "ink" is enough to make the number visible. This is the social security number of my mark. I thank the man, smoke the cigarette, drink my coffee, and leave a nice tip for the waitress. I am a creature of habit.
I say I am a creature of habit not because my life proceeds with the regularity of an atomic clock, but because I do not consider myself to be fully human. I am a creature. You may be tempted to assume that my profession makes me feel this way. Or you might think I am a disconnected sociopath and cannot relate to other humans and you might be right.
The truth, as all truths are, is more complicated. If life was a comic book you'd call me a superhero. The only real way you could call me a superhero in real life is if you consider mild autism to be a power. I am good at planning, though. Maybe that's a bit of an understatement. I see the world as one big Rube Goldberg machine. I cannot control the machine, but I can influence it in subtle ways. This is how I earn my living.
Today there was a man sitting at the counter. The man gave me a cigarette. The flame revealed a number. The socal security number was my own.
I thanked the man, smoked the cigarette, drank my coffee, and left. Today I did not tip the waitress.
"Thanks, asshole." Snapped the waitress under her breath as she cleared the table. Her name was Laura but she could be Susan, or Dave or anyone else. Just the latest in the revolving door of employment that was this small town eatery.
Angry as she was at being stiffed on a tip she did little other than grumble for a few seconds before moving on to her next duty. In her haste, however, she failed to collect her wet rag after cleaning the table. As carelessly as the rag had been forgotten, it slid off the edge of the booth table and fell to the floor with little notice.
The man with the cigarette finished his coffee, paid, and stood to leave. Wordlessly he smiled at the waitress, slipped on the rag and broke his neck on the fake stone tile floor.
I did not exceed the speed limit by more than 7mph as I drove away. I knew the man would be dead by now and while that represented a major deviation in my day this would not be the last time today my patterns would change. Someone wanted me dead and my anonymity was the only thing keeping me alive. For now.
How did I know the man was dead? I don't have any real way of telling you exactly how I know but it feels like doing math. When you add simple numbers your brain just serves up the answer like it was there all along. You don't *think* about the mathematical process of adding 2 and 3. The answer 5 is there almost before you've read the equation. You just *know* the answer. This is how the machinery of the world feels to me. Move one little thing and watch the ball roll here instead of there. I just know how to push the ball where I want it to go. And this is why I live the same day; day after day. | Many people in their life will fantasize about killing someone else.
Most of them won't *actually* do it. Some will do, but in such primitive ways that I get goosebumps just by thinking about it. They get caught, eventually.
Then there's organized crime. Lots of times they have enemies, and they always find ways to *remove them from the equation*, if you get what I'm saying...But they, too, are barbaric in their ways of bringing death.
Powerful people from around the world have enemies, too, and that's why hitmen exist. I respect them more than the other kinds of assassins, because they like what they do. They consider their job like a form of art. Some of them can be hired on the streets, some on the Deep Web (and trust me, most of them are just scams), the best of them can't be found so easily.
There are, however, some cases in which the desire of someone's death is so strong in a person's mind that it reaches beyond time and space. It reaches to us, The Alloy. Then, we reach to them.
"What is this 'Alloy'?" you'll ask. Well, we call ourself Deathbringers. What we do is...But what am I doing? Wasting your precious, short time with my usual excessive talkativeness. Furthermore, it's hard to explain what we Deathbringers do. Best way to do it is with a little story. I have so many memories, and most of them are pleasant. I love my life, you know?
Well, my favorite one is from a lot of decades ago...sit back and listen, my friend.
It all happened in a rich country. A little boy wanted somebody dead. We don't ask our clients' motives, nor we did it that time. His hatred was strong, so the Alloy sent me to do the job. I emerged from the darkness in the boy's room, at midnight, and woke him up with our ritual words:
"Hello, child of Death. You asked for Death, and Death is now here. Embrace it, and wield it like a weapon."
He tried to scream, but he, *by chance, was* afflicted by a crippling cold. You know, wetting our clients' socks the day before visiting them is our usual policy. I then explained him that he just had to tell me who he wanted dead. His wish would have been granted, for the small price of eternal servitude as a new member of the Alloy. When his shock fade out, he told it was his step-mother. She was always mean to him, and sometimes she would beat him. I thanked him and merged with the shadows. I had a lot of work to do that night.
Three months passed, and on a cold, friday morning, the kid's step-mother was on her way to her workplace. The train station was crowded. She was really unconfortable with that, I could tell it even from my distant hideout. My presence wasn't needed, but, as I already told you, I love my job, more specifically I love watching my job's aftermath unfold before my eyes. She acted like she was more entitled to be there than the average person.
After ten minutes of wait, the train appeared at the end of the gallery. Everybody started pushing in a chaotic rampage to be the first to get on the vehicle. As the train was approaching, she was right behind the yellow line.
Then, and listen to me now because this is really fun, she stepped on a little rock with her left heel. No, she did not fell on the railway. That would have been easy, and I don't like the easy way. The stone almost caused her to slip, but she just stepped a bit further on the pavement. She was relieved, poor lady, she couldn't foresee what would happen to her in a couple seconds. As the train's brakes were kicking in, the locomotive suddenly leant twenty centimeters towards the sidewalk, and 40 tons of steel hit her in the head and beheaded her.
Didn't see that coming, huh? Do you want to know how I did it? Simple: First I caused a little incident, three months prior. Nothing really bad, but it was enough to loosen up the railway's bolts in a tiny stretch of the route, near her station. I Knew how many days it had before actually breaking, it's my job afterall, so then I just had to put a little, tiny rock on the pavement where I knew she would've stepped that morning. The rest, well, you can guess it yourself.
Now you understand what the Alloy does, right? We are masters of chaos, we bring Death, sweet Death without actually killing. That's an art, and we train and study for centuries before getting to business.
&#x200B;
Why am I telling this to you, my friend? You, the one who's reading this now. You are the one I told this little memory of mine for. You see, you are my next target. Somebody, and probably you can guess who he or she is, deeply wants you dead. I already made sure it will happen in a few days. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next week, it isn't funny if you know when. I will love to watch you struggle to avoid death, your attempts will only make you fall into my trap. As you know, I love my job.
The butterfly effect has already begun. We are hopeless to stop it. | 2019-12-21T14:08:02 | 2019-12-21T13:36:17 | 109 | 60 |
[WP]You were supposed to be the dragon's snack. But with your quick thinking you convinced it to let you keep track and organize all the treasures in it's hoard. You've wound up dedicating three years of your live serving the dragon when one day the heroes come after the dragon's hoard. | (WP) Fire and Gold
The dragon stared down at the intruding knight, its ruby eyes boring into his face.
“Give me a single reason why I shouldn’t roast you over my own flames,” The creature growled, and lowered its long, scaly neck, the better to look the human in the eye.
“A dragon as wise and ancient as yourself has a hoard that the legends echo! What if I keep track of your hoard, and organize it? I can be of great use to you. There are so many treasures here, and anyway, why waste your time cooking me? I’m all bones and gristle!” The knight spoke in a hurried rush, desperate to save his own life.
Who knew that he had such a strong sense of self-preservation?
The dragon said nothing, silent, and the knight waited, half expecting the monster’s sharp teeth to tear off a limb.
But the dragon surprised him by doing something else entirely.
“Very well. You may stay on to guard and organize my hoard,” The dragon said at last, using its nose to push the knight forward, toward the mountains of treasure: bright gold and silver coins, chests filled with jewels and pearls, sparkling specters with all manner of symbols carved into their handles.
\*\*
Three Years Later
\*\*
The knight hoped that the rumors that had reached the mountains weren’t true. A group of heroes, at the behest of the King and Queen, had declared the dragon he served as a menace that could no longer be tolerated.
It was so strange, thinking about how he’d come to the dragon’s cavern with the intention of killing him. Now, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else but organizing and tending to the creature’s material possessions. The dragon had provided him with food, shelter, purpose.
He’d be damned if he’d let the king’s lackeys kill the beast.
He had to get back to the cavern; at this rate, the humans would beat him home and the dragon would have to defend itself alone. Swearing under his breath, he hurried his mare on, desperate to aid his friend.
A vicious, angry roar echoed over the mountains, a warning for all who dared trespass.
When he finally arrived at the cavern, the dragon was snapping its jaws in warning, his huge body crouched protectively over his stolen hoard.
The knight found himself hoping that these foolish humans were devoured by his scaly friend. It would be the least that they all deserved.
The dragon had told him about how his kind roamed the earth so many years ago, but they’d been vilified and hunted to near extinction. He’d lost his mate and several children in the struggle.
Ever since, he’d despised humankind, and the knight couldn’t exactly blame him.
“Foolish mortals! The only thing left of you will be your scorched bones!” The dragon howled, spitting fire and smoke.
The last thing the knight heard was the humans’ screams of anguish.
But really, everyone should’ve known better than to anger a being of fire and air.
\*\* | Part 1/2
"Hmm...it's not lookin' good."
My father, who was just bent over the collapsed horse, stood up slowly, every movement leading to the loud cracks of bones. It must have happened last night when a terrible storm had hit our small town. Some of the houses had even been damaged. A lot of the animals had been spooked by the cracks of thunder, but Silver was terribly spooked enough to tear her flank wide open. I'm not even grossed out with blood, but even i was a bit squeemish.
"Can we fix her?" I asked worridly. Even though she was well past her age of work, she was still keen and able to help with carrying small packs to the local village.
"we could try Yarrow and Goldenrod..." He mumbled grimly.
"Yarrow and goldenrod, right? I'll go and asked Brook!" I didn't even wait for his reply. i was out of the stable and practically running for the far house of the village, the one closest to the forest. Brook was a sweet older lady who was almost always out in the forest collecting all sorts of stuff. Whenever i helped her out with...well, anything, she'd always give me a slice of whatever baked goods she had made. And they were always to die for.
As i reached her tiny house, i skidded to a stop just outside her round door and banged frantically. "Brook! Are you in!?" I called. I only stopped when i heard the locks from the inside opening, and within moments it swung open inwards, revealing the little old lady looking up at me with wide eyes.
"Eardred? Whatever is the matter?" She asked hoarsely.
"Yarrow and..umm...golden..rock?"
Goldenrod?"
"Yes! That! Do you have any of those!?"
Brook looked thoughtful for what felt like an eternity before shaking her head sadly. "no, i'm afraid not. It's fairly common in the forest though. w-wait here, i have some drawings of it, just wait there!" And before i could protest, she was already hobbling off into her house. But within minutes she was back, holding to pieces of parchment. I all but snatched them up.
"Thanks, i owe you!" with that, i was running off into the forest.
\---
It wasn't long after entering the thick forest that i found the Yarrow, but the Goldenrod took me ages. It wasn't until the sun had nearly set that i saw the yellow flowers in the distance. But before i could go and get it, i heard a rough voice from just beyond the trees.
"Is it ready?" the voice asked.
"Yes sir, here it is." another, softer and younger voice replied. I ducked behind the tree and chanced a look around. there, around the tree, were two people. One, covered in the darkest cloak that i had ever seen, was kneeling in front of the other figure and presenting him with what looked like a staff. the other person, an older man, took the staff and sighed in...relief? Pleasure?
"Ahh, i can feel it's power already. With this, the council stands no chance against me..." The man said softly, almost so soft that i had to strain to hear. they began to whisper, i couldn't hear well from where i sat. i tried to lean closer to hear.
When i leaned in closer, however, the cloaked figure suddenly lifted their head. I didn't get a chance to see their face, but they must have seen me as they shot up in a blink in an eye.
"Sir!" the man turned around, eyes wide. His face was covered in so many scars that it was hard to tell what was left unmarked. But i didn't have time to think about that. I jumped up and scrambled back. Whoever they were, i didn't want to stick around and find out. So i turned and ran into the safety of the shrubs.
Or tried to. For as i tried to run, a force bashed into my back and sent me flying into the closest tree. I hit so hard, the wind left my lungs and i fell to the ground in a gasping heap. Within moments a hand was in my hair, and i was yanked up painfully to meet the man's eyes.
"Eavesdropping, boy? We can't have that" The man said simply, before standing up and forcing me to stand with him. I struggled weakly, tried to pull his fingers off. Tried to kick him, but he didn't even budge.
"Ilfred, where is Payslodo's lair?" | 2020-01-16T06:52:07 | 2020-01-16T06:47:01 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] "You sold your soul to me for...this?" The demon stared, brows raised incredulously. It had heard a lot of ridiculous, stupid requests in its near-eternal lifespan, but this one definitely took the cake. | Samuel held the red paperclip in hand, beaming proudly at his newest acquisition.
"Yes! A paperclip. I read Kyle's blog and I got inspired. I'm going to trade it all the way for a house!"
The demon twisted his ember eyebrows, and a strange feeling overwhelmed him, nothing like he had ever felt before.
"You... you're sure this is what you want to trade for your *soul*."
"Absolutely."
"Your eternal being. Your truest identity. Your spirit of self."
"Yep."
"Son, listen here a minute." The demon sat down in the pentagram and crossed its deer-like legs. "I've cured diseases in exchange for a soul. I've poured out riches beyond imagination. I've leveled cities and raised forests. I've handed over kingdoms to the lowliest of men. I've conquered death for the same price that you're paying for this paperclip."
Samuel twisted the paperclip in between his fingers. He followed its curves with his eyes.
"What are you saying?" Samuel asked.
"I'm saying... Don't you know how *valuable* your soul is? You could trade it for so much more than a paperclip. You could skip all the hard work and jump straight to the house if you wanted."
"But it's not really the house that I want," Samuel confessed. "You can't get famous without doing something extravagant."
"Fame? You're not going to get famous copying what someone else has already done, unless you post on Reddit. If you wanted fame you should have just asked for it. "
The demon swirled his hands in a wavy circle, conjuring a golden aura that floated in front of him. He pushed it onto Samuel, and it wrapped him with a brightness that had no source.
"There," the demon said. "You're famous now. I feel better about this."
"But I didn't want to be famous," Samuel said with a glum look.
"But..." the demon stammered. "You just..."
"No, I said I couldn't be famous without the paperclip house. I need to be famous in order to win Jessica's heart."
"Love!" the demon shouted. "*That's* more like it. That sappy emotion is quite a cliche thing to ask for, but it's nothing to be ashamed of. People ask for it all the time."
A cloud appeared above them, a glimpse into Jessica's world. They both watched as she flipped through Facebook until she stopped and stared at Samuel's profile. She started typing and posted "I love you," to Samuel's private inbox.
"Alright, that should do it. Now she's in love with you forever."
"Well, that's nice and all, but..."
"But what?!" yelled the demon, seeming impatient.
"I didn't ask to fall in love. I just mentioned that's what the fame was for."
"What the bloody hell do you want?" the demon raged. He stood up and threatened to cross the lines of the pentagram.
"I just thought," Samuel said, drawing in the dirt with his foot, "I just thought if I was famous, and brought home a beautiful girlfriend, my parents would finally be proud of me."
"Look Samuel," the demon said, overcome with frustration. "The truth is fame and love won't make anyone proud of you. Your parents, well, they're flawed people, just like you. They may not show it, but they already are proud you. That's not something I can trade for your soul."
"You mean, the deals off?" Samuel said.
"Well, no. I..."
"Demon, I think you're right. I shouldn't trade my soul for a paperclip."
"But..."
The demon drew in his breath. The filthy feeling of guilt had clouded his judgement. He had let himself bestow favors that hadn't really been exchanged for Samuel's soul. Had he spent too much time making deals with humans that he had become more like them?
"You've tricked me," the demon accused.
"I've tricked a demon?" Samuel asked with feigned innocence. "Boy, wouldn't the others like to hear about this?"
"Others?" the demon asked cautiously.
"You're not my first," Samuel said. "You won't be my last. Thanks for the extras, though."
Samuel went to break the pentagram and send the demon back to hell.
"Wait," the demon said, before Samuel broke the spell. "What was it that you asked the others for?"
"Oh, just nice little things, here and there," Samuel said. "The first was the most important. The power to trick demons. After that, getting my soul back was easy." And with a flick of salt, the demon disappeared, and a devilish smile spread across Samuel's face.
\--------------------------
/r/ReverendRamboWrites | It was an odd thing watching the elderly lady acting so strangely in the cafe's booth, back against the red leather. Mark had worked in Café Soleil for long enough to get to know Norma -- at least as well as anyone could get to know her these days -- and she'd never acted like this before.
Usually, he'd refill her coffee and she'd offer a subdued "thank you," but she'd never smile or look him in the eyes, and certainly never make further conversation. Sometimes, maybe, she'd order a snack from the menu -- usually a cake, but never ever anything with chocolate.
She'd always worn the lips of a broken woman, he thought. That is to say, they never raised into a smile, but instead lay flat and heavy like a fallen tombstone, and she no longer had the strength to put it upright.
Norma had been married, or his boss Wally had once told him. She'd been married, and every Tuesday her and him they'd come in here together and they'd order chocolate gateau and then sit reading newspapers or just looking at each other until 11am when they'd trundle out and make their way to church.
She didn't go to church anymore.
At least, not *that* church, Wally had said -- rather oddly, Mark had thought.
And now, as Mark stood, elbows leaning over on the counter as he watched Norma, he worried.
He'd just poured her two mugs of coffee. And she'd slid one mug over to the other side of the table and she'd been smiling at it ever since. And both those things -- the smile and the extra mug -- they worried Mark.
The cafe was quiet. Usually was on a Tuesday morning. And that meant he could watch Norma like his eyes were camera lenses, locked on, not missing a beat.
She slid something next to the second mug. A piece of paper maybe? The angle obscured it, but he'd find out what it said when he next refilled her coffee.
Did she just *laugh*? Okay, now he was really concerned. She was definitely laughing. And Mark had never heard the sound of a laugh tumble out of her mouth before.
Should he call someone?
Maybe. But not right now.
Instead, he watched, horrified, worried, transfixed. Had to watch in case she did something else strange. Someone needed to see what she'd do next.
*Or you could go talk to her, you know? Ask her if she's okay. How about that?*
He frowned but brewed up some more coffee, one eye always flicking back over to the smiling lady.
&#x200B;
"Hello, Norma," he said. "Are you well this lovely Tuesday? May I pour your a little more coffee?"
She looked up at him and said, "Fred, this is the handsome young man I was telling you about. Unlike the previous lady, he actually refills without any nagging needed. Such a handsome young man."
"Uh... Mark, not Fred."
She ignored this. "We'll both have another cup, thank you dear. And a slice of chocolate cake to share. Then Fred really has to get going."
His eyebrows were furrowed. Fred? That must be the ex. Did she think he was here? Oh, he'd heard of things like this. Brain gets all muddled and you think things that used to be. Did she think Fred was sitting opposite, like how he'd used to? If so... Okay then... how could he do this sensitively -- tell her what she needed to hear?
"We're out of gateau, I'm afraid. And... I can't really give Fred a top-up on his coffee because his mug will overflow and--"
The pot of coffee leapt out of his hand and fell to the floor. Cracked. Leaked. Steamed up like a ghost. "What... the... fudge?"
He'd been watching Norma the entire time. Hadn't he?
She hadn't leaned over the table once.
And yet the second cup of coffee was all but empty. Just dregs at the bottom. Next to it, the photo of a smiling young couple in faded sepia. And he recognized the woman.
"That's... your husband? In the photo I mean."
She looked at the mess on the floor. "That was a little clumsy of you, wasn't it dear?"
"Huh? Oh, the coffee. Yes, I'll clean that up right away." Shaking, he walked away to grab the broom and mop.
By the time he came back and cleared up the mess, Norma said to him, "Don't worry about the cake. We'll have it next week. We're both out of time -- it's only an hour a week, you know."
"An hour a week?"
"That's all he'd trade me." She grinned and beckoned him nearer with a finger. "But come here, listen close."
He moved in, cautiously, conspiratorially.
"When he opens that old shoe-box to look at my soul, he'll find only dust inside it. Because my soul's not in there. It's always sat the other side of the table. Never belonged to me to give away in the first place, so he could never have it."
Mark opened his mouth but nothing came out. It was as empty as that shoe-box, he supposed. Then something else happened. A gust of wind? Or a static shock. Something that made him shiver and his arm-hairs raise.
Norma's lips fell back into mourning, her bright eyes dulled.
Fred was gone. Mark knew that. Somehow. And he knew that Norma's soul was gone too.
At least, until next Tuesday.
He filled her coffee back up and returned to behind the counter, still shivering.
But after a short while, the bad feeling drained away and a sort of happiness replaced it.
Mark didn't understand what had just happened. Maybe... maybe she'd swapped mugs when he hadn't been looking and had drunk both? (Had there been a time he hadn't been watching?) Maybe she had some sort of memory problem after all, and maybe it'd happen every Tuesday like clockwork from now on.
And maybe none of that mattered.
Maybe all that mattered was making sure that next week they had chocolate gateau in stock.
&#x200B;
\---
&#x200B;
more on /r/nickofstatic | 2020-03-05T05:28:30 | 2020-03-05T04:28:52 | 447 | 286 |
[WP] When you entered cryogenic sleep, you expected to wake up in a futuristic world. Instead, you wake up in a dusty cave, a man wearing dark robes staring at you in horror. | “I thought I wouldn’t make it” The man said.
I was still groggy, my brain pounding repeatedly at my heartbeat’s rhythm. “Huh”
“Good morning, child. Welcome. I am Oda”
“Oda? Erm. I’m Randy,” I try to stretch out my arms but my muscles don’t respond.
“Don’t try to move child. You won’t be able to do anything for the first few weeks. I’m dying, so I’ll be quick about this. We are what is left of a great culture named humanity. There are thousands of pods like yours. A new Oda awakens when the last is near death. There are only sufficient resources for one of us at a time. Should anything change, the big red button wakes everyone at once.” Oda breathed in deep. He smiled, content with his performance. “Farewell, one.”
The entire cave lit up in a multivariate palette of metallic colors as a robotic voice could be heard. “Farewell ODA#378991 on death awaken #378992 complete. Hello ODA#378992, I am One, please take your time we have 60 to 80 years and very few tasks to complete.”
The old man made an odd gesture with his hands and walked away. “Time to find a good place to die. Good luck child.” | This was certainly not what I had in mind when I had frozen myself in time for 80 years.
It was a dark cave. Strange, seeing how the place I had been frozen in wasnt a cave.
The cryo container had some sort of automatic releasing mechanism. Probably a timer of some sort.
This had to be a nightmare.
Suddenly, I saw a light at the other end of the cave. I moved toward it.
“Hello?” I asked in the darkness. I immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say.
The light revealed a man wearing dark robes. His eyes were wide. “*Artzên!* Witch!” The man cried out.
“No, Im not a witch.”
“Crańdka! Kill them!”
“No!” I exclaimed, I panicked. “I dont think you need to do that.” I desperately look for a way out, but I cant find one.
Then the man smiled. “Im only joking.” He said calmer and in much better English.
“What?”
“Its a script I made for myself. Ive had years of practice.”
“Huh?”
The man smiled. “Im the last person on Earth. I knew they made these cryo thingamajigs that made the person wake up at a specific time. So, I waited and waited for one of them to open.”
I shuddered. The man had taken it as you being too cold, even though it was actually about the last man on earth comment. He offers you one of his robes, and you accept.
“So what happened?”
“Climate change.”
“No way climate change killed every one except one person. I dont think humans would be wiped out by climate change.” I still believed in climate change, but come on. No.
“Earths demise was from the people called The Earths Justice. They engineered a virus that would wipe out humanity before earth would be in an irreversible state.”
“Kinda like 2020?”
“What?”
This man seriously hasnt heard of 2020? “Covid-19?” I elaborated.
The man clearly doesnt know what im talking about. “In any case, only those who went into these cave structures managed to survive. But not for long. Most of the ones that did survive died from a lack of medical supplies ironically.”
“Speaking of which...” I noted, pointing to his arm. it seems to have some sort of infection on it.
“Dont worry. Thats just a birthmark.” The man said smiling, but it seemed like a fake smile.
“Ill explain more questions later. In the meantime, we’ve got another patient coming in in about 64 days. Better get started on preparing stuff!”
“Hold on. What do I do until then? Did you say patient?” I protest.
“Prepare for the new person.” The man said in an “isnt it obvious” tone.
“No, but like, is there anything interesting?”
“What else do you need?” The man asked thoughtfully.
Nothing to ever do. And Im stuck with talking to a crazy person for the rest of my life.
Sounds like the end of the world, all right. | 2020-11-05T05:28:05 | 2020-11-04T23:23:15 | 136 | 73 |
[WP] A vampire takes pity on a stranded time-traveller, granting them the gift of immortality so that they may yet live to see their family and friends once again in the distant future. | The long-haired man fell to his hands and knees at the foot of the altar.
