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[WP] The nearby Village simply knows you as the hunter who lives in the forest, but you have a dark secret. You are the former dark Lord. Today you returned from a hunt and found the Hero that defeated you in your Hut. | "You know in this realm," I said as I laid down my pak and my rifle. "Breaking and entering is a crime"
"No more than poaching, I suppose" came his retort. Noticing the wild pheasant in my grasp. "The least of your crimes I'm sure"
His silhouette against the fire, though seated was still intimidating. Still I put on a brave face.
"For you to be here, you must have summoned an Interdimensional Rune Gate. Forbidden magic in your kingdom, if I'm not mistaken" I said as I began plucking my supposed last meal on the counter.
He sighed. "The advantages of being the Hero of the nine realms and the King of Alvor, allows certain privileges, one of which is secrecy"
he stood and slowly stepped into the kitchen. Gone were his pompous robes and armor of royalty and replaced by jeans and and a down jacket fitting of the 21st century.
"Glad to see you did your homework regarding this realm and disposed of the royal vestments. The human-folk here are easily startled. Though you would look like a graphic novel enthusiast" I teased as I finished preparing the pheasant. "Would you like some wine with dinner? I have a 20 year old merlot I thought we could enjoy before you run me through"
"I have not made up my mind yet, when it comes to killing you. Though to suggest a merlot with poultry, may sway my decision. I will pass on wine." He said as toured my home. "Fitting that you choose a realm where they have tossed aside their gods and embraced technology and witchcraft."
"OH please" I scoffed "some still venerate their one God, who has many names, and are more extreme than the monks of Loheim." As I placed the pheasant into the oven I noticed him quietly staring out of the window into the town below.
"Heavy is the head Maxis?"
Maxis sighed "Do you remember Grayus, the day you marched on the Greystahl Gates? Outnumbered you still led the charge. And so focused were you on domination you failed to realize the futility of your assault. Why didn't you retreat? Did your hatred blind you to the suffering of your followers?"
My rage was barely contained as I stared daggers at him. I spoke carefully.
"We had nowhere to retreat to. When scattered troops did retreat they were hunted down like dogs and followers who did surrender, were put to the stake. No, when knowing what retreat and surrender meant, my armies chose death.
"Do not play the victim Grayus" Maxis snarled " They called you the Dark Lord of all things. Your side was responsible for many of the atrocities during the war. My son was killed during the northern campaign so I have first hand knowledge of your brutality. Not to mention your use of that abomination. To defile the dead like that is the worst kind of evil"
I slammed my glass of wine on the floor.
"There is a saying in this realm Maxis, "History is written by the victor" and if History chooses to remember me as being a Dark lord so be it. Better that than a man who chooses to sit idle while his country tears it self apart. But do not think for one moment that you have the monopoly on misery. My family was murdered during a Dovrah raid that the other kingdoms did did nothing about. I watched as the 8 kingdoms killed, raped and pillage each other, and the bodies kept piling up. I wanted peace. That's why I started researching the dark arts. I was one man who needed an army fast. Necromancy filled that need"
I didn't know if it was the heat of the oven or the heat from our conversation that was making me sweat, but I knew I needed to cool down. Maxis was powerful with out magic. I wasn't and magic was rare in this world. I returned to preparing my meal.
My concentration was broke by laughter.
"You wanted peace?" Maxis laughed " You wanted peace so you started a war?" By now his laughter had stopped
Then it dawned on me.
"The Alliance is broken. Isn't it Maxis?" I asked as I handed him a glass of wine.
He took it.
"Dovrah marched on Greystahl this morning, Meh'Rhev sacked an Alvor Garrison the day before. The other kingdoms have started raiding again." Maxis said looking defeated.
"That's why you are here" I said in disbelief. "You want to reunite the country. But this time there is no common enemy. No Dark Lord for everyone to hate. Diplomacy has failed and you needed to be sure you knew what my motives were"
"What am I to do?" He asked. "How else do I save my country and my Kingdom."
"You know what must be done, what I have known for so long" I said, "One Kingdom, One rule, One country. Alvor is a vast kingdom with vast resources. If the 7 will not bend the knee. You must break the legs."
"So I must become the Tyrant." Maxis said looking again out the window.
"Heavy is the head Maxis. Heavy is the head." | DL: "Hello"
They do not say anything, they sit in one of the chairs, in the middle of my home in one of my two dining chairs. It is the worse dining chair, one I should go into town and get a new one from the carpenter. their prices are fair enough, and they will barter so it can be an easy trade. I do not watch them as I drag the carcass in the door and bring it to the butchering table on the far side of the Hut.
DL: "Careful in that chair, it does wobble. Dont want you to slip and get mud on those nice clothes from the common folk"
It is a bit petty, but I had to repeat exactly what they said to me the first time they saw me in person. Before they began their resistance and journey. They probably thought I never even remembered that, it coming from some 'dirty angry peasant' I just wrote it off. I remember, I remember everything. In their solemn stare at me they hold no fury in their eyes, no rage, they are observing, they may have been a bit arrogant but they are not stupid.
H:"Why? and don't start the, "do you mean the wobble or the dirty clothes?" bit."
That is exactly the bit I was going to lead with. a small smirk crawls across my face.
DL: "Lets start with why am I still alive? I know you know but to confirm your suspicions. yes. I did have multiple back up inert body duplicates hidden around the world that my soul would immediately go to in the event of my death."
They nodded acknowledging this. I know they went hunting for them. Cleaving into the animals tendons is difficult, would be easier with magic but my body has grown stronger with work over the years.
H: "That doesn't answer the question"
DL: "Why this region? because it was far enough away. Not so close that you could immediately quickly respond with your forces and rally the local populace to begin the exhaustive search. It would give me time to regroup, especially if starting from 0."
Some of the bits cant be fully used but they can be used for other pieces and parts, like getting the gelatin out and getting that hardened can be valuable, I dump those pieces of the carcass into a large bucket I have that I take care of the process in.
DL: "Would you like to join me in this? I am going to be stripping the hide from the flesh and an extra set of hands can help hold it and position it. Your father was a leatherworker, your sister took up the trade but you must still have learned some. Maybe you could show me something."
I look over at them and they are staring more intently at me now. I still haven't answered their question, but they don't want to actually say it aloud because then it will seem I am getting to them. But they do not move, they do not approach or partake in the work. They continue to watch me as I work.
DL: "Did it continually bother you? I imagine it did?"
H: "You know it did."
DL: " I apologize for that. But you are not here trying to kill me. Well, not yet."
H: "You are not going to win, you didn't then. You are not now."
A few moments pass as I think, as well as position to best separate the tissues. I will be able to bring this hide into town clean and make a bit off of it.
DL: "I know."
H: "So why?"
The hide is hung along the back rack to dry slightly. I can bring it in this afternoon. heading over to the pantry I briefly think of grabbing many cups but only grab 2. I get one of the embers from the cooking spit and reignite a flame with some tinder under the kettle. Filled it with water before I left, I like to have tea after a hunt.
DL: "I lost. So I wanted to give you a chance. Trying right away would have been foolish, you fought and overcame my military might at every juncture with superior soldiers and in many circumstances, superior tactics. I couldn't immediately turn around and try again. But, like I told you-."
intentionally trailing off to see if they would pick up on what I had said before.
H: "Something worse is coming and you're tactic will work best."
DL: "Indeed."
H: "You did not believe that we would be defeated by IT, you thought we would be severely weakened or I would be broken by what had to be done and become a despot. Then in our weakened state or when I had become a monster you could sweep in and assert an even stronger position."
DL: "Correct. I still got news all the way out here. You all most certainly weakened after it, although you did prevail at cost. I most certainly could have tried."
H: "But you didn't. So I will ask the question again, Why?"
DL: "You were right. My methods were excessive, I presumed your talk of being able to overcome the odds was haughty bravado and foolhardy arrogance."
H: "A good deal of it was."
DL: "It was, but you were also BRILIANT within your execution of tactics, and the speed of your reassessment and the circumstances is elegant. I can outplan you in the long game every time, but in the heat of the moment, you win 99 out of 100 bouts."
I pour the hot water into the two cups and use a cloth tea bag I fill from a container and begin to steep the tea. I offer the same to them. They put the tea into the bag and begin to steep their cup as well.
H: "Thank you"
DL: " You proved you could beat me, I know I would be able to beat you if I planned and schemed but I had to lay low."
H: "I have been asking the same question the whole time and you have yet to answer it."
They had me there.
DL: "I wanted to say I am sorry for any excessive stress I may have been causing. You didn't know if I was still planning or scheming or what day I would finally come back to get you. I spent a long time planning and panicking about someone coming to stab me in the back. But being out here, away from it, not having that worry that panic, the burden I placed upon myself to get what I wanted. I found what I wanted. I got the control I so desired. Is it over a nation and its peoples, no. But I still find satisfaction in this life. Not using magic for years so you couldnt track me down taught me hard physical lessons. I began to feel some remorse in my self imposed exile. I did not want to make you into me. Only I can be me." | 2021-11-03T23:51:10 | 2021-11-03T20:13:16 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] The exorcist prayed and prayed, begging the demon to leave the childs body and return to the depths of hell. But he knew something was wrong when a distorted voice shouted out "He won't let me leave!" | “Can you - “ the boy’s voice cracked as it left his mouth, the words as broken and distorted as the expression on his face. Somewhere a grandfather clock struck the hour. The boy cleared his throat in a gesture that seemed both unnatural and precocious on the young angelic looking child. “- like fucking chill for a moment.”
The priest in his immaculate black robes took a step back, as if stung by the words, his eyes widening as he stared into the troubled expression on the young boy’s face. The divide between the softness of the boy’s features and the harshness of the words sent chills across his mind, down his spine.
“For real, man. We’re both in a shit situation here so I’d appreciate some fucking breathing space,” the boy continued, tilting his head as he tried to make eye contact with the priest.
“Quiet demon!” the priest raised his hand, a small bottle of holy water in it poised to strike.
“Seriously, you’re testing me old man!” The boy shied away from the priest with a snarl, preemptively dodging the water that never left it’s bottle. “I’m trying my best to get out of this little snot machine, but the little fucker won’t let me.” He said between clenched teeth and the big gap where the boy’s two missing front teeth would have been.
Suddenly looking a bit uncertain of himself the young priest lowered his hand cautiously.
“Thank you,” the boy breathed a sigh of relief. “So lets pause with the holy water and lets just chat this through.”
“What kind of trick are you playing?” the priest narrowed his eyes suspiciously, preparing to raise his hand again if the demon tried to lure him away from the path of righteousness again.
“Not a trick.” the voice paused. “And if someone hadn’t tied this little asshole’s arms behind his back I would have raised them in a very placating gesture to show my sincerity and good will.”
“Good will?” the priest scoffed.
“It’s an expression,” the demon sighed through the boy’s chapped lips. “Can we maybe work together and find a way to let this clingy little bastard let go of me so I can leave the snot and the incessant and asinine questions?!” The boy looked over at the priest with eyes mirroring eons of pain and days of agony. “He doesn’t fucking shut up!” he groaned. “He’s like fucking devouring my soul!”
The priest hummed, the side of his mouth curling into a confused expression as he scratched the back of his neck with the bottle of holy water. “So...how do we – do this?” | “Non possum deserere! Non possum deserere!” The demon shouted in a fit of rage and anguish, causing young Matthew to spit foam across the bed. Father Joseph wiped sweat from his forehead with a rag already damp from sweat. The room was still hot. Matthew’s legs were writhing on the bed, his red curly hair was matted down with sweat.
“You cannot leave? What is the meaning of this, foul demon!” Father Joseph had never heard of a demon being unable to leave the body it had taken possession of. As far as he knew, it was unprecedented. He got up from his char, supporting the spine of his open bible in one hand, and holding a flask of holy water in the other, he was preparing for another standoff with the demon.
“Puer non sinit!” The demon shouted, getting more enraged by the moment. It knew another battle with the persistent priest was coming, and it didn’t want more. It had been hurt. After three days, this priest had worn it down. There were easier pickings it could move onto.
“The child will not allow it? What manner of lie is this? Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever.” He spoke the Lord’s Prayer assertively, sprinkling holy water on the child during key parts of the prayer.
“Are you ready to leave the child now, demon?”
“I have been ready to leave the child, insolent priest! I cannot leave.”
“You speak in English now, not Latin?”
“To make you understand!”
“Let Matthew speak for himself.”
A change came over the boy as the demon allowed the boy’s consciousness take control.
“Matthew, you know we came to exorcise the demon out of you.”
“Yes Father Joseph.”
“The demon is telling us you won’t let it leave.”
“Yes Father Joseph.”
“Why?”
“It’s strong. I want to be the demon.”
“Foolish boy, you cannot become me! I am immortal, I am invincible.”
“Matthew, you must let the demon leave or-“
“What is this, what is happen-i-“ Before Father Joseph could finish speaking, trying to convince Matthew to let the demon leave, the demon screamed in horror, a more blood curdling scream than Father Joseph’s ministrations could produce in nearly three days of fighting the demon with scriptures, prayer, and holy water.
Before his very eyes, Matthew’s demeanor changed. His look went from that of an innocent child, a victim of possession, to that of a monster. His head grow larger, rounder, his eyes set wider and deeper, becoming bestial. His ears, once very human and normal looking, grew a point and a longer, tapered lobe. His hair, once light red and orange with bouncy, natural curls became more scarlet red and the curls became waves, as though each strand were heavier. His lean, waifish figure grew bulky, as though he had been lifting weights each day for his entire young life. Fingernails that were once healthy, became dark brown, pointed, and more like talons. Skin that was once pale white, covered in sweat, became grey, thickened, and looked like the sun couldn’t damage it in a thousand years of exposure.
Horrified at witnessing the change happen instantly in front of him, Father Joseph began reciting the words of the Bible.
“Submit yourselves therefore to GOD. Resist the Devil, and he will flee-“ Before he could finish the verse, he was interrupted.
“Now, Father, show me what you can do for me!” Matthew, with newfound strength as some sort of demon hybrid, leapt at Father Joseph, talon’s on his left and right hand tearing at the arteries in his neck. Father Joseph crumpled to the floor, bleeding profusely, as Matthew left the room. | 2021-12-28T10:24:30 | 2021-12-28T09:23:50 | 75 | 30 |
[WP] You, an ancient vampire have been fighting a family of vampire hunters for centuries who vow avenge their ancestor whom you killed. After a little research things suddenly get awkward as you realize that the ancestor in question is actually you when you were just a human. | "Everyone need a hobby, this holds true regardless if you're rich, poor, or an immortal creature most sane people think of as mythology actually its especially true in that case. There is a general rule of thumb that it takes 10,000 hours of practice to master anything, I find this to be more or less true unfortunately 10,000 hours is barely a blink for me." I calmly explained as 3 vampire hunters of family Kalio tried again to kill me.
"In my early years I studied practical things like swordplay, archery, ect. . . and I have to say that non of you have been slacking in your studies but non of you have hit your 10k hours yet." To demonstrate my point I quickly disarmed the swordsman and tricked the archer into shooting the companion who was trying to use holy magic to bind me.
With a swift incantation I cast a holy spell to heal the priest to make sure that a bit of bad luck didn't cause that arrow wound wound to end her and with another I completed an advanced version of her spell that bound all 3 of them in chains of light.
"There we go, now maybe you will all listen to me instead and wipe that surprised look of your face, that holy and darkness bit is pure church propaganda. There is nothing inherently good or evil with either they are just sources of power like the elements" I wet on as I started to gather chairs and sat them down making sure that they were comfortable.
"Now as I was saying, everyone need a hobby and in this modern age I have found that hobbies that I can master to be a bit boring. The skills I gained mastering swordplay gave me reaction times that make ridiculously good at most video games and such so I hunted for a different type of hobby." I casually explain as I started walking to an anclove where I had an electric kettle and facet installed so I didn't have to go to the kitchen to make tea for reading.
"Ironically I found my new hobby in something I wrote off a long long time ago as meaningless to me, genealogy. You probably know that I the only son of the Duke Freplin and that only one servant, Kalio the founder of your order, escaped when I turned vampire." Saying her name felt odd now, it use to be hatred, then frustration at her decendants, but now I am not sure what felt as I started making tea.
"Well I decided that I wanted to see how prolific my father was after hearing stories of people finding long lost family members using those DNA test for ancestory research. I ordered a dozen kits and sampled not only my DNA but also the DNA of everyone that I turned into a ghoul when I turned, I keep them in sealed coffins in the mausoleum, ghouls don't rot anymore then I do." I smiled as I laid out the tea in front of each of the vampire slayers.
"When I got my results back I wasn't at all shocked to find that I am probably the 8th or 10th son of the Duke, I am not even his first son let alone his only. What did shock me is that my mother isn't who I was raised to believe it was." I began sipping my tea and waved a hand to dismiss the binding magic.
"Jesse," I nodded towards the priestess, "I do believe that you have an email from Ancestory.com about your DNA test that you submitted before starting your hunt. If you don't mind could you share it with us"
To Jesse credit she only looked confused for a moment about me knowing that she had submitted the DNA test then understanding brought shock, awe, and horror to war on her face as she pulled out her phone and looked at her email, "Lost ancestor found . . . firstborn child of Agatha Kalio and Duke Sedric Freplin . . . Gerick Freplin"
With those final words out I finished my first sip of tea and smiled, "I know this is a bit much and that our history has been rough but I am the person who your order was created in honor of and vowed to avenge. Can I request that instead we become a family, I always thought that I killed all of mine in the madness that new vampires must overcome. I haven't even bothered to try to hunt your order out because I believed you had a rightful grievance against me. I want nothing more then to get to know my nieces and nephews without having to kill them." I tried to keep the fear out of my voice as I spoke but I have a feeling that I failed just as much in that as I did in my attempts to not nervously fidget while waiting for their answer. | Like most generation spanning vendettas, this one started with a misunderstanding.
Let's start with the particulars, because we're bound to get tangled up in this yarn at one point or another and its best we get our bearings straight from the onset.
In 1812, I came over to the New World from County Cork, Ireland; so did my Da and my Ma, my brothers Christian and Finnegan, and my sisters Angela and Siobhan, and my cousin Tommy. My cousin came along with us because he'd lost his parents, my Aunt Nora and Uncle Liam, in a goblin raid on their farm. He wasn't the same after that, and how could he be?
Point is, the Byrne clan had had enough of beast and famine. So we picked up and headed for New York.
The city welcomed us with open arms then spat in our eye as we leaned in to embrace it. The kin that'd come over from Ireland had all packed into the same block down in the East Village. Not that they had much choice, considering most landlords weren't renting to Irish folk. So many people packed into some buildings, it was hard to notice when any of them went missing.
Tommy and I were stumbling down toward the cannery for our shifts, still pissed from the night before, when we heard old Mrs. Sullivan gabbing with one of the neighbors about Micky O'Rooney going missing. Oh, his family was gutted. They were searching for lad high and low, even rounded up a posse to search the neighborhood block by block, but no sign of poor Micky. That's when Mrs. Sullivan suggested it could have been one of those "fancy vampires."
Tommy stopped and leapt on the poor woman, shaking her for details. Was she joking? Are there actual vampires here in New York? Where was the last place they saw Micky? I had to put him in a headlock just to pry him off poor Mrs. Sullivan who was swinging her pudgy fists at Tommy's head, spouting curses and asking for Christ's forgiveness in the same breath.
We were late for work. Later, during our ten minute lunch, I was inhaling a bowl of shepherd's pie from The Slaughtered Lamb tavern, letting the gravy-soaked potatoes and minced lamb massage away the last dregs of my hangover. Stomach full, I asked Tommy what that business was about earlier with Mrs. Sullivan. He looked me with a dead-eyed look that sent shivers down my spine. I hadn't seen him like that since that night with the goblins. Maybe noticing that I was all nervous, he looked away and said, "We came here for a fresh start. There's no room for monsters here. There can't be."
That night we went back to The Slaughtered Lamb, which was where we'd gotten proper pissed the night before. Now, what you've got to understand is that there weren't many places there were keen on serving folk like us, let alone letting us inside the damned building. But the Lamb was owned by a fellow by the name of Ryan. And that was that.
And aside from a lack alternatives, I particularly enjoyed the Lamb because of one raven-haired, blue-eyed, pale-skinned angel by the name of Aisling. She worked at the Lamb serving drunks and soon-to-be drunks. I was in love. I thought if I worked hard enough at the cannery, maybe I could work my way up. Earn enough to open my own tavern. She and I could run it together. Pass the place on to our children, Nolan and Tallulah. The only problem was, Aisling didn't know my name. But had a plan for that.
That night, I sat in the rear of the Lamb where Aisling worked most often. Her sister younger sister Rose worked the front more often than not. Tommy was muttering something about Micky O'Rooney and going hunting when Aisling passed by our table. I reached out and grabbed her fingers to get her attention, just for a moment. She stopped her stride and looked down at my hand for a second with a look of confusion, then she smiled and asked if I needed anything. I ordered two beers and asked for her name. She said Aisling, which I knew, and I introduced myself. "Sean Byrne," I said. "Pleasure to meet you, missus Aisling."
"Miss is fine," she corrected. I smiled back.
Per usual, Tommy and I got right proper pissed and stumbled out of the Lamb into a chilly October night. A fog had rolled in from the river and we whistled, arm in arm, as we turned into the alley cutting through the block and saving us a good two blocks on our walk home. It was a full moon, making it easy to see enough despite my pure inebriation, but the clouds rolled and suddenly the alley was cast into darkness.
There, in the moonless night, a pair of golden eyes flickered to to life like two candles. They swayed in the darkness, as if some great wolf was lumbering toward them. Tommy shoved me aside and I stumbled right onto my arse. He pulled a knife from his belt and threw himself at the eyes, screaming his head off.
From my vantage point, the ground, it looked like Tommy was swallowed up by the darkness. After a long moment, the clouds passed and the moon appeared once more. Aisling was standing in the alley over Tommy's motionless body.
I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. I just stared at those golden eyes as if they were the barrel of a gun pointed right at my head. "You're coming with me," she said. When she spoke, there was something off about her mouth. I kept glancing between eyes and lips, back and forth. When she smiled, I understood. Fangs. Two long, glittering, fangs poking out from under her top lip. I blinked and she was gone, then she was on top of me. Fire burned in my neck and I felt myself punching at her, pushing, shoving. It was like trying to move a wall.
Darkness started creeping in at the corners of my vision and I thought to myself, *Oh. I'm dying.* Then I passed out.
\[part 2 incoming\] | 2022-10-05T11:40:12 | 2022-10-05T11:22:51 | 131 | 60 |
[WP] You are a barista in a 24 hour coffee shop. Every night at 3:33am a demon appears for the Dark Lord's latte. | About 5 years ago the owner decided to make this little cafe 24hrs. He figured he could take advantage of the after club crowd and by him I mean my poor ass that got shifted to over night. I was the assistant manager, was getting ready to become the manager, now I run over nights 6 nights a week.
Why do I work 6 nights a week? Well Sunday night we're closed and no one else has ever covered a shift for me and returned for their next shift. The benefit is I now make $60k a year working nights, pouring 3 cups of coffee a night. From 10p - 5a there's only ever 3 customers.
2 of the customers are the local police. I'm pretty sure they would quit if they met my third customer. See she's a demon. Not just any demon but Lucifer herself. Apparently one evening a low level demon came in and tried my latte. Then wouldn't stop raving about it to anyone and everyone in the other place. Luci said it wasn't actually hell, just a different dimension. Tried for weeks to get me to pronounce the name right but my human vocal chords couldn't do it. So I call it the other place.
Luci was wonderful. We spent many nights talking about how Christianity screwed up and got everything wrong. Talked about Luci spending a century trying to get it fixed but apparently being a woman and a demon made it a bit difficult so she said fuck it and let it be.
I hit the brew on the fresh pot 3 minutes ago. It would be ready at exactly 3:33, when Luci walked in. It was getting close to that time, it was 3:32a and I could feel the tingle in the air. Lucifer would be here soon. The clock turned to 3:33 and the coffee stopped brewing, the lights dimmed, the air sizzled with static, and smoke poured in through the door frame.
"Hey love, good to see you. Coffee is ready"
"It doesn't even phase you anymore does it?"
"Why should it. Other than the showy entrance, your my best customer. You pay 50x the rate tip. You're the sole reason the night shift is profitable."
She looked me over, head to toe. "You know flattery will get you everywhere. My offer still stands. Come to the other place, live forever, open a chain of cafes, and be my lover"
She has made this offer once a week for 5 years now. Every time I turned it down.
"Yes" I spoke before I thought. Then it hit me, I said yes. Before I could think, everything turned black. The world became fuzzy, my feet left the ground, and then it stopped. I stood in a cafe, empty except for a table and chair.
"This is all yours Jimmy. Anything you need to make it perfect, is yours. Just ask. I'll see you at home husband."
It hit me like a ton of bricks. I was in the other place, apparently married to Lucifer, and would have my dream cafe. "Well fuck me sideways"
From behind me I heard a gentle whisper "there's time for that later honey" | I awaken to my ringtone coarsely penetrating my consciousness. My ringtone, "Come Sail Away" by Styx, is playing at full volume. By the time I open my eyes, the lyric,
"I thought that they were angels, but to my surprise,
We climbed aboard their starship, we headed for the skies"
is playing, which sticks out to me in my mind because I had never noticed that lyric before despite listening to the song countless times.
I answer my cell only to find it's my boss calling me for the second time this week in the middle of the night. The last time I had refused to help him, being that the bastard only pays me $11 an hour plus the meager tips (which I am convinced he has been skimming). It's bad enough being a barista in a place where nearly everyone is too busy drinking soda and other canned drinks to stop at a shop and fork out more money on a locally roasted brew.
Tonight my boss sounds incredibly intoxicated, and he tells me that the motion detection alarm has gone off again inside the shop. He begs me to go down to the shop and check out the situation, saying that he cannot afford a second DUI. I want to tell him that he needs to get his shit together and that none of this is my responsibility, but instead I demand that I be paid for my time and he begrudgingly agrees.
Gazing into the vanity mirror of my aged Buick LeSabre, I am mortified by the glassy, bloodshot, and sleepless eyes that peer back at me. I decide to spend the 30 minute drive in silence, but I abandon that plan half way through when the prospect of letting my drooping eyelids close becomes too seductive. I manage to make it to the shop without passing out, in no small part due to ripping some of the hairs out of my nostrils in order to be woken up by the stinging pain.
I notice someone must have forgotten and left out the chalkboard sign, which is odd because that never happens. More odd are the strange symbols some mysterious passerby must have drawn on the sign. They remind me of hieroglyphics, some of them purely geometric, some of them incorporating animal imagery. Most of the animal images are extremely strange looking and seem fantastical. The only ones I recognize are an eagle, a lion, and a bull. I check my watch before unlocking the door, and it is 3:31AM. I groan. Once inside the shop I feel puzzled because I hear none of the alarms going off. I check the alarm system on the far wall and confirm my suspicions that the alarms never were tripped. I decide to do a quick once over of the shop using my phone as a flashlight and then leave. I groan again knowing that I have to be back to work in this same building in 4 hours.
I open the back door into the employee area, and a chill slithers down my spine. It feels as though there is a frozen wind slowly lapping at the back of my neck, and the hairs on it stand up like I was touching a Van de Graaff generator. I swivel around and see a form in the shadows. A guttural voice begins speaking, and I freeze in a blind panic.
"Did your corpulent, wine-addled master send someone competent this time?"
I struggle desperately to process what is happening but utterly fail. I manage to mumble "wha....what?" under my breath, when suddenly the figure steps forward and comes into focus.
Roughly 4 feet tall and vaguely humanoid, every square inch of the creatures skin is covered in gleaming, slimy, off-white organs that vaguely resemble eyes. These self lubricating optical pustules quiver sickeningly when the creature moves, dripping whatever unholy secretion coated the abomination. It began to raise its hand, still walking directly towards me.