“My…family,” he cried, “my friends. They’re all…gone.”
“No, not gone.”
The long-haired man spun around, surprised by the sudden voice. “W-w-who said that?”
“I did.”
A shadowy figure stood at the back of the church, hovering right at the edge of darkness.
“Explain yourself. What do you mean they aren’t gone?”
The figure glided along the outside of the room toward the altar, never venturing completely into the light. “They are not gone. Quite the opposite, in fact. They are yet to be.”
“B-but they won’t be alive for 5000 years. To them, I’ll be nothing but a memory.”
“Yes, one of the unfortunate side effects of time travel. I’ve seen it happen many times before”
The long-haired man hung his head low.
The figure checked its nails. “Although, there is a way to see your family again.”
The long-haired man looked up. “See them again? How? Explain yourself!”
“I should warn you; it comes at a terrible cost.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll pay it. Just tell me how I can see my family again.”
“You become like me.” The figure stepped into the light and opened its mouth, revealing two long fangs and eyes darker than coal.
The long-haired man staggered back, collided with a table, then picked up a crucifix.
The figure laughed. “If you don’t give it a rest with the hostilities, you can forget me helping you see your family again.”
“What could you possibly have to offer?”
“I can make you like me.”
“A demon?”
“A vampire. Immortal. I’ve lived for thousands of years and I’ll live for thousands more. Think of it: You could assume a new identity and live amongst the humans up until the point you send yourself back in time. Then you simply pick up where you left off. Albeit, with a few changes…”
They circled around a credence table. Each time the vampire leaned forward; the long-haired man thrust the crucifix toward him.
“How do you know so much about time travelers, demon?”
“As it so happens you’re not the first traveler I’ve come across. I’ve had such a long and interesting life. And I do take pity on you poor, unfortunate souls.”
The figure tapped its fingers together. “Become like me. Become a vampire, obtain eternal life, and you will one day see your family again. This I promise you.”
After a long pause, the long-haired man spoke. “What’s the catch?”
“I may have need of your...services throughout the year. But nothing that will prevent you from meeting your family again. This I promise you.”
After a long pause, the long-haired man spoke. “Why should I trust you?”
“Because if you don’t, you’ll never see your family again.”
Reluctantly, the long-haired man lowered the crucifix. “Very well. Do it.”
“Wonderful. Simply tilt your head to the side and expose your neck. There will be a moment of pain, then it will be done.”
With a flick of his head, the long-haired man tossed his glorious mane aside.
The figure hunched over his shoulder. “Oh, and I almost forgot. You’ll need a name.”
“I have a name. Hariflorb DX03.”
The figure rolled its eyes. “Hariflorb DX03 is NOT a common name in the 1890s. You’ll need a NEW name. A name that will let you blend in, and live amongst the humans, unnoticed."
The long-haired man thought for a moment. “In that case, you can call me Keanu.
“Keanu?”
“Yes. Keanu Reeves.”
The figure scratched its chin. "Yes. I like it. Truly a name befitting an immortal."
He clasped Keanu's head in his hands, then bit into his neck. Behind the stained glassed window behind the altar, thunder boomed.
\---
Thanks for reading! If anyone has any criticisms, feedback or tips on things I could improve, please let me know!
Hope you enjoy! Subscribe to [https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/](https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/) for more | I politely turned down another glass of wine with a small nod of my head. It was getting harder to hide my furrowed brow through my tight smile. The servant man in a powdered wig moved on, emotionless. My eyes followed him but were soon caught by my good friend Agnes.
Her own eyebrows lifted slightly with disapproval. She timidly jerked her head in the direction of the room she has already pulled me to once before this very evening. I sighed and followed her, catching again for the third time tonight the eye of the man whom has been watching me.
“Charlotte, does your stomach still hurt?” Agnes asked. Her eyes suspicious. I couldn’t hold them longer than a second or two. My cheeks flushed with emotion. How am I supposed to lie to my best friend? The only soul in this time period that I have been able to be completely honest with about my time traveling adventures? She knew I was lying about the stomachache anyway. After all, it was a poor excuse I gave her after I rudely dismissed a dance from a Mr. Brigs just a half hour ago.
She kept up her stare until I finally managed, “he keeps staring at me, Agnes.”
“Who keep staring at you?” Agnes looked worried but I could see her chest puff out as if she were angry.
“Mr. Brigs”, I look away. I knew what he wanted. It scared me.
“Charlotte,” her eyes softened, “I know it can be scary to be around a man but until you can get back to, uh, your era, you must keep up your facade. You’re 23 years old and unmarried.” She paused. “It comes off suspicious.”
I knew she was right. I had to do my part in pretending to fit in, not just for my sake but for Agnes sake too. Her husband has tolerated my stay in his estate this long, but I could sense the tension it had put in their marriage. He wanted me to marry and move on.
I finally met her eyes square on. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll behave.”
We rejoined the ball once more. I glanced around for a small familiar group I could join for conversation. I’ve gotten pretty good at blending in without saying too much. After four years I’ve learned the basics of politics, literature, art, and fashion. Still I found myself insecure with fear of letting something slip in conversation that has not happened yet. Always a problem with time travelers, we sometimes let things slip. We can be accredited to a handful of aspired inventions “before their time”.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mr. Brigs walking toward me. *Fuck* I thought and tried to really engage my attention to what Anne was talking about. Poetry. Again. This was painful.
The tap on my shoulder did not surprise me. After all, he had already requested a dance from me once tonight. I gathered my face and turned to him with a smile.
“Mr. Brigs, are you enjoying the ball?” I asked with an even voice.
“Quite. However, I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t been dampened with your rejection.” He spoke loudly, as if to gain the attention of the surrounding party. Unlucky for me, he had caught Anne’s attention and she had stopped talking. Six pairs of eyes turned to us. *burst into flames* I screamed mentally.
“Do forgive me, I was feeling a bit weak earlier. I’m well now. Would you like to renew your proposal?” I could spit venom I’m so mad. *Bloody vampire*.
With a cheeky smile, he takes my hand and leads me to the center of the massive room. We bow to each other and wait for the music to start. The string Quartet explodes with a new song and so we begin.
Personally I hate dancing. I was born in 1998. We’re not exactly a bunch of spring chickens. That’s not to say I don’t know how to dance. After obtaining the ability to time travel I have spent a lot of time in a lot of places in a lot of time periods learning to dance in various styles. Not so much by choice, its normal to dance at social gatherings anytime before I was born. A twinge of pain gripped my heart. I missed home and there was no way to get back there after my device was destroyed. The bed and breakfast I was staying at during my original visit four years ago caught fire and destroyed all of my belongings...
“Why do you look so sad, time traveler?” Mr. Brigs whispered in my ear during a twirl.
I was not surprised that he knew I was a time traveler. A perk of immortality is knowledge of even the best kept secrets. My lips frowned slightly.
“What’s keeping you here?” He said, openly this time. He looked amused.
The song finally ended and we both clapped. I bowed and took my leave. He caught my arm, firm but with a delicate placing of his fingers. “Walk with me.”
I looked around the room hoping to find an excuse to escape. Agnes had been watching us. I could tell by her big smile and her dainty hand shooing me to go with him. His hand was still on my arm. I stated at it now. He finally dropped it. He kept his eyes on me while he turned to the balcony. I followed him out. Knowing what he wanted. Knowing that I would give it to him in exchange to see my family again.
I would become his companion vampire.
_________________________________________
This was fun to write! I had to do a dump of info at the end because I could have gone on and on. I do apologize for the hasty end! Thanks for the prompt, I really enjoyed it.
EDIT: Feel free to critique. I haven’t written a short story in 8 years. I’m sure there’s loads of things I need to work on. | 2020-12-21T10:52:21 | 2020-12-21T09:09:50 | 39 | 26 |
[WP] To stave off mass starvation, humans have managed to capture and cage a phoenix. They kill it and eat it. A few days later, it would be reborn, only to be butchered again. | I feel the heat when I'm born anew
Licks of flame 'round iron bars
A cage where humans murder me again
And cook me into a delectable stew.
Five thousand times have they rendered my meat
Sometimes it's quick and other times slow
When they slaughter me it's always the same
But ne'er is it pretty or quiet or neat.
I've a plan this time that they do not know
As I've learned to channel my energy
They think the pile of ash they leave
Will be where I'm born like water from snow.
Not this time however O dasterdly Man
I shall not return through the ash
Instead my essence will divide and grow
'Mongst the places where my pieces swam.
Alas, humanity, one last night of chewing jowls
Enjoy it before your doom
For I shall return and rupture your bowels
And flock to the sky like fiery owls,
Free under sun and under moon. | The small phoenix flapped its wings, soaking in the moonlight that luminated their forest swamp. She chirped and laughed with her family as they flew around the water. It was in this haven where she spent each moment with bliss, her one true home. The first few hours of dusk were like every other, once the sun went down, her parents would relax on the smooth rocks while her siblings would scavenge for trinkets and jewels to bring home.
“Feliz, you can go with them too.”
The phoenix leapt from the rocks unable to contain her excitement, finally she was able to go.
“be careful and stay within the fores- “
But the small phoenix had already flown away, too eager to listen. Feliz trailed behind her siblings, their brisk speed easily outmatching hers. Suddenly, a bright blue jewel caught her eye, Feliz stopped and flew to a tree to get a closer look. The jewel was on the outskirts of the forest, where she was no longer protected by trees. But its vibrant colors mesmerized her and Feliz found herself flying towards the jewel anyways. Before she could pick up the crystal a large hand shot into view.
“look, it’s a phoenix we finally found one!”
Feliz, tensed up, in front of her was a large fleshy monster, ugly and terrifying. Adrenaline and panic kicked in, she zoomed past the pink flesh, desperate to make it home. Before she could reach her swamp, she was captured and caged into a small prison. The large fleshy monster stabbed a clear needle into her wing, and everything went pitch black.
When Feliz woke up she found herself in white room with blinding lights. Next to her Feliz recognized her sister Phoebe, they touched their wings as if to comfort to comfort each other. It will all be okay. She thought, they were immortal after all, there will be a way to escape. In the white room entered multiple monsters carrying large metal instruments, they opened her sister’s cage and took Phoebe out. The blobs of flesh then began to open their mouths to communicate
“this is going to be revolutionary, once we gather their DNA, we can create the clones, we can save millions of lives!”
The flesh monsters chattered in excitement and begun poking and scanning Feliz’s sister. Before Feliz knew, one of the flesh blobs pulled out a knife and plunged it into the phoenix’s sister.
White blood gushed out, Feliz stood, paralyzed in shock. She cried and screamed, releasing all her pain, but it still changed nothing. | 2021-01-30T22:13:52 | 2021-01-30T21:20:56 | 119 | 86 |
[WP] "You must be some kind of tiny giant." Said the dragon. "Humans and unicorns are just hatch-ling tales. The man and the unicorn look at one another, then back at the dragon. | “Are you an idi-*cough*” the man subtly jabbed an elbow into the unicorn’s side.
He knew that unicorns had a hard-on for the truth, but as far as *tact* went, this one had absolutely none. Lyell Ryker groaned inwardly. You’re really testing the shit out of me, goddess, he thought to himself.
Uh, yeah you got me,” Lyell said nervously. Despite what this dragon seemed to think, he wasn’t born yesterday and he knew better than to argue with someone whose teeth were the size of his forearm.
“I am a young giant and my companion here...is a rhino,” Lyell finished, ignoring the offended look the unicorn shot him.
“I have heard of rhinos...I thought they were large, grey and gangly beasts,” the dragon said, his eyes carefully observing them.
Aeternathus was no ordinary unicorn. Selected by the goddess Caelista herself, he had been blessed with eyes that could see the truth. This quest should have been left to him alone, but for some unfathomable reason, the goddess had also chosen a liar to accompany him. It was ridiculous, absurd and outrageous...but it was the goddess’ choice. And he had to believe in that.
But this...there was no way this dragon was going to believe that Aeternathus, the most noble and truthful of all unicorns was...
“But I see this one does possess a horn so it must be true.”
Aeternathus’ jaw dropped in shock.
“Where are your parents?” The dragon huffed, steam billowing from its flared nostrils.
“Dead,” Lyell replied bluntly.
“I thought you said they were in ‘Canada’?” Aeternathus muttered sourly.
“That’s the giant word for the afterworld,” Lyell said quickly. “May their souls rest in Canada, it’s a thing we giants say.”
“So are the both of you orphans...?” Was it just him, Lyell thought, or did the dragon’s eyes seem to be watering?
“Yep,” Lyell answered.
“What are your names?” The dragon asked.
“Uh, you can call me...” Lyell started.
“Bonesmasher the Third,” Aeternathus interrupted, “but for short you can call him ‘Boner’.”
“No wait! He’s lying!” Lyell protested.
“Don’t you know? Rhinos. Never. Lie.” The unicorn said through gritted teeth.
“And your name, Rhino?” The dragon asked.
“My name is Aeternathus,” the unicorn said smoothly.
“For short you can call him ‘Anus’,” Lyell chimed in, his eyes gleaming with vengeance.
“I am Dekarion,” the dragon said grandly, “And you may call me ‘Dek’.”
*Goddess, Lyell thought, our quest has just gotten a whole lot stupider.* | "What do you mean?" asked the man, his face screwed up in an indignant scowl. "I'm not a tiny giant, I'm a human being!"
"Oh, so now you're a human *and* a bean? Which is it, small one?" mocked the dragon.
*"Being!"* he snapped. "I'm a human *being,* you overgrown salamander."
"Carefully now," bellowed the dragon. "Those are awfully impudent words coming from a giant of your stature."
Seething with rage, the man sputtered "For the last gods-damned time, I'm not a blasted giant, I'm-" He cut himself off, stammering as his expression turned quizzical. "Wait, why do you call them that?"
"I'm sorry?" asked the dragon, raising one scaly eyebrow. "Call what?"
"Giants. If you've never seen a human before, why do you call them that?"
"Why, because they are giant, of course." scoffed the dragon.
"Giant relative to *what?"*
"I'm failing to grasp your meaning." said the dragon.
"Listen," said the man, rubbing his temples as if in pain. "Gauging the size of an object or living thing in terms of small or large is all relative. From my perspective, I'm of average size, but from your perspective I'm quite small. 'Giant' is a relative term meaning that they're considered large when compared to something else, and you claim you've never seen a regular sized human before."
"So *what?"* snapped the dragon, growing impatient, his hot breath causing trees to sway and creak and groan.
"So what are you comparing the giants to by referring to them as such?" the man yelled, straining to be heard over the sudden noise. "You can't be comparing them to dragons such as yourself because you're all even bigger than they are, and since humans apparently don't exist according to you then you must be comparing them to something else, so what is it?"
*"Everything else!"* growled the dragon, his cavernous nostrils beginning to glow orange with the heat, evidence of his growing frustration.
"Everything else?" echoed the man, sounding exasperated. "That's absurd! You mean to tell me that giants are so called because they are large in comparison to every other object in existence? What of the great redwood trees of the western continent? They aren't any taller than those. What of the mountains? What of the sea?"
"Just the living things, then."
"Even still," the man continued. "Are they not smaller than the great whales and krakens of the deep? Do the mammoths of the North and the cyclopses of the Southern Islands not rival them in size?"
*"WHAT IS YOUR GODS-DAMNED POINT?"* The dragon roared, his rage reaching it's boiling point.
"My point," shouted the man. "Is that the only sensible place the term 'giant' could've possibly come from is humanity, which means humans must be real and I'm telling the truth!"
"ARGGGHHH!" the dragon snarled through gritted teeth, fuming both figuratively and literally. "I SWEAR YOU ARE THE MOST INFURIATING LITTLE HUMAN!"
"AHA! Gotcha!" the man exclaimed, smiling victoriously. "And another thing, you might explain me by claiming I'm just a 'tiny giant,' but how do you explain my unicorn steed? Back me up here, Patsy."
The unicorn silently turned to look his expectant master in the face, then turned to face the raging dragon and then back again. Looking exasperated and finally tiring of this pointless argument, it spoke.
"Arthur, can't we just kill this fire-breathing asshole already so that I can go home and get some fucking sugar cubes?"
"Oh alright." Arthur relented. "Hit him, Patsy."
Angling his head towards the menacing dragon, a bright beam of rainbow colored light shot forth from Patsy's majestic horn, spearing the great reptile through the head. The light dissipated and the dragon fell to the ground, causing the very earth to shudder with it's impact, with a smoldering hole bored through it's skull centered right between it's yellow eyes.
"But let's stop by Sir Galahad's place on the way back, we haven't seen him in awhile." | 2021-05-07T00:55:23 | 2021-05-06T12:11:42 | 97 | 22 |
[WP] An agoraphobic princess is sick and tired of knights breaking into her tower and trying to slay her emotional support dragon. | "My princess, I have spotted one on a toboggan."
Ugh. Winter used to be a time of peace and quiet. The season for rescue missions has been broadened, apparently, and no one thought to send me a pigeon about it.
"Just ... Just roast him."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. If he's this determined it's best to just get it over with."
It wasn't a perfect solution. Fredrick's fire would melt the snow and that would attract more knights to the castle. But perhaps a torched patch of grass with a skeleton in melted armor in the middle of it would make them think twice.
Fredrick flew over. "I see you have come here," he said, looking back to make sure I was listening, "to *sleigh* me." Then there was fire and screaming and all that.
When Fredrick came back he looked at me with anticipation. "Did you hear?" he said. "I made a little joke. It's not much but I thought it was funny." Twiddling his claws, he stared at the rock floor and awaited my response.
"Are you kidding me?" I said.
"W-What?" he said.
"It was excellent. I loved it."
Fredrick beamed with pride. "Thank you! As soon as I saw the toboggan I thought 'hmm, here's a funny situation. I bet there's some potential for wordplay here'. And you know, it just came to me. Sleigh. It sounds like 'slay'. And that's what these, these knights, are trying to do. To slay the dragon. So I just flew up, and I was thinking like 'maybe I should just forget about it, it's sort of stupid' so I almost didn't but then I just went for it."
"I'm glad you did."
Fredrick let out a happy puff of smoke. He was a pretty nice emotional support dragon. | One. Two. Three.
She closed her eyes, imagining the dragon's scales. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out.
The familiar voice spoke in her head. Remember. The world is not a bad or a scary place. You can face it. Just remember to breathe. Long breaths in. Long breaths out.
She opened her eyes and covered her face again. She could breathe again. She crouched down and continued.
The blood still haunted her nightmares. She had cleaned it thoroughly but she could still see it. Her only friend. Her mentor. Her teacher. Her healer. She had scrubbed the floor and cried for 20 days.
But no more.
She reached the door. It was patterned like a dragon. Her apprehension was replaced by wrath. This bastard dares to...
But still she ran her hands over her scale, her mind instinctively counting.
One. Two. Three.
The feel was all wrong. It was cold. He had been warm. And comforting.
He had practically raised her. When her own parents had given up on her, she had run away from home. That was the last time she had been able to step outside. The rejection had triggered something inside of her. Something that had taken over her life. Till he, Guam'S, in all his wisdom had decided to help her.
But this king... All that knowledge, all that wisdom. And for what? To prove his bravery?
Well, it was her time to prove her bravery.
She had always been a willing learner. When the dragon had told her she should learn to fight, and learn the ways of the war, she had laughed. She never saw herself leaving the tower. Who would she fight?
Had he known this would happen? If he did, why didn't he just turn her out? Why hadn't he just gotten rid of her and saved himself. No. Guam'S would never do that. Cause he cared. For all creatures, big and small. Strong and weak.
She continued on, hiding in the shadows. Shadows were her friend. She was fond of shadows.
She opened the door and crept inside.
She heard the commotion inside.
A woman stood there, tears in her eyes. The woman looked at her, then to her sword. "Save him. Save our prince."
She ignored the woman and continued on. Vengeance was her priority.
The little kid was on the ground as the king stood over him, menacingly. "You useless piece of garbage."
She could've stabbed him from the back and he wouldn't have known any better. But Guam'S had taught her better.
"Face me."
The king turned around. When he saw her, a half smile formed on his face. "You?"
"Face me. Pick up your weapon."
"Fine. I guess I'll take two lives today." The king unsheathed his sword.
His overconfidence was his downfall.
Soon enough, she had her sword to his heart.
He begged for his life. "I wanted to save you! Please."
She looked around and took a deep breath. "You did."
And she plunged the sword deep into his heart. The blood flowed freely. This time, she relished the sight.
She turned to leave when the boy ran to her and held her hand. "Kill me too. I'm useless."
"You're not. No one is. Come with me."
She started her journey back to the tower with the boy, imagining Guam'S smiling down on her. She was sure the blood would be gone by the time she got back. | 2021-08-18T11:50:47 | 2021-08-18T11:28:22 | 161 | 106 |
[WP] You somewhat jokingly make an offering to an ancient and obscure goddess. You didn't expect her to show up in your room in a manic frenzy, trying desperately to reward and please her first worshipper in centuries | She existed as a single sentence in an article full of waning gods and goddesses. She was the goddess of lonely souls, Chloe. There wasn't a better choice, I thought, as I went to the kitchen and poured the rest of my beer down the sink. I knew if I drank anymore I'd be too sick to work in the morning. And I knew if I didn't pour it out, in my glistening moment of drunken clarity, that I'd drink it later.
"Cheers, Chloe," I said, watching the amber liquid disappear in the drain. "Maybe this'll help you with your loneliness. God knows it helps me."
I threw the beer can in the recycling bin, but it just bounced off the mountain of cans that was already there. I told myself I'd clean it up in the morning, as I walked like a zombie to my bed. I closed my eyes and the world spun around me.
The alarm blared. I winced. There wasn't anything I wanted more than to stay in bed and sleep, but bills existed. I pressed my palms against my temple. How much longer could I endure?
After looking over emails that had come overnight from people who actually enjoyed working, I took a shower. The hot water helped my headache some. While in the kitchen, heading back to my office (bedroom), I saw the recycling that had been overflowing last night was empty. I shrugged and thought maybe I had woken up in the middle of the night to clean. It wouldn't have been the first time I blacked out on a weeknight.
Back in my office, though, I saw it wasn't me at all who had cleaned the mess.
Sitting on my bed was a girl who looked a lot like myself. She had dark bags under her eyes, and her hair was messy. Her clothes were wrinkly. She scratched at her head and yawned. I already knew who she was.
"Good morning, Chloe. If you're gonna be staying here, you'd better pay rent." I sat down at my chair and pecked away at some code.
"Hey," she said. Her voice was deep and sultry, but it didn't incite passion in me. There was something about it that was peculiar; I couldn't figure out what.
The more she talked, the closer I got to deciphering her tone. "Looks like you're the first to worship me in a millennia," she said. "Thank you, I guess."
I figured her voice out. Yes, she was just like me. Deathly tired of living, beaten down by the daily drudgery of life.
"What now?" I asked. I took my eyes away from my laptop and looked at her. It was like looking into a mirror. She desperately needed a hug, and some rest.
"I'm not sure," she said. "It's been a long time since I was summoned. To be honest, I wish you hadn't."
"Sorry," I said, understanding completely. "If I had known, I wouldn't have. I know what it's like to do things you don't want to." I pointed to my laptop. Its screen's harsh light hurt my eyes. Forty more years of this, I told myself. Then, maybe, if I had made enough money, and the market didn't crash, I could rest. That was the dream that was supposed to keep me going, but it wasn't doing a good job. Who the fuck can live for something that's two lifetimes away?
"It's okay," she said. "It's not your fault. You didn't know any better. You're just a kid."
"Just a kid?" I asked, offended. "Could 'just a kid' afford a nice apartment like this? Could 'just a kid' hold down a job that paid six figures? Could 'just a kid' come up with an algorithm that saved his company millions of dollars? I'm an adult. Besides, you don't look much older than me yourself."
The edge of her lips curled into the tease of a smile. "I'm a goddess, you know," she said, slowly getting up from the bed. "I'm much older than I look."
Even the way she moved seemed tired. "You don't seem to be enjoying yourself," she said. She moved towards me. "Life is meant to be a gift."
I sighed. "It's just work," I said. "Everybody has to do it. Humanity wouldn't be able to go on otherwise."
"Is that what you think?" she said, as she grabbed my hand and brought me to my feet.
Staring at her face, my face, I wanted to cry. How did this happen? When had it all gone wrong?
Then, as she wrapped her arms around me and brought me into an embrace, my heart threatened to burst. She was warm, so fucking warm. I had never felt somebody so kind before. Somebody so loving. I didn't even know it was possible.