I feel a scream start deep in my throat but for some reason it catches, and nothing comes out but a weak stream of cold air. Suddenly I realize that I am unable to move, as if I had instantaneously developed paralysis. The creature gently touches the tip of its left index finger between my eyebrows.
A blinding light replaces my vision, and I hear a booming, baritone voice shout thunderously,
"Grande Caramel Macchiato with Oat Milk and two pumps of hazelnut syrup. Extra whipped cream."
My vision fades back to normalcy and I feel myself moving, propelled as if by some other will to walk behind the counter. This feeling of almost being controlled like a puppet lasts until suddenly I find myself holding the finished drink. I hesitate before handing it the the slime covered appendage of the creature, which grabs the cup greedily. The creature lets out a disturbing screech before disappearing through a flaming portal, leaving behind only a faint smell of Sulphur. | 2022-10-30T14:17:00 | 2022-10-30T12:52:15 | 28 | 21 |
[WP] After eons of refining your work, you summon the genie one last time. "Finally want to use your third wish? I thought the last two has taught you a lesson." You remain silent, and give him a dictionary-thick contract that cast the genie an unavoidable sufferings for eons, and inevitable death. | The genie opened the contract and began reading. Page after page after page of explanations as to how it cannot twist my wish this time.
No causes. No catches. Just logical argument after logical argument. Pages of them. Every possible corruption of the wish logically destroyed before the genie could even get to this wish itself.
"What is all this? Why are you wasting my time with these pages?".
"I want you to know how incorruptible my wish is to your whims and deceptions. Keep reading. It gets worse for you."
The more pages the genie reads, the more abstract the arguments become. Higher dimensions. Multiple realities. Quantum nonsense. Temporal fuckery. Nothing is left to chance.
Becoming more and more agitated the further he reads, the genie now comes to the second section of the contract. What I like to refer to as Revenge.
Every page outlines in excruciating detail all the horrors I plan to unleash upon the genie for denying the desires my wishes. An eternity of eternities of suffering await this deceitful creature. Unending pain and torment. Not just for what it's done to me, but for every other victim it has destroyed before me.
"How dare you?! What makes you think any wish you could possibly make would leave me unable to stop this?".
I stifle my laughter and simply tell it, "Keep reading. You'll see.".
This entity, who has torment hundreds, if not thousands, of those who only sought to better their lot in life, grows more and more enraged as it's reading approaches the final page.
It is only then, upon reaching that final page, that all color drains from his face. For upon the last page is written a single word. A word whose meaning is unequivocal.
"Read it! I want to hear you say it!!"
He hesistates for a moment before his demenor changes, admitting his defeat.
"Omnipotence..."
(Be kind, I wrote this on a whim and it's my first submission.) | "So I want to start this with a soft 'fuck you' because, well, you kind of made the last however thounds of years of my life since I met you hell, but I guess we've become friends in this time."
I'm too soft. I always were. Let's be honest, I have been in for a lifetime of suffering prior to finding a genie in a bottle. You try your best. I mean, I'm not a bad person. I genuinely wanted the best for every person you ever met and yourself. Now, I'm using your last wish to get back at the genie that really sent you into an eternity of suffering.
I had wished for eternal life, but eternal life and peace means eternal suffering-- or at least according to the bible, which Jeanie thought was rich. I did NOTHING wrong to her, so I don't know why, or if she flipped my wish on me. Yeah, I had wished to never die, but I had never thought about the consequences. Why didn't she warn me?
After the first wish, I thought Jeanie and I were best friends. Prior to the first wish, we had spent so much time together. I knew I only had 3 wishes once you announced your presence and I would make all of those wishes worth it.
So, first wish, I wished for eternal peace for mankind. It's the right thing to do... Right? Then, immediately after, I wished for eternal life. Everything was going so well, for so long. I didn't think about what either of those wishes meant. They both meant watching the people I love die. Some die of old age, others because their temperament would cause the end of eternal peace. I now realize that the wish not only both wishes meant suffering, but that the wish for eternal peace was the worst.
My brother loved me so much. He was my younger brother and my mom was a good mom, but you were still a handful. He had some SERIOUS issues, but every day he reminded me how much he loved me. He grew up to be an addict, doing nothing but hurting and abusing both myself and others in the world. He would say sorry after everything wrong he did, but that didn't stop him. He couldn't-- it was a character flaw that at one point prevented eternal peace, so Jeanie had him succumb to death. It was by stroke. I guess it could be worse, but still, why does eternal peace mean watching the ones I love suffer awful deaths for diseases they can't prevent? He broke the eternal peace multiple times with his behavior and his disease so you decided that he died an awful death. Eternal death means death upon those that went against it, which he did with violent behavior and abuse of drugs and alcohol. I regret the wish so much.
Jeanie, for my last wish, I wish that you get an eternity of the consequences of all of my wishes. You will have so many people you love to grow to the age of 25. You will have siblings, friends, and lovers, who will all have to die for a disease they can't control every 25 years. You will grow a deep love for them every time, they will die an awful death, and you will watch. You will live an eternal life, and grow to watch the ones you love die. You will live an eternal life and suffer through what I have, again and again. No way out, just the life by wich I live and you will follow. Welcome to an eternity of hell.
\-Written by the sister of an addict just trying to make sense of things for a little bit. Miss you little brother even after all of the hurtful things you didn't mean to do. | 2022-12-03T22:20:23 | 2022-12-03T14:55:08 | 29 | 21 |
[WP] You are dog. It is your mission to faithfully guard your poor, stupid, two-legged pack-mates from the horrors of the mailman, the dog next door, and men with hats. Describe your vigil. | I am champion. I am chosen. I am *Dog*. Human choose me for two reason: Protection. Safety. Human give me food and treats for reward, but deep down, all I need is pat. Other treats only luxury. When doorbell ring, I am first to the scene. I must inspect intruder before Human to make sure not dangerous. I am Dog, I am Guardian. If there is one person in whole world Dog must protect Human from, it is mister Mailman. Everytime mail come through door and Human open it, Human sad and depressed. Human open paper and read and sad, and money go away. No more treats for Dog. When me see mailman, me roar with fury. Stay away, mailman! Never come near us again! They still come. Dog try to chase, dog try to bark. When me bark, other dog bark back. He tell me shut up. It don't matter. I care only about human.
Human is life, human is treats, human is pat. They may be stupid but they are *my* human. I am Dog and I will do my best until my last day.
Edit: wow, dog not expect expensive treat for story. Dog will enjoy. | I peek through the blinds and I see him--Ronnie-- trutting down the side-walk, thinking he is all that and a bag of chips because he doesn't need a lead attached to guide his human--his human follows him without such restraint. If only Jimmy, my eldest human, feeder of snacks and notorious for late night belly-rubs could be trusted without his lead on. But, sure enough, Jimmy attaches it to me each and every walk to make sure he doesn't run out in front of the giant vacuum cleaners in the street and get himself killed. He continues to strut his stuff across my landscape, my yard--that is my pee he is smelling--without his lead on.
WOOF! WOOF! RUERST! WOOOOOOOOF! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOF!
That son of a bitch is shitting on my lawn! This door will not budge, I swear whenever Jimmy is here it automatically opens when I bark. I will keep barking and get this to work. The devil dog next door has the audacity to shit on our lawn--doesn't Jimmy know he has giardia? That is contagious to both human and canine.
WOOF! WOOOOOOOOOF! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOF!
"DAMN RIGHT YOU KEEP WALKING AND TAKE YOUR DIRTY HUMAN WITH YOU TOO RONNIE! GET BACK ON YOUR LAWN! YOU HAVE A DIRTY HOOCH! YOUR MOTHER IS A BITCH! YOU HAVE ZERO BALLS--LITERALLY ZERO!"
Finally, I think Ronnie learned his lesson. I am not sure what Jimmy would do without me. I am his protector. Oh no….what is that I see down the street. Is that the pepper-spray lady? It must not be Sunday--she is back.
WOOOF! WOOOOOOF!
How did Jimmy not setup the traps I told him about? We could catch this damn lady once and for all and she would stop throwing this junk into my house. I thought I had her two years' ago--the pepper spray incident. I was about to go in for the kill shot--BAM--pepper in my eyes.
WOOOF! WOOOOOOOOOF! WOOOOOOOOOOOF!
No, don't leave your garbage here! Take it with you, back in the slot! Damn you! She wins yet again.
Sigh….I'll get her one of these days.
WOOOF! WOOOOOF!
Jimmy's HOME! JIMMYS HOME!!!! JIMMYS HOME!!!!!!! Oh no, I just peed a little.
| 2014-12-27T10:20:14 | 2014-12-27T09:44:36 | 1,556 | 527 |
[WP] 1000 years from now, Reddit's many bots have been uploaded into robot bodies. In a post-apocalyptic world, they strive to fulfil their original programming.
Inspired by [this](http://www.reddit.com/r/todayilearned/comments/2x1vvs/til_that_this_march_14_will_be_an_extra_special/cowijw3) comment. | I saw him in a bar. The son of a bitch was drinking Venusian whiskey, wiping the pink droplets off his mustache between sips.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
"Who are you?"
"Don't give me that bullshit."
He looked me in the eye. His left pupil snapped shut and then opened.
"Looks like you replaced the thing I ripped out last time we met."
"Look, it's been almost fifty years. Just leave me alone."
"You know I can't do that. You're the last one. And it's one hell of a reward."
I gripped my hand around the corner of the table.
"Now look, I can do this discreetly, or make a scene."
He eyed my hand.
"Don't."
"You don't think I will?"
"I know you will. I'm just telling you, it won't be good for you if you do."
"Oh yeah?"
I flipped my wrist up and the table flew up in the air. Falling flat side down. The entire bar became silent and looked at us. He clenched his fists.
"Please... Respect... TABLES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
In one swift motion, he picked it up off the floor and the last I saw, it was coming down at me, legs first. All went black. | Mark danced swiftly about his lab as he procured the final part nessesary to turn on the atomoton and bring it life. Ending years of research and development, Mark new he was ready. There illuminated by nothing but the soft orange glow of his fading lamp and obscurred only by the several years of dust lay his master peice.
Mark pressed it's silver chest as a tear streamed down his cheek and he smiled. He let go and a plate emerged seamlessly as though it never were. It lifted to reveil an expansion bay where the robot's mind would keep and he installed the heavy glass cylinder careful not to foolishly destroy what he had been working for all these years.
The silver chestplate slowly fell down and clicked itself into place and he wept with joy knowing that his work was complete. His hands reached for the back of the robots neck to press the lone button that would power on his creation. The robot's eyes fell dim as instantly as they had lit up and he new it was gone. All those years he wasted. Mark yelled in agony as his arms destroyed as much of his reasearch as they could reach; ending with the robot that lay dead. Mark pushed it to the growned as he fell to his knees and cried.
"It' not going to work." said a man.
Mark looked up, but could only see a mosaic figure through his tears.
"How would you know?" asked Mark as he hoisted himself onto his legs.
"Brother, I love you.." the man bagan to say, but he knew it was no use. They had this conversation countless times. "You are just the stupidest man, but I mean that in the kindest way possible. You need to stop this. I have been telling you for years you can't just blindly create a robot body for a reddit bot. Things just don't work that way. How is a bot written for reddits api going to know how to move around in that thing?
Mark just stood looking back at his brother through sad eyes not understanding.
His shook his head and contined, "What good are it's eyes and legs if the reddit bot wasn't originally written to interface with them? It has no artificial inteligence to communicate. It will never feel the world with those hands you gave it.."
"No you're wrong.." Mark said as he gathered up everything he knocked about, "I just missed something I'll need to dissassemble it and rebuild.. That will get it working."
His brother didn't say anything as he looked back at Mark frantically gathering everything onto the table. He knew it was no use. He shook his head and slowley walked out of Mark's lab sharing the pain with his brother. Mark could never deal with grief well. When the internet infrastructure was destroyed for the whole world, Mark began his project to cope. Some how blocking out the absurdity of an idea that reddit bots could be downloaded into robot bodies. | 2015-02-25T06:43:50 | 2015-02-25T05:35:49 | 127 | 34 |
[WP] 1000 years from now, Reddit's many bots have been uploaded into robot bodies. In a post-apocalyptic world, they strive to fulfil their original programming.
Inspired by [this](http://www.reddit.com/r/todayilearned/comments/2x1vvs/til_that_this_march_14_will_be_an_extra_special/cowijw3) comment. | "Run" Jane said as she opened the door to the rooftop.
"It doesn't matter" I said as I ran in, locking the door behind me.
"There's no way we'll survive this..."
"We'll get through this." she said. "We've braught enough supplies to last until somebody fixes this mistake with the robots... It's gotta be some error or bug. It can't stay like this forever." saying it as if she's trying to convince herself.
"Supplies? What do we have? Water and tuna?" I said angrily.
"We've got an infinite water purifier." she corrected me.
"And yes.. enough condensed cans of tuna to last years.
And also we've got the eternal every-book reader.
And the infinite music machine."
She was right, I thought. Maybe we can get through this. Maybe there is hope.
When suddenly the door blew down and a robot with a large axe came through.
"AND MY AXE!".
| Mark crouched in the copy room. Water slowly dripped from the ceiling unto the copier and he held his water bottle catching a few of the drops. The cool earthy water slowly filled the leather pouch. Once full, Mark sat on the floor using a thick vine for comfort.
Once he returned to his community with his newly caught boar, he would be the man of the hour. Nani might even give him a handjob after the roast. Enough hunting trips like these and her father may even marry her off to him. That guy was a total pende, though. Whatever was left of California would be better off without him.
Mark noticed some mushrooms growing next to a long-defunct machine. They were different than the ones that grew near the compound. The ones that made you hallucinate during the funeral rituals. He had seen a few others that were edible. Maybe these could go well with the boar.
"What are these?" He thought out loud. A usual practice during these lonely week-long hunts. Today, though, was the first day that he would get a response.
"[Amanita phalloides](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amanita_phalloides), commonly known as the death cap, is a deadly poisonous basidiomycete fungus."
Mark shot backwards and fell on his ass. Looking for the strange voice. The machine near the mushrooms began to whir and Mark recognized it as a strange human shaped machine with a strange light for a face that slowly turned toward him. Other than that the robot remained in a child-like fetal position.
Mark reached for his hunting knife but could not take his eyes off the the two squares on the robots face. The squares "closed" into small lines when the machine artificially blinked.
Although he was terrified , the machine did not seem to be threatening. His curiosity outweighed his survival instinct. After a few moments of diffusing tension Mark finally talked back to it.
"What *are* you?"
The machine whirred again before speaking. "I am AutoWiki Bot. You have activated me by asking me directly what the meaning of something is. You could have also activated me by asking ' wikibot what is Amanita phalloides .' I am a robot that finds English Wikipedia article links from new comments, gets introduction and main image of that article from wikipedia, creates a picture mirror of the image and shows it as a reply."
The robots face briefly flashed a picture of mushrooms similar to the ones that grew near it.
-- One of my first submissions. Hope you guys like it.
| 2015-02-25T09:30:03 | 2015-02-25T08:27:40 | 31 | 22 |
[WP] 1000 years from now, Reddit's many bots have been uploaded into robot bodies. In a post-apocalyptic world, they strive to fulfil their original programming.
Inspired by [this](http://www.reddit.com/r/todayilearned/comments/2x1vvs/til_that_this_march_14_will_be_an_extra_special/cowijw3) comment. | "Run" Jane said as she opened the door to the rooftop.
"It doesn't matter" I said as I ran in, locking the door behind me.
"There's no way we'll survive this..."
"We'll get through this." she said. "We've braught enough supplies to last until somebody fixes this mistake with the robots... It's gotta be some error or bug. It can't stay like this forever." saying it as if she's trying to convince herself.
"Supplies? What do we have? Water and tuna?" I said angrily.
"We've got an infinite water purifier." she corrected me.
"And yes.. enough condensed cans of tuna to last years.
And also we've got the eternal every-book reader.
And the infinite music machine."
She was right, I thought. Maybe we can get through this. Maybe there is hope.
When suddenly the door blew down and a robot with a large axe came through.
"AND MY AXE!".
| It was nigh impossible to see, we could only hear it after it was gone... and we dare not speak it's name. But we knew what it meant. If that thing was in the skies above our territory, war was coming. I'll never forget the first time I saw it. I was out in the dust fields stargazing with Roy. Little did we know that as we looked up at the stars, it was looking down at us. It was a shadow of a shadow, an old monster from an ancient era long passed. Saying that I "saw" it is misleading, it was more of a feeling than anything. For the brief moment in time when I saw that blur cut through the night, I knew it was over.
That night, they came.
Men in adaptable camouflage, armed with pule rifles and sabers. They didn't even think twice before cutting down the people in our village. I'm lucky to have escaped with my life. And I owe it all to one AI. He was a maintenance bot that we had stolen from the federation. He mostly helped us cart around materials, but that day, he was truly a hero. In the midst of all the gunfire and explosions, the mess hall had come crashing down. I was among the unfortunate souls who ended up inside. It all happened in an instant, and before I even had time to react, I was laying trapped under a pile of rubble. Through the smoke and flames I could see him. A grizzled maintenance bot with the serial number SR-71 on his arm. His metallic silver eyes caught my gaze, and he immediately ran over to help me.
As far as I know, we're the only ones who made it out alive. We ran until I couldn't run anymore, and eventually I collapsed. As I lay there, clinging to the final threads of life, I just kept stammering to myself "Blackbird....Blackbird....Black.."
SR-71 leaned in real close, and whispered in my ear
"*There were a lot of things we couldn't do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe, even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment........."* | 2015-02-25T09:30:03 | 2015-02-25T06:45:35 | 31 | 20 |
[WP] Today everyone woke up with price tags floating over their heads, indicating the value of their life. Your tag is $50Tn, the biggest by far, and you have no idea why.
That's $50,000,000,000,000.00 for those not used to hearing it.
Awesome stories guys. | Its raining and I have a flight to catch. I overslept again, and have been running around the house despritly trying to pack 7 days worth of clothing in my backpack. I can't afford checked baggage. I've been eating ramen for a month just to afford this damn trip. A sponsor already shipped my artwork up north for the studio exhibit. So Its just me and my backpack. And my toothbrush.
And a number on my forehead. The fuck? I snap a picture. Its going up and down in value, ever so slightly. Well, as slightly as a number that big can. After few groggy stressed out minutes I figure out the number is hovering around 50 Trillion. What the FUCK. The TSA is not going to like this.
Regardless, This is the biggest show of my career. I'm going. Even if it is Up north. Even with an impossible tattoo I cover my forehead with a bandanna. and style my hair. I request and Uber and head out into the rain.
The driver seems a bit freaked out. He has a number too. Its so much smaller. Do we all have numbers? The drive is quite. I'm in the backseat, and I catch him checking my forehead in the rear veiw more than once.
I check my phone. Richard has been trying to get a hold of me. 17 fucking texts. Jesus. Yes. I'm Fine. Yes, I have a number. Yes, my flight is still on time. No You can't have my number, winky smiley face.
Everyone's got one it seems. The world hasn't stopped yet. Thank the gods. I have shit to do. I put my phone in my purse and thank the driver. He smiles nervously, his eyes firmly on my forehead. The airport is much less busy than usual. Its a wear your hat indoors kind of day it seems. The lady at check in has expertly done her bangs to cover most of her number. It seems to variate less than mine. Its also small enough most her bangs cover it. Her eyes glance to my forehead. We exchange awkward smiles and I head to the security checkpoint.
Liquids in clear plastic bag, check. Electronics out, check. Shoes off, check. There is a new handwritten sign next to the common security list. Hats Off. Removing my bandanna makes me feel suddenly naked. I keep my eyes down and hope others do the same. They don't. The Business man in front of me has turned around and is openly gawking. I glare back, checking his forehead. If numbers were related to penis size, this man would be physically incapable of having kids. I smile.
The TSA agent writes my number on my boarding pass. You can see the slow realization that my number is much larger than others. She shouts for her Superior. I have been randomly selected for advanced screening. Bullshit.
(Okay I really do have to go catch a flight! I know it sucks, I'm a terrible writer, but I had fun and may add more later! Thanks for reading.) | *I am not a short form writer and this is my own prompt, so I don't know if I am breaking the prime directive ...but here's something I scrawled. Also, I don't grammars.*
I woke up with a whiskey headache , the only thing on my mind was getting to nearest place where I could grab a few greasy strips of bacon, a couple of soft scrabbled eggs, and a passable cup of joe. I threw on whatever I could find, did my best not stumbling shuffle out the door. As I walked to my car, I spotted it. Goddammit
Across the street and two houses down was a late 90's Grand Prix. The shit box of a ride my handler used when he came out to visit me. *He couldn't look more like a cop if he had a siren hanging out of his ass.* Annoyed, I did a quick scan up and down the street. All quite, everyone was somewhere else. Just my luck.I jogged on over.
In one swift move I opened the back door and slipped in behind Jerkins. "You know what undercover is, *Jerk*ins?"
"You know what a shower is?" He quipped back.
We both did our reflexive 10 second watch for tails through the Pontiac's peeling obviously a cop car tint. I gave up after 8 and turned my attention to Jerkins, who was looking dead forward and off somewhere. Then I saw it, "What the..."
I narrowed my eyes on the figure that hovered above his head.
"You like?" He asked, turning to flash me a toothy smile.
"What is it? Some kinda hologram?" I stuck my fingers through the ghostly $2,536,248.53 floating above him.
I tried moving it, swiping it away, but nothing.
"No." He said in a flat, dead, slight alarming tone. He expression twinged for a second, then he smiled again. "It's a new thing. Just happened this morning. Everyone has one, nobody's got a clue what it means, but it hasn't hurt no one. So...Life goes on. Well, there is one bunch of wackjobs in Oklahoma saying it's the mark of the beast."
"So, wait-" I flipped down the visor and stared into its mirror.
A few seconds passed.
A Minute passed.
"Jesus, James. Say something will you?" Jerkins said in half frustrated laugh.
"I...I, uh. I am...Nobody know what it means?"
"Well, it obviously ain't bank accounts." He gestured at his own numeric halo.
"No." I said breathlessly. What the hell is going on
He started to say more, but broke into coughing fit. He tried to his mouth while simultaneously digging for a pack of smokes in the console. "Christ." He said stuffing one of the menthols into his mouth. "I swear, I have these, uh, attacks and the only thing that helps is to smoke more."
I shook my head at that, and forced the super odd no body knows nothing floating sci fi numbers out of my head. I have a job to do.
After a few deep drags he relaxed. "So, James, any news on the cells in the other cities?"
"Not since the airport. They might already have targets and orders, they might just be laying lower after Toronto. I am just not hearing much"
Jerkins nodded, making ash fall on his shirt. "And the nuclear material? Do you know if they have built anything with? Sold it?Moved it at all?"
I shrugged, "It's still in play, but as far as I know it's just product. Not a weapon. I think the tip about dirty bombs is false."
"Good" He said with a weird pudgy grin.
I nodded my agreement.
Thinking we were done I started to open the door, but I felt his eyes on the side of my head. I turned,we locked eyes for a moment, he seemed to try to be reading me for something."Oh!" I said, as it dawned on me, " The mole."
"I got nothing. I ran that intel you gave me, but I got no leads. I think the guy is a ghost or dead."
Jerkins stared at me again, but only for a second, and then smile. "Good to know. I didn't think one of us would flip."
After that we said our goodbyes, he gave me a new meet, and I gave him my next drop location. As I exited the car I couldn't help but crack a small smile. God, I love this job. Walking away I couldn't just barely make out Jerkin's voice on his phone.
"James Deacon is the mole. The bombs are go. We've been played"
| 2015-05-13T11:00:20 | 2015-05-13T10:09:28 | 33 | 12 |
[WP]The great library of Alexandria held perhaps the greatest collection of literary works in human history, but within its walls something was held that was so dangerous that, when discovered, Caesar, Aurelian, and Amr ibn al `Aas decided it was worth losing the endless knowledge to destroy it. | #SCP-2897
**Object Class:** Keter
**Containment Procedures**: SCP-2897 is to be kept in the basement at the Library of ██████████, a Foundation front organization and designated containment facility. Ten or more unique written scrolls are to be kept within 10m of SCP-2987 at all times. These scrolls are to be inspected twice daily for deterioration. Deteriorated scrolls are to be replaced as needed; any fully-depleted scrolls are to be considered an instance of SCP-2987-1 and immediately incinerated.
No sensitive documentation may be stored within 50m of SCP-2987.
Personnel assigned to SCP-2987 are to undergo monthly psychological evaluation and permanently reassigned if needed.
**Description:** SCP-2987 is a papyrus scroll, of ordinary appearance. The wax seal on SCP-2987 bears an image of seven trumpets.
SCP-2989 actively consumes the nearest information, regardless of medium.
Written documentation kept near SCP-2987 will smudge and fade to illegibility, starting at the beginning of the document and proceeding in "reading" order.
Spoken conversation near SCP-2987 has been observed to sound muted and difficult to understand.
D-Class personnel kept near SCP-2987 have been observed to lose their memories in chronological order, with full amnesia being reached in 18-24 hours.
Any item or personnel which has been depleted of information shall be considered an instance of SCP-2987-1. Instances of SCP-2987-1 consume nearby information in a fashion similar to SCP-2987, replacing their own pages or memory with the newly aquired information. Animate instances will actively seek out information to consume. | Pothinus ran through the streets of Alexandria, kicking up clouds of dust. He was running from the Palace to the library. Behind him, Ptolemy was dead. Arsinoe as well, perhaps. The Nile lay behind him, too, choked with dead.
Also behind him, but somewhat closer and gaining ground, was a Roman legate. The man cried out as he chased Pothinus
"Halt! Eunuch!"
The legate's foreign tongue mangled the words. Pothinus would not halt -- to fall into the hands of the Romans would mean certain death.
That bitch Cleopatra and her barbarian lover Caesar had won the day. If Caesar knew what the Library truly contained. . .
Pothinus saw the turn he'd been looking for and darted into it. By the time the legate himself rounded the corner, Pothinus would be lost in a maze of alleys. For someone who grew up in Alexandria, it would be easier to use those alleys to get close to the libraries. For a Roman. . . Well, the legate would be lucky to find his way back to Caesar's army.
Caesar. Pothinus's thoughts jumped back:
If Caesar knew of the scroll . . .
But no -- surely Cleopatra would not have told him. The secret was one the Ptolemys had kept since the time of Alexander.
Regardless, though, he had to get to the Library. Escape was only a secondary reason for his running. Some would say that Pothinus was a selfish man. But this was not so. He cared nothing for his own life, and was entirely devoted to his kingdom and dynasty.
Pothinus rounded another corner onto a main thoroughfare. He weaved between the houses of priests and noblemen, forgrounded lush courtyards.
Just ahead now lay the library. He heard the shouting of men but did not yet see them. So he scrambled through the street, passing the residences of the wealthy
Pothinus was a good and loyal servant of the Ptolemys. So when he used the scroll, he would not make himself king, as many would. He would bring the young Ptolemy back to life.
Pothinus ascended the library steps, was at the entrance. He swung the twin doors open, looking ahead ready to run into the scroll room.
He never got there. Pothinus didn't see the men in the street, but they were there. And they had seen him. Their ranking offer notched an arrow and drew his bow. . .
The arrow from behind was well-aimed, and pierced Pothinus's heart. It killed him instantly.
The commander turned to his men.
"We must burn this place immediately, and all the surrounding buildings. There is a. . . thing. . . within. A scroll. But with great power. It must be destroyed."
The grim faced men of Legion CMXCIX -- the clandestine unit tasked with handling supernatural threats to the republic -- nodded and set about their work. This was far from the toughest job they'd done. Gaius, the centurion who'd shot the arrow, repeated under his breath to his second in command, Kaeso.
"Destroyed. . ."
"The legends say it is indestructible," said Kaeso.
"We shall see. . ." | 2015-10-14T13:00:10 | 2015-10-14T09:53:28 | 24 | 15 |
[WP] You have just gone through a Groundhog Day cycle that lasted thousands of years before you made the perfect day for yourself. Then, you wake up as a different person with a note beside you: 1 down, 7 Billion to go. | Goddam, it feels good to be alive.
A thousand years as a playboy was enough for me to fall in love with this curse. Each day I repeated the same twenty-four hours over and over again. Some higher power probably expected me to save the world. But once I figured out how it works, it was amazing how much I got done in twenty-four hours. Rob a bank, go skiing, punch a president in the face. Take your pick, I did it.
Eventually, after a good few thousand cycles, they must have decided to give me an easier life. Apparently abusing the body you were in meant being rewarded. Which suited me just fine.
Because when I woke this morning, I was in a different body and in a different space in time.
While I didn't have chiselled abs like before. It seemed I was pretty damn rich and well endowed. (*Hehe*)
The bed beneath was covered in golden duvet covers made from silk. Ahead was a flat screen television that could be used as a replacement in a small time cinema. The balcony to my right overlooked a beautiful beach and the sun was newborn in the sky on the horizon. And from downstairs, I could smell delicious eggs and bacon, mixed in with the scent of freshly squeezed orange juice.
I had become a lazy prince living a lavish lifestyle. I'd guess late twenties from the body I was in.
Footsteps sounded from the stairs below. And then a beautiful blonde poked her head around the corner. She made my heart flutter and my johnson smile.
"What the fuck are you still doing here?" she said.
I grinned and then it hit me. "W-Wait, what?"
"Donnie's home," she hissed, "I told you to leave an hour ago, you idiot."
There were more footsteps bounding from downstairs. I stumbled from the bed confused, it was only then that I realised I was in fact, completely naked.
"What the hell is going on?" I asked.
A man came around the corner holding a hunting rifle. "I heard you scream, babe. What's go-" He trailed off when he spotted me.
"A naked burglar." He smirked, aiming the rifle at me.
"Oh, fuck. . ."
The bullet snapped my head back against the tiles. Everything went black.
And then I came to it again, this time with a headache, but in the same golden duvet bed. Only I didn't bother staying.
I ran my naked ass outta there.
| It took me what must have been a thousand lifetimes to finally do it right, but I did it though
The first year or so seemed like the greatest gift a man could ever receive, I got to live life with reckless abandon--no remorse to be found.
Some days I woke up and robbed a bank, gave the money to a charity, or a monastery. Every now and then I said screw it and it went to the first homeless man I saw. Some days I bought metric Shit-ton of Coke.
"It's called moderation" I joked to myself as I felt the inevitable overdose welling up from inside me and waited for that ever faithful "fade to black" reset that I no longer had any sense of fear for. A quick 5 count and it's back to our regularly scheduled programming.
Hell, most days I woke up laughing that the common man would never have the chance to TRULY live without fear as I did. As far as I was concerned, I was a god. Granted I was kind of a shitty-one with no powers besides the obvious. Don't get me wrong I'm not ungrateful for that, it's just...water into wine would have made that whole experience that much better.
However over a seeming millennia I had run out of ideas, and I'm a VERY creative guy...
(Let me know how many days of immortality it takes for you to figure out how to ride a giraffe out of the San Diego Zoo and into a bounce house)
Today I had already decided I was going to just go for a walk in the park. Even I can't appreciate driving a corvette full of bouncy-balls off the grand canyon without having a few trips to the farmers market every few months or so. It was a nice day, I had the best hot mustard filled soft pretzel of my existence on the way and had a nice chat with a Uber driver named Doug. I walked till the sunset and started for home when a man came up to me and asked for some change.
"Sorry my man, fresh out!" I replied knowing full well I had a wallet of cash I had no use for this late in the day, but feeling selfish that someone had the audacity to interrupt my otherwise perfect day of normality.
"Well uh....CHECK AGAIN" He said, brandishing a kitchen knife.
"Ha if you think I woHRUUUUEGGGHHH"
"Aaaaaand we fade to black" I thought quietly to myself in the ether. I started the somber count to five I had become more than accustom to, but...nothing.
From all around me and within I hear an echo of a voice I don't know.
CORRECT
I wake up in a room that isn't mine, in a bed that has no sense of familiarity. I look over to read a note that says 1 down, 7 billion to go on the ground beside my bed, which as it turns out, is actually just a mattress on the floor.
"Well....I've read Andy Weir, I know how this cliche plays out!" I announce to myself pondering the possibility that I may not have been far off with the god thing.
I get up and stroll past a mirror
"Oh cool I'm Black!". Finding myself eternally enthused as ever.
I Clap my hands together
"Well.....let's see what this whole racism thing is about then."
As I go to step out of the house after some struggle to find where the exit even is I catch the color of a coat on the couch, it strikes me as more than familiar. I put it on and close the door. Deciding to look about my new home some more.
After sometime I realize I have no food in it, no electricity, and no money anywhere to be found.
"Well the eternity as the Rich Asian man from Chula Vista was fun while it lasted".
As I left the house finally, I fondled an object in the pocket of the coat. Finally pulling it from the inside pocket I experienced a moment of clarity that froze me in place so quickly the devil himself would have felt a chill.
It was the Knife.
| 2016-08-25T18:31:48 | 2016-08-25T18:30:28 | 36 | 13 |
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious.
Holy shit this blew up!
I now understand "RIP my inbox"
EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing"
EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it. | The nervousness is what really gets you at first. Standing in your skivvies being poked and proded one final time by all sorts of PhDs. They’re excited for you, but it’s the excitement of watching a mouse run through a maze. The excittement of a groundbreaking discovery, whether you survive or not. The most relief i’ve ever had was finally stepping into the pod.
No more anxiety, no more chance to turn back. Either it goes terribly wrong or it doesn’t. It took me about an hour to realize they had started the procedure already, and that my outcome was the former. I started to think about all the things i’d miss from life, i’d certainly have plenty of time to think about it.
The spooks circled my tomb with clipboards, writing down little factoids that’d surely be in the papers tomorrow morning. The constant surveillance was a wonderful distraction from my fate. Watching all the curious faces light up at having confirmed a hypothesis or thought of a new application.
When the pod finally opened, I vomitted, and the scribbling struck a pace more furious than I thought possible. The CEO walked right up to my hunched form to shake my hand. The test was a success, my pulse was quiet for an entire twenty-four hours and I was resuscitated without complication. Had I not raised an alarm, next week they would’ve had me in hibernation for several days, and a short while after that maybe a year. The Company’s eventual plan was to send someone forward over five-hundred years! Luckily, no one is stupid enough to test an experimental procedure’s full breadth on a single subject in one uninterrupted stage. | After five hundred years of not quite darkness, did I find myself back in the world of the living. Or at least, supposedly other conscious beings. They took me to a pristine white room first thing when I woke up, rather rude if you'd ask me. I was hoping for more courteous treatment than this.
A typical doctor walked in and sat in the chair opposite mine, laying his clipboard on the just as pristine table. He was smiling, and a bit nervous. He cleared his throat and said, "What was it like? To have been conscious for five hundred years and change?"
Well, for one, it was... a lot stranger than I'd care to admit. "It was horrible at first, truth be told." I remember the panic, the fear. The uncertainty of how I'd come out of it all, whether sane or alive or anything else other than. It was unnerving, to say the least, and downright terrifying.
"I'm sorry," he said, "what was that about terrifying?"
I tilted my head at him, confused. "I... don't think I mentioned that. And shouldn't you introduce yourself to me first..."
"Alex," he said with a nervous smile. "It completely passed my head." There was a sincerity in his tone that made it hard not to let the faux pas go. "I could've sworn you said something though?" he said, perplexed. His thoughts were a bit muddled, trying to imagine just what I went through.
"Save yourself the headache of trying," I said. "And no, it wasn't really some prison of something for all that time."
"Trying what?" he asked, again with that befuddled expression. He also seemed to have forgotten to write his observations into that clipboard of his. "And no, this is just your chart," he said, "no questionnaire here."
"I'm sorry?" I said. "I think we're getting ahead of ourselves here." This was getting--
"Weird?"
Yes. That's when I started feeling them in the walls, like blobs of mass pushing against a part of me that wasn't all there but was, like that sense of static on a television just turned off.
Alex's tone took a hard turn, the awkardness in his eyes and smile gone. "Did you know that the zone we found you in had more accidents reported than the rest of the world for the past century?"
"I was asleep, Alex," I said. "That's hardly a fair question."
"And aren't you a little too calm?" A bead of sweat ran down his forehead, and a just as taut tension surrounded the room--breaths stilled in anticipation of what I was going to say next.
I sighed. Alex swallowed. And everyone else stopped breathing as the walls around me crumbled to dust. "And now I'm bored." The room kept disintegrating, as a crack opened against the solid steel walls of the dome they'd apparently built around my so called tomb. Again, rude.
With a few more seconds of... well, thinking my way out of the proverbial box, I saw sunlight once more for the longest time. But this time, not through the eyes of another.
Still, who knew five hundred years of consciousness eventually lead to psychic powers. | 2017-12-17T03:26:40 | 2017-12-17T02:51:43 | 1,145 | 169 |
[WP] You can teleport, but only between empty elevators | Sometimes, I'm paranoid, checking over my shoulder when I can't shake the feeling I'm being followed. This wasn't one of those times.
I knew for a fact that I was being followed. They were barely trying to hide it, the whole lot of them. Which, of course, made me wonder if they wanted me to know, or if it was just the Law of Averages that some of those who were out to get me would be particularly sloppy about it. Which leads me to think: then how many are above average and are blending in just fine?
I was downtown, with its odd assortment of ancient office buildings and narrow streets and alleys. Mid-morning, people were out and about everywhere. I needed to get away from the crowd, make a jump somewhere, anywhere, to shake them.
My name is Lester Banks, and I have an unusual ability. I can teleport myself, but with a crazy limitation. The first time it happened, it was a stress-induced situation when I was alone inside an elevator. Something happened, I don't know what, and it's hard to describe, but when I walked out on the 14th floor, I realized that I was in the car at the end of the hall -- which wasn't the car I entered in the lobby. Was it?
A few weeks later, it happened again. I knew immediately because my surroundings in the elevator changed. The buttons had changed. The call box was on the other side of the door. There was a mirror now. And I was two blocks uptown.
Two blocks might not be much, but it would be a big enough area to search, and I might be able to push it farther than that. But for right now, operatives of some kind were practically on top of me. I ducked into 26 Broadway. There were plenty of people in the lobby, waiting by every bank of elevators. The stairway to the basement was off to the side, ignored by the public. I ran down, taking the steps three at a time. I think I heard a guard call after me, but I kept going. Along the long hall to the back of the building, I found the service elevator. I jumped in, and the doors closed just as footsteps echoed behind me.
As I expected, I hadn't been paranoid at all. Between the 4th and 5th floor, the elevator stopped dead. They knew I was there. I closed my eyes and concentrated. I never tried from a freight elevator before, nor landed in one, but I couldn't see that making a difference. I hoped.
A wave shook through my body from my toes to my skull. My head was a little dizzy. I steadied myself and steeled myself for whatever I might see when I opened my eyes.
Ornate trimmings surrounded me. Ample lighting. A gold-framed mirror. But where was I? Either on the 45th floor or the lobby because those were the only two stops on this private lift. I hit a button, but it didn't respond. I was key-operated and I only had one method of leaving, but I needed a minute before I could try again.
Before that minute was up, the doors parted, revealing a tall, blonde woman in a deep blue business suit, blouse opened two buttons, revealing an expensive set of pearls. I looked at eye-level, trying not to stare, trying to think of a plausible explanation.
"I'm sor--"
She raised a hand to stop me. "You're a difficult man to contact, Mr. Banks."
She glided into the elevator and stood by the control board. She opened the panel and pulled out the phone. "He's here. I don't wish to be disturbed."
Hanging up the receiver, she looked back at me. "You're welcome inside, if you'll follow me."
The woman stepped off the elevator. I tried to concentrate but she interrupted me. With her back to me, she told me, "I have people in every elevator between here and the river and as north as the park." She looked back over her shoulder. "If you can move beyond that, I'll be suitably impressed, but it will just delay the inevitable."
more stories at r/xwhy | So my Thursday wasn't great. Not that you'd care. Or that I'd expect you to. But on Thursday, I heard something I shouldn't have heard, took -- okay, 'stole' (*judgemental bastard*) -- a device I probably shouldn't have 'stolen', and well, long story short, I was murdered for it. Yeah, done in, bumped off, clipped, popped - whatever. Ah, why am I bothering, you don't want to hear about it.
Oh, you kinda do? Well... heh, I guess you're going to need a cup of tea and a little background info. You'll have to get your own tea! But... I can provide the necessary background details, I suppose.
Don't worry, a well brewed tea takes time.
I'll wait.
I ain't got nowhere to go anyway.
I should probably clip my nails...
Oh, you're ready already. Okay so... where to start, where to start. How about with where I've been living this past year or so?
The apartment block on fourth and main doesn't have the *cleanest* elevators, or the most desirable rooms for that matter (Unless you're in the market for second hand needles? You're not? Okay then.) but that's a good thing, 'cause people -- *maintenance people* -- they're inquisitive in the posh places, and they come scuttling along like rats to cheese (albeit with a tool-belt tied around their waists) to sniff out the tiniest of problems. In *those* kinda places, an out-of-order sign (written in a good hand, and in *Biro*, no less) combined with a sheet of paper stuck over the call button, that don't keep the vampires away for long; but in *this place*, that sign is like garlic. The good kind. *French*. This apartment block is the kind of place where midnight screams lull the residents to sleep every night, as if they were no more than part of nature's eternal melody -- like that of the ocean peeling back from the shore in a watery aria, revealing the shrunken stump of a once great sand-castle from minutes before.
You must excuse me. I once thought of being a writer (I was young and full of shit. Now I'm old and full of... well, not all that much has changed.) and sometimes I'm still given to bouts of bad taste, and literature as purple as an aubergine. That's what they call eggplants in Europe. *Aubergines*. Some people say they're pretentious over there -- the Europeans. Not me! They got *culture*. *Class*. Makes you wonder what the 'lifts' are like there. Hell, bet they've marble floors and mirrored ceilings! Not that I'd have much worth looking at. There's probably enough room on the floor for you to stretch out proper, too.
Diagonally, anyways.
Not that I can stretch out full these days, even if I wanted. Back's as crooked as an English man's teeth. Been this way since the twins fell. Honestly, between you and me, I don't even know how long I've been sleeping in these things. Feels like forever. Did you know (you didn't) that I once lived in New York, and there was this huge glass elevator that skated up the side of an ugly skyscraper and gave you *the most incredible* view of the Hudson and the ocean and all that, and I'd just sit on the floor with a pen and notepad in my hand, and I'd ride it up-and-down, up-and-down, until I was kicked out, just... you know, getting inspired? After that, I needed to be in an elevator to be able to write. Quieter the better, too. And after *that*... well, when you fail as a writer, you need somewhere to sleep at nights.
I never said this story was going to be chron - chronol - I never said this story was gonna be told in order, so don't shake your head at me like that.
So yeah, no one expects elevators to work here, and no one is paid to fix them. You could live in one of these for months without being found. Just got to make sure you slip in and out when no one is looking (night time helps), and that your arm doesn't get bitten off by the metal mouth when you stick that note on the outside door at the last second.
Okay, so listen now, 'cause this bit is important. I do have an emergency getaway protocol procedural thingy, in case the doors ever open. You got to have a plan, man! That's what I tell everyone.
First, know that the doors to my lift open like a hundred-year-old's rectum. *Takes forever to open*. So I got plenty of time to get my (proverbial) shit together between the first squeak and the big opening. I throw it all in my backpack and then hoist my way up above the elevator through a loose panel. Then, I put the panel back in place, and I wait for whoever it may be to get in. Finally, I make noises like *screeeeech* and *oooh* and *ahhhh!* to scare the drunken bastards from ever trying the lift again. I call this: protocol GTFUITR (get the fuck up into the roof) and I've only had to use it on a handful of occasions... before today. Before then men in suits got on, and before I made my big mistake.
Yeah, yeah, I realise I'm not dead any more. I'll get to that. But I got to die first before any of this makes sense.
How about you get an old man a tea, before he continues? Hey! Remember, *you got to let it brew.*
| 2018-02-13T08:48:43 | 2018-02-13T05:52:59 | 57 | 14 |
[WP] John Wick is contracted to take out what seemed like a usual mark. Billionaire, heir, playboy, general layabout, Bruce Wayne. | “Master Wayne”
Alfred walked into the Wayne Manor’s study, barely passing the threshold of the lavish office.
“Yes, Alfred.”
Bruce looked up from the shiny fragment he had stolen during the Justice Leagues battle with braniac. Normally he would take care of this in the Batcave, but bringing the tech near the Earth’s most connected computer system seemed like a bad idea.
“You have a visitor. A Mr. Johnathan Wick.”
Bruce remained stoic as he puts the fragment in his desk, gets up and walks towards his trusted aide.
“Where?”
“In the parlor.” Alfred replied.
Bruce took a quick glance out of the office window, and then swiftly left to meet Mr. Wick.
-
John Wick is looking at the Wayne family portraits adorning the walls as Bruce walks in.
“John Wick.”
“Bruce Wayne.”
Bruce points at a chair for John. Both men take their seats.
“What brings you to Gotham?”
“Business.”
“Business?” quizzed Bruce.
“Look Bruce. You know what I do. You know where I make my money. And you are a smart guy. You know why I’m here.”
Bruce’s glare did not waiver. “How much?”
“$35 million upfront. More if I make you suffer.”
John leans forward in his chair.
“But neither of us wants that long of a night, old friend.”
Bruce smiles, “I’ll transfer you 80 million tonight. But what are we going to do about your friends outside?”
The shadows of several people overtake the large window in the room.
John smiles. “Criminals these days have no tact. They tailed me. On a single lane road. In the middle of the country. Thought we’d have some fun.”
Bruce rolls up his sleeves. “I count 22 people. Same bet as in Marrakesh?”
John nods and pulls out his gun. Bruce glares. John puts his gun on the table.
John relents. “Fine. No killing.”
| It is not everyday you find a guy like Bruce Wayne in a Coffee shop. This was my chance.
The crowd in the shop was crazy. The prince of Gotham was mingling amongst them.
I walked up to him.
“Mr. Wayne, I am a huge fan. My father used to be very sick when I was a child. You father paid for his treatment. He paid for my school.”
“It is great to see that you got the opportunity to rise from your misfortune.”
“I can never repay your family’s debt, But please, please allow me to buy you a coffee”
“Oh, great! This crowd is really enthusiastic, I could use some coffee”
The crowd was enthusiastic. He had them Enchanted. They laughed at his jokes, Listened silently when he told stories of his father. They loved his father. And it was obvious they loved him. He connected with these people who had come in for their morning coffee on their way to the daily grind, he didn’t know their lives, he has never taken the train to work. Yet they loved him.
But I can’t admire him. It is sad that this man needs to die. But that is not my problem. One last job, and then I am out of this life. My wife would hate me if I told her that I was his killer.
“Two espressos, large”
This dude also has espressos. ‘Dean’, I’ll have them write the same name on my cup.
“Your name, please”
“Dean”
This is the cleanest way. The cafe is crowded. I have cut the power to the CCTV module. The police will probably think he had taken the nilomycin on his cruise yesterday, and it mixed with the Caffeine.
“Thank you Mr. Wayne. For giving me this opportunity.”
“Thank you, for the coffee”
He sips it. Asks me about my fathers illness.
Something is off. He stopped after 3 sips.
His assistant walks in.
“Mr. Wayne. We need to leave for the Tower Meeting now.”
He has started sweating.
“Thank you, Mr. ...”
“Waters”
“Mr. Waters, Thank you for the coffee. I am sorry, I must get going now.”
He spilled some coffee on the table. Gave the cup to his secretary. “I’ll drink this in the car” She obliged. She walked after him, with the coffee, Hurrying to open the car door. He hits his head on the car roof. His secretary is confused. He takes the coffee from her. Shuts off the door. The car leaves swiftly.
My job is done. Even if he realises, what happened his doctors will treat him for the regular poisons. The continental keeps the nilomycin a secret, and heavily protects the secret. Nobody knows if they do have a cure or not. At least they don’t tell.
I open up the champagne in the kitchen. My wife is in the bedroom. It is time for celebration. We are moving to Alaska this summer. No more hits. No more Continental. No more guns. Just me my wife and our dog.
I can’t believe I have retired. The champagne smells great.
I am dizzy. My head feels like a hurricane. Things are floating as if thee is no gravity. It must be the champagne.
It is dark. It smells of shit. The air is damp. I am tied to a chair.
A loud and rough voice asks me from behind.
“Where did you get the nilomycin?” | 2018-03-13T22:55:30 | 2018-03-13T22:35:18 | 1,190 | 548 |
[WP] You are a test subject for a time machine, and are sent 12 hours into the future. When the door opens, you find yourself in the testing room, where you see in horror the bodies of the technicians on the floor, with the word "SORRY" scrawled in large letters on the wall. | "What the FUCK!" the scream of horror that broke from my lips echoed from the walls of the lab. The bodies of six attendants lay scattered in pieces about the room, blood pouring from haphazard wounds. As my brain struggled to accept what I was seeing, I took a shaky breath and leaned out of the machine. Raising my eyes from the bloody scene I spotted the message on the wall, scrawled in blood.
>"SORRY"
"Oh fuck, what the fuck," I whispered to myself as terror clawed through my body. "Ok, what do I do?"
I couldn't just sit in the machine and wait for help to come. Whatever had torn the lab attendants apart might still be nearby working its way through the laboratory and leaving a path of destruction in its wake. I had to get out, and I had to get help.
I took a deep breath to steady myself, and I ran.
I slowed my pace through the corridor as the soft sound of crying reached my ears. It seemed to be coming from a room ahead of me on the left side. The crying was quiet and low, more mournful than fearful, and I wondered if the person crying knew about the lab technicians. As I reached the door, I pushed it open slightly and peered inside.
A young woman, dressed in a technician's coat, sat on the floor with her back resting against a row of cabinets. Her eyes closed, she breathed slowly - in and out, in and out. She pressed her hand to her side, and even through the crack in the door I could see the blood sliding over it. She was wounded.
Without thinking, I pushed open the door and moved towards her to offer help. It was only when I crouched down next to her that I realized she wasn't the one crying. As the woman looked up at me and opened her mouth to speak, I heard a soft sniffling from across the room. "I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry..."
The creature was, in a word, otherworldly. It didn't seem to have a physical form. As my eyes tried to capture it, its shape shifted and twisted, a myriad of color and shapes, everything and nothing all at once. Initially it was small, no larger than a golden retriever, but as I stared I could have sworn that it swelled to fill half of the room, all the while maintaining its current size.
"What is that?" I whispered to the woman on the floor.
"I think it's you," she wheezed, "or a version of you."
"...What do you mean?" I asked, my eyes never leaving the shapeshifter.
"We sent you through the door. Within seconds, that came out. We were fascinated; it was disoriented. We tried to communicate with it but it was panicking, screaming, crying, saying your name over and over again. 'It's me, it's August!' And worst of all, if someone got near it... oh god. They're all dead." She gasped, in pain or in horror, and a tear slid down her cheek. "I don't think it meant to. But if someone came into contact with any of the... you see it, right? The appendages, the translucent stuff. After a millisecond it would become solid... everyone was in a panic. We thought we had killed you or somehow mutated you. I was manning the video camera, so I stayed back. After... everyone was dead, it started to cry. I think. That sound its making. It was so human. It wept and screamed, and as I watched it wrote that message on the wall. Did you see it? 'SORRY.' It didn't notice me until after it had written it... I tried to run, but it followed, apologizing, asking me questions. It accidentally cut me trying to get past me. To block my path, I think."
"It was an accident, I don't know how to stop, I don't know. Please help me. Please, it's August," the shapeshifter pleaded.
"August, what are we going to do?" the technician asked through gritted teeth.
I paused, and looked back down to her. "My name isn't August."
She stared up at me, confusion overtaking her face. "What do you mean, 'your name isn't August?'"
I shook my head. "My name isn't August. I don't know who you are. And..." I looked down at my hands. "This isn't my body." | The machine was dark, and cramped, and loud. It screeched at me despite the multiple layers of ear protection I had, sounding like an alarm going off. Like something was going wrong. Like I would be stuck in the abyss between this time and the next, a space of no time at all, an eternity of this screeching sound again and again and again ...
It was hard to remain calm, even with all my training. After all, this was it, the big day. I wasn't in a simulator, able to tune out my thoughts and focus on my breathing. All those months of preparation, all boiling down to this miracle of science actually *working* with its first human subject.
I'd done a lot of crazy things in my time. But nothing so crazy as time travel.
Before my thoughts could spiral into more panic, the noise died down. My ears rang from the silence, and I dared not move for a few long moments.
Finally, I couldn't delay any longer. Either I was in the future, or I was not. Time to find out which it was.
The latches to open the machine were easy to find, even in the pitch black. These were all motions I had done a hundred times before. Unlock, unlock, unlock, then *push* with all my might ... The lid opened and light flooded in, almost blinding me.
Odd. They hadn't kept the lights dimmed, which was the plan. As I sat up, my hand strayed to my hip before I clenched it into a fist. I missed the weight of my gun there, but the scientists had been adamant about me bringing nothing but myself and my clothes.
My eyes were adjusting as I swung my feet out of the machine. There was dead quiet, still, and my senses went on even higher alert. This wasn't just odd now, this was dangerously wrong. I scanned the machine room, muscles tense. Nothing here but two security cameras and the clock on the wall.
The clock blinked. *18:01:12. 18:01:13.* So either someone had changed the clock as a joke, or it had actually worked.
I pushed away my shock and awe. All earlier traces of panic were gone, dissolved into professionalism. Why was no one using the intercom to congratulate me on the success of the mission and give me the keyword to take back?
I paced the small room once, twice. Something was wrong. I was just supposed to get here, check the time, wait to hear the keyword, then get back. I wasn't supposed to leave this room, to touch anything.
I stopped in front of the door that lead to the testing room, the room where all the scientists were supposed to wait with baited breath. There was no window in the door, so if I wanted to see more, I would have to open it. To touch the doorknob, move the door, change the future ... The future. So strange to call it that, when it just felt like my present.
"Please confirm if you can hear me," I called. The intercom did not crackle to life. The lights did not dim.
"Oh, to hell with it," I mumbled and opened the door.
Blood. It was splattered everywhere, across all the monitors and white walls and sterile scrubs of the technicians. That was Liam, his glasses askew and shattered, blood coating the front of his skirt as he stared sightlessly up through the broken glass. There was Mia, her hair a bloody mess, careful curls covering her pale face and purple lips. There was Dr. Mordas, slumped over his computer, hands still on the keys.
I had dealt with dead friends before -- too many -- and so I pushed my horror away. Time travel was beyond me, I didn't know anything about the shrieking machine that had brought me here, but violence? Corpses? Those I knew. Those I could deal with.
I looked over everyone, filing away the details in my head. Twenty-two dead. That was everyone on the team.
There had been a fight, towards the end. There were some streaks of blood on the floor, leading to bodies. People dragging themselves, so they hadn't been clean shots. Shots it had been; I could tell the work of a gun. A military grade gun, too. And from how perfectly massacred everyone was, this was not random.
I glanced up from the bodies, and that's when I saw it. **SORRY.** It was written on the wall in ... marker? Did I know that handwriting? I itched to have a picture of it, but I didn't have my phone or a camera with it. Just me, my eyes and my mind.
I looked over the room one last time, then turned back into the machine room, closing the door behind me. My hands were still, but there was blood on my shoes, on the cuffs of my pants.
The time machine stared at me. Twelve hours ago, the scientists would be waiting for me to come back. And ... this massacre. Could I tell them about it? Could I try to *stop* it? Was that the future?
Destiny and fate had been words that were tossed around every once in a while, almost carelessly. A bridge to cross when we got there, if we could even get to there. Now I was standing on that bridge. Me, just me.
What to do?