I couldn't fight anymore. Like a child seeing his pet goldfish die, I cried. I cried, because she was right. I cried, because the thing I was hugging smelled just like beer. I cried, thinking about how this would last for another forty years. I cried, because I struggled to remember the times I had been happy. I cried, because if I didn't, I might have done something worse, something irreversible.
"See?" she said, holding me tighter. "Just a kid still."
And then, she disappeared, and all that was waiting for me was an incoming call on my screen to talk about something nobody cared about. | Where the dead rise and do nothing - Part 1 (out of 6)
There was something odd about that woman. Skin like stainless bronze, blonde hair shaved on the sides with a ponytail on top and inquisitive bright green eyes. She spoke with a Spanish accent, wore cargo pants, a parka, carried a rucksack and a hunting rifle with a lot of engravings - Virgo guessed Nordic runes - probably more than just decoration. Put everything together and there was definitely something off. She was Alexandria, and not Alexandra like he thought at first. Virgo would have liked to stand up, point an accusing finger at her and announce with confidence, “there is something wrong about you, confess!”
But the drive was lacking. Alexandria would have raised many suspicious eyes had she come to Shenvalie a few days earlier. Her demeanor, the way she looked and spoke was a rarity for the small village in the Scottish Highlands. But due to recent events, her originality rating was somewhere between “meh” and 0.
They sat around Virgo's table, drinking black tea and pondering life, the past, the future, today, and the perfect amount of sugar he had put in the drinks. The poor woman was suffering from quite the headache.
"I can assure you, Virgo, you're the one who called me here."
"I did no such thing."
Alexandria stretched and scratched the back of her head.
“Can you... please just start again from the very beginning,” she said.
“Sure.”
Virgo was the local catholic pastor. Raised and schooled in the Highlands, he got assigned to the small and remote village at the start of his spiritual career. It should have been a stepping stone for the ambitious young man, but an administrative mess and a love for the calm life led him to stay here his whole life. He was in his mid-50's now with a routine set in stone.
He woke up with the first rays of the sun and did his yoga, stretching his neck, his back and his legs in a 15 minutes session. Then, sitting on the mat, he meditated, concentrating on his breath, folding the thoughts coming his way and dropping them in a mental bin, one after the other. Calm, awake, ready, he brushed his teeth , and if he had the time, he read a few short stories on the internet, delighting in the fantasy young and old people could conjure. Then he went outside.
His home stood alone at the end of a path. Right outside his door, you could believe he lived alone. Shenvalie was built on the side of a hill, a few houses spread over a wide area meant most of the village stood hidden when you reached one end of it. Virgo walked a minute and arrived at the fork of Cooper street. On the left you could go up the hill to the parish church nested at the top. On the right, the valley stretched out below, a river marked the limit of the village. Virgo turned right, greeting a neighbor on the way to the Idle cafe, arguably the most important social gathering place right after the parish. There, he met with Francis, a retired general practitioner and dear friend.
Temperature, faith and politics were discussed around a hot tea while they enjoyed the cool weather and the rocky mounds in the distance.
Once done, he went down to the river and back up Masserston street. It joined with Cooper street at the top and the bottom of the hill, forming a big O encompassing several small houses made of stone, quite the picturesque sight. There were no other streets in Shenvalie. The village tour done, he went to the parish.
The Habsfield church wasn't imposing, but it felt like home. The first thing you saw was the stone tower, attached to it was the sanctuary, with a discreet entrance at the side. Grey walls and brown roof tile, it would look sad if it wasn't for the flowering trees and the pristine lawn around it. Paradoxically, the graveyard next to it made it all the more joyful. Virgo maintained it with maniacal precision and love every morning, getting rid of the bad weed, replacing fading flowers with fresh colorful ones and cleaning gravestones from bird poop and other dirt.
From up here, you had a delightful overview of the nature around. You could see the lake in the south where the river emptied and the sheep pasture next to it, little white spots indicated peaceful woolly animals strolling around. A single sinuous road passed through the rocky mounds to disappear far away. There were no trees for kilometers, only the thick greenery the Highlands were known for.
After a light meal, Virgo taught the kids about religion and Christianity in the form of stories and games to keep it interesting. Once class was over he was on social duty. Be it in the parish, soothing minds in a friendly manner, giving absolution in the confessional, or in the village, visiting the elders and praying together. When evening came he gathered ideas for the Sunday sermon, and that was his life here.
Until two days ago, when phone lines and internet broke down. Nothing to worry about in a town with mostly old people barely using said conveniences.
Then came the morning, Virgo was tending the graveyard when he heard a rumbling behind him. Skepticism made him ignore it until he saw the first of many rise from the earth. He could not say if it was a he or a she, the corpse was so old the skin was black-brownish, any distinguishable feature had rotted away. The face had no teeth or eyes, just a hole eaten by happy insects. He asked God for help, he closed his eyes to wake up, he laughed nervously at a prank well done. Out of options, he grabbed the shovel and hit the monster, a wild swing that connected to the shoulder. The arm fell off, he heard “uh” and the zombie just stood there. Others came up from beneath the earth, generations that hadn't fully disintegrated surrounded poor Virgo. He held his shovel close and slowly backed away to the parish, going fast would only attract attention, or so he thought.
A bad move, he was surrounded before he got there and the keys to his house were inside. But he was ready, he had his faith God, the devil himself could not make it falter, if he died he would join the maker with pride. Yet, the shadow of doubt came over, God kept the departed dead for good up until today, why? For a moment, he wondered aloud, and asked if there were other deities at play.
"What did you say exactly?" asked Alexandria.
"I don't remember, it was an eventful day."
"I gathered. Keep going."
He didn't die. In fact, he was closely surrounded but none of the dead seemed to have an issue with his presence. He went forward with courage, ready for a fight, but soon reverted back to his usual polite self.
“Out of my way, spawn of the devil!”
“You shall falter before a holy man's will.”
“Excuse me, I'd like to go to the parish.”
“Please, I'm in a hurry.”
“Lady Chatter! You haven't stayed a week in your tomb.” | 2022-02-15T11:10:28 | 2022-02-15T10:26:41 | 505 | 323 |
[WP] Your daughter is one of the most legendary sword fighters of all time, but you could never hold a sword to save your life. Despite this, she always cited you as her inspiration. Today you find out why. |
I watched Chloe as she walked on stage, surrounded by other sword fighters who raised their weapons in salute, her light armor was shining, her hair was tied up in a braid befitting the greatest sword fighter alive. She looked so beautiful she reminded me of her mother Michelle so much. The crowd stood up applauding my daughter as she accepted her title and raised her new prize blade above her head in triumph. She had defeated twenty other fighters from other academies all over the world, her skill with a sword seemed otherworldly, crowds had watched her defeat champions twice her age as she danced around them parrying their strikes as if a child swatted away a fly. They couldn’t touch her. She moved as if she could see their next three moves before they even thought them. She was a prodigy barely twenty years old and the greatest sword fighter alive, she must have gotten it from her mothers side of the family. Michelle had always been quick on her feet.
I kept sweeping and cleaning in the back of the hall, it was the only way I could have been allowed to enter the hall of fighters, I have always been useless with a blade. I never could stand the sight of blood, especially my own, so I never learned to use a sword. Chloe’s mother Michelle was always stronger than me, she passed away when Chloe was born, I had to raise her on my own. When she started playing with a toy sword at age four I thought it was funny, at age eight she started carrying a stick to pretend fight the older kids, she would run home at night bleeding or with a black eye and I would patch her up, I would be crying more than she was, she would sit there telling me about her combat and how she could have done better, I would sit there amazed at how strong she was.
When she was twelve I was working three jobs so I could purchase her first real sword. A simple blade, I couldn’t afford much more. I didn’t like her fighting but she was determined to join the academy and become a real sword fighter. I was so proud when she got accepted to the academy on a scholarship, I could not have afforded to send her. I was working mornings at the docks unloading fish, would rush home to make her lunch, then I would go work at the forge helping the blacksmith, he gave me a discount on the blade for Chloe, go home for two hours to hear about her day as we ate dinner then I would go to the apothecary to help clean and organize. I missed most of her childhood because I was always working, I missed watching her grow up, but watching her walk on stage today to accept her prize, that makes it all worth it.
I was never there for her growing up but I hope I have done an ok job as a father, she can take care of herself now and no one can hurt her.
“Michelle I hope you can see our daughter now, she looks so much like you” I say to myself as I put down a tray full of dishes that are going to the kitchen, Chloe’s about to give her big speech.
Chloe stood at the podium, her new blade in one hand, her opponents sitting behind her, a crowd enraptured by her beauty in front, and she began her acceptance speech.
“I never knew my mother,” said Chloe, “she passed away when I was born, my family never had much, my father did what he could to raise me on his own. This prize is worth more than my family has had in my entire life” Chloe put her prize blade on the podium allowing the light to reflect off of the gold hilt covered in gems.
“People always ask me how I have become so good at sword fighting, they ask how has a girl from the slums risen so high in the academy and has now become the top fighter in the world and I always give them the same answer” Chloe said as a tear fell down her face.
“This is my sword” she said as she pulled out her own weapon and held it up for the crowd to see, “my father gave me this to join the academy, he worked everyday to make sure I was fed and healthy and strong, he thought I didn’t notice when he wouldn’t eat to make sure I had enough food, but I noticed, he thought I didn’t notice when he wouldn’t sleep so he could work and save up money for my armor, but I noticed, so I always fought for him” Chloe said as her eyes scanned the crowd as if searching for something. I stood in the back crying as I listened to my daughter speak.
“My father taught me to never give up, to always be strong and kind and protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. He sacrificed his entire life to take care of me. Even tonight, he is working cleaning up your cups and dishes just to see me accept this award” Chloe’s eyes found mine in the crowd and we both cried as she held my gaze and she continued to talk. “He was always there for me, he was my inspiration my strength and now, I can take care of my father, that’s how I became the best in the world” she said.
The crowd erupted in applause, the other waiters and cleaners came and patted me on the back and cheered for my daughter as I stood there crying and looking at my beautiful Chloe.
“I guess we did ok, right Michelle?” | Cornelia absorbs a blow with her shield, but its force makes her stumble backward. Her opponent presses the advantage, raising her broadsword high in the sky.
You recoil, watching the fight through squinted eyes. Cornelia has always had trouble against broadswords, even as a little girl.
With a roar and a snarl, the weapon comes crashing down, reflecting the sunlight before it makes contact with Cornelia’s shield again.
Your daughter rolls away and lands in a crouch, her sword angled at the larger woman. She reaches across her body and tightens her dented shield against her arm.
Cornelia’s opponent shakes her head and storms forward. You chuckle, knowing that a few blows won’t keep your daughter down.
But the blows don’t stop. And Cornelia isn’t dancing the way she usually does.
“Hit her!” you yell. It’s been a long time since you’ve coached from the sidelines, but it’s also been a long time since you’ve seen her on the back foot. The sword fighting tournament has brought the best from every shore of the seven seas. Cornelia and her opponent, lovingly dubbed “The Pixie Maiden,” are the last two competitors left in the field of legendary sword fighters.
Despite your urging, Cornelia continues evading. Is this part of her strategy?
Your daughter stumbles, and a flurry of blows rains down on her shield. She barely gets away.
You run around the fighting pit, jostling your way through shouting fans. Then, behind her coach, you yell, “throw the white!”
Her coach looks at you, shakes her head, then turns back to the action. “Try and get your range!” the coach shouts to your daughter, herself a former champion.
The king’s bugler signals for the end of the round with his instrument. Cornelia and the woman separate; each is going to their respective sides.
“You’ve got to attack!” you say to Cornelia as she meanders over.
Her coach gives you a look that chills your blood.
Cornelia smiles and shrugs. “She’ll get tired eventually.”
You look across the fighting pit and see the Pixie Maiden refuse water as she paces, waiting for the start of the next round.
“Keep doing what you’re doing; we’ll find our opening,” Cornelia’s coach says. They’ve been working together for a few months now, and in that time, you thought she was getting better. But you’ve never seen her being beaten like this. You’ve never seen her beaten before.
The bugle sounds once more, signaling the start of the next round. The Pixie Maiden charges forward, her face locked in a permanent snarl. Cornelia takes smooth steps forward, turning at the last minute and dodging a vicious attack.
For a second, you think she has found her confidence once more. However, seeing her stumble after absorbing a mighty blow with her shield proves otherwise. The rest of the round passes without a single offensive maneuver by Cornelia, or anything resembling control.
During the next break between rounds, the coach asks how your daughter is feeling. “Well, I can’t feel my arms anymore,” she says with a laugh before drinking some water.
The break between rounds ends abruptly, and the two fighters approach the center of the fighting pit again.
When it’s evident that the Pixie Maiden is slowing down, Cornelia’s coach yells, “Press the attack!”
But your daughter is too tired, her limbs too heavy, and the two exhausted competitors continue the same dance to music only they can hear.
“Maybe we think about throwing in the towel,” Cornelia’s coach says when your daughter’s back on her side of the pit.
“No!” Cornelia says immediately.
“Don’t be stubborn!” you chime in.
Cornelia looks at you, her patient gaze reminding you of the time she explained how vital her sword training was to her. “You know you’re my inspiration, right?” she says.
“I know,” you reply, nodding. It’s not the first time you’ve heard your daughter say it. Tears well in your eyes as you take in the woman your daughter has become.
Cornelia’s coach scoffs. “Even though he can’t swing a sword to save his life,” she says while crossing her arms, talking about you.
“It has nothing to do with fighting,” Cornelia says to her coach. The woman deflates upon hearing the hurtful words.
Cornelia looks you in the eye. “It’s because you’re stubborn.”
The bugle sounds before she can elaborate. Somehow, she survives another round.
“You wake up day after day and take care of the animals, the crops, making sure we all have enough to eat. That’s your job. And this is my job: to win sword fights,” Cornelia says between sips of water.
“But you’re not winning,” her coach says.
Both you and Cornelia stare at the coach and speak simultaneously.
“I will,” Cornelia says.
“She will,” you say, surprised at your own words.
The bugle sounds. “When I get back here, I expect you gone,” Cornelia says. Your daughter takes the white towel from her former coach and hands it to you. “Don’t throw it until you’re sure.”
You hop down into the fighting pit and stand where her coach had moments before.
Cornelia meets her opponent in the center; she’s a new fighter. She dodges the first swing and lands her first blow of the day on her opponent’s side. Then, the great broadsword comes back and catches her clean on the arm, digging into her flesh.
A yelp and Cornelia’s sword is on the ground, and your daughter is on one knee. The Pixie Maiden presses, raining down blows on Cornelia’s shield.
Cornelia looks at you and shakes her head. You grip the white towel until your fingers match the fabric.
One more massive blow has Cornelia lying flat on the ground, her eyes on the blue sky above. The Pixie Maiden, breathing heavily, stands over her and points her sword at your daughter’s throat.
The king stands up and announces that he has found his new champion. “The Pixie Maiden, coming from the far side of the Dawn Sea!” the king shouts. The spectators clad in light orange erupt in celebration.
You run out into the fighting pit and gather your daughter. She’s smiling as you help her walk off.
“We’re stubborn,” she says.
You remember when you didn’t have direction or a care in the world before you met Cornelia’s mother. She’s the one who inspired you to strive for more, blessing you with a daughter and a reason for tending your land. And when she passed away all those years ago, you kept going so that your daughter could have a future.
You’re only stubborn because of them.
And she thinks you’re *her* inspiration. | 2022-04-14T15:40:16 | 2022-04-14T14:58:27 | 37 | 12 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | I never thought my time would come. Childhood summers last forever, the school year drags, but time marched on as it always did. Before I knew it, I found myself standing there before the assembly just fourteen years of age. The whole class staring expectantly at what would become of me. I was the youngest in my year meaning that I was the last to receive my calling.
This has been an exceptional year. No scuds whatsoever, and SIX acers. From only 80 students, that was unheard of. Although this meant that the pressure on my calling was greater than possibly any before. This could be a perfect year for the academy.
As the clock struck twelve I felt it. It washed over me like nothing before and whispered my fate. I had heard the stories from others, they were overcome and immediately aware of their calling, the rules, the restrictions… their purpose. But mine, mine was different. It was over before I knew it had even begun.
I woke up surrounded by faces looking down on me. I had fainted. How embarrassing!
Ever the empath, our teacher scolded me for keeping them waiting. Roughly barking “well, Rick. What is your calling?”
“Don’t… don’t give them up…” | Warning: This story might contain content or hints of horror and violence that may be disturbing. This is a three part series, please enjoy and be careful.
"Do not tell them."
I gazed down at the note, trying to figure out it's meaning ever since it floated down in front of me on the sidewalk. Just like it did for everyone who turned 14.
Mom had told me about this day in lengths, but it was weirder than I thought. I grasped the note tighter.
*Do not tell them... what?*
"Hey Lee!" I practically jumped up, startled by the sudden call from behind the alley. Brian ran up behind me, finally catching up and grabbing me at my shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "Sorry I'm late dude, my mom made some Churros yesterday for today and insisted I take some with...", he reached behind into his backpack, fumbling with the zipper and pulling out a worn box.
I only processed it in a few minutes before hastily scrambling the note together and stuffing it into the back pocket of my jeans. Trying to look as calm as possible.
Brian held up the box to me, revealing the warm, sweet smelling pastries. "You want some?". I hastily shook my head. "No thanks, dude, I'm okay."
Bri' shrugged and let go of my side, walking next to me. He shot me a look of curiosity.
"Did you get yours already?"
I blinked, feeling my insides clutch at each other.
*"Don't tell them"*
"Uh, what'd you mean, dude?". He rolled his eyes. "The note, dude?? Like mine arrived this morning, and I'm so hyped for.." he continued on, getting more and more lost in his excitement. He would have a chance to show of his powers soon. I wasn't sure what to expect.
*What the heck were mine?*
"So.. Brice," I said, pushing him out of his rant and away from the topic. "Have you heard from Clairetop yet? She was supposed to meet us here for school."
Brice lifted a brow, clearly weirded out but going along. "Uhm.. Yeah I guess.. I mean, I heard her talk with her mom yesterday on whether to come to school tomorrow or today, I dunno man, it slipped my mind." My throat felt scratchy all of a sudden, dried out like a lump of meat in the sun. I coughed up and asked. "How'd you know that? I mean, isn't that private and all?" He shrugged non-chalantly. "My mom was talking with hers yesterday on the block, next to the wallmart. Seems something happened with her gift."
Chills spread like waves all over me. What the heck happened? | 2022-05-08T09:49:41 | 2022-05-08T09:32:40 | 338 | 60 |
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid. | The goblins had always lived in the woods. Everyone in Halleshaw knew that. And everyone knew that the goblins steal. Not for any particular reason, it seemed- most of the time the stolen property was found abandoned in the woods unless it was edible. Occasionally they "raided" the village and "stole" people- the villagers humoured these raids. Normally it meant a goblin had gotten stuck in a tree or a hole, or they wanted something they couldn't reach. Once they had the thing, or gotten their friend unstuck, they lost interest in the stolen people and let them walk home.
The villagers accepted the goblins for what they were- an amusing nuisance at worst, like a drunk fox or tantrum prone toddler.
That was until the raiders came.
A large clan of barbarians from the south came, and destroyed everything in their path. Nearby villages were burned to the ground, fields trampled and population decimated. The villagers if Halleshaw armed themselves, farmers and their sons quaking with their home made weapons, the blacksmith sharpening anything he could find.
The barbarians never came.
After weeks of waiting for the boot to fall, a less cautious young lad snuck out to scout for the enemy. What he found, scattered through the woods were discarded swords, lost helmets... but not a single man nor corpse. He was just turning to return to the village when something grabbed his leg. He shrieked and spun...only to see a slightly irate goblin. He relaxed slightly. The goblin pulled at his trousers in the same way they always did. Caution told him not to go. Curiosity drove him forward, as he allowed himself to be stolen.
Unusually, the goblin led him deep into the woods, to a cavern. Straining to see through the darkness, he followed. His "captor" led him to a smaller nook, filled with sleeping goblins. As he got closer he saw they were not sleeping, but wounded. Badly. His captor shoved an armful of rags at him, and pushed him to the left side. The boy was about to question what the goblin wanted, when he saw the helmets.
Hundreds of helmets, piled in the corner, all with the markings of the southern clans. It was then he understood. The barbarians were never coming... the goblins has found them first.
The boy took his rags and bandaged and tended what he could. He was exhausted and covered in acrid green goblin blood by the time he reached the other end of the room. His captor finished around the same time. With a curt nod, he grabbed the boy again, and half led, half dragged him out of the cavern. It had been mid afternoon when they had reached the cavern, now the sun was dawning over the horizon at the break of a new day. The goblin pointed sharply in a direction, then abandoned him, in the way they normally did when they got what they wanted.
The boy went to say something but the goblin was gone. He left, following the goblins indication, and by the time the sun was creating the tree line he was home.
The goblins had always lived in the woods. And Halleshaw made a vow that the goblins would always be safe in their woods. | # Soulmage
“It’s debatable whether goblins are even sapient,” Witch Aimes began, and I already knew today’s ‘history’ class would be nothing more than thinly veiled propaganda. “What is known for certain is that they are a subspecies of humanity, twisted over millennia by their over-reliance on the witchcraft of mischief—*yes*, Cienne?” Witch Aimes radiated irritation as I raised my hand—and when a witch radiated irritation, everyone in the room could feel it. A careful, grating hum filled the class, aimed at me like a warning. *I am a powerful person. Do not cross me if you value your continued existence.*
“Goblins are sapient,” I said.
She arched an eyebrow. “And what evidence do you have for that?”
“What evi—I *lived* shoulder-to-shoulder with goblins for sixteen years in the Redlands! What evidence do you have that goblins are a ‘twisted subspecies’ of humanity!”
“I’m so glad you asked, *Student* Cienne.” Yikes. Normally I had to piss her off a lot more for her to get all formal. Or, wait, was this about the ‘Vile Magics’ discussion this morning? That might explain her mood. The witch reached into a space only she could see, arrogance swirling around her like a cloak, and pulled out a hunched, green corpse.
Bile rose in my throat.
“We know because of autopsies,” Witch Aimes said, her glare unflinching as she stood over the corpse of a person, and for a stuttering heartbeat she was not Witch Aimes but a far older witch, the echo of the despair that had ruined my home village—
\###
*Ice blotted out the summer sun, the magics of misery freezing the very moisture out of the air. My mother stood between the fragile wooden door and my quavering, curled-up form. Another building collapsed under the weight of the ice-witch’s onslaught, and I could hear his glee as our village’s despair fed his growing power.*
*“I don’t want to be here,” I whispered. “Mommy, I want to go home.”*
*My mother looked around the tiny wooden hut that I’d grown up in, the battered, creaking rooftop, the bitter, chilling cold, and didn’t have to say aloud that this was not our home anymore.*
*“It’s going to be okay, Cienne,” Mom whispered. “The witches—they can only see despair. If you—if you just stay calm and don’t panic, they won’t know where to find you.”*
*I tried, I really, really tried, I squeezed my eyelids as tightly shut as I could and pretended I was under the summer sun, but I heard someone shatter like spun sugar and I couldn’t do it I couldn’t do it I couldn’t do it it was all my fault and we were all going to die and the door smashed inwards like so much cheap glass—*
*“It’s okay,” my mother whispered as she stood. “It’s okay, Cienne. I forgive you.”*
*And when I opened my eyes she was gone, and the witch of frost stood in her place.*
*It was my fault. It was my fault. I hated myself so much, I felt so small, I wanted to shrink into nothing and hide where nobody would ever find me, and I waited for the snap of cold to end my life—*
*But it never came.*
*The witch of frost, by some miracle, didn’t see me in my hiding spot.*
*Later, I would understand why. Later, when the goblin tribe searched the village for survivors and kept me fed and warm until the Academy swooped me up, I would sort the events into a linear story. This is where my mother died. This is where the trauma unlocked something within me. This is where I wanted so badly to fall asleep and never wake up.*
*The goblins didn’t fight the witch. They would have been slaughtered like cattle. That wasn’t my darkest hour, in any case.*
*My darkest hour was what came next.*
\###
I stood, clenching my fist and feeling the delicately patterned ornament I held. A message from an old man who may have been a friend, who knew what it was like to grow up under the rifts.
“You have your corpses,” I hissed. “I have my life.”
The words of the old man dug into my palm.
*They cannot take this from you.*
I shoved my chair back and stormed out of class.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 2022-05-26T06:21:56 | 2022-05-26T05:33:42 | 2,852 | 155 |
[WP] A demon marrying an angel is not so rare, but having a child is. With neither wings nor tail, both Heaven and Hell refuse them entry, leaving them to be raised amongst the humans they look like. "Abandoned" in the middle of nowhere, you can't help but take pity, and decide to adopt the child. | “Papa, why does nobody like me?”
“Well, I’m not omniscient. When did this start?”
“Ahh, sorry. Uhh, earlier today, this morning, everyone treated me normally. Then during recess, some people showed up claiming to be my parents. Uhmmm, one had wings, and a halo, and I think they were an angel. The other had horns, and also wings but they were different. So then they both tried taking me away or something, but your braclet began shinning and poof, they were gone.”
“Ah. So, the ‘angel’s wings, were they white and feathery?”
“Yes, and the demons were black, featherless, and dragging across the ground.”
“Good job. But before I explain who they are and why they were there, we need to go over a couple things. First, when you recite stories, either continue explaining, or cut the parts out. The wings for example, either explain they both have wings and what they look like, or don’t mention it. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Okay. So, do you still have friends? And is there anyone you want to make your friend?”
“Uh, Sammy still is my friend, and no. Why do you ask?”
“Considering you think everyone doesn’t like you, we may want to move. Doesn’t look like we need to.”
“Uh huh. I’ve taken your lesson to heart!”
“Which one?”
“The, uhhhhhhhh, ah, the one about dealing with others! ‘Don’t be swayed be the actions of many. Look at everything yourself, and come to your own conclusions.’ This is helpful, because… ah! I won’t feel bad even if noone talks to me!”
“Good, answered all my questions. Now do you want why the demon and angel came by?”
“Ah, yes!”
“They are your biological parents. They gave birth to you.”
“But, why did you raise me then?”
“Because they’re di- rude people. They abandoned you. So I instead took you in and raised you. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No complaints here Papa! Although… did you make my braclet has some magical powers?”
“Similar. Magic has been lost for many years my dear, well, at least for humans. Demons still use it frequently, and angels use divine powers.”
“Can I do magic?”
“Hrmm, if you’re a good girl. I’ll teach you what I know when you’ve grown up a bit more.”
“Aww. But, what was it then? A divine thing?”
“The braclet? Just a dash of my power.”
“Can I learn to use it?!”
“Hahaha. Well you can’t use directly, after all you’re half angel and half demon. Not much room for my power in there. But, there is a way to use it indirectly. See, I’ve been making some modifications to contract magic, so you can make a contract with me and borrow my powers.”
“Wow! You’re the best Papa!”
“Hahaha. I’m glad to hear it sweety. Now, I must be off. Dinner is on the table, and be sure to go to bed before 10 o’clock.”
“Where are you going?”
“To pay a visit to some incapable parents, and tell them to stop bothering their daughter.”
“Ahh. Have a safe trip then.”
“I’ll be back soon, no later than 11.”
——-
“Saraphina, what was that yesterday?”
“Ah, I just learned Sammy. That demon and angel were apparently my biological parents! Thankfully, Papas power sent them away.”
“Who’s your father then? Some magican?”
“No no, according to Papa there aren’t any human magicans around today.”
“Well the who is he?”
“He said his name is Aeternus, the eternal One. He routinely stops his species from breaching the mortal plane.”
“Wait, isn’t he an eldritch god then?!”
“Maybe, but he’s my Papa first!” | I've always been the guy to say, "So what?" whenever I'm criticized. It's just an instinct by now, really. My mom once told me I was a slob, a failure of a son. "So what?" I told her. Then I told the nurse she could just pull the plug but she told me my mother was just in for a fractured toe.
A hot dog vendor got on my nerves once. He was all out of mustard. "You probably have some under there," I said.
"Under where?"
"Under your metal cart thing, down there. There's probably loads of them. Bottles of mustard and ketchup."
"I'm sorry sir," he said. "I'm all out of mustard."
I just stood there, with my naked hotdog, like an idiot. "Guess I'll just eat it then," I said, and I rolled my eyes at him. Then I tried to eat it all in one go, to make a point, and it got lodged in my throat somehow.
At first the hot dog vendor just looked around, trying to decide if he should just let me choke probably, but then a babe came walking by and he was fast to jump over the cart and give me the heimlich maneuver. He could've just walked around. It was just a simple hotdog cart. I guess he wanted to look cool.
The hotdog flew out of my throat, like an angry seagull, and the vendor laughed. "Don't try to scarf it all out at once," he said.
"So what?" I said, and I cried a little. "So what?"
That was when I realized that I should adopt a child, so strangers wouldn't have to save my life whenever I choked on hotdogs. It's embarrassing, really. It's better when it's your children. That way, they can feel as if they've really earned their inheritance. "I saved your life, pa. Give me my money." And it would be fair. It would be totally fair.
I noticed him standing at a bus stop, wearing a yellow baseball cap. They made me wear a yellow dunce hat when I was a kid, so I could relate to him right away. "Are you an orphan?" I asked him. And I kept asking him questions like that, but he wouldn't answer. Then a crazy lady appeared out of nowhere, and she beat me with her handbag. She called me a pervert, for no reason, and I just ran for my dear life. I think she'd filled her handbag with rocks.
That's when I met Lucriel. I ran right into him, knocked him over. He sighed deeply, and said, "Of course. First I get kicked out of the realms of gods and demons then someone crashes into me, just great. Jeesh."
"Huh?" I said. "Kicked out? By your parents?"
He brushed street dust off his clothes and I felt a bit bad. He didn't look hurt or anything. But it's not polite, knocking kids down like that.
"Yeah," he said. "They banished me to this mortal domain."
"Oh man."
"Now I am forced to dwell among the humans."
"That's rough."
"With neither wings nor tail."
"That's not right. That's not right at all."
We stood like that for a while, gawking at one another. Then I said, "Alright. You're my son now, and I'm your father?"
He blinked. "Just like that?"
"Just like that."
I bought us some hotdogs. Lucriel liked both ketchup and mustard on his, and it really surprised me. You have to have character, really, to have a preference like that. You don't see the world in terms of black and white, ketchup and mustard. "You're alright, kid," I said.
"I shall make the realm of the living my empire and I will lead humanity to war against gods and demons alike."
"Whoah," I said and I felt a bit embarrassed, because I'm not that ambitious. Maybe if I'd planned to take over the world when I was a kid, it would've worked out. You never know.
We had just finished our hotdogs, and luckily I didn't choke, when the sky crackled and the ground shook. Out came two people, only they weren't people really. A dude with curls and a halo over his head, and a woman with horns. It was strange.
"Mother. Father. It is too late. I will destroy the both of you."
"Lucriel," said the angel dude. "We told you no demonbox after bedtime. You can't go running off to the mortal realm whenever you get upset."
"So what?" cried Lucriel. "So what if I run away and lead the humans to war?" There were tears in his eyes.
"Lucky," said the woman with horns. "Your dad doesn't like it when you run away like that, he gets worried. Look at him. He's been crying all night."
The angel dude looked a bit embarrassed.
"Oh man," I said. "This is kind of awkward, but he's my son now. I'm his father."
"Uh," said Lucriel. "We met like half an hour ago. We just ate some hotdogs."
That little punk. "Don't disrespect your father like that," I said but the three of them just laughed at me. Then the demon woman opened a hole in the ground, hot glowing lava stuff, and she plopped herself down there with Lucriel. The angel dude shrugged, and he flew off up into the air.
"So what?" I told myself, but I didn't really feel it. "So ... what?" | 2022-06-22T19:02:28 | 2022-06-22T13:39:09 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | It’s easy enough, at least in my eyes. I don’t know why no one had thought of it before. They think on the impossible, dragons and aliens, stretch the imagination and put their faith into fantasy and mythology, and forget the very reality which makes the world turn.
The warden, the lawyers, they stare at me, slack jawed. “You can’t ask for that,” the warden says, voice firm, as if he can convince me on willpower alone.
“I can.” I smile. “I am. Give me the head of Jeff Bezos.” I tilt my head and smirk. “Brains are a delicacy, you know.”
I know he knows. People have asked for all kinds of brains. Dragon brains and alien brains and executor brains, even a warden’s brain once. The last was much the right idea, but on far too small of a scale.
The thing is, dragons they can find. Aliens they track down. But no one in the seat of power will give up their life for a prisoner. And yes, I could’ve asked for the president’s head. But the thing is, the president can be replaced. That’s what Vice Presidents are for, after all.
And it would make it all too political, one party demanding the head, proclaiming that a streak cannot be broken, precedents cannot be set. Legislators may place this execution tradition over the life of some interchangeable politician. Hell, the people might even like it. The government might even adopt it, thrive on it, inside assassinations as simple as convincing a convict to ask for a politician’s head on a plate.
I can’t risk that. Too many variable.
But an old, rich white guy?
They’re never getting his head. Not for money—he has all of that. Not for power—money got him that, too. Not for his family, who he can pay to protect. Not for his citizenship, which he’d gladly fling away.
There’s nothing you can convince a man in absolute power to give his life for.
That’s the one rule that makes the world go round.
Power does not relinquish itself. It does not sacrifice itself. It does not see the greater good. It has no empathy.
The warden knows this. I see it as he states back at me, enraged.
Oh, they try, of course. They make calls, lawyers scream, legislators appeal to one’s better nature, as if power has such a thing.
Jeff Bezos laughs the whole thing off. As if his life is worth that of some prisoner? Of some girl on death row? The whole thing is hilarious to him.
And of course, authorities try to arrest him. Or so they say, but no one ever does and police chiefs go home to suddenly bigger houses and newer cars.
Legislators try to write a bill, demanding that the streak be maintained at all costs. But suddenly their pet projects get pushed through, their old bills get passed, and the Jeff Bezos’ Head Bill gets bogged down, then forgotten.
You’d think it’d make great news—the girl who broke the streak, the girl who beat the system. But oddly, the story goes no where. It never makes the headlines. It thrives only in the corners of the internet, in conspiracy theory threads, unverified enough that it’s just the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever heard so of course it’s not the truth.
And I go free. The streak remains unbroken, at least in the eyes of the public, who have already forgotten and moved on to the next sensational thing.
And that’s fine by me. | She was a born killer. The moment she snapped she turned from hero to villain in just a matter of seconds.
Thousands of people were victimized in her warpath, and she got away with it for MONTHS. That was, until she was caught, and placed on Death Row.
Now, the world had changed drastically since she had been gone, and the death row system had evolved. The police force was even more brutal than it ever had been, and the baddest of the bad were said to have made deals with the devil.
The only reason this rumor went around was because of the new last meal rule.
They could ask for anything in the world. Anything at all. From steak dinners to apple pies to some of the impossible. But the catch? If they couldn’t find it, they were set free.
No charges.
No court hearing.
They were just let go.
This was the norm now for our government, and Horizon, the notorious hero gone bad, was out to break the execution streak. Whether the government liked it or not.
It had been months since she was first placed on Death Row, and Horizon had enough of waiting for her so called inescapable demise.
“Phoenix, I never thought that I’d be here waiting for them to ask me what my final meal would be, but here we are.” Horizon sighed as Phoenix messed around with the small holes in her blanket. Phoenix had been considered quite insane with her love for arson, spam, and a strange gecko landing her alongside her blonde psycho of a cell mate. But she didn’t mind, she actually enjoyed her company quite a lot. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually. Especially when HE found out.”
Horizon stopped brushing out her hair with her hands and looked over at her arson loving friend.
“We don’t talk about him. You know that, correct?”
Phoenix nodded, shutting her mouth.
“Alright, prisoner 103, come with us.” One of the guards tapped on the cell bars with his baton, as another opened the door, ushering for Horizon to exit the shared cell, leaving Phoenix alone.
The guards took Horizon to a dimly lit room, where she sat down at a table with a light shining over it. She was the only one inside, while the guards watched from a two way mirror.
“So. What’ll it be?” One of the guards asked the prisoner.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” The girl responded, playing dumb. The guard grumbled in frustration. “Your last supper.”
Horizon thought about it for quite sometime. No matter how many times people have requested for something simply impossible to collect, it always seems as if the chefs manage to find it. Every. Single. Time.
“Hurry it up, or we won’t get you anything.”
Horizon looked up from the table and stared. With a straight face, she answered:
“The tears of a banshee, the radishes of a Snurp, and a Devine Meal from the darkest of suns.”
The guards gulped and nodded. They had never heard of such a request, but they knew it must be done.
And so Horizon stayed there. In the room.
Alone.
Meanwhile, the chefs and hunters went day and night searching for these three things, but to no avail. No matter what world they went through, they couldn’t find what exactly was described.
“We have to give up. We don’t know where this is!” One of the hunters spoke to the head chef, who shook his head. “We cannot. Do you know what this would mean for our reputation? The girl could get out and start havoc with no consequences!”
“But sir, you have to understand—“
“BUT NOTHING.” The chef was about to continue, but he was suddenly struck down by a large dragon, who roared fiercely at the strange group before him.
“Run.”
They all ran off, leaving the injured chef there to perish.
“We need to go back. We can’t proceed with the dragon there guarding the next portal zone.” The hunter spoke up as the others reluctantly agreed.
They all went back to the previous portal zone, and made their way back to the prison.
Meanwhile, Horizon sat there, bored out of her mind, when suddenly, she heard arguing, perhaps between a few guards. They continued to argue until one of the guards walked into the room.
“…Come with us, Prisoner 103.”
She nodded, following the seemingly upset guard outside to her cell.
“Get your things. Now.”
Phoenix turned to face Horizon, who was busy getting whatever she had on her side of the cell. “What’s going on…?”
“That is none of your concern, Prisoner 104.” The guard said sternly as Horizon exited the cell once more.
“Say goodbye to your former cell mate.”
Horizon grinned maliciously and waved goodbye to the confused arsonist, before leaving the halls.
It turns out that Horizon had beat the system, and was being set free.
Though that was perhaps not the greatest thing for anyone else.
As she walked out, Horizon pressed a button, and the entire prison exploded into flames, and in the distance, someone ran up to the newly freed prisoner.
“You did it.” She said, readying her lighter.
It was a good thing that Phoenix was a part of Horizon’s clever plans.
“Sure did.” | 2022-07-17T19:42:58 | 2022-07-17T18:09:54 | 210 | 24 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | Aaron had had plenty of time to consider what his last meal would be while on trial for triple homicide. Aaron had gone from 'rambunctious child', to 'teenage delinquent', finally to cunning career criminal; and was feared in the underworld and so-called 'normal society' alike. He wasn't sorry for his crimes; nor was he interested in playing games like previous death row inmates. He scoffed; no matter how creative their requests had been, the system won in the end. He had watched his previous cell mate worry himself half crazy while waiting to see if his request for dragon steak would set him free.
Aaron cared little for experiencing that kind of maddening wait. He also didn't think much of being 'free' in a world that would likely shun and reject him. Aaron wanted to sow one last seed of chaos before he left the world.
Aaron chuckled as he was led to the kitchen to discuss his last meal with the chef. Radiating evil glee, Aaron looked the Michelin starred chef the prison kept on retainer in the eye as he demanded:
"12 deep-fried 9 volt batteries. With a balsamic reduction."
His maniacal laughter almost drowned the screams of rage that emanated from chef Gordon. | “A peanut butter and jelly sandwich please, the way my sister used to make it. I’m honestly pretty screwed regardless so… might as well have a slice of home, y’know?”
The guard looked at me and he looked… understanding. I can’t believe I got a genuine reaction from the guy other than “SHUT UP INMATE!” but honestly I’ll take this over that anyday. “Heh, alright then. We’ll get in contact with your sister and have her teach us the recipe, we’ll make it as perfect as possible. You don’t mind waiting a few hours, right?”
I shrug, it’s not like I had long anyways so might as well enjoy whatever amount of time I had left. I took a deep breath as I leaned back against the flat cushions that lay atop my rusty bed; I think I’ve got time for one last nap…
I found myself woken up to the sound of a rusty prison door sliding open, one of the guards behind the now-agape passageway as a bright ray of sunlight made its way past his shoulders and onto my face.
“You’re free to go. Head on over to the entrance hall and we’ll hand you back your stuff.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I- uh- huh?” I couldn’t believe it, hell I was kind of… disappointed. I sauntered over to collect all my old junk (it had been so long that my shirt didn’t even fit me anymore) but… I didn’t want to walk through those doors to the outside world.
It took me a good few minutes but through some asking around I was able to find the guy who was in charge of taking my order. I found him filling out paper work in a little office, the moment he saw my confused face walk through the door his freckled cheeks turned a beet red, hunching down towards his work even more in an attempt to cover his face.
“Okay why’d… why am I out? Was there any issues getting in contact with ny sister?”
“No… no your sister was willing to comply, begrudgingly I might add but willing.”
“O…kay? Was her secret recipe too hard?”
“Nope. All it was was a small bit of melted white chocolate in between the PB and the J, we even got you a glass of milk.”
“Then why in the world an I out? I… I should actually be dead right now! Firing squad! Hanging! The chair, whatever! How am I standing in front of you at this very moment?”
The man looked up, he had a pursed smile on his face. He didn’t look mad, sorrowful, or… anything, just embarrassed, like he misplaced an assignment or something. It took hin a second to gather his barings, but once he did, he looked me dead in the eyes with the most serious expression a tomato red fat head could make, and said the six words that let me live another day…
“We ran out of peanut butter.” | 2022-07-17T20:40:56 | 2022-07-17T20:36:22 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | "You guarantee that I will be able to eat it before my execution?" I asked the agent. She nodded in affirmation. "And if you fail, I will be a free man?" I asked with hope. She nodded again.
I smiled, finally relaxed. "I would like to be served my own brain that has been taken from my dead body, all of it--with no part missing, that has never experienced time or dimensional travel, cooked well-done, and served with my smoked liver and heart on the side." I said.
The agent's eyes widened in horror before she brought her phone to her ear and said "We have a problem." before leaving the room.
After a few days she returned and said "You win, we can't grant you your last meal." I smiled "You are free to leave." She said as they opened my cell.
I nodded at her "Thank you." I said politely before setting my feet outside for the first time in what felt like years.
"Oh, and one more thing..." She said to me and I turned back to her "Would you like a job at our organisation? We could use smart people like you."
I shook my head and said "For my own safety, I would rather not know what an organisation that can easily procure dragon eggs or alien steaks is up to."
As I left, I heard her mutter under her breath "Smart indeed." | “A peanut butter and jelly sandwich please, the way my sister used to make it. I’m honestly pretty screwed regardless so… might as well have a slice of home, y’know?”
The guard looked at me and he looked… understanding. I can’t believe I got a genuine reaction from the guy other than “SHUT UP INMATE!” but honestly I’ll take this over that anyday. “Heh, alright then. We’ll get in contact with your sister and have her teach us the recipe, we’ll make it as perfect as possible. You don’t mind waiting a few hours, right?”
I shrug, it’s not like I had long anyways so might as well enjoy whatever amount of time I had left. I took a deep breath as I leaned back against the flat cushions that lay atop my rusty bed; I think I’ve got time for one last nap…
I found myself woken up to the sound of a rusty prison door sliding open, one of the guards behind the now-agape passageway as a bright ray of sunlight made its way past his shoulders and onto my face.
“You’re free to go. Head on over to the entrance hall and we’ll hand you back your stuff.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I- uh- huh?” I couldn’t believe it, hell I was kind of… disappointed. I sauntered over to collect all my old junk (it had been so long that my shirt didn’t even fit me anymore) but… I didn’t want to walk through those doors to the outside world.
It took me a good few minutes but through some asking around I was able to find the guy who was in charge of taking my order. I found him filling out paper work in a little office, the moment he saw my confused face walk through the door his freckled cheeks turned a beet red, hunching down towards his work even more in an attempt to cover his face.
“Okay why’d… why am I out? Was there any issues getting in contact with ny sister?”
“No… no your sister was willing to comply, begrudgingly I might add but willing.”
“O…kay? Was her secret recipe too hard?”
“Nope. All it was was a small bit of melted white chocolate in between the PB and the J, we even got you a glass of milk.”
“Then why in the world an I out? I… I should actually be dead right now! Firing squad! Hanging! The chair, whatever! How am I standing in front of you at this very moment?”
The man looked up, he had a pursed smile on his face. He didn’t look mad, sorrowful, or… anything, just embarrassed, like he misplaced an assignment or something. It took hin a second to gather his barings, but once he did, he looked me dead in the eyes with the most serious expression a tomato red fat head could make, and said the six words that let me live another day…
“We ran out of peanut butter.” | 2022-07-17T21:30:21 | 2022-07-17T20:36:22 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You have been kidnapped by a cult preparing to sacrifice you to their god. However, you are immortal, the god they worship is a close friend of yours, and the entire cult was a prank you pulled centuries ago. | Hmm... Consciousness coming back, that's nice...
Let's see, head feels clear, probably no concussion then, good. Concussions are a pain.
Eyes... Oh good, still have eyes. Last time it took forever to get the color right again. Blindfolded though, that's annoying.
Limbs... Right leg feels broken, other leg is fine. Arms too. Tied to something hard. Probably an altar judging by how they have my arms and legs spread.
At least this time they left my clothes.
Chanting... What is that, Latin? No wait, that's Original Babylonian, Latin was the closest language to come out of that whole tower thing.
That means... Knife in the heart, yup. Wonder why I didn't notice that first, that stings...
I wait for the chanting to stop, eventually the cultists realize nothing is happening, you know, aside from the murder.
Once the nervous accusations of unfaithfulness turn into a brawl I dislocate my thumbs and pull my hands free of the bindings.
I sit up and pull off the blindfold. The dude who stabbed me looks like he's trying to decide if he's going to use his mouth to scream or throw up.
Eventually he takes the third option and passes out.
One fixed leg later and I'm slipping out the back door. Just as the brawl turns into more murder.
As I walk down the alleyway, a group of shadows pull towards me, deepening the already dark night.
"Bro" I say, "there are easier ways to get hold of me. I told you I'd get you a cell phone. I'll even pay your bill. I get a good deal if I bundle multiple lines."
"But then I wouldn't be able to pay you back for Atlantis."
I grin. "How was I supposed to know your incarnation that time would be allergic to seafood?"
"Dinner's on me" the shadow says.
"There's a great sushi place just down the road" I reply.
"Dick" | The ceremony is reaching a fevered pitch. Deep Chanting by robed priests in a circle around me to the beat of drum. A ridiculous number of candles in a circle around them. Two, no, three ritual orgies, lit by candles with their own priests chanting. This is very clearly a high quality sacrifice ritual.
Then a woman screaming in very fake ecstasy, followed by another and another. The women harmonizing in the fake ecstasy. The orgies are over, things are about to get serious now.
A robed priest steps forward and drops did robe. He is oiled and sweaty and wearing nothing but an itty bitty loin cloth. He thrusts his hands high into the air and everyone goes quiet.
“It is time!” He booms. “The god of gods will be here if we are worthy! Might dark god, may this pitiful sacrifice”
“Who is this guy calling pitiful? If my loin cloth was that small I don’t think I would be calling anyone else pitiful, you know what I mean”, I thought to my self.
“be worthy or your attention. Come mighty god!”
The drum beat started up again. Faster than before and gaining speed. Everyone started chanting in tune with the drum. Getting faster and faster.
The wind picked up and swirled. Dark and menacing clouds formed right above me. Lightning dancing through the clouds. Lighting striking the ground all around me, melting the ground in to glass.
“Who dares wake me!” A voice boomed. You didn’t hear the voice so much as you felt it in your bones. The chanting stopped. The drums stopped.
“I, your high priest, call to you with this sacrifice!”, the nearly naked oily priest said with arms raised. “Your people need you!” The priest started towards me with a raised knife in hand.
“Dave? Dave is that you?”, the cloud boomed.
“Hey, how’s it going? It’s been a while.”
The wind picked up and spun even faster. The robed figures were struggling to stand up, their arms futilely attempting to protect their faces. The clouds spun, forming a funnel cloud that touched down a few feet from me and then it all stopped and a person stood before me.
A man in his mid thirties, dressed in jeans, a Metallica shirt and a leather jacket stood before me. “Dude, how many times have you almost been sacrificed to me now? Like 6, or 7 times? You have my number, if you want to have a beer just call.”
I smile at him, “and miss the orgies and sweet chanting? Not on your life.”
He chuckles so deeply that it rumbles through me. “Damn it Dave, so you know what a mess it makes of the cult when you do this? Probably take a couple of years to get them sorted out again. Some times I wish you never started those bozos on the whole chanting thing.”