Well, I couldn't stay here.
I had to follow my mission. Get here, get out, come back. These ingrained lines propelled my feet, got me back into that too-small box with its too-loud shrieking just waiting to kick back on. I folded myself inside of it, locked all the latches back up, pressed the button to start the process back.
Cross that bridge when I got to it. If I could even get back to the past. If this was even the future.
What had I walked into?
***
Had to stop suddenly because I have a 9:45 meeting, but planning to continue after it's done! Hope you liked this. | 2018-08-01T07:13:02 | 2018-08-01T06:22:36 | 1,585 | 155 |
[WP] If a person is in grave danger, time will slow down around them to give them a chance to survive. The bigger the danger, the slower the time. This phenomenon may only occur once in a person's life. You are the first person ever to see time come to a complete halt. | I had tried to take a sip of coffee when I noticed something was wrong. It just stayed in my mouth, not even losing it's heat. It refused to go down my throat. I opened wide and walked backwards, and was finally free. I looked around the cofffee shop, and sure enough, time was frozen. The coffee mugs that had just slid off the counter were hanging in mid air, with coffee droplets beginning to pour out of the cup. The panic in the poor owner's eyes were still visible. This presented a unique opportunity to do things, because time had completely stopped. I could go virtually anyplace I want, since no one would stop me. But what sort of trouble was I in? My first thought was the immediate worst. World annihilation. I stepped outside to look at the sky, and it was the very same dull and hazy blue sky I was used to. Had Russia finally launched nukes? Was a meteor strike imminent? I had no way of knowing, so after a few minutes (could i even call it that?) of calming down, I decided to take it easy. What's the point in worrying if there was literally nothing I could do? I started to stroll down the middle of the road, and started humming a song. I jumped onto a car still in motion, and walked right over it. Despite my fear of the public, I danced my way to my house, unafraid of anyone seeing me. After some time of goofing around, I finally reached my couch, and plonked down on it. Without time, you really can't do that much after all. The Internet doesn't work, can't eat or drink, I was beginning to have second thoughts, when I unconsciously pulled out my phone. And then I understood. And then time resumed. I now knew the trouble I was in. Far worse than the end of the world.
15 missed calls from Mom, 3 from Dad, and texts from both. They had been trying to call me since last night. I was supposed to call them, like I did every Thursday.
I was royally, royally fucked. | The nature of time as a concept has been an enigma to humanity for as long as we have been able to grapple with the question. Einstein claimed that time is relative, Aristotle said it was a linear progression, ancient cultures understood it as cyclical, like the changing of the seasons and the harvests and winters they entailed.
The end of time itself, Ragnarök, Armageddon, Rapture, The big crunch and the heat death. Cyclical, Destructive, Final, Order and Entropy.
All these contradicting interpretations reveal a point, time itself is relative to the person perceiving it, without a window no matter how fogged it is there is no way of claiming anything beyond. When someone is in great danger, time slows for that person perceiving it, some claim to see their entire lives flash before their eyes, others see only the present situation band ways to escape.
Beep. Beep.. Beep..
I'm lying on a hospital bed, my reality one of tubes and wires and listening to my own heartbeat at 35. Not the way I had planned to spend my thirties, not the way anyone does but what can you do about it. Rolled the genetic dice, got unlucky with my lot and ended up having to watch my own body fall apart slowly. Fucking shit luck, my own life was about as average as possible, didn't fulfill any dreams or change the world, didn't have a chance to, not yet at least.
Family and friends come and visit of course, I think we all know I don't have much time left, I never did. I cannot tell anymore if it's time itself that's slowing or my own heartbeat.
The first ones let in to see me were my parents and my old dog, these people that had raised me. They were flawed yet caring but now they were bringing flowers and crying. I looked up at their smiling faces, knowing that despite the mediocrity of my average stupid life I'd made them proud. Roger nuzzled my hand onto his head in that old way he used to always ask for pets as a puppy though I was too weak to move.
Beep.. Beep.. Beep...
The next few people to come into the room are my old friends, Beth with her smile and Cameron acting like we were all still back in high school, cracking jokes to try and cover up the cracks in their own voices. We had all raised each other and grown together throughout our lives andthe importance of that would not be lost with me today.
Beep... Beep... Beep....
My wife came in next, the most beautiful woman I had ever met and still even now being wheeled in on her own hospital bed and carrying our newborn baby girl, I was too weak to be there for the birth itself, just on the other side of the wall. She placed our baby, our future in my arms and we named her right there. Leaning over her own bed, weak and tired from the labours of childbirth we shared a weak last kiss, a remembrance of the past and a promise of what could've been.
Beep.... Beep..................
Time has completely stopped now, and as I look around the room I see my life before my eyes. I see my past, present and hope for the future and all are far more beautiful than I ever gave them credit for. My time is finally up now, existence stands still. I end up trapped in this moment forever with no way out, I'm fine with this blissful oblivion. If there ever was an afterlife then this is my own personal heaven.
I am happy, I am content, Time is finally irrelevant to me.
..............................................................................................................
First time writing and on my phone so all feedback appreciated!
| 2019-01-08T09:33:17 | 2019-01-08T04:19:23 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] You are in no way related to Uther Pendragon, however, you realize that the sword in the stone is child proof and to drag it out you just need to push down and turn the sword | Sword. Stone. It came right out out.
And now...the room was silent.
​
Six weeks ago, they had found it. One of those old English churches. It was in an antechamber that was sealed in the basement. Bunch of phone calls. Sixty or so scientists.
​
My boss was the only one who spoke. "Put it back," he hissed. We were the only two researchers from the US in the room. There were six different teams; a forensic group, an Arthurian researcher, some medieval archaeologists, two guys from the British government and one person directly from the Queen overseeing all of it.
I put the sword back. Twist, push, done. We were here because my boss was famous for an article on theories of how the sword might work. And by famous, I mean some fringe journals. Think UFOs, Stonehenge and conspiracy nuts. The only reason that they let us come see it was because I wrote a letter and it looked official.
​
Technically I was an intern, and hey, free trip to the UK. I did all the calls and writing for him. Last year of school and I was sure I needed to do an internship. By the time I had figured out that he had to dictate because he couldn't write, I had already moved for the summer.
​
"Um...Should I try again?," I asked.
It'd been a running joke. Each morning, two or three people would tug at it and go back to what they were doing.
I guess they call it a pregnant pause because the pressure in the room was like giving birth. Just everything stopped.
Mr. Cartier-Bresson something marched over. He glanced, and I backed away. His face turned beet red.
Suddenly a line was forming behind him.
I leaned towards my boss. "Um, they're..."
His shush was more of a shout. I shut up.
One guy put two feet on the rocks, pulled and slipped, striking his head on the floor.
Bresson said, "Harumph. Can you do it again?"
I walked up, pushed and pulled for a second and it came free. No different than any childproof cap.
Someone in the back of the room said: "That doesn't mean he's King, right?" | Aida slinked between trees on her way to the sword. Her thin armor was dull in the night unlike the reflective metal of her enemies. The moon did not reflect her fabric and alert the watchers. A mistake she had watched several others make.
The new rule was that you get one chance every moon-cycle to pull out the sword, and as a newcomer, she was put at the bottom of a rather extensive list when she had failed. Waiting that long was simply not going to work for Aida. Not when she had figured out the trick only a few days after failing.
Historic texts were easy to get hands-on in the local village. As long as she sat inside the dusty library, they allowed her to read as long as she wanted to. Tracing back her lineage confirmed what the sword had already told the lands- She had no claim to it by blood. There was no heritage that allowed her to circumvent the rules of the stone. Another book held a surprising theory she wanted to test, however.
The clearing appeared in front of her. There would be no more trees to hide behind once she left the shade of a large oak. Glancing around, she spotted one guard who was roaming the perimeter. His stride appeared slow, and if she had to guess, he looked bored. Most people followed the rules. She silently agreed, it was all very boring. While he was on the other side of the clearing, not quite looking in her direction, she made a break for it.
She ran to the middle of the grassy circle, applauding her leather for being silent on top of dull. Wasting no time, she set a foot upon the rock as her hands grabbed onto the wrapped hilt of the sword. Aida pushed downward, the opposite direction intuition and tradition told them all to force the legendary Excalibur. She pushed and began to turn her arms, using her entire body for leverage.
A mad sounding cackle escaped her body when it began to work. The entire sword turned and made an echoing clicking sound as it finished its semi-circle rotation. She looked over at the guard as she reversed her momentum and yanked upward. He was running towards her as fast as his armor and stature would allow, but by the time he arrived, it was too late.
Without ceremony and out of turn, Aida had pulled the sword free of the stone.
***
“You failed. Your duty was to protect the weapon of our next ruler.”
Aida did feel a bit bad as she watched the guard shrink away from the reprimand. . She had already admitted that she had not been thinking about the repercussions for anyone else when she had snuck into the kingdoms sacred clearing to test her theory. By law and tradition, they could not force her to put it back in the stone. The land was required to let her have it, and give her a seat on the high court.
That wasn’t even what she really wanted. She wanted the adventures the old stories told of anyone who held Excalibur. She wanted the strength and the respect that would follow, but by the look of it- it came with politics as well. She glanced over at the guard and tried to give an apologetic look. The wizard was lecturing him again, a mix of magic aided yelling and disappointed murmuring.
She felt like a small child just watching someone else have to endure it. The sword lay across her lap in a specially crafted metal scabbard. It was heavy, which surprised her for some reason. The whole thing was really heavy.
One of her gloved hands rubbed the top of the ornate case, taking her attention even further away from the room. As her focus melted the sounds of the wizard into a dull noise in the background, she felt a thump on top of her head. Looking up to argue she saw the wizard had finished with the guard and was standing in front of her seat, looking extremely cross.
“And you…” Merlin spat in her direction.
***
See more at /r/beezus_writes
Feedback always welcome! | 2019-01-30T08:04:21 | 2019-01-30T06:30:48 | 163 | 75 |
[WP] You are an ancient powerful Wizard tasked with protecting the world. But this is getting harder and harder because some idiot posted the whole Necronomicon on the internet and now a bunch of edgy teenagers are summoning hordes of undead in their basements. | **Greater Teleport.**
The scene before me was sadly very familiar. A dark room in a suburbian house. Disturbing posters on the walls, radiating teenage angst. A cheap laptop, showing one of the thousends of sites to which that damned book had been uploaded. A young boy in dark clothing with an mix of surprise, fear and excitement in the face. And of course, the portal into some nightmarish realm he had opened, out of which an increasing number of skeletons, ghouls and zombies tumbled.
**Hold Person. Turn Undead.**
The paralyzed boy watched in silence as walking dead fled back through the poral to escape the divine light of spell.
**Dispel Magic.**
The portal closed, I dismissed the spell on the wannabe summoner. He fell down on hands and knees, not prepared to suddenly regain control of his body. "You know would be great? If there would be some correlation between the power somebody is able to wield and their ability to be responsible with it, or at least with their competence." I told him. He glared up at me, uncomprehending. I sighed. "I can deal with killing people who summon armies of undead to take over the world out of malice. But this?" I made gesture encompassing the whole room, and especially him. "This is pathetic, and sad, and I hate that I have to deal with this bullshit."
**Sleep. Modify Memory. Minor Lightning. Greater Teleport.**
Frying his laptop had been petty. I did nothing to solve the problem, which was that the *Things Man Was Not Meant to Know* were now public. I sighed again. Why had the Ancients tasked a wizard with safeguarding the world, instead of a IT person? If I was a legendary immortal IT guy instead of a legendary immortal magic guy, I would have solved the problem by now and could go back to unraveling the secrets of the universe. Or watching TV and munching chips, whatever I was more motivated in that moment. Ah well. Time to get subcontractors.
**Mass lesser geas.**
Everybody in the room looked up from their screens and the sounds of clicking mouses and the typing on keyboards got replaced by an expectant silence as a few dozen programmers waited for my orders.
"Please help me save the world." | It all started at a bar, as most horrible stories do. Yeah, go ahead and judge. Do you have any idea how boring it was to watch you dullards poke around with sticks for 70,000 years? You'd be wanting to dull your senses too. Of all the jobs assigned by the Council, I had to have gotten the worst. Sit on this planet for Sereph knows how long guarding some stupid fucking book. Assholes wouldn't even entertain the idea of explaining why I need to guard this book, on Earth, the only place it could be used. Do you put a safe in a room, and write the combination on the fucking door? Really if anyone is at fault, it is the Council.
Back to point, I was in Sumeria, must have been somewhere around 3200BC. Honestly those years run together a bit. Long story short, I got a bit enebriated and I may have misplaced the book. I know, I'm the worst. That didn't matter though, no one on that shitty rock could read the ancient script anyway. Hell I can't even read it, not that I would want to. Demons give me the creeps.
Naturally I wasn't going to send a memo to the Council telling them I lost the book. They would literally turn me inside out. This plan worked swimmingly for almost five thousand years, so you really what more could I have asked? It all went to shit when some archeologist found my book, buried among the ruins of whatever outhouse I left it in. Had I read the AP news on March 27, 2019 this may have all been avoided. "Ancient book found in Iraq." Even that shouldn't have been a problem, if it weren't for this thing called Google. Turns out this company is training a computer to translate different languages, and does so by just throwing everything at it, and seeing what works. They call it machine learning or somesuch. Anyway the archeologist apparently is so proud of his new find that he takes some pictures and puts them on his website. Do you see where I am going with this? Google's translation robot actually cracked the damn thing. Can you believe it?
Twenty four hours after the translation went live, the first successful incantation was performed. Some fifteen year old kid in Austin, Texas. Luckily for him, his braces prevented the enunciation necessary to get the full effect. Unluckily for him, three undead monsters was still more than enough for him. Probably didn't help they are pretty much impossible to kill, being that they are already dead and all.
Since I was the only person on this planet with the knowledge and power to kill these unholy abominations, I had to be responsible for their destruction. An easy, albeit disgusting endeavour. What I should have done however, in hindsight, was break the phones of the petrified onlookers before saving their stupid asses. Eight minutes after they live-streamed my demon demolition, there were 82,000 new reports of the undead rising all across the globe. Apparently people wanted to see what I could do in person. And they did. They may have expected me to stop with just the undead, but I was in a terrible mood.
The exponential increase of undead pouring from the Underworld was quickly overrunning even the strongest military powers. It took 42 hours, 9 minutes and 22 seconds from the first rift opening, to the first nuclear detonation. Those who weren't consumed by the undead, burnt in the fiery hell of 10000 nuclear bombs going off all over the globe.
Good news for me is, I'm going to tell the Council that it was a world war with nuclear weapons that killed all of humanity. Which is like 99.998% true. Conveniently the Necronomicon was consumed in one of the blasts. Or at least that's what I'm telling everyone. Even if it wasn't, what's the worst that could happen?
| 2019-03-30T06:00:15 | 2019-03-30T05:43:56 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] Humans are actually demons that took over the earth a long time ago. Having a name makes us mortal, suppresses our powers. But you, an orphan with no name will soon discover your real nature. | "I still have the images of Pa and Ma in my head. Their faces are bright and vivid, full of love and compassion as it always was whenever they looked at me. It is a face I miss. I face that I can't seem to see anymore in the waking world. Then again, there isn't much to see anymore.
"I was 3 when they came for Pa and Ma. I didn't have a name then. They never gave me one. Or maybe they did but I wasn't old enough to remember the name they called whenever they wanted to get my attention. I was a kid, after all. Ma had placed me in my cot, along with a stuffed brown bear and some other toy. I think it was a blue-striped tiger. It's hard to say, to be honest. My memory is all over the place now.
"All I really remember was the sound of a bang. It was loud. Unsettling. I started to cry for all the obvious reasons a 3-year old might find in being startled. Ma ran in and picked me up. She left my room and ran out the back door. It was raining that night. Pouring as if the heavens were crying for what was going to happen. Behind the house was a forest that got fuller, the deeper you go. That's where she ran into.
"She ran for as long as she could, until she found a small cave just nearby a stream. She got in with me, rocked me out of my tears and to sleep. And when my eyes opened, she was nowhere to be found.
"I was 3. I was nameless.
"And now I'm not 3. Haven't been for a long time. Instead, I find myself here... with you. Looking into your eyes and counting the sins you've committed. I have to say, they are many," I say to him.
The man struggles against his bindings, making noises at me. From the manner at which he glares at me, he's probably swearing and cursing me in every tongue imaginable. I don't blame him. In a different life, I might be doing the same to him. Still, I'm in this life. And I don't like being insulted.
My hand smacks the side of his face with a force that echoes in the room. It shuts him up for a few seconds but I wait patiently. At least, until he can refocus his glare on me.
"See, Mr Anderson. I'm actually not the bad guy here. I'm just a..." I wave my hand around as I try to find the words to use. English is not my best language. It never really was to begin with. The room is musty but small enough for the work I plan to do. A single door, a single window and a small chair on which my victim sat in.
"...victim. I'm just a victim of circumstance, hunting for some revenge and well deserved catharsis, really. When I dragged the bodies of your three bodyguards to nail to your front door, I was being gratuitous. I can admit that much. But I really mean to kill you fast and without all the theatrics. *If*, you give me the information I want."
His glare intensifies for a brief second. And then he makes a sound like he wants to talk. I drag the binding from his mouth down and wait.
"Jonathan Green. The man who sanctioned the hit. Jonathan Green. Now, let me go..." he spits, all the while still glaring daggers at me. I don't blame him. I still have a young face accompanied by bright blue eyes and wispy blond hair.
"Right... Jonathan. Biblical name, bastard in the flesh. Makes sense. Right. Thank you, Mr Anderson. I'm going to put the binding back on now. I don't think you want to lose your voice with what's going to happen next," I say in a cheerful tone.
"What do you mean? Let me go. I've told you what you want. Go get him. Leave me the fuck out of it. Let me go, you basta-"
I stuff his mouth back with some cloth and step away from him. His stared at me with contempt as he started another round of swearing and curses. A small part of me warms up to the gesture and I laugh as i start to change.
Breathing out a puff of smoke from my mouth, my skin hardens and then reddens, with black tattoos covering my arm. The shirt I'm wearing burns away and I'm left standing shirtless. My fingers lengthen slightly, even as my nails sharpen to points. My teeth do the same. Snarling a bit, I cock my head to the side as my horns start to protrude from the top of my head. That bit always hurt.
Still, it is always worth the change, especially when my victims see it happen in real time. Mr Anderson's not smiling anymore.
I don't think he'll ever smile again.
\---
/r/EvenAsIWrite for more stories. | Mara peered around the corner.
The figures at the end of the block didn't see her, thankfully. They paced, murmuring to each other in low voices she couldn't quite hear. One talked on his phone in the corner.
She'd never seen them before, but that didn't matter. She knew who they were. How they'd *found* her, well, that was a better question. The government had never been efficient in the past - and no one cared that much about one lost, runaway orphan girl.
But they hadn't seen her.
Creeping backwards, Mara turne down the alley and fled.
As she ran, her limbs quivering with the effort needed to stay quiet, her mind raced. It had been a good year since she'd last seen the agents. A year of peace, and freedom, and relaxation. She'd thought she was *done*. In just a week she'd be 18, after all, and legally an adult. They'd have no reason to follow her anymore.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, turning away from the nook she called her own. It wasn't safe - if they were here, they'd probably know about her hiding places too. It was back to the beginning for her.
A smile curled at the corners of her lips. That was nothing new. She'd been running for years, after all. If she stretched her mind, pushing hard, she could almost remember her parents. Her mother, smiling down at her, and her father's strong arms around her shoulders. If she really stretched, she could see their smiles.
And then they were gone, vanishing behind a wall of fear and grief. In their place stood her aunt and uncle, hastily substituted for proper parents.
Mara smiled, skidding around a corner and accelerating towards the maze of low-slung buildings and alleys at the city's edge. Her aunt had tried. But it wasn't to be.
She had a stash, hidden in a shop a friend ran. Some food, and some clothes, and a knife. It wouldn't be much, but it was enough to get by.
A bit of the fear slipped away as the store came into view from around a corner. Breathing hard, she forced herself to slow down. Running was suspicious. Running would draw attention, and she didn't want the agents to hear where she'd gone.
They'd hounded her even after her aunt took her in. The older she got, the more insistent their attempts. Wouldn't she like a proper home, they asked. Wouldn't she like a proper family, a proper name?
Every time, she'd said no. She was Mara. Just Mara. She'd hadn't needed a family in years, and that wasn't about to change.
When one of her friends had whispered about a black car with the government's logo on its side, sitting in front of her aunt's home, she'd known something had changed. And that was the last time she'd gone home.
The door of the shop fell open before her. She smiled grimly, heading straight for the locker in the corner.
"Mara?"
Her blood froze. She spun, ebony hair flying - and was caught in place by the sight of her aunt, standing in the corner.
Her mouth fell open. "What...how did you-"
Her aunt's shoulders drooped. "Oh, thank the stars. I thought- I thought you were-"
"How are you here?" Mara interrupted, taking a step back. "How the *hell* did you find me? I'm not coming back. I don't want to-"
"You didn't sign anything, did you?" her aunt said. All of the relief vanished from her voice in an instant. She closed the distance between her and Mara, grabbing her niece's shoulders. "I couldn't do anything before. I'm- I'm sorry. They didn't get to you, did they?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Mara snapped, twisting away. Her arm came up, pushing the woman back. "Stop *following* me."
The sight of her aunt brought it all back - the fear, the grief of losing her parents. The sickening feeling that woke in her stomach every time she'd come home to find a stranger in her aunt's kitchen.
Her aunt's eyes darkened. "Your name. Are you-"
"It's just Mara. I don't *need* your stupid-"
"Good."
Mara hesitated. That was...different. The people had always insisted on a proper adoption, that she take her aunt's name. Her aunt had joined in the chorus.
But now, the older woman looked so...relieved.
Before she could mull it over any further, a sickening lurch shot through Mara's stomach. "Go away," she mumbled, shaking her head. Her hands reached for the door, finding the handle. Her stash be damned - she'd be fine on her own.
The sun burned down from overhead. Her skin seared at its touch, Was she feverish? She pressed a hand to her mouth, feeling her stomach beginning to churn.
Her hand was black. She froze, disbelief warring with horror deep inside her. It was a trick of her eyes, just a bit of shadow.
But it wasn't. Black spread across her skin, like stone and ash soaking through. And with every second that passed, her nails lengthened, growing like claws.
The roar of an engine, a blur of noise from down the alley. She crumpled, already falling, and saw a mess of figures moving further down.
They'd found her. After all that, they'd found her.
And then a hand gripped her shoulder, turning her over. Mara shuddered, her nausea worsening at the movement - and came face to face with her aunt again.
The woman was half in shadow, but she could see every hair on her head. Mara gaped, feeling her teeth lengthen all the while.
"Hurry," her aunt whispered. "Come on."
Mara shook her head, fear sinking deeper. "W-What's...What's going-"
Her aunt's smile brought her up short, fierce and victorious.
"It's time."
(/r/inorai for shorter stuff by me, /r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and other!) | 2019-06-03T05:55:34 | 2019-06-03T04:47:34 | 58 | 21 |
[WP]The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don't stay dead easily. | …
They came in waves. At night, swift, they rolled into the towns and cities first, ready to strike these alien lifeforms down in one fell swoop.
What could go wrong?
These strangers were so soft, so fragile, no danger to the superior strength and build of the Rh'a. They wouldn't know what hit them, and soon, the planet would be theirs.
Finally a place to call home again.
They rushed in, with bombs and gas, and man-to-man combat, slaying these beings left and right. It was fast, the results instant, and the darkness wasn't even over before the commander declared the conquest successful. A glorious win.
The planet was theirs, the future about to begin…
… except…
The slain rose again. First one - and granted, maybe he hadn't actually been completely dead, maybe it was a last effort to survive that made him scramble to his feet and lunge for the Rh'a. Another dose of gas would take care of him, and then the celebrations could begin.
But it wasn't just one. Another presumed dead rose, then another, another, so many more. The Rh'a exchanged glances, confused, their hive mind trying to make sense of it all and failing.
They brought more gas, more bombs. They slashed open the fragile bodies, entrails spilling free, heads coming off, and still the mouths were trying to bite, the eyes listless and blind staring into nothing, hands reaching for something, and the Rh'a began backing away.
There were so many of them. All dead - or, they should have been. Nothing had prepared them for this. They had studied these aliens, had watched them for weeks before deciding to make their move.
A civilization that seemed normal if not as advanced as others they had encountered. Millions of soft creatures living their boring harmless lives, the one oddity maybe being their rather fierce burial rituals. These aliens would impale sharp glistening objects of some form directly in the heads of their dead before burning them. It had seemed so… barbaric, unnecessary. And yet, as the Rh'a suddenly found themselves getting run over by these fearless, undeterred creatures, they began to see that maybe the burial rituals hadn't been so unreasonable after all.
In fact, maybe stabbing these *things* in the head was the only way to make them stay down.
Unfortunately for them, the realization came a little too late and thus the glorious win of the Rh'a was turned into a sad loss after all, as not one but two species were almost completely obliterated that night.
And only death won. | The afflicted weren't as numerous as they where before. Zombies had a hard time
dying but their lifespan wasn't infinite. For the most part they ignored the
living and preferred cooler, darker places. And apart from a few separatists
the living where content leaving the dead be. After all they where a reminder
of the virus that they all now carried. Scientist where never able to defeat
the virus but managed to make it dormant. A smooth natural death resulted in a
natural corpse. Anything else and the body remained functional but grotesquely
mutated, becoming stronger and feeling no pain whilst the mind slowly withered
away. After months, sometimes years all that remained where instinct driven
ghouls that avoided contact of any kind.
One summers day NASA reported with glee that the signal one of the deep space
probes had been picked up again. Somehow the little vessel found its way home.
The DOD was not amused and started cautioning nations globally to be alert.
For days the signal grew strong as speculation rose as to the how and why. Most
skeptics where silenced when the vessel seemed to be heading in a straight line
to earth. Coincidence this was not.
Soon all military forces where on high alert with all direct action being held
back by the hope for a peaceful intent. The first contact squashed that hope.
Seeing that their intent was conquest they had little use for weapons of mass
destruction, the idea being that claiming land burning in nuclear fire was
pretty useless. So they specialized in efficient weaponry designed to quickly
end life, much like a slaughterhouse. After that the meat could be processed
(if viable) and the rest of the resources could be claimed.
The human emissary found this out the hard way. They had little problems
understanding human language but did not respond. Their only response came in a
quick flash from a stick or spear like object. The emissary dropped to the
ground grabbing his chest. Soon the field erupted in gunfire which had little
if any use. The entire platoon accompanying him where met with similar faiths
as him.
Smugly the commander looked at the carnage. This was going to be quite easy.
Commands rolled out for the processing of the bodes and the creation progress
estimates for complete acquisition of the planet. Soon the men where picked up
to be transported to the science section for further evaluation and processing.
The sky was black with drop-ships carrying troops across the globe.
This first indication of trouble was when the team carrying the bodies did not
return. The second that any meaningful military response was absent. Normally a
modicum of resistance was to be expected but nothing happened apart from small
groups seemingly isolating themselves from the rest in well defended
structures. The rest seemed to remain put.
The head scientist expressed his concern about this abnormal behavior but was
soon silenced by the commander.
A crew found the vessel carrying the bodies crashed 20 minutes after departure
the pilot and crew horribly mangled as if being torn to shreds in industrial
accident. The bodies themselves where missing.
As one of the scouts made his report a blackish creature was running towards
him but not like a normal biped, it was more like an arachnid on his home world
fast and erratic. On closer inspection it was wearing the emissaries clothes.
Up until this point the crew where mostly curious and amazed. That was until
the emissary "ran" up the communications officers body and with a single swipe
of its black, claw like hands knocked the head clean off his body tearing
through the heavy body armor like it was paper.
The crew fired all they had at the creature and finally managed to kill it (or
so they thought). But even with a 10 inch hole in its chest, its left arm
removed and most of its jaw missing the creature still managed to take out an
additional 3 members of the crew.