“Every god needs a religion, you didn’t want to start it so I did it for you. And look how it has turned out. You have this”, and I gestured to the very confused, nearly naked oily priest, “and all of this”, gesturing to the room at large. “So it is working out, right?” He rolls his eyes at me.
“Let’s go get a beer”. He starts walking. “Ladies,”, he hollers at one of the orgy piles, “looking god!”. Finger guns. He leans closely to me and in a low voice says, “I am glad you added the orgies. The first couple of these were real quite dull”. | 2022-09-10T17:35:30 | 2022-09-10T10:38:38 | 843 | 491 |
[WP] The peaceful humans are inhabiting a beautiful garden world known as Earth. They love sharing their eco-centric technologies with us. And yet, they are extremely ashamed of their ancient history and refuse to talk about it. You, a xenoarcheologist, are determined to find out why | \[This Transcript has been translated from Galactic Uniform using GrainAI\]
\[Entry\_06: Sub-modification Ex.alta (Date: 24/41/4549 GA)\]
\---
Human historical studies continue, largely without progress. The species continues to be ardently guarded about their history prior to \[Human Year Designation: AD\] 2350. Further in field reconnaissance required. Gregak \[Unit-246\] and Schzenka \[Unit-3048\] have been deployed for this purpose.
Current hypothesis follows summary; Humans currently live on a beautiful garden planet they call Earth. Fully functioning eco-spheric habitation model \[Designation: Terra\] consisting of several large oceanic bodies well populated with marine life, flourishing forest terrain supporting large groups of land based diversity, fully functioning planet-wide climate control, and Failsafe Energy Production centered around solar harvesting. Data provided shows rich Biodiversity rivalling Empiric garden worlds as well as net negative carbon emissions. Human trade continues to provide cutting edge eco energy technology.
Hypothesis: Human history prior to \[Human Year Designation: AD\] 2350 reveals proprietary information that may reveal the workings of their technologies, and therefor Humans keep it closely guarded for the sake of maintaining their monopoly on Eco Tech.
&#x200B;
\[Entry\_013: Sub-modification Ex.alta (Date: 02/45/4550 GA)\]
\---
Successful historical reconnaissance has been received from Schzenka \[Unit-3048\]. Newly acquired data reveals industrial boom among certain areas of Earth, as well as primitive automation.
Current hypothesis follows summary; Data conflicts with existing models of Earth's atmosphere, showing catastrophic rises in CO2 emissions, deforestation, consumption levels outpacing natural growth cycle of native fauna, as well as several large scale conflicts. Data incompatible with current representation of Earth and Humans.
Hypothesis: Humans quickly moved through a brief period of environmental damage before using new technology to correct the damage done during the initial industrial boom. Pace of Eco Tech must be far above and beyond historical predictions.
&#x200B;
\[Entry\_015: Sub-modification Ex.alta (Date: 10/45/4550 GA)\]
\---
Schzenka no longer responsive. Status unknown. Gregak \[Unit-246\] has transmitted additional data. Senra \[Unit-043\] has been deployed.
Current hypothesis follows summary; Additional data acquired from Gregak has shown previous hypothesis to be null. New data shows that well past \[Human Year Designation: AD\] 2050 Humans continued to pollute their environment to astonishing degrees. Entire populations of semi-sentient species extinct, marine life reaching critically low levels, and deforestation leading to the collapse of some of planet Earth's most basic ecological systems. Data completely incompatible with current model, transformation from model acquired through new data to existing model does not compute. Human population level according to new data far exceeds current population.
Hypothesis: Humans were unaware of damage being caused to planet, leading to widespread starvation. Large population of Humans died due to lack of ability to produce enough food. The resulting decrease in population allowed them to bring their ecosystem back to acceptable levels, and they have been focused on promoting it ever since.
&#x200B;
\[Entry\_018: Sub-modification \[REDACTED\] (Date: 19/47/4551 GA)\]
\[Final Transmission\]
\---
Gregak no longer responsive. Status unknown. Senra no longer responsive. Status unknown. Additional data provided by Senra prior to comms disruption.
Current hypothesis follows summary; Additional data acquired from Senra provides Human military technology and history. Humans did not die from starvation....... they killed each other. Massive worldwide conflict resulted in decrease in Human population by an estimated 76%. Human military technology FAR exceeds conservative estimates. Human arsenal now predicted to be of greater destructive strength than even the Krull.
Hypothesis: Humans hide their destructive and deadly past in order to maintain a peaceful persona to other galactic races. Humans nearly destroyed their planet and themselves, and only after an apocalyptic battle did they manage to recover their planet's ecological health.
&#x200B;
\[This researcher will no longer be taking part in this study\]
Signed: \[REDACTED\].
—-
r/AdventuresOfYarro | As day 1,234 with the humans come to a close I find myself no closer to their secrets.
We are only allowed stays of 5 earth years as the humans call them, and I feel that my time here is falling away more rapidly than it should.
The humans have a saying *that time flies when one is having a joyful time* or some such nonsense, but I cannot apply this successfully to my circumstances here.
The curfew in place seems unnecessary for such a peaceful species, yet the humans state that it is for our safety. This is a contradiction to what I have observed of their culture.
The restrictions of traveling from one enclave to another is also starting to wear on my brain. Even though travel from this Manhattan enclave to London’s or Beijing’s take anywhere from one to two hours, stops such as Moscow, Belarus, and Paris which also have equally short travel times are forbidden us. The explanations are even more varied as to why. Paris is forbidden as only three in the Manhattan enclave have clearance to enter as it is a caste higher, and going to Moscow or Belarus are forbidden as they are considered dirty or lesser. This contradicts the few writings on Beijing I had found in an old book repository that states Beijing was once a polluted cesspit of communism and tyranny, yet I am allowed travel to this location freely.
The more I stay with these humans the more layered they become, and another of their sayings *not all are as they appear* make much more sense to me now.
Day 1,386 with the humans of the Manhattan enclave ended abruptly with us being shepherded to our living quarters and the locks engaged from outside. One of the humans said something about riots from the Brooklyn enclave. While the word riot is new to me the universal translator translated into our language as *an unrestful gathering, dangerous, uncivilized*. While some of these new words translated, the unrestful gathering was relayed as a large sleepy group, which is at odds with the word of uncivilized. How is it possible that tired people in need of rest are dangerous? Is it uncivilized for the humans to gather in mass for rejuvenate rest? The entrance to the book repository I had found previously now requires a keycard to enter and my keycard does not grant access. I am told that I may request books and if my clearance grants access these books will be brought to me, but that my presence in the repository was causing a distraction to the students who use the building for educational purposes. I cannot understand why access to books would be restricted other than to keep me from finding the secrets I am here to find.
Day 1,674 in the human enclave of Manhattan
I have approximately 150 days left here with the humans before I must return to my people and will be barred from returning to this garden planet. Today my mentor’s access to earth was revoked and his return home expedited. They say he evaded his guides and entered the facilities of the dolphins, but the video they showed the rest of us the individual they claim to have been our mentor was one half meter too short even hunched over and more obese than our mentor by a factor of three. Even hiding all of our stealth technology he could not bulk to even twice his size. The humans wished to confine him to a penal colony called Guantanamo or some such name but our superior technology allowed our leaders to teleport him from the containment unit. Now that the humans know we have this technology a summit has been called. I fear this incident will not allow us to continue with close observation of this sentient species.
Day 1,680
Written from the spacecraft rejuvenation
Our stay with the humans is over. After our mentor’s false imprisonment they came for the rest of us. They feared we were too close to uncovering their secrets. It was not our mentor who came closest but me. The day he was taken, one of my guides dropped their badge in my quarters whilst leaving. This was no mere accident as I thought when I saw the plastic rectangle drop on the floor as they went to store it in the pocket they kept it in. When I went to pick it up after they hurriedly left it had a note taped to it. The note said this badge would allow me to leave the quarters and I was to retrieve my colleagues. It had coordinates which were to a small apartment on the edges of the enclave that I was to go to first. In this apartment was a data stick and a note to not use it until we were heading home. I retrieved my colleagues and we gathered for transport in the embassy gardens. Once all our items and us were aboard we accessed the data stick. To our horror the enclaves were places of sanctuary and privilege for the elite and the enclaves we were denied were places of brutality and suffering. Those who would not comply with the elite were ostracized and our instruments were unable to see beyond the weather domes that encircled each enclave. There was also a document that highlighted the violent history of the peoples of the world and the treaty that ended what they called World War III that ended in 2257 after over 100 years of nuclear war started by Russia and the Moscow enclave. The war had decimated the population of the earth killing 87% of inhabitants. Over the next 600 years the humans worked to clean up their planet and found ways to neutralize the radiation left over from the war. The enclaves were built and humanity agreed to live in them and leave the rest of the planet to regrow. This peace in enclave lasted until the Moscow enclave stated to become greedy and sanctions were placed on them. Other enclaves also rebelled and were sanctioned and locked down. The inability to leave the enclaves and travel as humanity had done before the start of World War III was driving those who had little to begin with to reach out and try to find a better way of life than the enclaves could give them. This had been forbidden in the treaty and the leaders thought threats to the world which had recovered from the human touch would once again lead them to the war that had nearly destroyed it.
What a backwards people they truly are. | 2022-10-16T08:59:44 | 2022-10-16T06:46:56 | 531 | 113 |
[WP] The world seems to be your average sword and sorcery world. You, a young adventurer have descended down into a forgotten tomb. There, you find strange metals and plastics. Lights come on without torches. A man made of metal awakens, stumbling toward you. "What year is it?" he asks | Angus was disoriented by the blare of noise and light which were an affront to his senses. The room was awash with a fluorescent glow, the metallic walls were cool to the touch. Mechanisms vibrated with activity and screens illuminated with facts and figures in a language he could not comprehend.
Movement.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a silver and white humanoid shape stirring. He turned toward the movement but halted when the form spoke, “stop right there!” It said.
“Welcome traveler,” replied Angus as he raised his hands into the air. “I mean you no harm.”
“What year is it?” Inquired the being curtly.
“It is the fifth year of the era of the Third Mage Lord, of course,” replied Angus as he furrowed his brow. “What kind of—“
“Third Mage Lord?” Said the being. “When is that in relation to 2022? In plain terms, please.”
“When…?” Said Angus. “Why, at least 1,300 standard rotations if my horological education serves.”
“Jesus,” murmured the being. He had overshot his mark. By a lot.
“What are you exactly?” Asked Angus.
“Sorry. Just trying to get my bearings straight. I’m Captain Robert Ellison, Horotrek division. I appear to have overshot my destination. Can you point me to your nearest Master of Time?”
“Master of Time?” Said Angus with a puzzled look. “I know not of what you speak. Whatever are these devices and by what sorcery are you controlling them? I’ve not seen such an ability.”
“Shit,” muttered Robert. “You mean to tell me I’ve hit a mystical vein? God I should have known when you told me what year it was. Computer,” he ordered, “calculate atmospheric content.”
“Calculating…” said a voice from above. Angus fell to his knees in deference. “78% Nitrogen, 21% oxygen, 0.9% Argon, 0.1% other.”
“And atmospheric pressure?”
“Calculating…1.01 atmospheres,” replied the Computer.
“Good,” Robert said as he removed his helmet. His beard was askew and his hair matted down, but it was a relief to breath fresh air.
“You’re a person?” Said Angus with a sense of relief. “What are you doing here and how did you get all of this into this cave?”
“Look,” said Robert,” I don’t have a lot of time to explain everything. What I can tell you is this: I’ve travelled here from the past and you’re living in what is known as a mystical vein. This era is temporary and illusory. I need you to take me to your—what term did you use earlier—Grand Mage was it ?”
“Mage Lord,” interjected Angus.
“Ah yes, Mage Lord,” continued Robert snapping his fingers. “I need you to take me to this Mage Lord so that I may convene with him and get myself back on the proper timeline.”
“I cannot promise that the Mage Lord will grant you an audience, but I can take you as far as the Capitol Court in Gravesend. We should set out soon. I expect to learn more about your land—er, time, on our journey.”
“Very well,” replied Robert as he approached a console. He typed vigorously at keys before exhaling sharply. “This shit is fried. Ok, let me gather a few items before we venture out.” With that Robert opened a hatch and removed a rigid, white pod. He began filling the pod with foodstuffs, water, weapons, and a digital notepad. He could feel Angus staring at him.
“You must teach me this sorcery. How do you fit all of that in such a small pod?”
“Oh. Listen,” said Robert, “I hate to burst your bubble, but it’s going to happen at some point. I like to shoot straight and I don’t want you to be shocked when this comes up down the line. Sorceries are a scam, fake. There isn’t any sorcery about this; this is science. The pod acts as a conduit to a parallel timeline that is empty. I can place and remove objects as I need.”
“That sounds like sorcery to me,” said Angus. “And if there is no such thing as sorcery, how do you explain this?” He raised his hand and said, “Lumier!”
Nothing happened.
“I’m sorry, this is most embarrassing,” said Angus. “This never happens to me, I swear.”
“Ha, don’t worry about it, that’s a feature, not a bug,” said Robert with a chuckle. “You see, my ship here exists outside any illusionary tacks within a mystic vein. That is to say, your sorcery is no good here.”
Robert could tell that Angus was confused and more than a little hurt that his powers had failed him. “Oh, come here, I’ll show you what I mean.” | The morning air hung heavy with the summers heat, sweat dripped from my brow. I inspect the bark of a tree closely, fresh claw marks marred the surface. My prey was close, a wildcat that has been poaching our livestock recently. I quietly slide an arrow from the quiver at my hip and nock it, but do not yet pull it tight.
I suspect that it has a den nearby and has taken to the canopy to avoid tracking. Unfortunately for it, it's not the first wildcat I have had to hunt down so I know it has leapt to a neighboring tree. I put my back against the marred trunk for protection. Their bodies, while graceful, are too large to come down head first so I know I am safe from being attacked from above.
I steady my breathing and quiet my heart, the thrill of the hunt always makes it race. Several breaths later I succeed and cock an ear to the canopy, listening for the cat to move. The winds favor me today by being still, making it all the more clear when the cat leaps to another branch in a different tree.
In one smooth motion I bring my bow up and pull the arrow back, ready to let it fly. I don't see the cat right away, but I know generally where it is. Its a waiting game now, the cat moves or my arm tires. I keep my breathing steady and relax my vision, waiting for the moment to arrive.
THWANG. I released the arrow before my mind told me to, years of hunting instinct driving my actions. But not good enough, I hear the cat yelp in surprise and pain, but it does not fall dead. I hit it, but I can't tell how bad. The hunt now changes to a chase, all pretense of stealth gone. The cat alights through the trees loudly, making it easy for me to follow.
After a short time we come across an outcropping that the cat leaps onto. It's strength is waning as it didn't get the distance it expected, its back legs kicking furiously for purchase. I don't hesitate and rapidly climb the rock face, placing a mental pin on where I last saw the cat before it gained purchase and continued its flight.
I don't need to visit the spot where I last saw the cat, there is a trail of blood to follow, its coppery tint clearly in the air. I follow it to a cave entrance large enough for me to walk through upright. This has to be the cats den.
I find it near the back of the cave, living its last moments in defiance baring its fangs at me and taking feeble swipes in my direction. I nock another arrow and end the cats suffering quickly, despite being a beast it followed its nature, I do not fault it for that.
As I go to retrieve the cats remains, I feel something compelling me to look further in the cave. It goes deeper, I can't help myself but to investigate further. I don't have to go far, I follow the cave around a bend only to be confronted by the strangest gate I've ever seen. It appears to be metal, but polished smooth like a sword. There is more metal surrounding it, a fortress wall. I step up and knock on part of it, surprised at how little sound it makes. I go to push open the door, but I hadn't needed to bother, it opened nearly silently on its own.
Inside the door is as dark as the cave outside, very little light reaches in here. I'm about to turn to find material for a torch when the portal erupts in fire. No....not fire? But light, without a torch. Interesting. I realize I should be fearful of this place, but I don't feel it, only curiosity, curiosity that is driving me further.
I step in and see that this new cave goes in either direction. I peer each way. One way, to my left, seems to draw me in further. I follow that feeling and am in awe as the light seems to follow me through the cave, disappearing behind me as I walk. There is writing on the walls in a script I am not familiar with, maybe the wizards of the land might be able to read them. I pass several doors, but they do not open for me and do not respond to my pushing in any way.
As I am passing a set of double doors they open, catching me off guard. I drop to a defensive stance as a trained reaction, but nothing is attacking me. Still keeping low I slowly enter the new chamber. There are rows of round looking objects on either side of the chamber, lain on their backs, small lights turning on and off all over them.
There is one with markings that appear similar to the rank insignia of the kingdoms armies. I approach the object and am shocked to see that the top is made from a curved glass like material. It appears frost is on the inside of the glass preventing me from seeing inside. I inspect the object closer and see a small light at what would be the foot of it. I want to see if there is a torch inside and try to scratch it, only for it to blink off. After three heartbeats the entire object erupts into a series of lights that dance and change. Surprised I fall back on my haunches and scramble back until I feel one of the other objects against my back.
I'm both terrified and fascinated, I cannot help but watch. I know not how long I sat there, but when the object opened with a hiss and fog, I once again scrambled and tried to hide behind the other object I was near.
In the fog I saw something move, I couldn't tell, but it was a man? that sat up? I pinched my arm, this has to be a spell or a dream. The pain told me otherwise, what I was experiencing was as real as my hunt with the cat. My guess that it was a man was right, feet swung down and landed on the floor, as if the man were climbing out of his bed.
The chamber wasn't well lit, as if there was only a single torch, but through the fog I saw the mans head snap over to me. It knew where I was despite the low light and the fog that still surrounded him. He took a step, it looked unsteady, then another.
A sound erupted from the man, then changed, then changed again. Finally, whatever was wrong with it cleared and it spoke clearly, "What year is it?" It was that moment that the fog finally released its clutches on the man and revealed that it was no man, but a construct of metal. | 2022-12-19T12:55:51 | 2022-12-19T12:30:47 | 813 | 54 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | It wasn't hard to tell what she was, that's what attracted me to her in the first place, and when she said yes I was exhilarated. I dressed up all nice for our date, all black and everything, so the stains wouldn't show. It was fantastic! We went to the movies, had dinner at a nice Chinese place, and when she finally invited me over to her house I couldn't have been more ecstatic. She'd led me to her bed and immediately took the lead, she was so commanding, and I loved it. When she'd finally pinned me down she put her lips against my neck and I moaned in pleasure. Finally, she sunk her fangs deep inside, rupturing my vein and began sucking. I shivered as I felt the blood leave my body.
Finally she threw me to the woods behind her house, where I could smell the remains of so many similar to myself. God, she's so experienced! I say similar because they weren't like me. No, I was so much stronger. After all, being the daughter of the ruler of the Underworld came with its benefits! One of which is that I couldn't die until I chose to, another being that I could sense other Underworld supernaturals. My last ex was actually a were, but he was a bit too feisty for my taste, and I've always wanted to date a vampie.
My parent came into view and groaned at my appearance in their realm. "You really know how to pick them, don't you Bela. Why is it always you who?" I beamed at their words.
"You know I do! Now could you speed it up this time? My poor date will worry if I don't show up to class tomorrow!" I cheerfully reply. They massage their temples before motioning for me to walk out the heavily guarded ivory door behind me. I grin as I shove the door open.
"Wait for me Steph, baby!"
\--
I stop by a flower shop and buy a single black poppy. I think of buying a box of chocolates as well but I then remember that those will provide her no sustenance. I think the flower should be fine. I slam my locker, near forgetting to lock it before I practically skip to class. I pout as I realize she isn't waiting for me. I swing inside the classroom, a couple minutes before class starts. I grin brightly as I bring my hands down on her desk, with apparently enough force to leave a small dent in the metal. She seems startled as I stare at her lovingly. Oh, was she scared by my force? I really didn't mean to, but I didn't realize she startled this easily! A skittish vampire? That's so cute!
"Yesterday was great Stephenie! I was a bit hurt when you didn't even let me stay the night though, did I do something wrong?" I pout childishly. Her eyes dart around nervously before she narrows them at me, grabbing my collar and pulling me close. I blush at the proximity, in class too! I didn't know she was this forward!
"How did you survive" She hisses "you were drained empty, I killed you myself, *how*?" I blush, feeling her hot breath by my ear. The taste of my blood still on her breath, the smell of iron. I gulp.
"I didn't realize vamps couldn't sense it, maybe because you're younger? Or is it because you're a turned vampire?" I pondered. Most underworld creatures could sense the energy, if not feel then smell. Her eyes widen.
"Why do you know? No, *how* do you know?" She demands. I furrow my brows, about to answer before the teacher walks through the door.
"Please keep your hormones *outside* of my classroom. The janitor isn't paid nearly enough for that." Mr. E calls out. The class bursts into laughter before I turn my head back at him and give him a lopsided smile.
"Sorry Mr. E." I say as I make my way over to my desk, leaving the black flower on hers. *Lucky guess* I mouth at Stephenie as I sit down. She stares at the flower as it withers the moment it leaves my hand, before her pretty golden-brown eyes found mine yet again. | Kunsai "Kuro" Kuronosa found himself in a strange place compared to where he normally went after school. Sure, he loved nature and all that, but he didn't think Korra, whose mother must've grown up when that show was popular, was normally the woodsy type. Popular, pretty, with fire red hair, fair skin, with typical high schooler proportions, the girl was wearing a red blouse with black shoes and a nice skirt..
Kuro was in his typical blue jeans and t-shirt with sarcastic writing on it, the shirt being a navy color as well.
They had been walking a while, making idle chitchat about things that had happened in their schools growing up, as Korra was a transfer her first year and had wildly different tales to tell. Story was that she was from Germany, here on an exchange program. He accent certainly matched, though her English wasn't too bad.
"So...Why did you invite me out here? We're not really in the same circles, and only have two classes together." Kuro asked the question that was obvious..It was also getting darker, afternoon had turned to dusk, the sun beginning to set. "Surely you're not madly in love with me or something." He was being sarcastic, the nerd with only a few friends who carried everything to and from school each day.
"No. I brought you out here...to...well..die." Her reply was consice and without a stutter, so straightforward it took him by surprise.
"You're joking, right? That's...that's one of the most insane things I've ever heard." Kuro was a black belt martial artist...yes, he was a nerd who studied one of the most nerdy ways of fighting, and he wasn't totally jacked, but he was pretty sure he could take in some preppy girl if she tried to attack him.
"Nope. Not joking." Her voice was more sing-song. And then, she smiled broadly at him, with clearly pointed canines. She lunged at him, aiming to get on the poor nerd. Martial arts is one thing, but the speed and strength of one with vampiric blood was much higher than that of some nerdy teen. She bowled him over with the tackle, and latched onto his neck, not letting go no matter what he tried to do.
The teen's vision swam, and eventually faded to black. As he seemed to pass, a thought went through his mind. **She has no idea what she's done **
By the time he woke up, there was ground over him...A shallow grave, and poorly dug too..he clawed his way out, and greedily sucked in the air.
"Well...that sucked...either she's as dumb as a rock, or new....no Moonlit creature survives very long if it's that stupid. He took off towards his home, finding his belongings poorly scattered, and got back to the apartment that his parents rented for him, since they were always gone for work...or, that was the cover story at least. He was wealthy on his own, from his travels.
The next day, the teen was once again in a pair of jeans and a sarcastic t-shirt as he walked to class. Luckily, he and Korra has first period together...and when he walked in and say her, she was already busy with her little clique...an aura check and they were just regular teens, nothing that pointed to them being connected to the Moonlit World...Daywalkers. As long as she didn't turn any of them, it was fine.
She didn't notice him until roll was called, and when she turned backwards as he called his appearance, the started at him in disbelief, but only for a moment before she schooled her features. Ah, that was just as well. He gave her a smirk back, before staring up at the board as the teacher prepared to start class.
The day progressed as normal, and he didn't see the redhead again until after the day was over, as their other shared class wasn't on that day. She met him at the doors to the parking lot, waiting to confront him as he was just walking out, headphones into his MP3 player, listening to a song that he really enjoyed...heck, he didn't notice her until she pulled off his headphones to finally get his attention.
"What do you - oh..Korra..." Before she could speak, he grabbed his headphones out of her hands. "I would think you would have more class than to pull out someone's headphones.." He put them back in to make sure that they weren't damaged by the yank. They were now closer to the street the school was on, and most of the other kids were at their cars or in busses.
"Excuse me for not taking the nice route when a *dead person*, who I was pretty sure I killed, showed up to school. How are you alive anyway? You aren't like me, or I would have smelled it on you."