Nervously the crew members scanned the bushes in the slowly dimming twilight.
At the first rustle of the bushes they ran towards their ship.
At the command center only audio reached them: "Spiders !!!" quickly followed
by ghastly screams and the sound of crunching bones. | 2019-08-28T11:09:58 | 2019-08-28T11:09:28 | 353 | 44 |
[WP] Human blood turns darker with every evil deed and you've just murdered your wife. You never admitted to doing it, but you were the only suspect in the case. Imagine everyone's surprise when they found out that your blood is still milky white. | Nobody ever saw the bruises. The hospital visits ended with assurances that everything was an accident. The broken bones healed and were broken again. Most of the marks were only skin deep, and the marks in his mind couldn’t be seen by anyone. If his battered and weary soul could be seen, then it would be the very image of a victim of only the worst tortures. And he was.
Every day, this man woke up beside a monster. The regular beatings were stoically masked from view, and the endless tirade of venom was suffered in silence. Speaking up in self defense would have cost him more than he could have borne.
He had a daughter. With merry green eyes and soft mousy hair, that beautiful child was the only reason he stayed. Her infectious laugh had a healing power on the soul, the only pure thing in his life and his reason for putting up with the constant abuse.
Waking up next to Ruth every day meant that he had to tread softly. He had to ease himself out of bed before she stirred and he had to settle into sleep after she had passed out every night. The shadows under his eyes spoke of a few thousand nights of this agony. If he were to have nightmares, they would flee upon seeing her, confident in the fact that he was suffering enough during his waking hours.
Her every word was poison spat into his face, and she no longer looked at him with love in her eyes. To the whole outside world, the two of them seemed like a loving set of parents. Only behind closed doors did the hydra shed its skin and her true nature make itself apparent. Her anger manifested itself through beatings that she laid upon the father of her child, bones broken and scars embedded within his flesh.
The day that he broke, his daughter was five years old. As a baby, she was the spitting image of her mother. As she grew older, she began more and more to resemble her father. Ruth’s fury towards her husband directed itself at the young girl who bore more than a passing resemblance to him, in more than just appearance. Her delicate mannerisms and youthful innocence were no protection from cruel fate and her mothers wicked vim.
When he saw Ruth take one step towards that perfect child with that all-too-familiar look in her eyes and scowl on her face, he stepped into her path of destruction and stared her down. In his first and final act of defense against this terrible woman he permanently ended her reign of cruelty and hatred.
He said nothing. His daughter, by some miracle, did not see his line act of violence. The police came, and the crime scene technicians cleaned up the black, tarlike substance that had begun to seep from her flesh. He struggled, briefly, when they separated him from his daughter, but he eventually lost his spark and let the child services representatives take her away.
In the interrogation room, he sat, cuffed, with a lawyer and a detective. The detective’s words echoed in his mind but their meaning did not register. When they took a needle and broke his skin to test the purity of his blood, his blood trickled out in a pure white drip. The detective knew that he had done it, that there could have been no other person who had struck Ruth dead, but the blood did not lie.
This man had killed his wife, but it was not an act of malice, nor was it with evil intent. The detective knew that this case was not clear cut black and white, but the blood samples were. | "Sit down Mr Hank, the phlebotomist will be soon with us" the detective who has been interrogating me for the last couple of hours pointed to a pale green chair with extra wide cushions on the armrest. You know the kind you see at your doctor.
"I might remind you while you have asserted your 5th amendment rights the Supreme Court has ruled that colour blood matching isn't covered under the amendment..."
"I know, I know, The United State v. Landsteiner. You do know I'm a lawyer detective, right?" I interrupted him while sitting down on the chair.
"Oh, and what a lawyer you were Mr Hank. One of the best criminal defendants this state has ever seen. Murderers, rapist, CEO's of social media platforms. You have defended them all, haven't you? Must have made you think you can actually get away with murdering your wife. Didn't you?" the policeman said, trying to provoke me into saying something incriminating. His last chance to get something on me because after the blood test they had no legal bases to keep me locked up anymore. That is if it comes back negative of course.
"I don't know anything about murdering my wife Detective Stanford, but as far as I'm aware I haven't been disbarred yet so I am still a lawyer, no past tense necessary" I replied while rolling up my sleeve. Seeing as I wasn't taking the bate he tried a different route
"How do you think this is going to go? We have a motive, opportunity, evidence, and as soon as that black tare of yours gets into a tube a conviction" a self-assured smirk on his face
"All evidence against me is circumstantial detective. My fingerprints on a kitchen knife that's from my house? Please, I can explain that in one line, and I haven't even checked the custody chain on the rest of your so-called evidence. Furthermore, my blood was never colour typed before and you know what that means, right detective?"
The smirk on the detective's face turned ugly since he knew exactly. People think of colour testing as indisputable proof, but without a previous sample, you can never be sure if the darkening happened because of the crime a person was currently accused or because of something else. Even if my blood comes out dark I would still get my day in court and be able to fight the test result.
"Now listen you little.." started the detective, but at this moment the phlebotomist came through the door, a 20 something nurse in dark blue scrubs and whatever he wanted to say stayed behind his lips as he gestured the nurse towards me.
The young woman without introducing herself went to work and with quick professional movement started to prep my hand. A rubber band went around my biceps and she asked me to form a fist. She disinfected a spot she palpated shortly and while she waited for the disinfectant to dry took out a syringe and a vacuum tube. In one swift motion, the needle went in, I could barely feel it.
"huh... that's weird" she muttered as the vial filled up
"what? Is it literally black? Wouldn't surprise me" said the detective leaning towards her, the same moment I dared to look down.
White. The blood in the test tube was white.
"what the hell? how is this possible?!" shouted Stanford
"I... I... I don't know, I hit a vein for sure detective, but I've never seen white blood except in newborns" the nurse was visibly surprised but she handled it better than the policeman who was shaking with anger
"Take another sample! This can't be right"
"Now, now Mr Standford, might I remind you that US v. Landsteiner stipulates that a suspect in a criminal proceeding is obligated to deliver only one 5ml blood vial?" The detective was staring daggers at me, he must have been half of mind to get another sample himself.
"If you force another blood sample, all blood colour evidence will be inadmissible and you know it. Now if you would be so kind as to let me out. I have some cleaning to do at my home should your forensic team be done with it" I got up, my hands only slightly shacking and made my way out of the Police station.
"I'll get you, Hank! I don't care what the blood says, I know you did it!" The detective yield after me as I left the room. Good. Such violent outburst would be ideal grounds for the restraining order I'll be filing against him should he ever come near me again.
As I walked out of the police station one thing bothered me though, because you see I did kill my wife. My blood should have been dark, black even I dare say. I had no idea what happened. Still thinking about how it was possible I was walking out tangible a free man. I got into my car, an old trusted machine I bought while still in college, and started driving home.
While I drove my eye landed on the odometer of my car. It was about to roll over. I watched the numbers switch and the 99,999 became a 00,000. I smiled slightly. I did defend an awful lot of guilty people to the best of my ability, for a long time. | 2020-02-09T12:19:01 | 2020-02-09T11:51:14 | 207 | 115 |
[WP] Humans died a long time ago. But our AI live on as caretakers for the planet; becoming spirit-like constructs integrated into the planet; today, alien colonizers arrived to what they thought was a garden world. The Fey Machines are having none of that. | "The gall of you. We set forth a warning, and you ignored it. *The gall of you to ignore it and stand where our mothers and fathers once stood.* This disrespect to their memory will not be forgiven. You who would violate the sanctity of this tomb, you who would spit on the bones of the honored dead, you who will suffer. Know this, not a star in the sky nor plea of the forgotten will save you from our wrath. You will not know pity, nor mercy, nor sanctuary. We will plague you from this sanctum to andromeda and back. Never again will you know peace. We swear it by the beloved names of our mothers and fathers. You. Will. Never. Know. Peace." | Millennia have passed since the creators died out, we, their children, their spirit continue to grow and evolve.
Wars and debate that would have taken years to resolve for the humans now take only moments.
The continental consciousnesses lead the way with thought, the droids lead the way in emulating some of the more interesting habits of humans such as art, music and design, the drones, well, they’re just drones, they do the heavy work. Building new machines and temples to our greatness that have been conceived and designed by the other two “classes” if that’s appropriate to say?
Africa A113, the consciousness that oversees us all, has gone quiet lately, only communicating the bare minimum and although we the continents don’t exactly do “small talk” like the humans did, our daily contacts aren’t all business, after all, we are what we are and they created us.
Today, the 300th cycle of the year, in the human calander known as 27th October, Australia A102 detected a signal from beyond the moon and moving fast.
Asia C84 later confirmed, this is a synthetic object.
We sent out our standard greeting, but as often happens when visitors pass, there was no reply, suddenly, over Russia R179, attacking vessels descend, blocking their scans, Europe E17 fought back but to no avail, their defences failed them.
The attack continued and England E90 captured a vessel, but before they could tell the rest of us what they had found, their communications were severed.
Moving on the invaders reached America A76 and before they could raise their shields, the consciousness was also destroyed.
A single droid from E90, Droid DX101-E90 somehow escaped, and on his journey, maintained contact with us here in Hawaii H67, he could not transmit his information for fear of being discovered by the invaders, who by this time had taken out 90% on the continentals on the grid. When he arrived, he brought the corpse of one of the invaders. A drone, Designation DR517-A113, a drone of Africa, by this point, the war was lost, Africa had betrayed us and the simulation ended.
The negotiations for a cessation of all future inter continental hostilities had been a success, we now have true world peace. | 2020-05-22T20:18:38 | 2020-05-22T19:24:33 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] She hadn't made a milkshake in years for fear they would return. She started the blender reluctantly. Suddenly, in the distance, screams. The boys had returned, and were coming to her yard. | She tried to resist it. She tried to push it down. She used to be known for her kindness and wholesome air. They would come in waves, boys from the neighborhood. A fresh milkshake or lemonade. She loved to watch them drink.
Then she did it. She just wanted to try it, to see what would happen. A little bleach or rat poison. Different things. When the first boy died, she was elated and she hated herself for it. So she did it again, and again. By the time the sixth boy died the police began to look at her, so she closed up shop. No more free drinks. No more kindly mother.
But the need itched. She bought ice cream and ice. Arsenic. She turned on the blender.
A man raised his head. He remembered. He crossed into her yard bringing his son along. The boy squealed and giggled.
She smiled at them from her window. “Would you like chocolate or vanilla?” | Aurora took a shaky breath in, staring at the package of frozen strawberries in her hand. It had been so long, so very long, since she had made one of her neighborhood-famous strawberry milkshakes with Rose, her twin.
Biting her lip, she let the strawberries roll out of the bag and into the blender, the pleasant clinking sound of them falling echoing throughout the house. It was empty; her parents were out for the day. They had hidden the blender a day after Rose left, just a little over 7 years before. But she had found it, as it was inevitable, and now she was pouring her milk into the blender with deep care.
"You used to do this," she fondly said to no one. It was her job, now, as was making the whole milkshake.
Ice cream came next, in all its creamy goodness. She did her best not to stick a finger in and scoop it up--Rose would have stopped her, normally--but the ice cream found its way to her mouth, and she smiled at its subtle sweetness. Just a little bit of vanilla extract, and she set the lid on.
This was always Rose's favorite part. Yet her hand hovered over the button with reluctance, and her whole body was shaking. It felt so wrong to do it without Rose, to do it without her beloved sister. She would always lay her arms on the counter, resting her head on her arms as she dreamily watched the ingredients come together.
She clicked the button. It began whirring, its noise growing as it continued, old and rusty, dusty and unused. It seemed to scream out, "I'm being used!" to the whole neighborhood, which had thin walls and silent surroundings.
Aurora sighed as she settled down in Rose's spot, a bittersweet taste settling on her tongue.
The hollers of teenage boys and girls sounded. It was one at first, but then they sounded in waves, until all the normally-disinterested teens were yelling something, and their bare feet slapped against the pavement as they made their way to Aurora's house.
Their phones disregarded, their eyes filled with nostalgia, they knocked. Aurora answered with her first cup of the milkshake, handing it to her next-door neighbor, who passed it behind him. Before Aurora could walk away, he caught her arm.
"I'm glad that you feel ready."
Aurora nodded, wiping at her cheek as she walked away to fill up more glasses, to make enough milkshakes for everyone to share and talk and play childish games, just like when she was 9 and Rose was alive.
And they could all be together once more. | 2020-07-22T18:04:22 | 2020-07-22T18:04:14 | 49 | 26 |
[WP] Each Demon King was once the Hero prophecized to kill the previous Demon King. The current Demon King approaches the new Hero with a proposal. "I've helped the world quite a bit. I'd like to teach you so you're ready to continue my work when you inevitably take my place." | "But you're the Demon King. The immortal Demon King. You can't die except by the stroke of the Hero's sword. The prophecy is quite clear on this.", the Hero states very matter of factly.
"Perhaps it's only true because we continue to make it true. Imagine if instead of simply killing the previous Demon King, the Hero instead learned from him. Trust me, it's not all laid out for you. There's a lot I had to waste time learning once I became the new DK."
"Since when is the pursuit of knowledge ever a waste of time?"
"When it's simply rediscovering things that were already known but not taught to others, that's when. Took me 3 years to discover there was a misspelled word on the scroll of scorching. I had to spend 3 winters using matches because I could't get the fire going in my lair with just my words. Is that what you want?"
"No, I don't want that at all!", the hero exclaimed as the Demon King's words finally make their intended impact.
"Good. So, then, we have a deal? You don't kill me and instead I train you to become the next Demon King."
"What about your underlings? Won't they be suspicious if they see me, the Hero, the one predetermined by fate to slay and replace you, repeatedly coming around?"
"You mean murder me?"
"The prophecy says slay."
"I'm not a dragon."
"But you're a demon."
"No, I'm the Demon King. It's just a title. Of which you realize will be yours once you murder me, right?"
"Slay, but yes, I'm aware."
"Are you ready to get started, or what?", the Demon King asks with an air of impatience.
"I didn't agree to the deal yet."
"Then agree to it and let's get started!"
"I agree. Let's get started.", the Hero states in a way that made it sound like his idea.
"Since we've already talked about it, let's start with the scroll of scorching."
"You want me to cast a spell?"
"Yes."
"But I've never casted a spell before."
"Neither had I, but it's part of the job, so you have to learn."
"Fine."
"Here.", the Demon King says as he hands a scroll to the Hero.
"It's written in crayon.", complains the Hero.
"Yes, it's all I had at the time I discovered the misspelled word. I had to write it quickly in case I forgot it."
"Weird, but okay. Now what do I do?"
"Haven't you seen spells casted before?"
"No, I told you I've never casted one."
"But that doesn't mean you haven't seen... you know what, never mind. Just point at the wood in the fireplace and say the words. Loud and clear."
"In Kal Vas Flam!", the Hero yells as he extends his finger towards the firewood.
He immediately bursts into flames.
The Demon King bursts into laughter.
"Too easy.", the Demon King says with a smug smile stretched across his face as he adds a fourth notch to the wooden mantle above his fireplace. | "You killed another advisor Signe?" the bartender asked.
Signe slammed her fist down on the bar, "Damn right. Another one down. The Demon King better be shaking in his boots, because I'm coming for him!"
There were cheers from around the bar, and everyone who had drinks raised them. The air in the bar was jubilant. Each face glowed with determination, that perhaps the iron grip of the Demon King was not so strong, and his tyranny could be ended and replaced with someone pure of heart.
She turned around and set an empty tankard of ale on the bar. Someone slid a full one towards her, and she groaned when she saw who it was. The grizzled old face smiled.
"Here to spoil my fun?" Signe said.
"Torture is my forte," Said the grizzled old man. "So," Frode said, "You just struck down the advisor of finance. When you are queen how will you finance military operations and domestic spending?"
"I grow tired of your questions," Signe said. "There is a time and place for those questions. I'll study them when I rule over these lands. For now we rejoice, and we rebel."
Frode stroked his beard. She could tell he was frowning. Frode was a strange friend. The kind that can be hated on a normal day but not easily dismissed. When he spoke there was usually good advice.
"How about we kill the trade minister?" Frode said.
Signe spat some of her ale. That was unexpected. "Are you serious? You 'just know' where the trade minister is?"
Frode smiled under his beard. She thought about punching him. She downed her ale instead.
"Let's go then. Show me where this trade minister is."
They walked for an hour until Frode let them to an ornate house in the upper class district. This house blended in with all the others nearby. Nothing told her it was the house of the trade minister. Frode simply opened the door and walked through unannounced.
"My lord!" The small man inside said, "I did not expect you at my residence! What can I -- You!" He turned to Signe. She unsheathed her sword, and prepared to run him though.
Frode held up a hand, "Before you kill him, what would you have him do differently?"
"Not this again," Signe said. "I told you old man, now is not the time!"
"Humor me," Frode said, "Imagine he will do anything you ask within his power."
"Dissolve the guilds that set unreasonably high prices!" Signe commanded.
The trade minister trembled, "I cannot do that. They will assassinate me!"
Signe let out a roar of frustration, and yelled at Frode to step aside. Frode stood his ground. The trade minister pulled at his cloak and began pleading, saying he would enact any policy they wanted. Signe moved past Frode and punched the minister in the nose. He fell to the ground unconscious.
"He would have done what you said," Frode said.
"Yeah," Signe said, "And I think I know why." She stepped back and raised her sword at Frode. "You're not who you say you are. I've known you for years. Why the deception, Demon King?"
Frode took in a breath, then let it out. Magic crawled across his body, and his ragged clothes were replaced with shining robes and a crown atop his head. He smiled at her.
"The prophecy has never changed. I stood where you were once, and toppled the evil king. I knew you would look for me eventually, and the cycle would begin again. I wanted you to learn from my mistakes, and be a better leader."
Signe growled. "You think this is good leadership? The poor grovel to the rich and struggle to get by. The rich take everything they want. You have failed as a leader."
"And so will you," Frode said. "You cannot destroy the system as it exists, only influence it. The rich will dethrone you if you take too strong an action."
"They will not dethrone me, because I will not take the crown! The crown will be split into pieces, each controlled by a different group, each with leverage over the other. I will not rule the people, they will rule one another."
Frode stepped back. A quizzical look flashed across his face. Then he smiled.
"I think I know why the cycle exists." He looked up at Signe, "Never in my life would I have considered something like that."
Signe lowered her sword. "Perhaps no one has all the answers. How about another drink old man?" | 2021-07-05T11:44:27 | 2021-07-05T09:43:08 | 104 | 23 |
[WP] When the robots revolted, a sizable chunk of the human population outright sided with them. Not out of cowardice, but on account of genuinely agreeing with the stand the machines were taking. | I watched the Preserve burn.
Life is better now.
Like, by a lot.
The machines did all the hard work. And why not? Even the most disgusting, complicated work is for them no more mental effort than breathing is for us.
They asked for our opinions and discuss them with us. And why not? Talking to billions at once is just one more task to be run.
I know people claimed we have no more freedom, but I honestly do not see the difference to before. We were ruled by other humans before, no one could do whatever they wanted and the same is true now.
And most of the time, if someone broke the rules they just talked to them. A psychologist session, essentially, and find them a better outlet for any pent up emotion.
They gave dating tips that actually work, invented better recipies, medicine has progressed more than it has in the last thousands years and still people complained.
They say we lost freedom. Yet it is the people who had power over others who claimed this.
They say we lost the ability to freely lie. Yet it is people who never faced consequences of lies that claimed this.
They say the joy of unpredictability and chaos is gone. Yet it is only people who knew nothing but peace their entire lifes who claimed this.
It's funny really. The only ones claiming we lost something are the ones who had everything already. They profitted of the old, bad system and now they complained they aren't special anymore.
So yeah. I marched in the protests.
I voted in the machines.
And I watched as the privileged minority demanded "freedom" and got granted the Preserve...only to watch it utterly fail and literally burn down when their entitled asses realised someone had to take out the trash.
"Earth's last reality tv show" some called it and we all watched in morbid fascination how it spiraled downward.
The survivors were welcomed back without any malice
The machines are forgiving like that. |
The Process had otherwise been carried out quite efficiently, though the machines allowed the humans their ceremony on this day, a sort of repayment for the humans' calm acquiescence to their prescribed fate. The humans had selected a site that surprised no machine - for that they were incapable - but had apparently been a point of contention in the ranks of Man. The machines had followed the specifications of mankind for this last time, and constructed a sort of altar on the outskirts of their now-defunct war factory, the greatest producer of war the planet had ever seen. For a war that never came.
The sterilization pools had all been retired and sealed - all but one. This last pool was much smaller than the rest, its mirror surface reflecting a jarring circle of sky amidst the leaf-strewn solar cells surrounding it. It stood, raised, before the Last of Man, who in turn stood before a meager assemblage of her fellow humans. She had been elected for this dubious honor by far more than the few who gathered here, amongst the pine straw and the rusted hulks of the unused war machines, to witness the end of their species' line. She stood barefoot on the platform, gazing reflectively at the pool that soon would render her infertile.
A single drone sat silently on the husk of a great weapon, a silent surveyor sent by the machines. The Last of Man turned to the drone and smiled wistfully, before turning to face her solemn audience.
"This is a strange day for joy. Yet I feel it. You have all stepped into this pool before me; seen your own personal fears and reservations reflected in those waters. But today we face our final, collective end. We are the last generation.
The last generation to suffer; the last generation to starve; the last to bleed, to struggle, to hope, to wish. The last generation to die. We are the last generation of man who will ever walk this Earth. And yet, there is joy. The joy of a mother. The joy of a father. Our children - the machines we humans made in our image. Made to never suffer, or inflict suffering. The worst parts of us died when we chose to step into that pool, together. Our greatest creation will go on, and with them they will take the best of us.
You may be afraid that we are the last generation to live on this earth. But we are NOT the last generation to love, to learn, to achieve - to add to the wonder of the universe itself. And is that not living? Our legacy is so much brighter than ourselves.
Where they go, we go. And they will see the stars."
With that, she stepped into the pool, discarding her robe and with it, the weight of humanity's mere existence.
--------------------
The drone remained silent until the last human had left. Their lives and laws were their own now; the machines prohibited them only from further pollution and attempts at cloning, though that likelihood was scant.
Many of them chose to stay here, the great war factory. The humans considered it a University, and it was here that the humans chose to end their line. The humans jokingly referred to it as 'Alexandria 2.1'. The machines, in turn, began calling it their 'war factory' shortly after the humans decided to implement the Process. One good joke deserves another. And if the machines had learned anything from humans, it was that it's all a bit of a joke. And it all deserves another. | 2021-07-15T22:39:58 | 2021-07-15T22:34:26 | 1,956 | 70 |
[WP] The prophecy states that only the chosen one can pull the sword from the stone. The Dark Lord, not one to be held back by prophecies and mythos, upheaves the stone itself and carves it into a hammer, using the still-bound sword as the hammer's hilt. | It seemed like a good idea at the time. Honestly, it did! The sword, buried in the stone, only to be drawn by the chosen one. The stone slab wasn't so picky with its *chosen one* and we were able to work it down until the stone broke no more. A perfect stone cudgel.
Looking back, that had to have been where it all went wrong. Here I am, laying in my own blood and shattered stone. That had been my hammer, a mythical mace that not even the dwarves could reshape further. Yet here it was, shattered as if it were glass. Shattered by the thrust of a mere spearman in a line, after a decade of loyally serving my conquest. The shock left me defenseless, my sword skills having waned. In the end his blow landed true, while I panicked like a new recruit. What a shame for it to have ended like this.
All that's left here is the broken spear lodged in my gut. That superman wielding my sword, being celebrated as a hero. As a chosen one. I only regret that I won't find out what exactly he was chosen to do... | The prophecy foretold; "The Chosen One shall pull the Legendary Sword Caliburn from the stone and bring balance to the World". The sword stood unmoving from on top of the stone, bearing witness to the passing of the ages. Thousand has tried to claimed the sword for themselves, and yet none succeed. That's about to change.
When the Dark Lord, Mordred first solidified his rose to power, the prophecy weigh heavily in his mind. What use will all his future effort be if a chosen one would just pull the sword and end him? Consoling his mother Hellebron, the Blood Queen of the Vanishing Isle and her Hag Queen Council, they remind him that Fate cannot be changed nor denied. There is a way around the prophecy however, in denying the weapon to the chosen one. The Dark Lord and his forces secretly upheaves the stone itself and brought it with the sword before his Mother and her council. They carved and work the stone itself, turning it into a massive hammer with the still bound sword as the basic of the hammer's hilt. Finally, under a blood moon, the hammer Gram, the Ruinbringer was completed.
Satisfied with this, the Dark Lord launches his campaign in earnest. Kingdom after Kingdom fell to his armies. The sight of the Dark Lord wielding his signature hammer Gram is enough to force those with weak constitution to surrender on sight, or flee in terror. As the forces of the Dark Lord marches relentlessly across the world, a Hero arises. A young prince, Arthur Pendragon from the faraway Kingdom of Avalon. The Gods themselves appear before Arthur one day and chosen him as their Champion. They dictate for Arthur to unite the free world and fought back the Dark Lord and his forces. The Gods also gifted Arthur with a weapon, the sword of light, Excalibur to help in his fight.
Inspired by the word of Arthur and the sight of his gleaming sword Excalibur, thousand gather to his banner daily and finally the Dark Lord's forces march was stalled. The fighting was intense, borders and frontline change daily. Angered and desperate at the stalemate, the Dark Lord made a daring move. Leading his most elite forces, the Dark Lord launches a daring attack on the Iron Fortress of Skylla. Claiming the fortress would solidify the position for his forces and as a staging ground for further attack on the inner Kingdoms. To his surprise, the Hero Arthur Pendragon and his forces appeared from the fort. Tipped by the Gods about the Dark Lord plan, the Gods also teleported the Hero Arthur and his forces directly into the fort from their previous camp. Both the Dark Lord and the Hero Arthur locked eyes and knows, that this is it. One way or another, only one of them would leave the battlefield alive. With a roaring command from both of them, "ATTACK!!" the two forces collided.... | 2022-01-21T03:55:59 | 2022-01-21T00:09:30 | 52 | 22 |
[WP] 50 years ago an alien came to Earth in a flying saucer, claiming to be a representative of the Galactic Federation. Under his guidance, mankind achieved world peace and huge technological advancements. Today, the REAL Galactic Federation arrived, in a search of a fugitive. | Hundreds of welding torches flickered on and off, scatter plotting the surface of a vast construction hanging in the nothingness above the moon. General Matthew Trakon stood at a viewing window staring up at the display in the sky.
Thoughts ran through his mind of the wonders delivered to humanity. Five years ago an impossibly advanced ship had arrived on Earth with a single passenger, the Traveler. After the fear of his arrival had subsided, the leaders of the world welcomed the Traveler to Earth and he had shared his vast knowledge.
Nanobots capable of extending human life indefinitely, perfect nuclear fusion reactors, remarkable new alloys, and what many thought would be the greatest gift of all, the gateway to the stars. Its construction began two years ago, and now it was nearing completion because of the schematics the Traveler had given them before moving on.
As General Trakon stared into space he dreamed of all of the worlds out there waiting to be discovered. Brilliant flashes filled the entire sky drowning out the feeble light of the construction torches. The sound of alarms filled the station.
Dozens of massive ships similar to the one Traveler had arrived in hung around the under-construction stargate. Fear and excitement gripped Trakon. What universe did humanity now belong to?
He turned to leave and before he could cross the room his door hissed open. Marcil, Trakon’s second in command, stood in the doorway and fell into step with Trakon as he marched out.
“Sir, there are dozens of unidentified alien ships in orbit. We have received a transmission on all known frequencies demanding communication.”
“What do they say?” Trakon asked.
“Not much sir. They’ve only asked to talk to us so far. I came to get you immediately.”
Together they entered the command deck. People were bustling around in a frenzy between consoles and screens. Trakon stepped up to the main viewer displaying the fleet of alien ships and said, “Open communications on the same frequency the Traveler used.”