At that comment, the teen, who had silver hair that was supposedly a dye job, raised an eyebrow. "Really? You want to start this here? We're still too close to the Daylits to be having this conversation." The young man headed off towards his home, ignoring his pursuer, but only put one side of the headphones over an ear. "Walk with me, and I'll get us somewhere we can talk."
"You aren't like me, nor do you smell like a mutt...what are you?" The 'transfer student' was curious...and a little scared. She was certain she was the only alpha predator in the area. Then suddenly, the air around them smelled like a stronger vampire, out of nowhere...then like a mutt, a very strong one, then like something with pure power...she couldn't put her finger on it, but it terrified her.
"What am I...I am a Fixer..." | 2022-12-29T20:22:07 | 2022-12-29T18:22:13 | 136 | 76 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | I walked into the classroom, took a seat next to Katherine, and opened a book. She seemed surprised, eyes wide and mouth open. I couldn't really blame her. However, her expression quickly morphed into abject terror as I accidentally opened my mouth too wide. People didn't like it when I did that.
I finished the chapter, closed the book, and turned to face her. She flinched.
"Hey," I said, wincing as I spoke just a bit too deep.
"Uh...um...hi," she responded, uncertain.
"I never got to thank you properly, but last night was fun."
"Oh, I'm glad you...enjoyed it."
I looked out the window, already bored of her horrified face. You'd have thought a vampire would be less squeamish, but I was evidently wrong. Granted...I did find her squeamish face attractive. That was besides the point. I hummed a tune, realizing too late the discordant cacophony would probably burst someone's eardrums. Ugg. Getting used to this was hard.
"How...how are you still alive?" she finally asked, her fangs subconciously bared.
"Hmm...? Ahh, you mean last night. I just bought one from an eldritch god."
"What?"
"Ghorath. Well...its shortened name, anyway. Really liked boring human lives, so I let it eat mine and give me a different one."
At this point, the blood had long drained from her face. I didn't mind telling her, she was a vampire, after all. However...I was rather hungry.
"Say...why don't you meet me after school? To make it up to me for having to wash the dirt off my clothes?" I proposed, mandibles hidden inside my 'mouth' clacking in anticipation. Tentacles forming the shape of my 'arm' twitched. An unsettling aura unfolded around me.
"Um...where?"
"Ahh, don't worry about that. I can find your house easily enough." | Maeve wore a look of utter shock when I walked into the door for our Anthropology class the next morning. Her mouth wide open and fear shimmering in her eyes. Yet, even in this she was a beautiful as before with her smooth pearl skin and flowing black hair.
"Now, that was a wild night." I said with a laugh. "I know they say we have the time of our lives... but I think you pushed it to the max."
There was a twitch in her hand and a low growl filled his ears. She kept calm in the public view for the most part. Anyone close enough to see the two would notice the tension. She quickly took his hand and led them into a broom closet.
"Wow, one date and we are meeting in closets for make out sessions. What a treat." He says with a laugh
"S-shut up." Maeve said with a growl. "How did you survive? I sucked you dry last night."
"Not how I remember it. Seems to me you tried to kill me." He retorted with a smirk.
Her growl grew larger, showing off her sharp fangs protruding past her lips. Claws were slowly growing from her fingernails. The dark couldn't hide the glowing eyes of this beauty.
"Not more jokes Blague. Answer the dam question! If you're one of those damn hunters I'll..."
"Oh, jeez lighten up. If I was, I wouldn't have let you live right?" Retorted Blague. "How much do you know about vampiric culture? I'm guessing very little due to not noticing my little trick. A shame given your major."
He was toying with her. Enjoying the turn around this cause. For the past few months, he felt like a nobody to her; led along by her charms to do what she asked until she said yes. Now, he was in the position of power.
"Your cockiness is getting on my nerves. Get to the point or I'll tear something off." She said while scowling at him.
Blague took a deep breath out before explaining himself, "Fine fine. Each culture from the beginning of time possesses some sort of vampiric being within it. Most broaden the term to simply vampires, but in truth there are many beings who don't follow this trope. Take me for example. My kind is called a Talamaur... I use a ghost double to feed on others and when someone threatens to harm me..."
Blague snapped his fingers. His image and form were replaced by a tall human male in a trench coat. On his neck were two holes, marks from the attack last night.
"I can switch between the people's bodies I've taken a bite out of. With them, I can drain the vitality of others without using my own hands. Consequently, they make great conversationalists." He laughed after the last part returning back in front of her.
He was sure this was going to be the end. They'd fight, his cover was blown, and he'd need to find a new home all over again. Erasing minds in the process just to get the hunters off his back. But to his surprise, a cute smile curled on Maeve's lips.
"Congratulations Blague. You've just got more interesting. Tonight, we'll go on a real date." She said, kissing him on the cheek before pulling his hand along. "But be warned. It won't be as easy as last night. You'll need to really charm me this time."
Bewilderment, fear, and excitement hit him like a freight train all at once. What in the world went through Maeve's mind? How did she find anything he said flattering? And most importantly... Why was he looking forward to tonight? | 2022-12-30T01:41:30 | 2022-12-29T20:31:16 | 28 | 20 |
[WP] A top-secret division of the S.S., in charge of protecting Adolf Hitler from the thousands of time travelers trying to kill him. | In a sudden, sparkling corona of light, the man in the neon jumpsuit sprang from midair, raygun at the ready.
”Ah-*HA* Adolf! Get ready for a *reckoning* from the-”
He stopped, and looked at the startled men in front of him, in their Victorian frilled collars and codpieces.
”Oh, *blast*! Must've overshot again! Why, this damnable-!”
He started to fiddle distractedly with the chirping device strapped to his arm.
Calmly, the two men pulled out lugers from concealed pockets and shot him dead.
”Verks effry time, ya?” One said to the other, grinning, and wiping his forhead with a swastika handkerchief. | Major Bachmeier looked back over the map of Europe, the damned Americans over-running the French countryside and the thrice damned Russians slaughtering their way towards Berlin. The major smiled grimly and thought to himself about how things had changed since the first traveler from the future arrived and tried to kill the Führer. The Reich has learned so much from them and their devices.
It was so sad to think that the Germany of the present would have to be sacrificed. There was nothing to be done, far more important was the fight for the future. It mattered not if Germany won the war now if, in five hundred years, the Chinese ruled every piece of the earth. Reflecting on his family the Major became more convinced that the Führer was right, we must travel forward to the true battle.
The Major finished rigging up the time traps in the bunker, the alarms had gone off earlier and they should be appearing within the hour. The inglorious bastards would find themselves caught in limbo until an interrogation squad could pick them up to see what can be learned. Their technology might be almost magical but these future-scum feel pain and talk just like any other human.
His thoughts turning to the future as he exited the booby trapped room the Major saw that the current crop of time travelers were coming from 28th century. It seems our actions in 2247, he thought, where the Führer has set up his main command, are having some effect. The new assassins are coming from further and further up the time stream. No matter, soon the time bombs will be finished and we won't have to worry about the future. Instead it will be stripped clean. A fresh landscape for us to spread out and flower on.
As the major stood before the time capsule that would bring him to join the rest of his unit he paused and reflected softly to himself "And to think, with all we've learned this war is tiny, insignificant in the grand flow of time. Without the time assassins the Führer would be stuck in this bunker with the armies of the East and West bearing down on him, with no knowledge of the future or the past and no way to control his destiny."
Thinking one last time of his family, probably already dead and mutilated by the Russian thugs, Major Bachmeier stepped into the capsule and prepared himself for the future. | 2014-07-01T09:08:40 | 2014-07-01T07:54:01 | 240 | 29 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | They walked through the Galactic bank without a care in the world.
Ashla shot a look back at their human. An ugly stupid thing that ate all their best snacks. She hated it.
But dammit did she need it.
Approaching the controller, a rather sinister looking Gluurable with no fewer that seventeen death feathers, she prepared their ruse.
"Greetings. I would like twelve 1,000,000,000 currency notes."
"Have you been granted fund access?" he asked
Fighting every urge in her body to yell "NO I'M NOT, I'M SO SORRY", she looked back at the human, prompting it to speak.
"Yeah man, she's cool. Saved the Space Emperor last wednesday from some serious shit. She also has mind powers."
"Really?!?!" the controller asked
"Sure, why not." the human responded
She was trembling as she fought the urge to fess up. What a nasty power these humans had. Imagine, an entire race that had the ability to say whatever they wanted to whether it was true or not. They called it "The Lie."
| “Earth?” Hray filled his companion’s minds with an image of a beautiful blue orb that looked a lot like the home planet that their people had been forced to evacuate only a year ago.
“NO,” said Gon, so old that his scales had scales; so impatient with their endeavor to identify a new home world that Hray wondered why he bothered to be involved at all. There were plenty of entertainments and reminders of home on the other decks if that was what you wanted.
“Why not? Look, it’s perfect. We’ve got everything we need for a hundred-year siege if we have to. What the hell is wrong with it?” Hray tried to keep his voice level, but the glare he directed at Gon said everything his voice did not.
“What’s wrong with it?” Gon leaned forward, eyes locked on Hray’s. “Did ya bother to read the Dominant Life Form entry, or ya just glanced at the stats and looked at the pretty pictures?”
Hray broke eye contact, and Gon leaned back, smug.
“Yeah, so anybody who doesn’t know: Earth. Their tech is shit. They can do math, but they haven’t even figured out that Ultramath *exists* yet. …If they ever will.” His bold gestures conveyed his disdain for Earth’s DLF, or possibly just for *everything.*
“They don’t have natural exoskeletons. They don’t make ‘em synthetically, either—at least not for civilians. What I’m sayin’ is they’re easy to kill, sure.” He looked around, waiting for someone to ask “But then why…?” But no one rose to the bait.
“Nah,” he said. “What these guys got is: they reproduce like nothing you’ve seen before. Ya know how fast their DLF evolved? Try *millions* of years. That fuckin’ fast. These fuckers never evolved to edit their own genetic codes in response to the environment, so basically if an organism wants a do-over it’s gotta make a new copy. And they’re relying on *random mutations*, ya understand. So you can imagine… they gotta make a *lotta* copies.”
Again Gon paused and looked around the room. Hrey avoided his eye contact.
“Yeah, so,” Gon continued, “It’s not worth it. Earth DLF, Earth everything—whole planet’s crawling with life forms that are not gonna go away unless we kill the whole planet. Which defeats the whole purpose. Nice place, I’m sure. Not worth it.” He threw Hrey a look that said, *that’s life* and addressed him: “So… got anything else?”
Hrey shook his head and hid the list of planets he’d prepared. He hadn’t read the DLF files for any of them. | 2014-07-16T11:15:31 | 2014-07-16T10:53:53 | 1,186 | 215 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | "Yuri, come in here, you gotta see this"
Yuri rolled his eye, shrugged his shoulders and shuffled over to the science officer. He looked as bored as a Redon could possibly look.
"This human, this one human, the male version" Fram began "Hey, Kiol, put it up on the big screen". The starscape was replaced by the image of a human boy, perhaps 15 years old, sitting on his bed with a laptop.
"This human has done it what? Fram, what are we up to?"
"31 times"
"This human has masturbated 31 times today alone! And look, he's at it again. The little bugger is at it AGAIN!".
This caught Yuri's attention. "Just him?"
"That's the best part" Redon said "it's the entire planet! At any given moment some human, somewhere is fapping away to their hearts content. Look, Yuri, you and I have been to, what? 1,000 planets, give or take. Never, and I mean never have I seen a species approach anywhere near the amount of wacking that these people do. They completely suck at everything else but when it comes to going solo, they rule the universe". | A host of alien species gathered around the poker table, cheering on the human champion.
"You know Gron" the announcer took a momentary pause "I don't know how these humans do it! Just look at him, that mischievous grin. Ninth win in a row."
His co-announcer moved his body as if it was short of breath, no audible sound coming out. That's how all Carcharodon's laughed, below the audible hearing range.
Mike continued to grin as he leaned over the table and pulled in his winnings, "ya'll boys 'gotta play better."
There were five races present on the table, not including the dealer. No one knew what the dealer was, truth be told. It had eight arms, half that amount in legs, and three heads.
To Mike's right was a race called Mars. This race put all their efforts into war. Their only other love besides war is gambling and whoring. Mike had to watch out for this big fella, he couldn't take his money too quickly. A Mars being killing everyone on the table after losing money wasn't unheard of.
Second from his right was Illiad, the traveling race. They don't care much about anything except traveling around the cosmos and gathering stories. They do what they must to fund their expeditions. Poker games made great stories. Or maybe they liked gambling. Who knows.
Then we have Mercury. Not only do they own this fine gambling establishment, but they are the traders of the galaxy. If something was being traded they were in on it. Their ships. Their bribes. Their eloquent tongues - they played a part somehow.
Zeus. Now these fine specimens were the cream of the crop. No one knew were they came from, or even why they stayed. Zeus technology was light years ahead of any other race - they had no equal. If they needed money a simple share of knowledge from them was all that they needed to give them enough money to buy a large moon.
And the fifth, and in my opinion, the best race, the humans. Me. What are we known for? Nothing in particular. We do some warring, as much trading as we can, a lot of storytelling and pull off some technological breakthrough every now and then. However, what we excel at is cheating. These other races don't notice. That's their problem; they're too honest. And if they're not too honest they are too dumb. Human beings are the perfect combination of dishonesty and brains. Not smart enough to see a moral dilemma in cheating and smart enough to be able to pull it off. In fact, cheating had allowed the human race to catch up with all the other races in just a few short life spans.
"Alright Crazy Eight, deal the tenth hand, I have some money I need to win." | 2014-07-16T12:28:05 | 2014-07-16T11:38:23 | 115 | 61 |
[WP] Our behaviors in video games are held against us when we die. Saint Peter is going over the list of acts that are denying you entrance to heaven.
| "Griefing in minecraft. Playing as a spy in TF2. Sniping your teammates in Halo Reach. Typing "cyka" in LoL, and it's noted... that you don't know what that means. Dropping grenades onto trucks in GTA 4-"
"Hey hey can we not count the GTA stuff? That's just God prohibiting nineties kids!"
St. Peter stared angrily back at me.
"...referring to yourself as a nineties kid..."
"Hey!" | Saint Peter looked down at Stephen, his glasses on his nose. He exhaled and continued.
"Okay, Stephen. You do understand where you are?"
"Yes, Yes I do. "
"Okay, so you know, and understand we know everything, ever, in the history of ever, correct?"
"Yes, I do."
"Okay, so we're going over your behaviors you exhibited in video games, and you are denying, that you've never harmed a single thing in a video game. Ever. "
Saint Peter and looked down to Stephen. Stephen looked around confused, shrugging his shoulders.
"Not a single soul."
Saint Peter huffed . He clicked underneath his pottium and descending from above a large screen made it's way besides Saint Peter. Another button clicked and a video started playing. Saint Peter continued.
"So you don't remember hitting this man of color with a baseball bat for 7 straight minutes?" asked Saint Peter pointing to a screen that showed a man being another with a baseball bat.
"No, I don't recall." said Stephen.
Saint Peter growled. "You don't remember this, where you got into a motor vehicle engaging in a pursuit with local law enforcement after you mowed down who knows how many people! You don't recall?"
"Nope."
"What about this, here's another clip where you're just watching a video of one of the characters removing articles of their clothing to reveal large amounts of their skin. Do you remember?"
"No. I don't recall."
Saint Peter looked in awe. He hung his head and brought it back up, his eyes gazing at Stephen.
"Stephen, we have everything recorded. I don't even want to go into the details of what you did with dogs. Or your family. Look Stephen, you're going to hell regardless."
Saint Peter clicked a button, a opening opened up beneath Stephen, dropping him from the cloud he stood upon. Saint Peter jotted onto a notebook, putting his pen down he reach over for a Xbox controller.
"Ah, time to relax and play some Grand Theft Auto. "
| 2014-12-11T12:19:42 | 2014-12-11T11:59:08 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] You have died. As your spirit exits your body, death invites you aboard a carriage. Once you board, it's found out that this carriage is purgatory, and it will be a day-to-day rewatch of your entire life to judge if you go to heaven or hell. | When I left my body I tried to go anywhere I wanted, but the only path I could follow led me to a carriage. A pale hand opened the door from the inside. It beckoned me to join whoever was attached to it.
I stepped inside the carriage. Plush leather and fine wood accents greeted me. A man dressed in a tailored suit with close cropped, white hair sat inside. He motioned to a bench seat across from him. “Please sit, Mr. Rice.”
The seat felt like heaven. I’d never felt anything so nice. It seemed to mold to each and every curve of my body. “Where am I?”
The man smiled showing off his perfectly straight teeth. “Purgatory.”
“And who are you?”
“Death.”
I didn’t want to move from the spot. “And why are we in this carriage?”
Death pulled a remote out of his pocket. A television screen came down from the roof of the carriage and flicked on. “We’re going to watch your life. When we’re done we’ll decide if you go to Heaven or Hell.”
My life hadn’t been perfect, but I felt confident that I’d make it to Heaven. My main concern had to be how long would watching my life take. I hoped it would last a long time. This seat just felt so good.
“Are you ready?”
I nodded.
Death hit the play button on the remote. A woman moaning popped up on the screen. Two men stood behind her masturbating as the woman had sex with a third man.
This wasn’t my life.
The television screened turned off. All of the blood had drained from Death’s face. He cleared his throat and put the remote back in his pocket. The television screen disappeared back into the carriage ceiling.
“That wasn’t my life.”
Death glared at me before regaining his calm composure. “Have you been a good person?”
I nodded.
“Good. You’re going to Heaven.” The carriage door opened. I leaned forward and saw the pearly gates of Heaven. “Get out of my carriage.”
I stepped down and out of the carriage. A man standing in front of the gates beckoned me forward with a warm smile. I started toward him before I heard a throat clearing from behind me.
Death leaned out of the carriage. "Let's keep this little mix up between you and me, okay?"
I shrugged. "Okay. No problem."
"Good." The carriage door slammed shut.
| *The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round.*
*The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round.*
Sarah closed her eyes.
*All day long...*
She opened her eyes and looked up. Did that damned girl finally stop singing? The roof of the yellow school bus was lined with speakers, but none played the music. How long had she been sitting there, listening to that song? When did she even get on the bus? *Why* was she on the bus?
"Ready?" A man's voice caused her to sit upright. She had looked over the bus's empty seats already, sure there was no body in it. She wanted to turn her head, to look at the man, but she felt a chill down her spine when she moved to do so.
"Where am I?" Her voice was soft.
"Oh," the voice said. "You don't remember yet?"
---
The sun glared through the windshield of Sarah's Toyota Camry, causing her to lower the visor.
"We're gonna be late!" A voice called from the backseat. That voice... it sounded familiar. "Mom!"
"We won't be late." Sarah found herself saying. She tried to ask the girl who she was, but she couldn't control her own body.
"I'm hungry."
"You just ate." Sarah pulled out her Samsung and checked for a text. She was expecting one.
"I'm bored." The girl said.
Sarah grabbed a CD from the passenger side visor and put it in the car's player.
Music filled the car.
*The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round.*
"Mom!"
---
Sarah opened her eyes to wake again in the bus.
"What the Hell is this?" She asked.
The man's voice gave a short laugh. "You *really* don't want to remember, do you?"
Sarah looked down. Her legs were covered in blood, left one bent at an impossible angle. She didn't feel any pain.
"Am I dreaming?"
"This is all too real, Sarah." The voice said. "The other place... well, you wish that was a dream."
"What are you talking about?" Sarah asked. No reply came. "What are you-"
Her vision faded to black.
---
"What?!" Sarah yelled at the girl in the backseat.
"I'm hungry."
Sarah looked into the rear-view mirror. The girl had blonde hair, brown eyes. She wore a pink backpack, though it only hindered her in the car.
"You said you would be late. Do you want to eat or be late?"
The girl didn't say anything.
Sarah pressed the power button on her phone again, looking to the top left. One new message.
She put her thumb on the black and scrolled down. It was from Dave.
"Mom!"
"For fucks sake, what is-"
A horn roared in Sarah's head, followed by darkness.
---
Sarah opened her eyes again.
*The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round.*
"I'm dead." She said.
"Yup." Came the man.
*The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round.*
Sarah listened to the music for a while. "That's her voice."
*All day long...*
"Your daughter's voice, yes." The man said. "The two of you recorded it a while back. No memory of it? Don't worry. It will come. They all will. As they do, you'll realize the full grips of what you did."
Sarah stared at her legs again. The blue paint on her toenails were still visible underneath the blood.
"Are we on the way to Hell?" She asked.
"No, Sarah." The man said. "This is Hell."
*All day long...* | 2015-03-10T17:50:40 | 2015-03-10T17:45:58 | 53 | 15 |
[WP] Humanity is at war with an alien race that cleverly uses statistical analysis to predict and anticipate our military actions with incredible accuracy. The only way to defeat them is to be unpredictable. | “Buckets.”
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Questioned Fleet Commander Pail.
I again spoke up, “We wear buckets on our heads.”
The room went dead silent as none of those in charge could discern my level of seriousness. Seated around a table on the tenth floor of the World Defense Fleet HQ were dozens of the highest ranking military officials from all over the world. They all looked as if I had mortally offended their sensibilities but just being in this room. I mean, what would a lanky Professor of Chaos Theory do for their war effort?
So I began:
“You, the best military minds in the world, asked me here to help you defeat a foe that can seemingly predict our even move with a little math and a bit more statistical analysis. So the only way to beat predictability is to be dangerously unpredictable.”
“Ok Professor Mc. Tub, you have piqued our interest. Please do go on…”
I shifted silently in my seat knowing the moments to come could save the world and allow our race as a whole to survive.
“Well, they seem to know where and when we are going to attack, make troop movements and even our attempts to resupply our interstellar forces. At the risk of sounding like an idiot I have devised the stupidest plan I could think of and therefore hopefully the most unpredictable.”
The heavy glares from the Fleet Commanders weighed on me immensely as I bent down and produced plastic ten gallon bucket from under the table.
“This is how we win the war.”
I drew a deep breath and placed the bucket on my head and spun in a circle until I could barely stand and completely lost all orientation. I lowered my head and charged full speed.
“JUST WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU AR…” shouted Fleet Commander Pail microseconds before I made contact. I felt the contact and then the glass breaking. The last thing I remember was a sickening thud as two people’s worth of bones broke at the same time.
As I awoke from my medically induced coma I was surrounded by all of the same military leaders but noticeably absent was Fleet Commander Pail.
It was then explained to me that the alien race had not been winning through prediction but through good old fashioned espionage and my random charge had sent the alien replicant to his doom. His death allowed the human race to crush the alien forces since they couldn’t actually predict our movements nor could they strategize with any efficacy.
The Commander had broken every bone in his body. I had broken nearly all in mine.
I learned that I had indeed saved the world that day and the bucket had saved me. | "So there's this outlaw back in Wild West times, gets arrested by the local sheriff in the Nevada territory. This outlaw, he's a real nasty son-of-a, sheriff locks him up for horse theft and banditry or whatever else it is outlaws would get up to back then. Plus your run of the mill murder and such like. All-around upstanding citizen."
The other generals in the war room exchanged uneasy glances. "Secretary, I don't see how this is relevant--" said General Hayes, shuffling through the casualty reports as if to remind his superior that now was not the time for anecdotes. Secretary Pullman was undeterred. He continued the story:
"The judge sentences him to death. But just hanging the guy, that ain't enough to pay him back for all he got up to. The judge and all the townsfolk and such like want this outlaw to really suffer before he goes. So the judge cooks up this scheme to put the outlaw in total psychological agony before the execution. He says that the execution will take place sometime between Monday and Friday, but they won't tell him when. Only that it'll be whenever the outlaw least expects it. And they put him down in the poke while he waits."
General Polick had spent the preceding moments growing fidgety and impatient while the Secretary rambled. Now he turned to General Hayes and said, "The Feir seized control of the asteroid belt yesterday. Where was Starship Excalibur? It should have been there."
"Excalibur was on Luna. Repairs. We specifically scheduled these repairs for a time when the Feir would not be able to send out a sortie--"
"So this outlaw," Secretary Pullman said, the deep resonance of his voice silencing his underlings, "sitting down there in the poke, he decides he's actually got it made. Because, see, they can't execute him on Monday. That would be too predictable, to execute him on the first day of the window. Monday *can't* be the day he least expects. Except then they can't execute him on Tuesday either, because now it would be just like executing him on Monday, since Monday is out. And so on and so forth, down the line. This outlaw thinks the whole pickle through all logical-like and finally decides -- hell, they can't execute me at all, because none of these days is the day I least expect!"