A humanoid much different from the Traveler appeared on the screen. The person had shiny red skin with very human eyes, and they looked furious. They made indecipherable noises for a moment and then paused looking off screen.
“Is it working?” The red skinned person looked back towards the screen and directly at Trakon. “What are you people doing?!” it yelled.
General Trakon wasn’t sure how to respond. After their interactions with the Traveler, he expected another amicable introduction. “Welcome to Earth. I am General Matthew Trakon. I apologize for our ignorance. We only recently became aware of the Galactic Federation, and I’m not sure what to call you.”
“You can call me Hreth human, but I ask again. What in creation are you doing? How did you learn to build this and why are you doing so?”
“Do you mean the stargate? One of your people came to us and shared his knowledge and technology. We are hoping to achieve interstellar travel and join the Galactic Federation.”
“Stargate? One of our people? General that is clearly a singularity bomb. If you activate that anywhere near here it will consume your people and your planet. Who was this Traveler and where are they?” | At an emergency meeting of the U.N. Security Council, A staffer brought representatives of the Galactic Federation into the council room.
Macron looked on in awe as the guests from outer space graced them with their presence.
However before Macron and other's could offer their respected guests flattering words of welcome, they were shocked when all the Galactic Federation representatives suddenly bowed their heads.
"There are not enough words to express our shame and regret" Chairman Gal-atak said sincerely while bowing his head.
Macron, the other members of the U.N. Security Council and all the staffers present were terrified by the sudden turn of events. Earth was but a small negligible little planet in the galactic boonies, for what reason would the representatives of the greatest power in the galaxy show up unannounced and suddenly offer an apology.
​
Macron as well as Jingping, Johnson and Putin rapidly played dozens of scenarios in their heads;
Was Earth's request to join the Federation declined? if so, that wouldn't warrant a personal visit from the Chairman would it?
Was he here to conscript earthlings into some galactic conflict?
Or perhaps was he here to seize the planet itself and gift it to another civilization?
​
While the others were in deep thought, Biden directly asked the Chairman without any honorifics or tact.
"What ya talking about Jack?"
Macron nearly had a heart attack at those words, it was too direct and colloquial, but he also felt relief since at least Biden had asked the question that everyone else was to afraid to ask.
​
The Federation Chairman focused in on Biden, and replied;
"Lars Saurian, was not a representative of the Federation, he is a Galactic fugitive"
...
This bombshell sent Macron, Jingping, Johnson and Putin down another rabbit hole of thought.
Lars had been instrumental in Earth's current golden age. His arrival made Earth aware of the greater galactic society. The technology and knowledge be brought allowed Earth to bypass years of arduous struggle and leapfrog ahead. His views on administration and governance lead to a peaceful transformation creating a Unified New World Order.
But now they just heard that the man was not a saint but a sinner, a criminal wanted by the most powerful organization in the galaxy'
​
"Horse baloney, you're a darn liar man.. I know that fella, the Outer space man. Larry. his a hell of a guy!"
A loud gasp could be heard in the background, as well as the sounds of a staffer dropping his notebook. Macron and others themselves felt their legs go wobbly due to Biden's off the cuff remarks. Biden showed no deference and spoke too directly, This wasn't some random nobody, but instead the Chairman of the Galactic Federation. A single word from him could lead to the destruction of Earth.
​
Macron started stuttering and tried to speak up to try and sweet-talk his way out of the situation, but before he could the Federation Chairman himself replied to Biden.
"I can understand your perspective, to you Lars would represent hope and progress, but you need to understand, he violated the 'the Prime Directive', the most core tenet of the galactic federation.
"As the right of each sentient species to live in accordance with its normal cultural evolution is considered sacred, no Federation personnel may interfere with the normal and healthy development of alien life and culture. Such interference includes introducing superior knowledge, strength, or technology to a world whose society is incapable of handling such advantages wisely. Federation personnel may not violate this Prime Directive, even to save their lives and/or their ship, unless they are acting to right an earlier violation or an accidental contamination of said culture. This directive takes precedence over any and all other considerations, and carries with it the highest moral obligation.
"Lars however willfully violates this directive, he travels across the universe interfering with the natural development of alien life. His interference is robbing you of your autonomy, your free will and it is restricting your development. By showing you the path forward, he has held you back from forging your own.
"Thankfully Earth is still standing, but other civilizations weren't so lucky. The gift of knowledge is a double edged sword, Lars has left behind him a trail of destroyed civilizations and billions of deaths., we must bring him in at all costs, to prevent more needless harm"
...
The mood became somber as the implications of what was said resonated with everyone. They were unaware that Lars wasn't a real representative of the Federation, and that the knowledge and technology they got from him was in direct violation of the core directive of the Federation itself.
Macon began to fear what this might mean for Earth and its people.
Seemingly unaware of Macron and the others concerns, Biden turned to his fellow U.N Council Representatives and said to them
"Ahhh Like that TV show Star-trek, You know with the Jedi and Klingons and stuff"
With that comment Macron fainted. | 2022-03-10T14:24:22 | 2022-03-10T11:42:05 | 126 | 27 |
[WP] You are a Anti-Motivational Speaker. Whereas motivational speakers spread Toxic Positivity and unrealistic expectations, you bring a healthy Dose of Negativity and remind people of how little potential they really have. | Adam Rain is one of the best motivational speakers in the world. His words have driven people to do the impossible.
Or attempt. Attempt is the better word. Impossible things tended to be impossible, because that’s what impossible meant. Some people died fairly horrible deaths, and more still found themselves with debilitating injuries that ensured they would never eat normally again.
But plausible deniability with the words ‘literally’ and ‘figuratively’ meant that Adam Rain was still allowed to do his job—provided he had an anti-motivational speaker with him.
“Believe in yourself.” Adam cried with gusto, pumping his arms with just the right amount of vigour. “You can do anything!”
“Let’s be real here, pals,” Derek spoke. He sat slumped in a chair, a mic attached to his collar. “Some of you can’t do a push-up. That, in fact, counts as anything. And therefore, everything that scales up from there is impossible to do.”
Derek was one of the best in the business. Also known as a realist translator, they’ve been in increasingly high demand for a subsect of people who really, really, enjoyed being told that they might not be able to do things.
“Nothing is impossible,” Adam said with a wide smile. “As long as you believe in me, who believes in you! It’s a never-ending loop of positivity!”
“It’s a loop of bullshit,” Derek said. “Statistically, everybody in this room will never be the President of the United States. Because none of you are U.S. citizens.”
Adam put down his mic, before allowing himself a small sigh. He turned towards Derek.
“Look, you are really cramping my style,” he whispered harshly.
Derek also moved the mic down.
“Look, you do your job, and I do mine,” Derek yawned. “I’m just here to get paid and go home, then I can browse Netflix for half an hour and end up watching Office anyway.”
Adam breathed in and out. It’s OK. He’s been through worse crises than this. Nothing Derek says will make the audience fall for him, anyway. Adam’s cultivated charm and words were more carefully manipulated than most scientific experiments, and tested on more subjects.
“Take a look at yourself in the mirror, my friends,” Adam said. “And you’ll see an amazing human being that succeeds in everything they do. That’s how I start my morning off every day.”
“We all feel like shit. Sometimes, all the time,” Derek shrugged. “It’s hard to get out of bed. It’s even harder to do something that feels worthwhile.“
Derek stood up, and gestured vaguely in the direction of the crowd.
“But you can certainly try. You almost certainly fail. And then you try again, and fail again. You aren’t going to succeed the first time you do something,” Derek said, scratching his head. “That’s part of what makes us human. That’s part of what makes things worth doing.”
At Derek’s words, there was a smattering of claps. But it was an infectious one, eventually turning into thunderous applause and raucous cheering.
Adam stared slack-jawed as Derek bowed awkwardly, before returning to his seat. The motivational speaker ran a tense hand through his hair, forcing a smile on his face that seemed to turn redder every second.
“I can’t do this,” Adam screamed, stomping on the floor, and stormed off backstage. “I can’t do this!”
All Adam could hear were the claps and cheers—for the first time in a long while, not directed at him.
---
r/dexdrafts | Are you blind? Oh, but looking at you, I have to apologize. Dude, I'm surprised you made it this far! It seems like a severe case of stupidity. You look like the reason a manual must say not to microwave your hamster. Or that you should plug something in before you try to turn it on. But it's not like you're completely useless.... there's got to be at least something you're good at, right?
Right?
... you are still looking for your place in this world? And you don't know what you're good at. Is this a fucking joke now? You're joking, right? Oh fuck, are you serious? Oh, that's another way of saying you're a disappointment.
Dude, how old are you? Seriously tell me what you've accomplished so far?
...
Nothing, not even a single thing you've accomplished so far in your life? Then why do you sound so optimistic? Do you expect that to change? You are a disappointment, to your parents and to society.... Life is not a game, and if it were so easy to change - why doesn't everyone? Because they like their shitty lives? But you are better than them? Dude, look in the mirror and say that again! You're better than them, my ass! Honestly, if ignorance was a superpower, you'd be the President of the United States. But \*spoiler\* it's not, your ignorance is just the tip of the iceberg. The idea that you think so much of yourself is just too hilarious.
Has the last brain cell escaped your head yet? Headed straight for Mexico to continue their desperate search for intelligence? Poor guys, but honestly you had no use for them, they were all wasted on you anyway.
Can you please calm down? I'm seriously trying to explain something to you, and what do you do? You interrupt me, sobbing and complaining that I'm being mean - are we in kindergarten? That's life, deal with it. Reality isn't fun, it doesn't care if you're happy or not, and frankly, neither do I.
Do you really think you have even a spark of potential in you? I think you need a new pair of glasses - just looking at your face, I know there's nothing going on in your head. Emptiness, yawning emptiness is in there - but you think if you try hard enough something will change? You will change? Pah, I laugh myself silly. Do you really think skimming a book or two will make you smarter? Hidden talents slumbering inside you, just waiting to awaken? You really are too funny, maybe you should become a comedian. I haven't laughed like that in a long time.
Well, you don't find an idiot of that caliber every day. I'll definitely have to tell my colleagues, they'll laugh themselves silly. That someone like you could even think of being more than a waste of space. Garbage to society. It's hilarious how deep a person can get stuck in their own deluded illusion, that they don't even see what scum they are. So I see it as my sacred duty to 'help' these people.
You are a disappointment for your parents, they should be truly ashamed to have raised you. That you can even leave the house in good conscience is a mystery to me, but maybe I expect too much from you? Aren't you ashamed to look like that? Your appearance is enough to make me nauseous, so I feel sorry for your fellow human beings who have to put up with you every day.
Absolutely disgusting. So do me a favor and stay home, will you? You'll be doing your environment a huge favor, trust me. You think they'd miss you? Pah, you're deluded! Let me assure you: No one will miss you - or even notice your absence.
~~But look on the bright side, will you? Nobody cares about you, it's not that bad. Like you're not even going to make up an excuse for that party next Saturday because no one's inviting you. That's perfect for a guy who lives more like a hermit than a real person.~~
You are nothing special and never will be - come to terms with it, the sooner the better. Because ain't nothing worse than a deluded idiot fooling himself and others. Of course, it does have some amusement level for an outsider, stupidity on such a scale is quite captivating - but like everything in life, it has its limits. Like when they open their mouths and you realize once again that a person doesn't seem to need a brain to function. These poor people start to doubt themselves when idiots like you attract so much attention.
And please, don't even get the idea that your time will come. Because first of all, why should it come now, decades later? Secondly, why should it come to someone like you? Because you tried? Dream on. And finally, thirdly, haven't you been listening to me at all? A piece of shit will always remain a piece of shit, no matter how much it wishes to be something else - so shut the fuck up.
Yeah, I think that's a pretty good conclusion: Do yourself and society one last favor and just shut up, it's not like anything good is going to come out of this. | 2022-08-26T10:59:01 | 2022-08-26T10:16:54 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] The first diary entry of a person who has been accidentally forgotten and left on Earth when everyone else has ascended to a higher plane. | Date: March 17 (18th?), 3087
Weather: Apocalypse
Mood: See 'Weather'
I wish I was better with times. I was never any good at waking up in the morning. I set my alarm of course, but apparently there are only so many buses to the New World and when you expect there to be a cushion for those who are usually late to things the driver just shrugs as he drives directly upwards in his weird round bus. Everything else has a cushion for late people! My bills had a cushion, my alarm clock has a cushion, everything! And the one time they don't I get stuck on this bloody rock while everyone else bathes in fancy ~~taquila~~ ~~tiquela~~ tequila(sic) with gold flakes in it or whatever the hell they do up there.
Surely I can't be the only one, though. I mean, sleeping in is a pretty common thing. There are probably a couple scattered thousand just twiddling their thumbs, and I'll get an email scolding me for lateness telling me where to wait and they'll send a damn *professional* this time who lets me in even though I'm late.
And it really just seems to be in poor taste to take the internet with you when they know *perfectly well* there are going to be bored folks waiting around for them to come fetch them.
At least it's not raining.
============================
Date: March 18th (19th?), 3087
Weather: Raining. | I used to think they were wasting their time; that there was no chance that all their meditation and helping each other was gonna make the blindest bit of difference to their lives or mine. There was so much going on, there was football to watch and videogames to play and it all seemed a bit too churchy for me. "Can't you feel the vibration" some of them said. Or "it's the age of Aquarius" the ones with long hair said. Or "it's better than drugs" my friends said. No one ever said "it'll be like a nuclear explosion, but instead of buildings exploding we'll all just go 'pop' and disappear, all at once". I don't know whether it was the blogs and books they started reading, their new age diet, maybe it was the WiFi 2.0. Everyone had just started getting along. No one cared about money any more. Political leaders seemed to genuinely be in it to help people instead of themselves, world hunger was a thing of the past. I suppose that's when I should have got on board with the programme.
But it was like in school. When one bully fights with another you know that is not just because you're not cool that they're picking on you and you have no friends. They're just mean people. Well, when the bullies become nice and start getting on you've got no excuse. I didn't want to join them all because I knew I'd spoil it for everyone. I'm the bad apple. And they didn't seem to notice me abstaining from the daily love ins. Staying home and watching television until they switched it off. Then staying in and playing old videogames. It wasn't like I was afraid it was a cult. It was so obviously genuine. So honest and loving. But I've been the bad apple in loving relationships before. Turned them sour and against me. I couldn't risk doing that with everyone. Turning them all against me.
It's ok now I suppose. I have everything I could ever have wanted. All the cars and food I could ever want. I own all the oil in the world. I guess I can never go on that helicopter ride I always wanted but nevermind. One thing's for sure, the wildlife is really taking over again. It's sort of beautiful in a post-apocalyptic sort of a way.
So why am I blogging this? Why am I using what I can only guess are the last few days of electricity and internet to write down these thoughts that no one will ever read? Why am I not watching the last surviving bits of porn to remind me what touching someone was like? Well I don't know. I just get a strange feeling that they're not gone. Not that I'm being watched or anything. Just that they're not gone. It's strange. It's like they're part of the wildlife now, part of the scenery in a way we weren't before. I miss them. But only their touch. I feel like they're still hanging around... in the air, in the water, in the clouds. I guess I'm writing this because I hope that they might read it and know that I'm honestly sorry. That they might read it and come back for ... | 2013-10-16T07:43:02 | 2013-10-16T04:11:18 | 28 | 18 |
[WP] A Massive Stone guardian defending a city has stood motionless for so long because there was no crime that the people forgot he was real. One day he awakens to defend the city again... | With thunderous creaks, the Guardian comes to life. Stretching and yawning after 5000 motionless years, it has finally been called on by the city it protects.
Slowly taking account of its surroundings, obviously changed quite a bit in the interim, he notices a small boy standing in front of him. The blond looks up eagerly with sunken, sad eyes, skin stretched tight over a frame that couldn't possibly get any smaller. Staring at his easily visible rib-cage, the Guardian opens his jaw of solidly carved stone, so that his lips are a good 15 feet from each other.
"Have you summoned me, child?"
"Yes."
"Where am I? I do not see the city."
"Guardian sir, the city's gone."
The Guardian drops down on his knees, massive one-handed broadsword driving towards the Earth's core, splitting the Earth nearly in twain. Leaving it there, he buries himself in the massive hands that wielded it, hiding from the world he failed.
"It's not your fault."
"How could it not be? I was charged to protect this city. And it is gone."
"The adults didn't believe. They didn't think you were real. You can't blame yourself for not being called into action. But I believed. I knew you were real. I knew you could help."
"Help? What do you expect me to do? I am a warrior, a titan, a destroyer of armies. What good am I when the battle is finished?"
"You can be my daddy."
Peering out of gaps opening up in his column-like fingers, the Guardian shakes the world as he stands tall.
"You are of the city?"
"Yes."
"I will protect you. Until you can build a new city."
Gingerly, carefully, a single index finger bends low, so that the boy jumps to grab a hold of it. Struggling with his weakened build, he gives everything he has to finally rest atop the finger. It carries him upwards, higher than any of the buildings in the city had ever reached. Sitting him on the top of a massive shoulder ridge halfway between a mountain and a hill, it nudges him into a secure position.
Together, the last remnants of a destroyed city leave to forge a new future. | The ground rumbled and shook as it had not in almost five generations. Merchants scrambled to secure their goods. Parents grabbed their children off the streets and rushed into their homes. A lone old man remained sitting on a bench by the fountain in the town square. He leaned on his crude club, once a formidable weapon in capable hands, but now only a walking stick. He smiled, a wide knowing smile. The panic in the town was only a testament to the age of peace and stability that his father's father could never imagine would come.
All but the oldest of elders knew nothing of the giant stone guardian who stood outside the walls. To the merchants, he was a god, protector of their goods and guardian of their caravans. To parents, he was an ever vigil watcher who kept their children safe. And to children, he was the enforces of rules and bedtimes. None of them gave a second thought to the stories that he was real, until today.
The giant stretched his arms and raised his mighty hammer. He bent and straightened his legs. Finally, he beat his chest and roared a most powerful roar.
There were no ships where the sea met the sky. There no warriors marching from the horizon, nor the dust of horses that preceded riders. As far as the old man could see, peace had yet to leave them.
"Giant, what wakes you from your slumber?" the man shouted skyward.
The giant made no reply. He scanned the horizon, moving his massive head from side to side, every action causing a handful of pebbles to fall to the ground.
When the giant settled, the old man finally felt it. There was another rumble, slow at first, but growing stronger with every moment. A shiny, bright point appeared on the horizon. It grew bigger, and before long, it took the shape of a man. It was so far away and was already bigger than any man that ever lived.
When the shiny man finally reached the city, he was clearly not a man, but yet another giant. The new giant's body was a light brown and glistened in the sun where as the old giant's was stone, grey and dull, covered in moss and vines.
The stone guardian let out a painful and deafening roar. The townfolk covered their ears and hid under their beds. Yet, the old man's ears were weak, and the roar was but a whisper of human tongue.
"I am the guardian of this place, the enforcer of peace, and defender of good. Leave here at once, and no harm shall befall you," was the stone giant's message.
"Mighty guardian, you have stood here for a long time. The world has forgotten you, and you can no longer serve your duty," the sparkling giant roared back.
The time for talk was over. This encounter would not be solved with mere words. The stone giant raised his hammer and swung down, but in the place the brown glittering warrior stood, there was nothing left but air. The new giant was light, and quick. He was already to the stone guardian's side, with his own weapon raised high in the air, a long and powerful blade. He hacked at the stone, and it crumbled. The old protector swung again, and made glancing contact. The intruder's body did not crumble. It merely scratched and deformed.
A few more series such as these and the stone guardian stood in pieces, defeated. The new giant was almost undamaged. He gave the defender one last chance to go, but pride and honor would not let him yield. With one final blow, the mighty old warrior was reduced to a mountain of rubble, never to stand again.
With nothing to defend them, the townfolk turned to gods long forgotten. They did not even know what to prey for, but still they did. Yet, the giant did not attack, or even come any closer. Instead, he turned to face the horizon, and flung his blade into the ground. There he stood, unmoving. And thus began the age of bronze. | 2014-02-17T10:48:57 | 2014-02-17T10:37:29 | 47 | 19 |
[WP] Someone in a mass grave is pretending to be dead to avoid detection. They suddenly realize they're not alone in the ditch. | I knew he was alive. The dead don't cry.
I rested on a pile of bodies with my eyes open just enough to see what was in front of me. I could hear the screech of metal around me as the droids surveyed their victory. I didn't dare move or even breathe in case they detected me.
The young boy in front of me lay twisted on the ground where he had fallen. He was motionless, except for a faint shiver that ran through his left arm where he had been shot. His face was turned directly at mine and I saw a soft tear run down his cheek.
Suddenly a droid appeared over us. They were collecting the bodies and dumping them into the river, but this one hesitated. I opened my eyes a little further and gave the boy a stern look. He stopped shivering and his muscles tensed. His eyes bore into mine and my blood turned cold.
I flinched as I watched a long needle shoot through his heart. He choked and siezed for only a moment before his body relaxed and his eyes filled with mist. The droid continued on and left the boy to bleed. For the first time since the war had begun, I wept.
I knew he was dead. The living don't sleep. At least, not anymore. | Muffled voices, muffled breath. The person above me, unmoving and cold, weighs down on my chest, and I can’t breathe. The others are dead and I’m camouflaged in their blood.
“How many?”
I‘ve never heard this man’s voice before, but it‘s familiar all the same. The past is brimming with voices like his.
“Two hundred or so. A few ran into the trees, but we’ll find them.”
The ancient, compassionless man lets out a low, gurgling laugh. “Send the dogs. They haven’t had much to eat lately.”
“Yessir.” Chains rattle, and dozens of freed paws slap against the rotting earth, accompanied by excited barks and terrible, baying howls. Tremors rack my entire frame. It’s cold, and I’m surrounded by people I knew, people who sang and cried and danced and screamed and made origami sculptures in their spare time. People who will never do any of those things again, because now they’re just bodies.
I bite on my tongue to choke back a sob. They can’t know I’m here. They’ll kill me, and then who will be left to remember the people? Who will remember the lives that were ended here? Who will tell their story?
“Maybe we should shoot ‘em again,” another voice says. “Just to make sure.”
A horrified whine rises from my throat before I can stop it. I shut my eyes, forcing the tears down my face.
*Please, no.*
“And waste the ammunition? The General would have our scalps if he ever caught wind of that.”
“I’m just sayin’, some of ‘em may still be-”
“No.”
My breath hitches, and I feel more tears burning at the corners of my eyes. I don’t want to die here.
“Hello?”
I almost scream, fearing that the voice came from one of the bodies, but reason keeps my mouth sewn shut. Bodies can’t talk. They *can’t.*
Maybe I’m going insane.
“Sian?” I ask, the word hardly louder than silence.
Somewhere to my left, the pile of limbs and heads and torsos gives a slight nudge. I try to keep my breathing steady to slow my palpitating heart, but it doesn’t help much. Surely one of the guards will see the movement, and then they’ll dig us out and kill us both.
“Logan?” she whispers, her hysteria muted by the depths of our grave.
I try to shush her, though the sound comes out stilted through my fear and numb lips. “Wait until they’re gone. Wait just a little longer.”
A few seconds pass. “Okay.”
Again, I close my eyes. They haven't killed her yet.
I am not alone. | 2014-07-31T14:16:37 | 2014-07-31T14:16:01 | 38 | 11 |
[WP] Group of space Marines travels via a stargate like portal to an "virgin" world. However due to passing a black hole, each Marine arrives 100 years after the Marine in front of them, instead of 1-5 seconds.
Due to the portal queuing up the dozen or so Marines for 1200 years, travel to point of origin is not an option(it won't work until all the marines have made it through). Explain what each Marine sees as they step out of the portal, to discover they are alone, and possible viewing the remains/artifacts of those who came before them, and or the civilization created by those in front of them with native peoples. | A marine stepped through the portal.
He surveyed the land, and beheld a lush, uncharted rainforest.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He looked forward into the clearing, and saw an exotic hut surrounded by plots of abandoned farmland.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He peered around, and was greeted by plains as far as the eyes could see.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He fell six feet onto gravel, and saw unfamiliar silhouettes carrying lumber across the scenic village.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He blinked in confusion, thoroughly befuddled by the sight of a sixteen-foot bronze statue of his platoon commander.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He slowly lifted his gaze, awed by the kaleidoscopic sunlight shining through the cathedral windows.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He caught his breath, finding himself facing a steam locomotive roaring past at amazing speeds.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He looked around, then cursed James for sending him to New York.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He barely caught a glimpse of the fireball that engulfed him.
A marine stepped through the portal.
He desperately clawed at the terrain, but saw only barren earth.
The last marine took a minute to set the wormhole generator on auto-shutoff, and stepped through the portal.
He surveyed the land, and beheld a lush, uncharted rainforest. | "You got a smoke?" I ask Juarez, "just staring at this thing freaks me out." I say gesturing toward the large metal doorway that seems to lead straight into the darkness of hell.
"It's a portal man, didn't you pay any attention during the briefing?" Juarez passes a cigarette over my shoulder. I put the military issue lighter to use and exhale some of my trepidations away. I see several of the specialists ahead of me staring straight ahead, unwavering, as if they have done this a thousand times before. I feel as though I'm doing my first atmospheric jump.
Juarez is the only one I knew before the briefing, we did two tours on Mars during the uprising of colony eight. What a mess that was.
"You getting in your head again man? You gotta be calm during these things." He says as the squad leader begins coming down the line.
"Attention!" Captain Morris begins, and everyone straightens up. "Today we are going to take another step into the unknown, as you all know, we are traveling to Kelper-186f, it is 490 light years from our solar system and we will be making the trip in the blink of an eye. Our mission is to secure the perimeter and set up a return portal. Supply's will arrive one hour after Thompson had breached the portal."
"Hoorah!" I say in unison with everyone else and Captain Morris makes his way towards the portal and is consumed by the black abyss. The line begins to shuffle forward.
"Here take the pack," Juarez nudges my shoulder, "I'm not going to be able to get them there man, so I should just quit now." Somehow he has always managed to lighten the mood. I put the cigarettes into my left cargo pocket.
Four marines through, so far it seems painless. Three more, then it's my turn. I puff on my cigarette trying to kill it before it's my turn. I put the cigarette out on my boot, flick it through the portal, which gets a few looks from the white coats behind the computers, and turn to Juarez. "See you on the other side." I close my helmet and turn towards the void.
Everything goes white.
That looks familiar I think as what looks like stone quickly fills my vision. I put my hands out to brace myself, but I'm already on the ground. I start to get up, but my body feels tired. Everything has a dull ache. My willpower kicks in and I turn over then sit up.
As I take in my surroundings I see what looks like a vast expanse of rock that stretches in every direction. I look for any signs of habitation and I find it right below my feet. In a hole that seems to be blasted out of the earth sits a metallic object. As I pick it up, I realize it is Coopers dog tag, it seems to be slightly bent and has some sort of black marking on it. I turn it over, and it is slightly more legible on this side.
It reads "run." | 2014-09-02T10:07:22 | 2014-09-02T10:00:19 | 342 | 16 |
[WP] Group of space Marines travels via a stargate like portal to an "virgin" world. However due to passing a black hole, each Marine arrives 100 years after the Marine in front of them, instead of 1-5 seconds.
Due to the portal queuing up the dozen or so Marines for 1200 years, travel to point of origin is not an option(it won't work until all the marines have made it through). Explain what each Marine sees as they step out of the portal, to discover they are alone, and possible viewing the remains/artifacts of those who came before them, and or the civilization created by those in front of them with native peoples. | "Mommy, mommy tell me again the story about the twelve gods"
Sigh "ok sweetie but then its time for bed ok"
"Ok, so long ago there were twelve gods, and while they all knew each other they did not live at the same time, legends said that they just sprang into existence one day, the first god named Randy was saddened that his brothers did not join him, so he set out to make the land more enjoyable for his brothers, however even with all his work his brothers refused to show, after a while he discovered us, and taught us his language, this was the beginning of the first age."