Secretary Pullman banged a fist on the table and grinned wide. He waited for someone to speak.
General Bretting sighed. He clearly did not like taking the bait, but like everyone else, he wanted to move this along to more important issues. "What then?"
"They executed him on Wednesday and it came as a total shock to the poor bastard."
More uneasy glances all around.
General Hayes said, "with all due respect, sir -- what's your point?"
"The outlaw was screwed, and properly so. He was never getting out of that poke alive, and he was a fool for thinking otherwise. There was only one thing he could have done to avoid the sentence."
"Which is?" asked General Hayes.
"He could have hung himself on Tuesday."
Secretary Pullman stood. He walked around the broad oval conference table and turned off the projector screen that showed the current -- grim -- battle lines. The room was dark for a moment, then the soft amber overhead lights came on.
"I want our entire fleet sent to Luna for repairs," Secretary Pullman said. "Every starship, every mobile installation, every colonizer, every piddly little scouter. All of it. On Luna or in low orbit around it."
"Every egg in one basket, huh?" General Polick spat. "Concentrate our entire force in one place and play wounded to lure the Feir into a trap? Do you honestly think they'll fall for something so asinine? You wouldn't fool a child with this lunacy."
"While our force is sitting idle on Luna, the Feir take Earth," General Bretting said.
"I know," said Secretary Pullman. "And when they take Earth, we'll blow it up. Every single Feir and all of the 11 billion unlucky bastards who live down there." | 2015-04-15T10:44:26 | 2015-04-15T09:18:52 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] An unnamed henchmen has the audacity to murder the protagonist halfway through the villain's monologue with a complete disregard for the plot. | "Hey Jones, the usual?" Lucille's bar was as empty as it got, but then again it was midday. And Jones was early.
"Yeah. Can you put it on my tab, I can't pay today."
"Sure thing." The barkeep Lucille, a woman in her mid-fifties with a bad wrist poured out a shot of fireball. She was used to her particular clientele having rough weeks without paychecks. Or being incarcerated. Or just plain dead. "You starting a little early today. Mind saying why the change in routine?" He gulped it as soon as she set it in front of him.
"I fucked up at work today. Can I have another?" Jones wasn't the heavy drinker in the group of regulars. Sure he could party with the best of them and have his fair share on the occasional night a dastardly plan went right for once, maybe a big heist. But usually he was the one who showed restraint. Not today. Lucille had seen that look before. It must be at least once a week when one of her customers comes in crying about messing up the all important weapon or something or other, and asking about jobs.
"Well I know Mirage is hiring but you don't wanna work for that pretentious prick. What you do anyways, you fall asleep or something? Let the hostages get away? You know I had a guy come in who quit cause he got punched so hard he pooped. Couldn't go back after that. Was it something like that?" She poured him another as she leaned in to listen.
"Nope." Jones said. "Killed the Mantis."
"No fucking way." She reeled. "You killed the Praying Mantis?"
"Yup. Shot him dead."
"*You?* You actually *killed* him?"
"Right in the face." Jones sighed, looked around the near empty bar, pulled over a tray with peanuts. "Boss was right in the middle of his big speech too, we were gonna blow up something or other, Mantis shows up, beats the crap out of us a bit, but we get him to the boss. Things got heavy and that was that."
"Holy shit." Lucille eyed him carefully. "Don't you work for the Blue Herring?"
"I did, yeah. Oh he was pissed." Jones munched on some peanuts. "Boss was raging mad, I thought he was gonna pop a vein."
"I bet! That blue bastard can hold a grudge." She pushed the bottle towards him. "On the house, you'll need it." She frowned. "Boy oh boy what that psycho will do to you."
"Nothing." Jones took a gulp. "I shot him dead too." | He was at it again, his monologue, blasting away on why what he had to do was not evil, how it was necessary for world peace. Most of us had heard this at least ten times before. Agent Jamie Blud of H.E.A.R.T. had probably heard it more than the most of us. He had always stopped him when we got closed. The bastard had killed my brother, shoot me twice and his henchmen.. or his fellow agents had killed half my friends last time. And here Dr Jubby had captured him again, we were all getting nervous. The good Dr. only had to press the button and we would accomplish all we had worked so hard for. By working hard I mean us laboring and guarding and the good doctor planning and inventing. Not that he was bad at his jobs. I mean I had a handheld supercomputer in the early 80’s and it’s still better than your average laptop. Back then he was only a thief. That was before those danm terrorist and government killed his wife. The only woman I have seen who could say no to mr Agent and his ilk. Wait Im doing a inner monologing now. Fuck this.
“there wont be peace as long as that area still exist. The only way to bring peace to them is to nuke the whole place and build a parking lot over it. But I will do so much better. Wil my new” BANG BANG BANG… BANG BANG..
They all looked at me ”what the hell ? “ Dr. Jubby stagger back in confusion as I walked over to the agents and shoot him two times more in the head. BANG BANG! “a warning next time. “ The dr. turns towards the panel and sighted as he looked at the button . “ fuck it.. come here. What’s your name again?”
I holstered my gun and stepped over the dead body. “ Fritz Cull. Nr 24 sir!”
“Number 24? You survived that long? Number 637. Clean the mess up” He looked over my shoulder to my co guard and looked down at the button. “ you press it. Its just as much your victory as mine.”
"I looked at him and I was getting confused. Then scared. He is going to kill me. Fuck.. danm Im doing a monolog again . I pressed the button and nothing happened. “ I’m dead aren’t I?”
He shuck his head and smirked. Your not supposed to feel anything but its done. We made world peace.
The satellites worked perfectly, the redundant operation system crashed of course as the agents of H.E.A.R.T. had instructed it to, no knowing it the secondary system was the actual main system and untouched by their hacking. The beams struck down on all the 500 designated areas and within 1 hours there was no longer a middle east just a bunch of island the size Hawaii. All the major holysite where gone so was the major cities. While it lasted the world was filled with a strange music, from instruments nobody could really place. When it was owe the clouds all over the middle east formed into the words “ Do not kill in my name again!”
Dr. Jubby walked away from the control panel to his study, halfway he looked at me as to tell me to follow, I followed. I had just killed more several million but It didn’t dawn on me yet. He told me to sitt down at his desk. I looked at the chair. It had several hidden deadly traps and devices installed in it. I sat down as he took out a bottle of whiskey. “ so we did it. “ the always so elegant Dr. open the bottle and drank straight from the bottle, like he did when we had started. I just nodded and he handed me the bottle, “ 24? That means you were part of the Switz bank heist?”
“yes sir. Got shot there. First time you meet him. “ I nodded back to the door and he smirked.
“the good old days. Who would knew he would be such an asshole, you know he tried to seduce my daughter. He is 20 years old then her.. was I would say. “
I drank and handed him the bottle. I guess I would celebrating now.
| 2015-06-24T01:55:02 | 2015-06-23T23:22:04 | 691 | 31 |
[WP] The Knight finally confront the Demon Lord.... Only to find that she was more beautiful than the Princess. | Sir Melethor broke through the stout locks on the doors of the castle with one mighty blow from his warhammer. He charged through the howling demonic guards and sent them screaming back to hell with a few more well-placed swings. His shining armor seemed to emit its own light that penetrated the inky shadows of the Demon Lord's lair.
"Let me guess," a voice called from across the room. A curtain was brushed aside, and the Dark One herself, Queen Halfaith, appeared at the end of the hall. "My darling stepdaughter has persuaded you to come here to avenge her honor? Tell me, sir knight, which tale did she weave for *you*?"
The knight tilted his helmet's visor up just a bit to get a better look at her. Sure, Lady Margaret hadn't been explicit about what her stepmother looked like, but it was kind of *implied*. She was supposed to be hundreds of years old, and warped and wrinkled by black magic. Instead, she looked.... well, a bit like an upgrade from her stepdaughter. Her revealing robes didn't leave much to the imagination, and Sir Melethor certainly wasn't complaining. "Errr... my lady... you are not... ummm..."
She smirked. "Not what you expected?" His armor clanked as he nodded, and Queen Halfaith gave an exasperated sigh. She took a seat on a plush couch and gestured for the knight to join her. "Let me guess: she told you that I was a shriveled old crone, and the source of all evil in the universe, right?"
"Well, not in so many words," he answered. He still held his stout shield and mighty warhammer, but they seemed... frivolous. If the Queen had been armed, he would have been able to pretty easily see the weapon through those robes. She was no threat.
"Come, sit," she invited him. "You're not the first gallant young man that she has twisted to her will with those stories of her." She gestured across the wall, where a number of shields, stamped with a variety of noble crests and sigils, hung. "Fortunately, the men are generally willing to listen to reason and hear my side of the story as well. If you do believe me, I ask only that you leave me your shield as an apology. A good knight makes his own decisions."
*That was true*, he reasoned. Come to think of it, Lady Margaret really hadn't explained *why* her mother was considered evil. She just repeated what horrible things she had done: consorting with demons, burning villages, attempting to kill her own step-daughter countless times, etc. "Very well," he answered firmly. "Tell me your side, then, and I shall determine whether you will live."
She smiled. "I thank you for your chivalry, Sir..."
"Melethor," he answered with a clunky bow. "Of Galbraith."
"Thank you, Sir Melethor. Tell me, in this one did she tell you that I was part dragon? Or was it that I poisoned her father? Or did she try to claim that I somehow caused those brigands to kill her birth mother?"
"The second one," Sir Melethor answered, his voice reduced to a low growl. Lady Margaret had been so convincing too, with those tears in her eyes! How could he have been such a fool?
"Ah yes," the queen answered. "That is one of her favorites. Poor Harold wasn't poisoned; he just fell ill and died before Lady Margaret could return home. She always resented me, you know, and I'm afraid she's led you astray. She's been trying to find a man to kill me for ages now. I am just a simple sorceress, with no black magic or ill intentions." From thin air, she conjured a porcelain tea pot and some cups. "Can I offer you some tea?"
The knight leaned his mighty hammer against the wall and took a seat across from her. "Yes, thank you."
She poured a cup for herself, and one for the knight. It smelled of lavender. "So tell me," she said. "What other supposed horrid acts did I commit in this story of hers?"
He sighed and sipped the tea. "So many things, my lady. I'm sorry for having believed them. She claimed that you scourged the village of Felwoth and allowed demons to disembowel every man... claimed that you have had, errr..." the knight cleared his throat, "*intimate relations* with the Demon King himself..."
"My heavens!" the queen interrupted. "These stories get worse and worse each time."
"Well, that's not the worst of it," he continued. His voice was raspy and low. "She said that you..." The words formed a lump that caught in his throat. He was quite suddenly very parched. He took another sip of tea, but that didn't help at all. The flesh inside his mouth felt like it was cracking open. He coughed, and a trickle of blood ran down his chin onto his burnished steel chest plate.
The queen giggled and sipped her own tea. "You really shouldn't believe every story you hear, good sir knight."
Sir Melethor's eyes went wide as he realized what happened. He stood and reached for his hammer, but collapsed to the floor before he could take a step.
Queen Halfaith picked his shield up from the floor, gave it a quick polish, and mounted it on one of the empty hooks on the wall next to the others.
| It was the smell that was the worst part. Blood, feces, and rotting flesh. It was little wonder that men of war come back changed for the worst. Oren could hear the screams as the demons tore through their bodies and armor. War cries, exclamations of pain, and pleading whimpers calling out for something safe and lost.
Many had been lost as the Demon Lord spread their armies across this kingdom. Many more of their own kind perished as humanity rose up and shoved them back. Now was the time for the final battle. As stormy winter blew fierce breezes and blinding snow, Oren continued to charge forward.
"In the name of our Lord, we will triumph!" He howled to his men as he carried his massive claymore along his side. It was heaved upward in a grand curl of his wrist so he could slash a devil that was flying towards him. It's black blood spilled over his armor, sizzling and steaming as it mixed with the holy armament that was blessed by the high priests.
He could make out the shadow zipping through the air. The dark feathered wings of that fallen angel that lead this demonic army. "Clerics! Take aim at Nuriel! Fire them down so I may claim the beast's head!" Men clad in white and gold robes held their staffs aloft in the air. Streams of holy light shot forward at the angel as they twisted about.
In return, Nuriel cast down a stream of hail. Boulders of ice that were lit up in blue flame. A shriek pierced the air as one of the streams of holy light severed the right wing of the angel. It tumbled through the air and landed somewhere in the distance.
"Provide me cover whilst I end this! Thy reign of tyranny will end this day, Nuriel!" Oren charged forward again. The clerics continued to weave their blessings throughout the air. Devils attempted to counter, only to be blasted one by one. Eventually he reached the clearing where Nuriel had landed. The creature wrapping one of its remaining speckled wing about its body as though it were attempting to shield itself.
The air was oddly still. The chill and silence hung heavily despite the horrors that were happening just outside of it. Oren's feet crunched through the snow as he approached. His sword was held ready at his side, but he could feel curiosity welling inside of him as well. He could hear the angel before him muttering to itself vile curses in an archaic language.
As he grew nearer, Nuriel moved their wing out of the way so they could glare up at the night with blue eyes so pale that they nearly looked like snow. Tears were welling up in them and streaming off the sides of her cheeks. Her silken hair was barely out of place, and was as dark and as blue as a frozen ocean. Despite her pale nature, she had faded freckles that made it look as though her face had been kissed by snowflakes.
In truth, Oren found her to be quite beautiful.
"Thou art... *a w-woman*..?" He stammered out. His sword was plunged into the ground below him and he leaned forward and into the hilt while at the same time looming over her to see her better.
"What of it?" Nuriel hissed out. She shivered, and her clothes were made of a thin material that did not hide much of any of her form. "I have lost. Everything I worked towards is now just a folly. Hurry up and finish me off."
"*A m-moment*..." Oren stammered out again.
Nuriel looked up at the man. He appeared young. He also appeared quite uncomfortable. His nose and cheeks were red from the cold. Snot was leaking out his nostrils and the edges of his ears were crisp and as rosy as an apple. He might actually be considered handsome if not for his pained appearance. Oren squirmed slightly, keeping his posture crooked and sword firmly placed in front of him.
"... a-Are thou having a fault?" Nuriel suddenly clasped her arms about herself and gasped out in horror.
"What of it?!" Oren found the strength to look directly at her again. Though this made the coloration of his face all the more red.
"What is wrong with thou?! What perversion ails your crooked head?!" She stood up and stumbled down again. Having only one wing did terrible things for her ability to balance properly.
"I was chosen to defeat thou at a young age and have nary seen a creature of such fairness nor any woman since my mother gave me to the church!" Oren exclaimed at a volume more louder than he needed to.
Nuriel attempted to rise up again, digging her bare feet into the ground this time so she wouldn't fall. Her other wing was bleeding heavily, black blood staining the dirt below her. "I will not have my genius, no, my perfect invasion soiled by.. b-by..." She let out an annoyed high-pitched growl and gestured to the all of Oren with one arm while the other still made an effort to hide her body from him.
Oren fell silent and straightened up again. He shook his head and lifted up his sword. Again his heavy shoes made the snow crackled below him as he dragged his weapon towards Nuriel. He did have a mission. And this was the cruel creature who had wrecked havoc against his homeland.
"Get away! Go back to thine clerics and find another who is more pure of mind than thou!" She stumbled as she attempted to step away, falling upon her rump. Her wing was pulled up in a weak effort to protect herself from whatever death Oren had planned for her.
She screamed out in horrified pain. Oren slamming the sword into the ground again as Nuriel's remaining wing fell into the snow. More black blood spewed from her back, slowly turning a reddish tone. Nuriel looked up at the knight with pure hatred in her eyes. Her teeth were clenched and her mind too blank with the torment that had been wretched upon her body.
"Without thine wings, thou are now human." Oren furrowed his brow as he felt an odd sort of inner conflict between his upper and lower minds. "... Run. Continue running till this battlefield is no longer a thought in thine mind." He lifted up his sword again and held it at his side. "It is cold. Try not to freeze to death. Never show thine to my presence again."
Nuriel's eyes widened at his act of mercy. She gave a nod and stumbled once more to a stand. Her body was weak and her magic gone. Maybe she would survive. Maybe she wouldn't. Oren lifted up the wing and tossed it over his shoulder. Perhaps it would be enough to prove that he accompished the deed. The blizzard that was now starting to fade would most likely accomplish what he could not. Either way, he did not care now. He was tired.
The sounds of his army letting out cries of victory issued from nearly every direction. It would appear as though Nuriel's demons were dying out now that her magic could not longer sustain them. So in a way, he had succeeded. To Oren, that was good enough. | 2016-03-29T06:17:58 | 2016-03-29T05:02:03 | 63 | 37 |
[Wp] Humans have discovered how to live forever, allowing them to die when they feel ready to do so. But it is considered bad form to live for too long. You have lingered much longer than is polite and those around you are trying to convince you to die. | The bus sped past me again. I don't really know what else I expected. 347 years they've done this, but I pay them no mind. They think it's rude to stay, I think it's rude to leave. I've dealt with their 'punishments' for long enough that it just doesn't bother me. I can basically predict how the day goes- I check the bank to see how much money I gained from interest, I go to work late to avoid the eggs (They always go "Oh shit he actually did it this time!" and go back to their cubicles), during lunch the boss talks to me about my plans for the future, I walk home while rocks are thrown at me. But I go through with it every day.
The days seem to grow longer every day. I'm technically the richest man on Earth, but the money doesn't matter to me. I'm staying until I get what I want. My great-great-great-great-great-great grandchildren don't talk to me, but I'm sure they'd understand. They've long forgotten it, it was a thing from when my wife was still alive. The days grow longer without her. She finally gave in 50 years ago. Now I've got fifty dresses collecting dust, and two golden rings starting to rust.
But I wait evermore, because I know it's still not forgotten. I do this everyday, but I know in my heart that it's right. My wife's last words were "See you soon." But I've got to wait for the both of us. 328 years I've waited, but I made a promise to myself...
I WILL play Half Life 3. | Four hundred years is the limit of what's considered socially acceptable. Since I've hit the big four-five-oh, people won't leave it alone. Especially the members of my current family. It might be time to move on soon.
I circled the edges of the reunion dinner, ignoring the scandalised looks thrown my way. I picked up fragments of the conversation as I walked through the crowds, grabbing a glass of champagne along the way.
"Just rude, to leave his wife waiting for him, really," one woman (supposedly my cousin sixteen times removed, or something of the sort) muttered as I passed her.
"How many years has it been since she passed on?" her friend asked.
"Eighty! And his oldest children went twenty years ago. Simply heartless, if you ask me..."
"Well, nobody did ask you, did they Kelly?" I said, not pausing to hear her reply as I made my way outside towards the balcony.
I felt compelled to come every year. Witness who had passed, who were still biding their time. Free will always fascinated me. I gazed out over the city from the balcony, breathing deeply. I missed the trees. A giant, animated billboard of celebrating people caught my eye.
**Mass prayer meeting this Saturday. Show your appreciation for eternal life!**
Given the way Immortal Tablets were discovered, I suppose it was natural to believe you could simply continue your immortal life on another plane. Somewhere you didn't take up valuable space and resources. Where you could spend endless days of sunshine with your loved ones, without worrying about earning your place and time on Earth. They believed the story so strongly, they didn't fear death anymore. Not really. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who knows the story is bogus - at least the one they're telling themselves.
I was, after all, quite a bit older than the 450 years I claimed, and had been the one to share my 'secret' of the Immortality Tablets with the rest of the world in the first place.
But when most people pass on after a paltry 400 years, people forget. They change the story. Myths and stories are fickle things, that become bruised and bent out of shape with time. Especially the one about who and what I was.
People simply can't fathom the idea of being older than the universe itself, of someone having known the secret of the 'tablets' all along. Who chose to share it with the rest of the planet simply because he got bored.
Or at least, that's my theory. I haven't tested it yet. I don't know if I want them to know the truth. This world is a small place, and we all have to die sometimes.
Well, except for me, of course. I can't leave yet. For one thing, my humans remained interesting after all this time. And it would be rude to leave the party early. I'd started this whole mess, after all. I should see the ending of the story.
I tossed back the rest of my champagne and made my way back inside. With luck, there would still be some food left. I could kill for one of those little sausage rolls right about now.
_____
You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 2016-08-09T08:58:15 | 2016-08-09T07:43:02 | 916 | 333 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood… | ** so I didn't follow the prompt exactly, but I liked my response so much that I wanted to post it anyways. Hopefully you'll like it enough to ignore the fact I didn't follow it to a T! **
I was in the kitchen when it happened. I heard the loud crash of glass a split second before I heard Jason's cries. I felt my heart drop as I raced up the stairs to the bathroom, my hair flying behind me and I skidded to a stop infront of the door. Shards of glass glittered on the tile floor, Jason standing in the middle of the wreck, his right hand cradling his left to his chest.
"Jason!" I scolded. "What happened?"
He sniffles and begins to cry. I instantly feel a wave of guilt wash over me and I dance around the glass, pulling him to me.
"'I'm sorry, honey, shh. Are you hurt?" He nods his head against my chest and I pull away far enough to take a look at his hand. I gasp, my body locking into place as goosebumps erupt all over my flesh. Instead of Snow White blood my beautiful ten year old boy is oozing black tar from his wound. My mouth opens and closes, like a fish gasping above water, wondering what new hell he's been transported to.
"What have you done?" My voice is weak as I force every syllabus out of my mouth.
"I'm sorry Mommy, it was an accident I swear!" He pleads, but before he can even finish his sentence I'm shaking my head. I try to pry him off me but his arms are locked around me. I can feel his blood soaking the back of shirt, like liquid fire burning my skin. The anxiety well up in my chest and threatens to tear me apart. There are only a few things in this world that could turn a person's blood so vile.
I manage to pry his hands off me and I jump back, my feet crunching on the glass.
His stare hardens as his tears dry up, his shoulders rising up around his neck, like a cat whose fur stands up on end.
"I didn't want things to change," he growls, a ferocious beast."I told you I didn't't want things to change!"
"What are you talking about?" I whispered but I already know. My eyes dart over to the practically new bottle of baby shampoo still resting on the side of the tub, used only once.
"You said I'd always be your number one guy! You promised!"
"No," I moan. I can feel my heart breaking all over again.
"It's okay," he soothes, making his way back to me. I want to crawl out of my own skin.
"I forgive you, Mommy. I forgive you." | "No, it's not what you think. I can explain!" She proceeded to back away slowly, wide-eyed and pale in the face.
"W-w-who are y-you" she stuttered. I could see tears in her eyes, threatening to betray her.
"I promise I'm still the same man you fell in love with. I've made some mistakes I'm not proud of but I've changed!"
She shook her head slowly and shoved me into the brick wall, my head hitting the hard surface. "How could you!? I've told you everything about me and yet you dare hide something like this from me?" Her tears finally betrayed her and I watched as they slid down her cheeks. I never meant to hide it from her but I was scared that she wouldn't accept me if she knew. But it was too late. She hated me, I could hear it in her voice. I gazed into her sapphire eyes, mesmerized by her beauty.
"I promise I will make it up to you." I tucked her hair in behind her ear and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead before walking away. That was the last time I saw her alive.
The next morning started out like any other day. I sat at my cubicle and contemplated life. It was part of my routine as I had quite a bit of extra time between phone calls and there was always something eating away at my mind. I had thought about Kailyn and how things went down last night. Suddenly a wave of guilt washed over me. Maybe I shouldn't have left her in the way that I did? I didn't want to give her a chance to break up with me. She has always been my saving grace and I don't know what I'd do without her.
We met when we were both 18 and, at the time, I was depressed to the point where I tried to end my life but she was always able to talk me out of it. It didn't take long for me to fall in love with her and propose. I could feel my face getting warm and a smile threatening to show itself on my face, making my lips quiver as I tried to hide it. If only she knew how much she means to me. Suddenly I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket and when I answered the call, my whole world turned upside down.
"Is your name Steven Donovan?"
"Yes"
"And your fiancé's name is Kailyn Wilson?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"This is Martin Wells. I am a police officer from NYPD. I've got some bad news. Kailyn has been involved in a car wreck. I'm so sorry to have to tell you this but..She didn't make it."
My face went cold and my entire body went numb. I dropped the phone on the desk and sat there, motionless. It was as if someone had pressed the pause button because time had cease to exist in my newly distorted perception of reality.
"Are you alright?" I turned over to see my manager suddenly standing next to me with a concerned look on his face. In a soft tone, I muttered "No." It was all I was able to get out before balling my eyes out. Yes, right in front of my manager. But I didn't care. All that mattered was that my Cinderella was gone.