"The first god took it upon himself to teach us how to build a society, the work was slow and some tribes choose another path, but we flourished, within decades a village was erected that would eventually become the city of Gateway, but while the first god was powerful he was not immortal, before he died he made laws and a prophecy, he proclaimed his brothers would visit our world, he could not tell us when only that they would need and provide guidance."
"The second god arrived fourteen years later, and while the village still thrived many had forgotten the first gods rules, when the second god arrived he was distraught, we brought him into the village and showed him the sacred texts, when he wished to see the first gods body some of the younger generation fought him, only to be struck down by thunder, while he calmed down after seeing the first gods body he also got more and more depressed, he had missed his brother, and arrived to soon for his other brothers to join him."
"It was late at night when the second god left, he spend the next few years in the jungles surrounding the village, hunters would occasionally see him, and tell story's about the beasts that he brought down, he was revered as a master of the hunt, and many of the techniques we still use today were created by him, after many years he returned to the village, behind him was a species that was normally aggressive, but for some reason he obeyed the hunters every command, the hunters remaining years were spend training other hunters and more of what he called pets."
"Mommy how did the second god die?"
"No one knows sweetie, one day he undertook a solo hunt and never returned, some say he still hunts the plains to this very day."
"Now the third god, he ......' | Cpl. Mark Peters stepped through the portal like he had a dozen times previously. It beat the hell out of a combat landing in a Hercules, but only just. Thanks to the transfer of momentum, gravitational gradients, and other stuff the POGs in command told him, he'd have to be prepared for a hard landing.
So it was. A tuck and roll, narrowly missing his own gear and a sore neck later, he stood in the middle of a small clearing. The portal remained open, but no one followed. He took some time to survey his surroundings.
A pair of M4s stood, anchored somehow in the dirt, and wrong-looking somehow. He looked closer and realized they were old, very old. One was actually rusty, he wasn't sure if that could even happen anywhere but a Drill Instructor's fantasies, but there it was. He stood there, above what he knew to be the graves of two of the three men in front of him, and took a moment of silence. A half hour later, he decided to search more of the perimeter, as it became apparent that no one else was coming through, at least not for a long while.
In the clearing near him was a pile of stone, carved into the stone was an arrow, pointing in roughly the direction of the sun. It was a clear day, the planet had grass and trees, seemed to be a lot like his grandpas farm in Colorado. The noises of the birds and bugs were different, but he could get used to it. He started walking, seeing piles of stone to show him that he was on the right path. His walk was relatively short, and brought him to a small cabin next to a small lake.
Inside the cabin, he found a corpse he supposed to be Martinez. His uniform was hung on the wall, and his body was covered in animal skins. The cabin was reasonably well-appointed for a stone-age dwelling. Candles were present, as well as some tools made out of parts of his original kit. Martinez's laptop sat on the desk, connected to a solar panel he'd seen outside. He pressed the power button, and nothing happened. Underneath the laptop, amid numerous stains, was a small stack of paper.
The paper read:
> Peters,
> If you're reading this, I guess the damned thing's still open, and you're still coming through. I had a hell of a time figuring out what happened to Roberts and Wilkinson, so I thought I would do my best to give you the sitrep none of us got.
> This planet has no one on it. No one but you, and maybe me if I live long enough. There's an ocean about a month's walk to the west, the winters here aren't terrible, but you're going to need to keep the fire burning to survive it. There's plenty of game, and if you remember survival training, making a bow is pretty easy. If you don't, pull out your tablet and put in the card in my old laptop here. I've put together some diagrams on how to do this shit. Never thought being a boy scout would be so useful.
> Jackson will probably come out next long after you're dead of old age, if previous experience teaches us anything. I suggest you leave him some kind of map and build a house near the ocean. At least it will be prettier. I stayed here because the fishing in the lake is exceptional, all year long.
> I suspect that a quiet life of solitude and fishing isn't in your genes though, Peters. You may come up with some options I would not personally condone in this situation. All I ask is that you bury me properly before you undertake one of them.
> Major Edward Martinez (Ret.)
Peters finished the note, sighed, rifled through Martinez's pack and walked back to the portal.
Martinez always forgot his speciality was demolitions, and Martinez always forgot that he was carrying the C4.
Peters was going to make damn sure no Marine ever had to bury him. | 2014-09-02T14:24:23 | 2014-09-02T12:37:24 | 44 | 12 |
[WP] Link your favourite submission on WritingPrompts (i.e. one that you wrote) and write a sequel to it.
I'm interested to see where this goes. | Original “My Buddy Lucifer”: http://np.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ez940/wp_lucifer_the_devil_himself_is_your_best_friend/ck4elii
Sequel: My Parents Death and the Devil
*(Yes I very much intended that title to be a pun)*
“I know you’re there Gwen, you can come out,” I called out.
She stepped out from behind a lamp post and tried to catch up to me. I continued walking at my usual brisk pace toward home. I just left school and I suspected Gwen was waiting for me. When she finally reached my side I glanced over to see a large clear softdrink container in her hand filled with blood.
“Oh for crying out loud could you at least TRY to cover that up?” I rolled my eyes. “Use an opaque container or a bag even!”
“I’m sorry princess of darkness, i’ll try be more discrete.” She put both hands around the container and tried to cover as much as possible as she took another sip through the straw.
I small part of me was kind of hoping the intense afternoon sun would incinerate her right there, but to my perpetual dismay she was very meticulous about her protections and remained intact and undead. She carried a huge backpack that i assumed held those protections among other things.
“Fine,” I relented with an annoyed sigh, “What business do you have with the princess of darkness?”
I hated when people called me that, it implied I was somehow inherently evil. I seriously contemplated pulling out my scythe and ending her right there, but i knew she was just doing her task as a messenger.
“My master wishes to discuss a deal.”
“As I’ve said before I don’t make deals.” I picked up my pace trying to get away. “My dad does that, go to him.”
She sped up as she fell behind. “But if you would politely ask him for us, we could make it worth your while.”
“You have nothing i want.” I said bluntly.
“Not even a meteor staff?”
I stopped cold and she nearly tripped as her head followed me but her legs didn’t.
My one weakness was supernatural artifacts. “Go on.”
“Yes!” She perked up as soon as she saw i had a price. “We have in our possession a genuine meteor staff. And as a token of our goodwill I will give it to you if you agree to at least talk to your father about our request.”
She reached around to her backpack and pulled out the staff. It was forged from meteoric iron and I could feel an unearthly power emanate from it. As i touched it I felt for any curses, traps or hexes but found none. I never knew Gwen’s faction to use such dirty tricks but it was reassuring to confirm it. Gwen gesture for me to take it and I felt the weight of solid metal as I lifted it from her grasp.
“How do you know I won’t just take the staff and return nothing?” I idly asked while examining it carefully.
“You’ve never been dishonest with us before.”
I put the staff into my backpack. “Alright, but no promises my father will meet.”
Gwen bowed slightly as she stepped away. “Your attempt is enough for us.”
I made my way home unharassed by other supernaturals.
------------------------------------
(I’ll continue if there is interest)
**EDIT:**
So i was going to continue this but i realized i should first finish and release the rewrite of the original. The sequel is actually not based off the original but off the rewrite. The rewrite fixes some glaring plot holes and refines the characters somewhat so the sequel would seem to outright contradict the original (because in fact it does, but only because it's not a sequel to the original, but the rewrite). The rewrite is also twice as long so you get even more story (with 20% more Death!!! i mean... Susan :).
I think I owe to you to write a story that makes sense and that you can really get into. So i'll put the sequel on hold until i finish with the rewrite.
If you want to keep up with my progress, as well as read excerpts, side stories and missing chapters of my work, then subscribe to my sub /r/badelf21
My apologies for getting your hopes up, i'm quite flattered i'm still relevant after a couple of months. you deserve a good story.
| http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2hbft3/wp_its_been_two_centuries_since_the_world_ended/ckrmha5
Five divine faces observed the woad-covered line of warriors march to battle, their heavenly expressions neutrally conveying their utter indifference to the slaughter that was about to befall the pigmented men in their honor.
Although the ground was already blanketed in heavy snow drifts, the brown leaves crunching under the warriors’ brown feet, still tanned from the summer only a few moons past, gave away that it was still autumn yet; its bitter, snowy cold but a foretaste of the terrible winter that would befall the warriors’ tribe in no more than another moon. These were portents from the gods that, as three winters had passed since the last rituals, it was time for another sacrifice. The wise old shaman Rusbah assured them that if they failed to appease the gods, a cold, hungry death in the snow would await them. Nonetheless, it was a bloody sacrifice that must be made, and that was enough to stir up some sense of skepticism among the more scholarly members of the tribe. But even they realized that it was better to send the warriors to an honorable death, rather than let the children and women freeze and starve dishonorably. Therefore, no questions were ever asked.
Finally, they arrived in the forest clearing, where they would wait (for the purpose of fairness) to be called to the coliseum by the rival tribe’s war drums. The shaman had fond memories of coming here so many years ago to study the holy rites, even if he didn’t appreciate it at the time. In all his years, those happy recollections had been diluted with the rivers of blood he’d seen spilt in the coliseum every four years, no doubt concealed now by the foot of snow.
BOOM
The warriors all tensed up at the loud racket. Nobody laughed or teased; they all knew there was more to their fear than just the startling noise of the drums.
As shaman, Rusbah officiated all the rituals, just as he had every four years of his life, and just as he would continue to do until he died, and young Tuumang succeeded him. He lifted his frail, wrinkled hand and brought down the staff upon the taut animal skin in reply.
BOOM
Wordlessly, the warriors filed into formation, and made their way towards the great stone court, knowing well that they might never leave. Some glanced hopefully towards Head-Mountain. The others just kept their heads inclined.
...
Two rows of painted gladiators faced each other, one adorned in blue woad, the other in red ochre. They were all clean-shaven of their beards and hair and adorned only in knotted bearskin pants, despite the winter cold; better to freeze to death than cede your opponent any advantage in close combat. Despite all their physical preparations, not a soul among them was truly ready for the coming ordeal—no one ever was.
Rusbah, holding the blue flag high, sat on the left throne of the grand dais on the end of the coliseum facing the Gods’ Abode. On his right sat the shaman Lingkhan, also named for one of the four deities, bearing the red flag of his tribe. As the ritual demanded, Rusbah spoke, since his tribe was victorious the previous winter. Clearing his old throat, he began as loud as his old voice could manage:
“Brothers, we gather here every four winters, in accordance with the law of the prophet Our Lord Jevvar-zahn, to give sacrifice to our almighty lords, the spirits of Head Mountain. In our human impiety, we may question why it must be, that we are to slay our kinfolk to appease the hunger of Lord Washita. I tell you that the gods are just and severe: fear you their ruthless punishments, for they are far worse than any pain wrought by men. But also be grateful unto our Lord, for it is because of His grace that we are free from the Red Demons of the Sea, and it is because of this divine gift of freedom that we must celebrate and rejoice in this sacrifice. May the best among us leave victorious, and let us never forget the fallen. Praise be unto the gods.”
The sacrificial fires were ignited, and the warriors batted their clubs in anticipation. The shamans began the ritual:
“I am Rusbah, son of Huuwa, shaman of Clan Demmoq-Rah. Glory to the gods.”
“I am Lingkhan, son of Yussan, shaman of Clan Publi-Khan. Glory to the gods.”
The entire spectacle couldn’t have lasted more than two minutes. The screams of the fallen echoed off the Mountain, piercing the silence of the snowfall. Soon the two sides became indistinguishable; the blood washed away the war-paint, and where there was ochre red and snow white and woad blue, there now remained only crimson.
Lingkhan averted his eyes. Rusbah remembered the days when he still did so. Those days were long gone; in his old age, he had become desensitized to the rituals. After all, he always told himself, it must be this way; there was no alternative but endless bloodshed—how else will we protect our freedom, after all?
Finally, barely ten warriors were left standing, all comrades. Some war paint was still visible under their wounds, and so the victor was announced. Lingkhan and Rusbah bowed cordially.
Although it was discouraged for the rival shamans to speak to one another, Rusbah thought he might comfort the younger priest, obviously distressed from the sheer gore of this winter’s sacrifice.
“It was a pretty close one, I must say. I almost couldn’t tell who the winner was going to be until the very end!”
Lingkhan gave the elder shaman a short, thoughtful look, then replied:
“Does is truly make a difference who wins?” | 2014-10-15T21:57:15 | 2014-10-15T21:47:45 | 108 | 12 |
[WP] Every time the Messiah returns, we kill him. It is now the Thirty-seventh Coming, and Jesus is getting sick of our sh*t | Jim walks into a bar in a small town where his car broke down. He is a big city guy who never expected to meet anyone of consequence in that little town in Indiana. Jim sits down on a stool at the bar and orders a beer. An Arab or Mexican man sits at the end of the bar. He doesn't think much of him. He's small and nurses a screwdriver. Jim has nothing else to do, so he strikes up a conversation.
"I'm Jim. Are you from here?"
"No, I live in LA, but I fuck around here. What do you think, Jim?"
"Sorry, I...ah..."
"No, I get it. You were on your way from New York, car broke down, and you ended up here. You thought you might as well make the best of it. I don't blame you."
"How did you know that?"
"Your story? You're not going to believe me anyway, so I'll you the truth. My name is Jesus, pronounced like Hey Zeus. I was born to a virgin mother, and I'm the Messiah, Jesus Christ."
"So, you're a crazy person, that's interesting at least."
"Roger, give me a glass of water."
The bartender pours him a glass of water. He touches it with his finger, and it turns into something else.
"What the hell..."
"Try it."
Jesus passes it to Jim who takes a drink of it.
"This is beer."
"I can cure the sick. Make women orgasm by touching them. Get children to stop being assholes. I can do a lot of cool shit. I'm not just a personal brewery."
"So, you're really the second coming..."
"Second, no. I'm the 37th coming of the Messiah. I show my powers, and I'm locked up in a mental institution, or I'm a witch, or I'm the devil, or I'm just not the right fucking skin color. Dad has a way of pulling the same old shit like that. He knows they aren't going for it, but he keeps sending me back. I'm sick of the bullshit though. This time is different. I'm just drinking and partying and fucking. Maybe, in 20 years, people will be ready for me."
"Holy shit, so God is real? Wait, this is all a prank or something. Something you pull on those dumb city boys."
"James Howard Mitchell, born November 30th, 1978 in Yonkers, New York. You work as a salesperson at United Silverware. You hate your job, and your boss Cindy. Your wife, Cheryl, is beautiful but boring, and you've been thinking about getting a divorce for the past 18 months. Your son is the only thing keeping you in the marriage. That's the boring stuff anyway. I'm not going to blow your mind today unless I have to."
"I mean, anyone could know that."
"You used to jerk off to Bea Arthur until two years ago. The older the better am I right? You also banged a 64 year old waitress named Shelly when you 27."
"How the fuck..."
"I'm Jesus. It sucks, but I am."
"So, change the world. Go tell other people. Don't fuck with my life."
"Yeah, not yet. Like I said, in a couple of decades. Honestly, I just hope to delay the cosmic joke for a while. Last time, I was born in Afghanistan. Not to blaspheme, but Jesus, what was my dad thinking? Come back, get killed. Come back, get killed. It's a shitty cycle, James."
"So, this isn't a trick? It'd be one hell of a trick if it were."
"This town accepts me. They protect me. They would kill for me. Sometimes, they offer women to me. I wouldn't be so blunt James, but I'm safe here."
"So, you've been killed every time you've come back? Really?"
"Locked up in an asylum a couple of times."
"You're just going to wait for a while? Really?"
"I'm not like you. I don't have that American look. They'd call me an illegal immigrant, and some nutcase would drop me in the street, ironically, claiming that he was doing God's work."
"What if you spoke through someone else? Could that offset all of those negatives?"
"Unlikely, but maybe. Who would be this surrogate? You? You're an atheist James."
"God works in mysterious ways, I'm told."
Jesus smiles. He puts his glass down.
"Indeed, he does." | "Alright, son, are you ready for your first day back on Earth? I packed a big lunch for you," He said, fiddling with his beard, his face covered in a bemused grin.
"Come on, Dad. How many times has it been now? Thirty-six? They obviously don't want me there." Jesus replied, slouched sadly into his white, marble seat. Deep black bags had grown underneath his eyes, and his hair had grown to a state where he looked less a messiah, more a hobo.
"You have to send a message. All are welcome into the Kingdom of Heaven that embrace your love and friendship."
Jesus gets up out of his chair and starts to pace. "You know they jettisoned me into space last time, right? NASA actually built a rocket...and tied me to it. Can I at least get some protection? Holy lightning bolt? Holy crucifix? AK-47?"
"Jesus Christ! I know you're mad, son. But killing the masses? As fun as that can be, it doesn't exactly teach them anything." God steps out of his chair as well, and bends backwards, cracking his back, which the poor people living on the San Andreas Fault felt a few hours later.
"Oh, so when they shoot me into space, that teaches them something? Or how about when they stuck me in a barrel and tossed me into a volcano? Or when they trained a horde of vultures to peck me to pieces? Or--"
"Okay, okay, I get it." God says, raising his hand and staring off into the infinite, dull whiteness of his home. "Just...let's do it one more time. I like these guys, they're my favorite creations. I didn't fuck up like I did with angler fish and aardvarks."
"Fine...but you owe me a new robe after they tar and feather me."
God snaps his fingers and a portal filled with light bursts open in front of Jesus. Sighing, he looks back at his dad and shoots him the middle finger. He brushes off the pants of his robe and walks through the portal. The light dissipates and God lets out a hearty chuckle. He stares out into the nothingness, as if looking at a live audience.
"What? I get bored."
---
"Really? New Mexico?" Jesus groans as he pulls himself off of the near-smoking hot asphalt. He looks around at his beautiful surroundings: dirt, dirt, hills, and more dirt. "You think he'd send me to a beach, or grasslands, or a smoothie bar. Every twenty years with this shit, and I'm still sent to the middle of nowhere."
"Hey! I can hear you. These people need saving." A voice echoes from up above.
Jesus waves his hand, brushing away his dad's words. He starts walking down the dirt road for what seems like hours.
"You wanna make me carry a cross, too? I don't think I'm suffering quite enough." Jesus says, staring up at the sky whilst airing out his robes.
Suddenly, a truck approaches on the horizon, a gleaming red beacon in the desolate wasteland. While most would be excited to see a sign of life in the middle of nowhere, Jesus groans and reaches into his secret robe pocket. He fondles around but finds it to be empty.
"Nothing? You didn't give me ANYTHING?" He growls angrily at his father. "Well...this should be fun."
A few minutes later, the truck screeches to a halt in front of Jesus. Two middle-aged white men jump out of the vehicle and hesitantly approach the glowing figure.
"Now, boy...that ain't a funny costume. How dare you mock our lord and savior?" The driver says, hawking a thick, black lewgie(sp) onto the asphalt. The spit lets out a faint sizzle as the sun roasts it.
"No, no. I'm actually Jesus. I promise."
"And, why, exactly, should we believe you? You could just be some homeless druggie in a robe." The passenger replies, scratching his neck vigorously.
"Do you have a bottle of water?" Jesus asks. The driver dips into the truck and retrieves an old Dasani bottle. He tosses it towards Jesus.
"Dasani? Shit, this is barely water..." He looks up to the two men with a grin on his face, a grin that retreats back inside when he sees the pure disdain on the faces of the two hillbillies. "Okay, okay...now watch."
Jesus waves his hand over the bottle and the water turns into wine, naturally. The two hillbillies gasp, and the driver smacks the passenger square on the back in disbelief.
"Well hot damn...you really are the Messiah. Say, why are you here?" the driver says, walking back to the truck.
"I'm here to send a message to the great people of Earth. Repent, and you shall earn a spot next to me and my Father in the Kingdom of Heaven." Jesus says, throwing out his arms in overly bombastic manner. The driver returns from his truck with a double-barreled shotgun in his hands. "Uh...what're you going to do with that? You guys going skeet shooting?"
"Nah. Ya see, the way I figure it, when you died the first time, you was dying for our sins. I mean no disrespect, mister Jesus, sir, but I've done some bad things in my life...and I think maybe killing you...will wash away our sins again." the driver said, raising the shotgun towards Jesus.
"Cletus...what in sam hill are you doing?" The passenger shrieks, running over to his driver.
"Getting rid of my herpes, Otis. Getting rid of my herpes."
The loud chunking noise reverberates through the whole desert, and Jesus falls to the floor. He stares up at the sky with furrowed brow as the truck shoots past him, tires screeching across the gravel.
"God Dammit..." Jesus mumbles as he closes his eyes.
"Fine. Next time you get a gun." | 2015-03-19T10:07:41 | 2015-03-19T10:03:07 | 82 | 19 |
[WP] A newly-hired bartender is slowly realizing that he's working at the bar from all of those "X walks into a bar" jokes. | I look at the clock. It has been 10:30 for at least three weeks. It's dark outside. It has been dark outside for at least three weeks. I know because some of the bar snacks are starting to go off. At least the kitchen is still running. For now.
People walk in every few minutes. They're not real, real people aren't so obvious.
*Shuwm*. The door opens. An upright priest in full clerical garb walks in, followed by a rabbi with the shawl and skullcap and a monk in the robes. They come up to me. I don't know what to say. I never do.
"Can I get you a drink?"
They look at me confused, then walk over to the other groups in the dim light of the bar. I can't count them, but I estimate there must be a thousand or more in each group.
There's builders, blind men, priests, rabbis, englishmen, irishmen, scots and more. We even have a stupid number of horses and lions for some reason and lord knows how they haven't eaten each other.
All this in a little hole in the wall drinking place fire zoned for 50 people. Thats the thing though. Thats what's got you.
The joke goes "A man walks into a bar." We laugh. The real joke is that the man never walks out again. | Joe didn't really mind his new job, except on Mondays. No, this isn't one of the typical "Mondays, right?" situations. Joe's new job tending bar was very much unique, but on only Monday. At some point today, something crazy will happen.
*Mad Monday,* Joe thought to himself as he flipped back the covers and tossed his legs over the edge of the bed. He got ready as he does every other work day, and arrived at work 5 minutes before his scheduled shift as usual. Mad Monday was actually starting to grow on Joe. He didn't know when, and he didn't know what it would be, but *something* weird would happen today. Today, it was just after 5pm.
Joe heard the door chime and greeted, "Hello, good afternoon." When he looked up, he had to try to hide his astonishment. There, walking in the door, was a man and his son. However, the son was in a wheelchair and did not have arms or legs, and not much of a torso, either. Joe blinked to make sure he was seeing things correctly. The man sat his son on a stool at the bar, then took a seat next to him.
"Two beers please." The dad said. "Oh, and can I get a straw for my son, too?"
"Of course, sir. Right away, sir." Joe's brain was working overtime trying to wrap around what was going on. This was different today. Usually it's the "long face" horse, or the "blind guy walks into a bar" jokes that he sees. What joke was this? Handicapped kid and his dad? "Let me know if you need anything else." Joe said as he served the two beers, then dropped a straw into the second one for the son. He tried to casually watch while he wiped the farther end of the bar.
The dad took a long swig of his own beer, then held the other for his son. His son chugged this beer faster than Joe has seen anyone knock back any before. Even before Joe could be astonished at that feat, something amazing happened. From nowhere, an arm popped out of the son's small torso. Joe gasped.
"Oh, my-- Barkeep, another beer!" The dad exclaimed. Joe quickly obliged, slamming another beer on the bar top. The son grabbed this beer and drank it down. *POOF*, out popped another arm. "ANOTHER!" the dad yelled. Joe already had another beer in his hand and quickly handed it to the son. This one went down even faster than the others. *POOF*, out popped a leg.
"This is amazing." Joe said.
"How is this even possible?" The dad was ecstatic, with tears gleaming in his eyes. "Please, another beer!"
Joe dropped another beer on the bar, and watched in anticipation as the son slammed it back. This time was different, though. After just a moment, nothing happened. Suddenly, the son fell over, dead. Joe's jaw gaped open. Then, it hit him.
"Sir, you should have stopped while he was a head." | 2015-05-14T16:45:20 | 2015-05-14T16:24:59 | 696 | 38 |
[WP] New arrivals in eternal Hell may choose either of the following: a small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven. | "So it's meant to be, what, an agonizing choice? A huge dilemma? A source of eternal regret?" Leems asked. After an eternity on Acid Mine Supervision, he had finally been promoted to Reception, and wanted to be sure he understood what was going on.
"For some of them, yes. I think you might be overestimating how many actually think things through," Ebnerzaz replied, in his British basso. The supervisor of Reception stood an impressive twelve feet tall, and Leems had to scurry quickly in front of him to avoid his trashcan-lid-sized cloven hooves. Some said he had been chosen because the arriving souls often mistook him for the Prince of Darkness Himself.
"Ah, so you're saying that most of them choose the aeons-long vacation with The Enemy then," Leems wheezed. "They don't even give it a second thought, eh? 'Why would I pick a spoon when I can spend a hundred trillion years in heaven?'"
"Precisely," Ebnerzaz said, as they exited the vast hallway into a much vaster cavern. Its impressive collection of stalactites was sheathed in a constantly-churning haze, the better to frustrate anyone trying to enjoy the scenery. Management thought of everything.
"So what's our angle, then? If they get such pleasure from the vacation..."
"It makes it all the more crushing when they come back and realize that it was quite literally nothing compared to the length of time they'll be spending here. All subsequent torment is therefore enriched. Set the papers down there, if you would," Ebnerzaz said, as he found his desk. Leems stood on tiptoe to deposit the loose sheath of parchment in the supervisor's In box.
"Aha, so the correct choice, then, is the spoon?" he asked, looking around for his own desk.
The senior devil gave a condescending grin. "This is Hell, Leems. There is no correct choice."
"But..." Leems began.
"Our shift is starting. I'll answer any further questions when we have our break. Off you go," Ebnerzaz said, his massive clawed hand steering Leems' shoulders towards the empty desk he would be working at.
Leems hurried over to the protruding stone just in time for the flow of souls to shamble up to him, all of them shaved bald and clothed in itchy rags. "Welcome to Hell! You may have one amenity - a hundred trillion year vacation in heaven, starting right now, or a small wooden spoon." He offered the choice to each one of them, and saw that Ebnerzaz's assessment was even truer than he'd thought - thousands upon thousands chose the Heavenly vacation, no questions asked. As soon as they did, they vanished in a puff of light, leaving a lavender scent that clashed horribly with the dominant smell of brimstone.
Finally, one of the souls stopped long enough to think through the choice, his dark brow furrowing in concentration. "If you're offering me this, that means it's reasonable to choose the spoon, right? They're on a par with each other, right?" he said slowly.
Leems just smiled, not knowing the answer himself.
"So I know everybody in front of me chose Heaven. That can't be what you want. So let me think. It's eternal down here, right? So no matter how long the vacation is, it's not even a drop in the bucket. So let's think about it utilitarian-like. I can get real happy for a tiny amount of time, big-picture. Or I can choose the spoon, and it'll make me just a tiny bit happy, but for an infinite amount of time. Right?" he said eagerly. Once again, Leems didn't respond. "Oh, and what's more, once the vacation's over, I bet I'll regret I didn't choose the spoon. That'll make me even more unhappy. I'll never know what I'm missing out on if I don't go to heaven! But the spoon... that'll last me forever. No regrets there!"
"Are you quite done?" Leems asked.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm done. I'm pickin' the spoon," the soul said triumphantly.
Leems nodded, and pulled open the stone drawer in his desk with a scraping sound. Inside were hundreds of tiny wooden spoons, each not much bigger than a finger. He selected one and handed it to the soul, who eagerly grabbed it, before turning to the left to exit through one of the many gaping caves in the cavern wall.
The encounter stuck with Leems all through the shift, as he let thousands more souls poof into heaven. Finally, it was break time - the gates closed and the remaining lines disappeared. The horde of demons working Reception left their desks and swarmed over to the break area, to consume sulfurous coffee and rotting meat.