That was when I began drinking every night but no matter how much I drank, I could never drink the pain away. It was this constant stabbing pain that hit my soul every time I took a breath. I could never forget my angel. One night, the pain was too much to bare and I held a gun to my head. It was more than satisfying to feel the tip of the gun against the side of my head because It was the only thing that felt real to me. This was the only way that I could end the pain I was in and kill the demons leeching off of my soul.
As I brushed the trigger with my finger, I thought back to the last time I saw her. She was so perfect. Her hair was black as the midnight sky and her blue eyes shown brighter than all of the stars. I absolutely adored the way her face would light up every time she saw me. I felt my face come to life as I smiled, a real authentic smile.
"I made a promise to you and i plan on keeping it. I choose to live. For you." | 2016-09-22T22:31:58 | 2016-09-22T16:56:11 | 91 | 12 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood… | The sole reason I had met him was our love of coffee. He was a man who had worked for the military, I knew he had to have some darkness to his blood. That didn't matter to me, his childlike love had long since taught me better. The much harder part was hiding my own from him. We had both grown up in the city, he had left it to do good abroad, I stayed to do good by my city. Over time, I had become more ruthless, and it showed, crime had dropped to an all time low. The mayor had claimed responsibility, I had been working with him for some time. The darker acts I had committed had been simple crimes of passion, or gang related violence, the better were his workings. All had gone on as I had desired. As a creature of habit, I had my own routine. Wake up, shower, cleansing. All allowed me to do what I do, to put those who need down, down. I had never once considered that I might appreciate another, how could I? All I have seen of our city has been filth. I had worked my entire life to keep our city pure, not just pure, but to prevent any "hunting'. Once it was learned that there was a direct connection between blood and sin, I had to adjust my aims. In the midst of this, I had found Tom. I loved every part of him, but I never could tell him of what I have done, surely my blood must be black as sin. I learned that as heft the military, he had no desire to do anything ever again for the government, maybe all the more reason his blood might've matched mine. I will never be able to properly describe the day we both learned our true natures. He was on his way home when he had been hit by a van and was rushed to the E.R. He had needed blood, and I knew I was the closest match, so I offered my own black blood, knowing that no doctor could disclose this, and that since he was unconscious neither would he know. My blood had brought him to stable, though it was less dark than I thought. It was a sort of grey. During the surgery to repair his bones, I had noticed his blood was as black as any criminal I had ever seen. No matter, I have darkness of my own, just a bit less. After he was discharged, we spoke, we had both understood each other's life, both darkness in the light. I took him home, simply happy to have him there. My last memory will always be him and the knife, with the words, "The Mayor sends his regards." | "No, it's not what you think. I can explain!" She proceeded to back away slowly, wide-eyed and pale in the face.
"W-w-who are y-you" she stuttered. I could see tears in her eyes, threatening to betray her.
"I promise I'm still the same man you fell in love with. I've made some mistakes I'm not proud of but I've changed!"
She shook her head slowly and shoved me into the brick wall, my head hitting the hard surface. "How could you!? I've told you everything about me and yet you dare hide something like this from me?" Her tears finally betrayed her and I watched as they slid down her cheeks. I never meant to hide it from her but I was scared that she wouldn't accept me if she knew. But it was too late. She hated me, I could hear it in her voice. I gazed into her sapphire eyes, mesmerized by her beauty.
"I promise I will make it up to you." I tucked her hair in behind her ear and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead before walking away. That was the last time I saw her alive.
The next morning started out like any other day. I sat at my cubicle and contemplated life. It was part of my routine as I had quite a bit of extra time between phone calls and there was always something eating away at my mind. I had thought about Kailyn and how things went down last night. Suddenly a wave of guilt washed over me. Maybe I shouldn't have left her in the way that I did? I didn't want to give her a chance to break up with me. She has always been my saving grace and I don't know what I'd do without her.
We met when we were both 18 and, at the time, I was depressed to the point where I tried to end my life but she was always able to talk me out of it. It didn't take long for me to fall in love with her and propose. I could feel my face getting warm and a smile threatening to show itself on my face, making my lips quiver as I tried to hide it. If only she knew how much she means to me. Suddenly I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket and when I answered the call, my whole world turned upside down.
"Is your name Steven Donovan?"
"Yes"
"And your fiancé's name is Kailyn Wilson?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"This is Martin Wells. I am a police officer from NYPD. I've got some bad news. Kailyn has been involved in a car wreck. I'm so sorry to have to tell you this but..She didn't make it."
My face went cold and my entire body went numb. I dropped the phone on the desk and sat there, motionless. It was as if someone had pressed the pause button because time had cease to exist in my newly distorted perception of reality.
"Are you alright?" I turned over to see my manager suddenly standing next to me with a concerned look on his face. In a soft tone, I muttered "No." It was all I was able to get out before balling my eyes out. Yes, right in front of my manager. But I didn't care. All that mattered was that my Cinderella was gone.
That was when I began drinking every night but no matter how much I drank, I could never drink the pain away. It was this constant stabbing pain that hit my soul every time I took a breath. I could never forget my angel. One night, the pain was too much to bare and I held a gun to my head. It was more than satisfying to feel the tip of the gun against the side of my head because It was the only thing that felt real to me. This was the only way that I could end the pain I was in and kill the demons leeching off of my soul.
As I brushed the trigger with my finger, I thought back to the last time I saw her. She was so perfect. Her hair was black as the midnight sky and her blue eyes shown brighter than all of the stars. I absolutely adored the way her face would light up every time she saw me. I felt my face come to life as I smiled, a real authentic smile.
"I made a promise to you and i plan on keeping it. I choose to live. For you." | 2016-09-22T21:45:49 | 2016-09-22T16:56:11 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] You discover a grand hall filled with legendary weapons like Mjonir and Excalibur. Each generation or so, warriors come to the hall to inherit a weapon that they are worthy enough to wield. Across the hall you see a forgotten weapon that's been collecting dust. You hear it call to you. | Swords, blades, axes, hammers and all manner of other famous weapons adorned the walls. Neatly hung and fastidiously dusted by the elves who served in the hall but from the dimly lit far end of the room, a whisper filled the air.
"Down here. These weapons will doom you. You need me and I need you, my friend."
I stopped and looked for the source of the voice when a faint glint from the dying candles caught a part of its body, as if to beckon me closer.
"My friend," the voice returned, "I am far older than these primative tools, from when only humans were on this world; long before the Fall and the Return. I can guide you and protect you, the trinkets on these walls do not see your worth; they see you as a human, a primitive and backward creature who's ancestors both destroyed and gave birth to the world that these primative tools know."
"Who... who are you?" My voice almost fails me.
"Me? I am the only one on these walls that knows your worth, my friend. Some of these axes and swords served humans but none know humans like I know humans. I graced one thousand battles; many of my parts have been replaced, modified and even enchanted over the millenia to keep me in service."
I approach cautiously as the two candles flanking the shape return to life and reveal the contraption. A long hybrid of wood and metal with a rune of plenty engraved onto a strange curved canister that protruded from the bottom of the device and appeared to have been welded to secure it to the rest of the metal. The canister sat infront of a handle and some sort of shaped plank that was mounted to the back of the weapon and the front had a pipe, on top of which sat a semicircle around a prong. Such craftsmanship had been lost to Humans since the fall five thosand yeas ago and whatever this was certainly too crude for elven construction and too small to have been made by a Dwarf.
Once more the whisper returned.
"I know what they have done to this world, I know the subjugation endured by humans under those pointy eared bastards; the sun elves. I know why you fight, I feel it within you."
"What... what's your name?"
"My name?" The whisper chucked, "my name is Kalashnikov and I'm the last thing they will expect."
Without thinking, I lifted Kalashnikov from its dusty altar and slung it over my shoulder. I had no idea what it did but whatever it was, it was my best hope it seemed. As I left the hall I scanned the area for Imperial patrols and carried on through the forest; the door to the hall vanishing as I walked away. | Alabaster doors, unfathomably tall and unimaginably wide, shifted silently open beneath the gentle brush of Catarin's fingertips. Glancing once more behind her, she stepped into the Temple of Ages, the stone slabs swinging shut behind her.
*The Temple of Ages - an homage to the Old Gods, divine beings that granted Their chosen warriors powers beyond any mere mortal. Countless wars were fought in Their name, and countless people died to sate Their bloodlust.*
Catarin couldn't help but stare in awe at what stood before her. A grand hall of white marble stretched out before her, seemingly unending. Jewels and gems, silver and gold and platinum lie unmolested in ornate filigree. Crystal chandeliers hang suspended from nothing, flickering light fracturing and scattering into the darkened corners of the corridor. *Surely this hall couldn't fit in the Temple,* thought Catarin, *for the plateau upon which it stands is barely large enough to support the Temple itself. This hall should have broken off from the building and fallen into the Abyss.*
*None truly knows from whence it came. Some time after the Fall of the Ieryssi Empire, scholars believe, the Old Gods placed the Temple of Ages upon what was then called the Abyssal Spire. A singular column of volcanic rock juts out from the bottomless Abyss, and at its top sits the Temple.*
Reminding herself of her purpose here, Catarin strode forth into the impossibly long hall. Beautiful tapestries lined the walls, depicting ancient battles and long-passed conquests. Beneath each saga, the artifact of legend stood, seeming to wait for its next champion. Catarin walked briskly past each weapon, never giving any more than a passing glance.
*Excalibur, the legendary sword that Artur used to fell the armies of Myrdr. Mjolnir, the holy warhammer that Thor Odinsson wielded in his conquest of the North. The Horn of Yeshua, which razed the walls of Ierysalm itself long ago. Many have flocked to the Temple of Ages hoping to find their glory.*
Catarin stepped lightly, trying her best to not disturb the dead as she moved steadily toward her charge. Bones littered the beautiful marble floor, the bleached skeletons of would-be warriors and desperate fools. Catarin knew better than to reach for one of the Old Gods' gifts. *Pitiful,* she thought, *thinking Them anything other than fickle.*
*There is only one way to reach the Temple of Ages, and that is via the bridge. The Temple stands in the middle of a bottomless chasm, an ancient volcano that has long been dormant. The bridge is no easy task to maneuver, though. It is as old as the Temple itself, and has long been rotted and frayed.*
All the weapons were shining examples of ornate design, extravagant beauty and breathless wonder. All but one. Catarin stood before the altar, winded and feeling older than she began. Calloused hands lowered the cloth wraps from her face, and golden locks fell in waves as she gazed toward the image above her.
*It is the First, and it will be the Last. You are the only one who can rightfully take it up, Catarin. It's up to you to save us.*
It was a crudely drawn picture. Two figures in shades of sanguine reds and earthen browns, standing in resolution. Two figures, strengthened in their fraternity. Two figures, standing in opposition.
One figure, standing above the broken body of his brother.
*Only you can save them,* the First whispered to her, *and I can give you the power to do it.*
...
Catarin Ierys, Empress of Ruins, stared toward the Temple of Ages with a righteous fury. Its blackened facade seemed to laugh at her from atop the Spire, a cacophony of mockery that crawled beneath her skin. With a disgusted sneer, she took hold of the weapon she had traveled so far to obtain and hacked away at the moorings of the bridge. The sharpened rock sawed through the ropes with minimal effort, and within moments the rickety bridge was falling. She watched with satisfaction as it sank into the darkened depths of the Abyss.
And Catarin turned and began the long journey home to kill her sister. | 2017-02-07T14:31:39 | 2017-02-07T11:44:28 | 368 | 65 |
[WP] Earth is discovered by a peaceful coalition of civilizations. Turns out we missed several major technologies normally developed by now. The aliens are very confused how we got here. | Krygh'rrtrh, Galactic Ambassador of the Universal Alliance, looked at the misshapen carbon life-forms in front of him and frowned.
Or rather, he did the Jgru (that was his home planet) equivalent of a frown, because the Jgru do not possess faces.
It seemed to upset the life-forms, because they all quickly lay on the floor to avoid the explosion of green slime that is the Jgru way of expressing displeasure.
"Tell me again," Krygh'rrtrh said into the Vox translator, "how did you arrive on this planet?"
The chief life-form started to recommence his long explanation of something they called explanation, but the Jgru cut him off.
"Impossible."
The life-forms conferred among themselves.
"Actually, we have considerable evidence to prove that evolution is tr-"
"Of course!" Krygh'rrtrh snorted, throwing out red slime this time, "Only a fool would dispute evolution. But it's impossible that life originated 3 billion years ago."
"Why?"
"Because the Alliance visited this planet 65 million years ago, and there was no evidence of carbon based life anywhere."
The life-forms seemed stunned and Krygh'rrtrh, confident that he would now get them to confess the truth, said, "So I ask you again. How did you get to this planet? Was it warp technology? Fusion power? Or is there something else you are hiding?"
---
*You can read more of my prompts at* r/jd_rallage | "I am who I am."
I hear the strain in my voice, it's embarrassing. I stir the ice cubes in my lemonade to try and break the tension. The spoon clinks against the glass.
"I'm not... I'm not dumb. I'm pretty sure I understand the context here, of what you're asking. The fact that you're speaking English gives me some clue, too. But what else can I say?"
Out of habit I poured my guests some of the freshly squeezed lemonade too. But rings of moisture have since started to form under their three glasses on the table between us. Now that I think about it, they haven't moved since I started talking. What do they want?
There are two *or* three of them. It's hard to tell them apart. Their figures move together constantly, like water suspended in the air. And their hues shift between shades of red or blue or purple, depending on how the light hits them. It's strange to look at, it feels almost romantic.
"You asked me how I got here. Ok? I didn't make that up, right?"
They vibrate softly up and down. I hear their voices in my head.
"Right... So like before, as a human, I assume I can speak on behalf of all humanity. At the very least we can try and have a productive conversation, from one species to another, before the government finds you."
A quiet chuckle forces its way out of me. Am I on the right track? Sips of my lemonade helps.
"Well no one knows if God made us or by some evolution we got here, but we've definitely made some progress. We got books, electricity, internet, obviously all of this helps. We're working our way towards Mars I think, not sure when it'll happen, soon I hope, I -- you've heard of Mars right? It's nearby, relatively."
Frustrated cows start mooing loudly out back. I take another sip and move to the window in my kitchen. Poor Bessy, Wilbur, and Rose, I can't blame them for getting riled up. A giant floating spaceship has taken up a large portion of their pasture.
Staring at their spacecraft out my window I can't think of what else to say.
"Look we are who we are and I am who I am! I've tried to be friendly, but. I'm sorry but you'll have to give a little more if you want me to be more -- "
Ice cubes fall onto my lips from the glass I have raised, all the liquid is gone. I grab the pitcher off the counter and pour myself some more, then return to the living room.
But they're gone. The like-water in the air is no longer there, the dazzling shades of red and blue and purple have disappeared.
I rush back to the window in my kitchen. There it is, lifting off into the sky. The cows get knocked over from the windy escape.
I sit on the couch behind where they once floated and take a sip of my lemonade. It doesn't taste the same. It feels... my heart is almost broken.
I notice the empty coffee table in front of me with three rings of moisture seeping into the wood.
Well, at least they liked the lemonade.
| 2017-03-09T17:14:59 | 2017-03-09T16:52:29 | 322 | 129 |
[WP] Everyone with the same name shares knowledge. If one Bob gets a degree in electrical engineering, then all Bob's have this knowledge readily available. Soon, everyone starts naming their kids similar names until factions form. Your parents rebelled and named you something original. | It took only a day.
A shadowy organization saw the sharing of information through names, and so realized a great loophole in the univese
_The mechanical spiders finished their construction of a nano-fabricator_
Earth is not the only planet. There are billions. Somewhere, far away, there would be an alien civilization with knowledge far beyond our own. And some of those aliens would have _names_
_The SENS research foundation's goal is now complete. Old age is eradicated. Inevitable death itself has been slain. The aging population crisis is over. The lives of all of us have been saved._
And so, the shadowy organization took it upon themselves to mass-breed, creating thousands of children in secret, and naming them literally everything. Every possible sound and light pattern to create was noted and tested, until eventually, a child was born with a name from an alien planet, billions of years old.
_The child's first words were all the evidence they needed. No human sound, but a throaty collection of clicks and hisses_
Global warming cured, and nuclear fusion attained. The future was bright... However, soon, other names began to gather alien information too, and with that, the location of Earth was given to the alien conglomerate... No secrets remain. Now we can only hope our hosts do not find us wanting.
| "It's a curse, Zlewesky, others don't see it, but your dad and I, we did," mum coughed as she struggled to finish her last sentence, her frail hands holding me. I gently stroke them, feeling the wrinkles beneath mine.
She pulled me closer to her. Her hands trembled as she whispered into my ears. "You're the last remnant of us now."
I watched as her eyes fluttered, before closing forever. I laid her head down on her favourite pillow, as I stared at the window. The pine trees swayed gently in the wind, as dark clouds gathered overhead. The only remaining person that I know was gone. I let a drop of tear run down my face, as I carried mum outside, to the hole I dug beside dad.
It took me an hour to cover mum and to place a simple cross on it just like dad's. Mum insisted that we fashioned a cross for dad, two sticks tied together in the middle, which I guessed was something they brought from the outside world. I thought mum would love it too, which was why I made it for her as well. On it I carved her name, Abcde, just like how we did Dad's as well. Uwuwewe.
I stood there for the longest time, until the rain started falling and the rain stopped, wondering for the first time what it would mean for me to live a life by myself. All my life mum and dad had told me about the outside world, of the war that was happening when they ran.
"We were the last of the Free Namers," dad would tell me, and mum nodded silently beside him. They told me of the plague that was gripping humanity, how nations formed on the basis of names were declaring war on each other. Just to prove which name was better.
"But it's all an illusion, a distraction of what's to come," dad would then add, always reminding me of the real danger that was coming. When he died, mum took on that role. Every day and night.
"It's a curse disguised as a gift, my son. Our founder saw through that, and he sought to preserve the individuality of humanity. But to the nations, they saw him as a rebel and persecuted him. The Free Namers were hunted, killed as a sport, even though the wars raged on." The story replayed in my head. I was the last of the Free Namers, fighting a cause that I never asked for.
As I was walking back to the cabin, the only home I knew for the last twenty years, a loud clap rumbled through the sky, shaking the ground beneath me. And from the sky, black flying objects descended. I instinctively ran towards the cover of the trees, peering at the objects as they headed for the City of Bobs.
Perhaps my time has finally come, I thought to myself, as I followed them.
-----------
/r/dori_tales | 2017-04-07T09:39:12 | 2017-04-07T09:35:46 | 141 | 70 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | "I couldn't ask for a better birthday," she said. "Beautiful weather, lush countryside and best of all, a picnic with the man I love."
"Here," he said, as he offered her a scotch egg.
"Wow - homemade?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "Go on, try it."
She bit into the soft layer of breadcrumbs, through the meat and into the cavernous center.
"Oh my god, this is amazing!"
"Your father helped me with it," he said, taking out a knife and slicing the loaf of bread.
"It was *dad's* recipe? Oh my God, you're so sneaky! When did you go see him?"
"Yesterday. I... I wanted to ask him... God, this is tough. I wanted to ask him for his permission..."
"*To marry me?*" she whispered.
"Yes." He nodded towards the white, round centre of the scotch-egg.
"Is-" she began, her face ecstatic, "Is there a ring in the- oh, *oh God*," she said, as she picked up the egg in the center. She turned it around, until its pupil stared straight at her.
"Your father said no. But I think - *hope* - you might say, yes?"
| He laid with her and stroked her hair.
"I love you." he whispered into ear.
she smiles.
"and I you." she softly coos back.
He kisses her cheek she tilts her head and he kisses her neck before falling back to nuzzle in looking at the roof. The room was very dim and cool and drafty save for the fire in the edge of the room. He had her heat tho. She was so out of his league. He'd admired her from a far for years. how did he get so lucky? he was certain she had no clue who he was.
"why did you take so long to ask me out. How did you not know I smitten with you?" she asked. She could read his mind. I guess that's what happens when two are this madly in love he tells himself. He sighs as if thinking how best to reply.
"I mean... just look at you. and I mean look at me! your so young and beautiful. Me on the other hand-- god. I don't even have all my hair!"
she chuckles a soft hollow chuckle.
"Hey! I like you the way you are!"
he brushes a hand along her good thigh pushing up her silk nightgown. He looks into her eye with loving desire and looks for it back.
"So today the day I finally meet the parents..."She begins. He doesn't see the look back "...I'm so worried they won't--"
**"WRONG!!"** He maniacly bellows.
"No no no!" she pleads. She wasn't at the point where she didn't plead. He slammed down the cigar cutter bladed severing the index finger. Her blood curdling screams filled the air. It made him a little erect.
jumping off the stone operating table he had her chained to he moves over to the metal working fire that dimly lit the room retrieving the metal he had stoked. Grabbing her hand he presses the glowing yellow steel to her stump the sizzle made a beautiful accompany to her moaning pain. throwing the metal across the room he stormed to the door.
"I've told 20 times now." he spoke with cold cruelty and none of the love of before "if you can't get the fucking script right down to the movement queues you are never leaving this place. don't make me take the other eye as well cunt" she just softly cried and babbled all her strength to keep composure gone.
He slammed the door and stopped the recording. This bitch was so selfish, he mused. Her mother still held out hope that she would be found and at this rate there won't be any of her to bury. well not anything that resembles her. He smiled to himself. on a plus they'd save money on the casket he doesn't think they'll need much longer than knee level at this rate. | 2017-05-31T06:46:24 | 2017-05-31T01:51:06 | 1,067 | 49 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | I have to say, that this isn't so bad.
Yeah, it's a bit cramped, and the lighting's is too dim, but I'm a fan of the rustic life.
Of course, I preferred living in my Dad's mansion, making all my money off of my job at his firm, but that's all gone now, and all I have is this dingy apartment.
It took some doing too. The lady who lived here first didn't want to sell to me at the price I wanted, she took some persuading, but in the end she agreed.
Now I settle into bed-- it's much stiffer then I'm used too, and there's no servant to bring me a bedtime chocolate, but the walls have some sort of ugly charm. This is my home now, and that's okay.
It's a little cold, so I go into my closet, and pick out something to wear to bed. I go with my newest outfit.
Good choice. It's warm and sporty, even if there's no one there to see it. That lady had excellent taste. Her skin is soft and fits well over me. I can still smell her perfume over the metallic scent of blood.
Charming. Absolutely charming. | He laid with her and stroked her hair.
"I love you." he whispered into ear.
she smiles.
"and I you." she softly coos back.
He kisses her cheek she tilts her head and he kisses her neck before falling back to nuzzle in looking at the roof. The room was very dim and cool and drafty save for the fire in the edge of the room. He had her heat tho. She was so out of his league. He'd admired her from a far for years. how did he get so lucky? he was certain she had no clue who he was.
"why did you take so long to ask me out. How did you not know I smitten with you?" she asked. She could read his mind. I guess that's what happens when two are this madly in love he tells himself. He sighs as if thinking how best to reply.
"I mean... just look at you. and I mean look at me! your so young and beautiful. Me on the other hand-- god. I don't even have all my hair!"
she chuckles a soft hollow chuckle.
"Hey! I like you the way you are!"
he brushes a hand along her good thigh pushing up her silk nightgown. He looks into her eye with loving desire and looks for it back.
"So today the day I finally meet the parents..."She begins. He doesn't see the look back "...I'm so worried they won't--"
**"WRONG!!"** He maniacly bellows.
"No no no!" she pleads. She wasn't at the point where she didn't plead. He slammed down the cigar cutter bladed severing the index finger. Her blood curdling screams filled the air. It made him a little erect.
jumping off the stone operating table he had her chained to he moves over to the metal working fire that dimly lit the room retrieving the metal he had stoked. Grabbing her hand he presses the glowing yellow steel to her stump the sizzle made a beautiful accompany to her moaning pain. throwing the metal across the room he stormed to the door.
"I've told 20 times now." he spoke with cold cruelty and none of the love of before "if you can't get the fucking script right down to the movement queues you are never leaving this place. don't make me take the other eye as well cunt" she just softly cried and babbled all her strength to keep composure gone.
He slammed the door and stopped the recording. This bitch was so selfish, he mused. Her mother still held out hope that she would be found and at this rate there won't be any of her to bury. well not anything that resembles her. He smiled to himself. on a plus they'd save money on the casket he doesn't think they'll need much longer than knee level at this rate. | 2017-05-31T02:40:54 | 2017-05-31T01:51:06 | 548 | 49 |
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