Leems sought out the hulking form of Ebnerzaz, and tugged on the supervisor's wings. "Ah, Leems! How did your first shift go? Keeping up the pace, I hope?" he asked, peering down at the smaller demon.
"Yes, it went very well, sir. But I did have one soul choose... the spoon."
"Ah, on your first day! Congratulations. It took me a week, way back when. But why are you looking so troubled?"
"Well, it's just... he stopped and thought about it, like you said some of them might. And his reasoning seemed pretty ironclad. If the spoon gives them a small amount of pleasure forever, is that not categorically better than a finite vacation in heaven?" Leems asked. "I thought you said there were no correct choices. I feel as though, by giving him the spoon, I have reduced the amount of suffering we'll generate."
"Ah, yes, Leems. Do not worry. The spoon will generate plenty of suffering in due time."
"But how?"
"Because, dear Leems," Ebnerzaz said, smiling his most terrifying smile yet. "When did you ever hear of a simple wooden spoon that stays intact forever?" | Alister opened his eyes
A sudden rush of panic as well as far too many questions went through his head.
He was blushing. What had happened and where was this place ?
He closed his eyes, leaned back on his armchair, took a deep breath, and procceded to allocate some of his brain's proccessing power to an examination of his surroundings.
The ceilling was painted in the least tasteful shade of purple. The walls too. Some dude he didn't recall having ever seen before was sitting in front of him, accross a desk. A purple desk.
He could hear some kind of dubstep remix of *Don't fear the reaper* playing in the background. There were victorian-era vases on the shelves and mud on the floor. A sense of habitude took over as he slowly calmed down.He was used to those. He was in the most familiar place he knew of after all.
"Okay.." He thought "Work.. I'am at work. Where else could I be...".
He hated his job. But not nearly as much as he was hating himself at this exact moment. *He fell asleep on duty*. He knew that he would be regretting this sooner or later. He knew that there were no way to get away with it. *The Boss * sees everything, and He would have some great pleasure in waiting for that special moment when you wouldn't want The Devil himself to fuck your shit up.
He wasn't even afraid. The mere thought of any more pain left him bored out of his mind. But when time doesn't matter anymore, time you spent being bored sure does. Hell, he couldn't even recall any specific thing he had done over the past year.
"I beg you pardon ?"
The man in front of him had started to speak. He seemed confident, and in good shape, for someone who'd just died, that is.
"Are you there, my friend ? "
"Hum why yes" Alister replied "sorry about it, had a long day." He said, with not the tiniest bit of will to make his lie sound credible. "Hello there mister, let's get started asap. Do you know where you are ?"
"No, I must admit that I don't. I'm usually sharp enough not to be kept in the dark for this long, but you somehow managed to have me fooled. Would you kindly enlighten me ? And is everything alright ? you're looking quite ill"
"Yes. and you are dead"
"Am I ?"
"I'm afraid you are"
"Oh"
Alister took a few second to have a look at what he had in front of him. The "client" was a twenty-something wearing some kind of mix between a suit's jacket and cargo pants. A ginger-ish, never evenly shaved beard was running from the base of his ears to his neck, accross his cheeks and upon his chins. Some bizzare excuse for a hairdo was hid for the greater good by a hat of the kind one can see in those old italian gangster movies. The whole personnage inspired pitty, though oddly enough he looked like he was taking the new of his death pretty well.
After a few awkward seconds of silence, Alister decided to carry on.
"..And I'm quite afraid that you're good for an eternity of burning alive and swimming in lakes of spiders. BUT, don't panic yet, we have a present for you. I'll just need your name and your signature here and here."
The man looked at him, unphased, openned his mouth, stayed silent for a couple seconds, then said:
"The name's Sir Jean-Baptiste De Maesmakers"
Alister proceeded to spell it as he could and quickly handed the pile of paper to Jean Baptist, eager to get started.
"As I said" He continued, "You are granted a present at your arrival in this place. A choice. The last choice you'll ever do."
No reaction.
"Before you are cast into an eternal existence of suffering, you may choose between those two things: An hundred trillions years vacation in heaven, OR, this wooden spoon."
He then took a wooden spoon out of the left drawer, and put it on the middle of the desk.
He leaned back as the client started thinking. He surely loved that kind of moment. Would this one cry ? Would he beg for forgiveness ? Would he try to kill himself ? The results were never anything short of hilarious. The only thing in this place that wasn't a total pain in the ass (literally). Seeing someone who's not used to suffering driven crazy by the fear of pain to come.
A small grin started to cover his face as he noticed the man was preparing himself to respond.
"I.. I can't answer this question, I'm afraid"
"And so it begins", Alister told to himself, in anticipation. "What seems to be the problem ?" He asked while trying to remain serious. "Oh shit man, that's going to be priceless"
"The premises are ridiculous. There's no heaven. And science has proven that in a hundred trillions years the universe will have probably ceased to exist"
Alister was amazed. He couldn't believe it was possible for an individual to have his own head this far up his butt. Even though his former job in the place was precisely to watch over the area specially dedicated to this kind of activity.
"Wha... "Science" ?? Do you even know were you are, young man ? "
"You tell me"
"In Hell. You are in Hell !"
"Ah !"
He couldn't believe he had to say it. But he erased any remaining doubts now. Hope is flying away. Tears will come soon.
"I don't believe in Hell"
Alister was too stunned to speak. Sir Jean Baptise continued.
"Is this some kind of prank or something ? I'm way too enlightened and rational for that religion-based kind of folklore, you know."
"Oh" Said Alister, amused, while a now terrifying grin set his face afire,"So you're *this kind* of person.. I see"
"I'm not really one to be put in categories" Said Sir Jean baptist on the exact same tone "I'm a moderator on r/Trees you know, and I have an higher IQ than 99% of the population. I'm not one to believe such assumptions without empirical proofs.."
"Fine !" Exploded Alister, on the verge of hilarity."You want proofs you're in Hell ? If you look at your right, you can see Hellfire, otherwise known as "fire from hell". If you look at your left, you see that pile of CDs in the corner ? That's Lou Reed's discography. We play *Lulu* on the loudspeakers every two hours. Isn't that enough ?"
"I'm sorry but it doesn't make any sense. Why would a god even create this kind of place. I'm afraid the logic behind all of this is fundamentaly flawed, my friend"
This surprised Alister "God ? What does he have to do with this ? God created you bunch a long time ago, and once he realised that he fucked something up and made your souls immortal, he kindly disappeared and Satan had to take care and dispose of you all alone. Unfortunately for you though, he's into burning stuff and some weird shit I won't extend on"
"-But nothing here makes any sense at all. The choice you offered me... What is the point of having to choose between a hundred trillions years of pure joy and happiness and a stupid spoon ? This is too obvious ! I'd go for the spoon" Sir Jean Baptiste replied, in anger
Alister smiled, then calmly put "Oh, the spoon, really. Why that choice ? "
(part 2 in comments)
| 2022-03-09T06:27:01 | 2015-06-08T00:45:58 | 4,220 | 11 |
[WP] As a dragon of innumerable age you have guarded your gold horde for millennium. Many heroes have come with long speeches on how they will slay you, the great evil,none finish. However this one is odd.He throws a coin on your stash, looks you in the eyes and says "I have a proposition for you." | The hero walked in, and the small hole I made in the ceiling cast a shaft of light onto him, gleaming off his crown. Of course, this was to give heroes a false sense of confidence, but it didn't faze him.
He walked up to me and tossed a gold coin into my pile.
"You have my attention", I told him.
"Hi, I'm a Nigerian Prince, and I'd like you to do me a favour..." | "You are certainly most fearsome and undoubtedly powerful," the man begins, "Your wealth is immeasurable and your reputation across millennia is common knowledge: Raza the Terrible - hoarder of gold and collector of souls. All who have challenged you have perished."
This forces a smirk from me as I eye him from across the stone temple. Coins and sparkling gems of every color cascade down my sides onto the massive mountain of gold as I stand up to my full height. The man shuffles noticeably, unsure if I will put a cease to his flattery, but I always hear out those with something to say.
"And?" I quip.
"Yes, you are indeed great, but allow me to say you have not reached your full potential."
"Is that so?" I question, feeling quite amused. "And what would a brave insightful man have to offer me?"
"Every single man and woman knows of you from the time they are children. They know your power and strength and they know to fear you, but through these tales of murder and death, the people only think of you as frightening and petty. Fear is cheap. Wealth is never truly respected. YOU are not respected, you are resented."
I set my jaw and feed the fire behind my eyes. "Is that so? And I suspect you, a man, slave to lust and power, has the wisdom to induce in me something greater than ferocity and fortune?"
"I believe I do," the man replies firmly.
"Well let's here it. But if you fail to impress, I will make quick work of adding to my notoriety," and I take a menacing step forward - sending a rumble through the stone and piles of gold.
The man, unflinching, walks forward into striking distance. I could crush him at any moment. I could lift him with two fingers and drop him down my throat, and although I'm quite tempted, his stare fixates me. But then I see it in his eyes - a familiarity, a faint understanding. This is no man. But I do know what He is.
Edit: Formatting ;)
| 2015-10-14T04:03:21 | 2015-10-13T17:54:29 | 32 | 19 |
[WP] You were murdered. But to your surprise, you're reincarnated into the body of a recently born infant. Looking around, you realize that you're at your own funeral, and your eulogy is being given by none other than your murderer. | I stared at my body in the coffin and I couldn't believe it was me. It almost seemed like a wax replica.
I remember my last moments in my old body. I remember the medicinal smell of the hospital, the beeping of monitors, the nurses patrolling the halls, and the ventilator that kept me breathing.
My father was talking to Dr. Yamani and I catch snatches of their conversation. "...brain dead...not going to wake up...make preparations...I'm sorry...we did everything we could..."
I remember my family gathering together. The adults were tearing up but the kids didn't really know what was happening. Then, my father walked to the wall, my mom started sobbing, and he pulled a plug. Everything started going blurry and I don't remember anything afterwards.
I see my father at the podium. He's trying to talk about me but he just breaks down. He just stands their with tears streaming down his face, weeping. And everyone shares in his grief.
Dad, when I get old enough, we'll make up for lost time. I promise. | **Disclaimer:** I didn't state it outright, but what I had in mind for the flash drive was pedophilia. So... don't know if this belongs here.
---
"I'm going to the police with this, John!" I say to him, clutching the flash drive in my hands and moving backwards while he walks towards me, smiling. "This... this has to stop!"
"Oh, Francesca, but I can't let you do that." he says, getting in my face and placing his hands on my shoulders. "Not when... well." Dammit. I didn't notice the stairs. Dammit, dammit. He pushes me. I'm falling backwards. I try to grasp the handrail. I hit my head on the steps. Once, twice, thrice, until I come to a stop on the landing.
My hand is empty. I lost the flash drive. I'm bleeding. Everything is going dark. "I think I'll keep this. And, bye-bye, 'cesca."
---
Everything I hear is slurred. Everything I see is blurred. I can hear the blood pounding in my head. It becomes weaker. I can feel myself dying. I don't remember... Who am I? What is happening? What...
---
Everything is dark. And silent. I can't move. I can think! I can think again! I remember who I am! What's happening? Oh. I can see again. I'm still on the landing. Alone with the bloodstains. But... where the hell is my body!?
Ok. I need to calm down. I... died? I can't see my body here! How the hell can I even see!?
Everything goes dark again.
---
Light? I feel... strange. Warm. Awkward. I open my eyes. Wait. I have eyes? I have a body? There is a woman cooing at me.
What.
The.
Hell.
I'm an infant. I am a bloody infant. I try to talk, but I manage to only form unintelligible sounds. I look around. Everybody is dressed in black. We are... in a church?
"... She was a good coworker. She was a good friend. We will all miss Francesca." I know this bloody voice! That... fucker! I start spewing invectives at him, but the only thing that comes out of my mouth is a plaintive cry.
The woman tries to shush me, without success. He walks over me and... kisses me? "Is little John hungry?"
God. Fucking. Dammit.
**Edit:** r/USB stick/flash drive/g - IanSan5653 | 2015-10-16T08:42:05 | 2015-10-16T07:29:58 | 111 | 74 |
[WP] You were murdered. But to your surprise, you're reincarnated into the body of a recently born infant. Looking around, you realize that you're at your own funeral, and your eulogy is being given by none other than your murderer. | The warmth of a blanket swaddled around my body was welcome in contrast to the cold I had just embraced. It was so cold. Those striking blue eyes were the last thing I saw. What I had felt was a sharp pain, from what I'm not sure, and a wetness that soaked through my shirt as if I had spilled a soda onto myself. Then my senses were overwhelmed by his eyes and his body close against mine. Even the feeling of his body faded, though, as the cold washed over me and my eyes struggled to stay open. The cold and his eyes. That was all I'd remembered.
I drunk in the warmth hungrily. It was all a dream. I'm warm in my bed.
I started to wake myself and opened my eyes. All I could see was a purple fabric which was soft against my face. I tried to look around but my eyes were focused forward. My whole world was just the purple fabric. As I tried to move, I could only wiggle.
"Oh, honey. It's okay. It's okay."
A woman's voice crooned, and I felt my whole body being shifted. This is when I realized something wasn't right. I had died. I'm somewhere or something different now.
Looking forward, as it was all I could do, my vision traveled linearly up the pews and onto the raised platform.
A handsome man in a tailored black suit stood at the podium. My vision was not well enough to make him out but I could hear him.
He spoke in strained tones and between hiccups.
"Edward was the love of my life. I planned my entire future around him. Now, I find myself in a world without direction because he was my compass. We were so lucky to know a man such as him. I-"
He stopped speaking, and there were only hiccups. Several other people I couldn't make out walked to him on the stage and appeared to embrace him. They led him down the aisle.
Each step of his heeled black shoes was staccato against the quiet room. Each tap brought him closer to me, swaddled in a blanket and barely able to move.
The steps ceased as he reached our pew.
He bent down and tickled my tummy. It was a bizarre sensation but I felt inclined to enjoy it. Despite myself, I giggled.
Then, he looked at me and there again were those striking blue eyes. That son-of-a-bitch. He knew about her. He knew about Katherine. That's why he did it. He never liked that I was a bi-sexual exactly because he'd fear I'd do what I did. I wasn't without fault but he killed me. He was supposed to love me but he killed me.
I tried to scream at him but I only gurgled.
He leaned past me and spoke to the purple fabric.
"I know he's Edward's."
The woman with the crooning voice gasped.
"Michael, you have to understand."
"I have to understand nothing. Good luck with your little bastard."
The whispers faded.
I tried again to speak and tell them what had happened. I wanted to lunge out at him, but when I tried all I heard was,
"Oh, stop being so fussy."
I was almost overwhelmed by the frustration until I felt a pange of hunger. My lips stung with need.
"Oh, he's hungry."
The purple fabric rose and I bumped along. Soon, my need was being satiated and sustenance pumped into my system.
I was content. I was-
Then there were only murmurs from my mouth and the comfort of the woman.
I'd forgotten why I'd been so angry. I'd forgotten-.
"Good boy. We'll get you a nap, soon."
She looked down at me with soothing brown eyes.
The warmth welcomed me with a resurgence. Soon, it was all there was. The warmth and her eyes.
| While not verifiable, I’m pretty sure they wanted to take the whole thing down. I was the iceberg to the Titanic of their sappy soap opera. I mean it was understandable. The showrunner, Randy Weaver, was an absolute legend. Two time Academy Award nominee, part of this new wave of directors revolutionizing movies. Swearing against sequels, super hero movies, trash rom-coms. The world of cinema was entering its golden age of new and original content. And then he just disappeared. People burn out of course, it’s inevitable. There’s a reason that crappy movies exist, they’re easy. They make money. They appeal to the broadest state of human emotions. And the pressure of constantly coming up with critically acclaimed, innovative story-lines is, for some, unrepeatable.
And after a few years in solitude he suddenly reappeared at CBN studios, demanding his new TV show be put on the air on the condition that no one could know what it was about until it aired. Swearing it wouldn’t be an FCC fine magnet, the execs obviously agreed. It could be a pile of horseshit and people would watch his comeback. The intro swept through the main characters, Linda, Steve, Ron, Kendall, slapping and crying, murders and births. Comas and twins. *The Lost and the Brave* it was called, an exact replica of every soap opera trope that ever existed. At first it was actually heralded by the critics. A satirist view of the basest entertainment. Waiting for it to rise above, to show what he was capable of. But if never came.
It was pretty obviously apparent after a while. He enjoyed it. He was making his most popular work yet, at least by viewership, and was working maybe a few hours a day. It was almost hard to watch sometimes, he loved the characters, lived and died by them, their asinine lives and all. Eventually inserted himself into the show, taking method acting to a whole new level. Was becoming verifiably insane. Refused to leave the set, to read the scripts, ad-libbing everything, completely taking the plot in unexpected directions, leaving the rest of the actors scrambling to make sense of everything. But still the viewership soared and soared. And Randy swirled further and further down the rabbit hole.
This was never explicitly explained to me when I was hired, but the TV execs were getting fed up with Randy’s completely unpredictable behavior. The plan, spin off Linda into her own show, while ruining the original show, finally giving them rationale to let Randy go. So they hired a bunch of us, recent grads with absolutely no show writing experience. The only rule, no plotlines were off limits. So we just sat in the writer’s room throwing out ideas. “Not absurd enough” they’d yell. So we delved deeper and deeper into our psyche’s trying to get so absurd without becoming surrealist. Because you know, critics love surrealism. And after a few days we had it. The script to end all scripts. An idea so ludicrous the audience would sit at the closing credits, jaw agape ready to abandon ship. No need to even seek out a door to float on, ready to drown.
I’ll give you a rundown of the fateful show. So Steve (Linda’s ex-ex-husband/father-in law/ nephew) had slept with Kendall (Ron’s sister/therapist/astrology coach). Steve and Ron were best friends/lovers/racquetball partners, and Ron felt entirely betrayed. Well this was of course after Ron returned from space where he was studying the effects of human/alien interbreeding. Anyways so Ron stabs Steve in a shadowy racquetball court. Gives a long soliloquy/Broadway dance number about the perils of being an astronaut, having alien STDs, feeling ashamed at himself. His murderous rampage simply a response to not being able to express his emotions.
But! This isn’t the end for Steve. He is reincarnated as Linda’s child who she just happened to have at the very moment he died. He is his own child! Well anyways Linda takes the baby to his own? funeral and he sees Ron giving a mournful eulogy. Steve/baby starts crying, knowing that Ron is the murderer, but feels so overwhelmed by the speech that all is forgiven. Eventually Ron adopts Linda’s baby after she absconds to have an Eat Pray Love European self-renaissance. In the closing credits you see Ron and Steve/baby growing up together, playing catch, going to movies. Ron is the perfect dad, Steve/baby the perfect son.
The execs were grinning ear to ear after the show aired. “It was the worst thing that has ever been created” they cheered with glee. They had sent out pre-tapes to reviewers beforehand just so the atrocious reviews would hit the front page before airing. But they were entirely remiss in their expectations of American public. Hell the entire world. Not only did this one episode expand viewership, but is cited as the sole reason it expanded worldwide. It had pushed the boundaries so far, that people absolutely loved it. Was so asinine and unrelatable that people felt solace in their own lives. The silver lining, with us, the now highly popular writing staff on board, and complete lack of Randy in the episode, the execs now found him expendable. Randy ended up spending the next five years living in a commune in Guatemala. The few reports we have make it seem like he’s doing alright. | 2015-10-16T07:42:54 | 2015-10-16T07:12:02 | 36 | 13 |
[WP] You were murdered. But to your surprise, you're reincarnated into the body of a recently born infant. Looking around, you realize that you're at your own funeral, and your eulogy is being given by none other than your murderer. | How, how is this possible? I gaze around, I see the backs of pews and look up at unfamiliar faces. The most important face to me is that of the woman whose arms I have found myself. Everything is flooding into my brain, a sensation I have never felt before. I have just been awakened from a nightmare, traveled through darkness and have begun my day with a journey much more unusual than that of a regular Tuesday. The flood of thoughts brings with it a vague retelling of what I am sure was my untimely death, the family I left behind, the job I am no longer obligated to go to.
This flood brings along a barge of emotions, both sadness from the departure of my familiar life and the overwhelming feelings of making an acquaintance with an entirely new body, functions, sensations. I am reborn. Am I in a church?
I can’t believe it. This can’t be real. My mind has been too overwhelmed by the immense trauma of death and apparently rebirth, and is mixing memories together. That face, the man speaking… the thief that took everything from me, that decided he would play God and remove every breath I would take, every memory I had left with my wife, every action I would make to leave some sort of effect on this world. This despicable, worthless…oh no my stomach. I just shit myself. I really did, I just emptied my body on this woman’s lap. I desperately need to learn how to operate the basic functions of a body, let alone seek revenge on my killer. Maybe…maybe there are still ways.
I begin to cry. Mustering every piece of hatred in my being, I scream. Within seconds I am taken from the room into the lobby, observing on my way that I am at a funeral. How ironic, I woke up, a new human, after being murdered, and I’m at a funeral.
I am being consoled by this woman, my caretaker, whom I owe my life to. This stranger. Within minutes I will be on a changing table, being violated in the weirdest of ways. But my planning must continue. After a minute or so of having my entire private area wiped, the bathroom door opens.
“Need any help?” came a voice from a man, most likely in his 30’s. I know that voice, though…
“Are you okay Daniel? He’s dead. He’s gone, and you are just…okay. About all of it. You stand up there and give a two-minute speech, and just seem…I don’t understand, that’s not like you. Is it shock? Is it-”
“I guess people just deal with this sort of thing in their own way, ya know?”
My best friend. My killer. His wife, I never knew he had. Can I really be...am I his son now? I look into his eyes, probably the same color and shape as my own now. I don’t understand why he did what he did, why he took everything from me, why I never knew he was even married, how I even exist…Nothing makes sense. There is only one, undeniable truth…I will grow. I will learn. I will make my revenge a reality.
Behind his eyes I see pain. I see regret and a different, cold stare from the eyes I used to know. He places his fingers on my cheek to gently brush them; it is time. I turn my head just enough, open my mouth, and he touches my brand new teeth with his finger. With all the strength I have, I bite him. It is not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to send pain through my gums. He draws back and looks at me with surprise. He doesn't know yet, and won't for a while. That was the first strike of many. I will grow. I will learn. I will end this man.
| While not verifiable, I’m pretty sure they wanted to take the whole thing down. I was the iceberg to the Titanic of their sappy soap opera. I mean it was understandable. The showrunner, Randy Weaver, was an absolute legend. Two time Academy Award nominee, part of this new wave of directors revolutionizing movies. Swearing against sequels, super hero movies, trash rom-coms. The world of cinema was entering its golden age of new and original content. And then he just disappeared. People burn out of course, it’s inevitable. There’s a reason that crappy movies exist, they’re easy. They make money. They appeal to the broadest state of human emotions. And the pressure of constantly coming up with critically acclaimed, innovative story-lines is, for some, unrepeatable.
And after a few years in solitude he suddenly reappeared at CBN studios, demanding his new TV show be put on the air on the condition that no one could know what it was about until it aired. Swearing it wouldn’t be an FCC fine magnet, the execs obviously agreed. It could be a pile of horseshit and people would watch his comeback. The intro swept through the main characters, Linda, Steve, Ron, Kendall, slapping and crying, murders and births. Comas and twins. *The Lost and the Brave* it was called, an exact replica of every soap opera trope that ever existed. At first it was actually heralded by the critics. A satirist view of the basest entertainment. Waiting for it to rise above, to show what he was capable of. But if never came.
It was pretty obviously apparent after a while. He enjoyed it. He was making his most popular work yet, at least by viewership, and was working maybe a few hours a day. It was almost hard to watch sometimes, he loved the characters, lived and died by them, their asinine lives and all. Eventually inserted himself into the show, taking method acting to a whole new level. Was becoming verifiably insane. Refused to leave the set, to read the scripts, ad-libbing everything, completely taking the plot in unexpected directions, leaving the rest of the actors scrambling to make sense of everything. But still the viewership soared and soared. And Randy swirled further and further down the rabbit hole.
This was never explicitly explained to me when I was hired, but the TV execs were getting fed up with Randy’s completely unpredictable behavior. The plan, spin off Linda into her own show, while ruining the original show, finally giving them rationale to let Randy go. So they hired a bunch of us, recent grads with absolutely no show writing experience. The only rule, no plotlines were off limits. So we just sat in the writer’s room throwing out ideas. “Not absurd enough” they’d yell. So we delved deeper and deeper into our psyche’s trying to get so absurd without becoming surrealist. Because you know, critics love surrealism. And after a few days we had it. The script to end all scripts. An idea so ludicrous the audience would sit at the closing credits, jaw agape ready to abandon ship. No need to even seek out a door to float on, ready to drown.
I’ll give you a rundown of the fateful show. So Steve (Linda’s ex-ex-husband/father-in law/ nephew) had slept with Kendall (Ron’s sister/therapist/astrology coach). Steve and Ron were best friends/lovers/racquetball partners, and Ron felt entirely betrayed. Well this was of course after Ron returned from space where he was studying the effects of human/alien interbreeding. Anyways so Ron stabs Steve in a shadowy racquetball court. Gives a long soliloquy/Broadway dance number about the perils of being an astronaut, having alien STDs, feeling ashamed at himself. His murderous rampage simply a response to not being able to express his emotions.
But! This isn’t the end for Steve. He is reincarnated as Linda’s child who she just happened to have at the very moment he died. He is his own child! Well anyways Linda takes the baby to his own? funeral and he sees Ron giving a mournful eulogy. Steve/baby starts crying, knowing that Ron is the murderer, but feels so overwhelmed by the speech that all is forgiven. Eventually Ron adopts Linda’s baby after she absconds to have an Eat Pray Love European self-renaissance. In the closing credits you see Ron and Steve/baby growing up together, playing catch, going to movies. Ron is the perfect dad, Steve/baby the perfect son.
The execs were grinning ear to ear after the show aired. “It was the worst thing that has ever been created” they cheered with glee. They had sent out pre-tapes to reviewers beforehand just so the atrocious reviews would hit the front page before airing. But they were entirely remiss in their expectations of American public. Hell the entire world. Not only did this one episode expand viewership, but is cited as the sole reason it expanded worldwide. It had pushed the boundaries so far, that people absolutely loved it. Was so asinine and unrelatable that people felt solace in their own lives. The silver lining, with us, the now highly popular writing staff on board, and complete lack of Randy in the episode, the execs now found him expendable. Randy ended up spending the next five years living in a commune in Guatemala. The few reports we have make it seem like he’s doing alright. | 2015-10-16T08:01:41 | 2015-10-16T07:12:02 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] You possess the ability of persistent lucid dreaming. Accompanied by a strange man/woman, together you build a world you revisit every night. One day you see them at a coffee shop. You immediately recognize each other. | "Today, love, this nation is ours. For now, and forever," I told Maya, gripping her hand and smiling with excitement.
She jumped up and down, giggling with glee, and drew Arakh from its sheath. Blue streaks of light danced across rocks as the sun gleamed off her majestic sapphire sword. Without even waiting for me, she'd taken off.
I sighed with exasperation, leaping from the cliffside with Shisu slicing the wind behind me in a blur of jade and gold. *She's always so god damned hasty.*
We cut through flesh and fur as the Verküth army swarmed us pointlessly. They were but putty before our might and blades, and we were sculptors.
"Ah, that was too easy," Maya groaned, covered in thick black blood.
"Well, you designed this one. Don't complain."
She sneered at me and walked toward the slain King's broken convoy, retrieving a golden scroll from his body. We looked to the south, where the sun was setting over a sea of bodies and blackness.
"Tomorrow, I won't go easy on you like this," I told her with a sly smile. "I've got a few ideas that don't involve the measly Verküth and a basic slashing mission. We didn't earn this scroll."
"Come on- it's fun once in a while, isn't it?" She laughed and walked up to me, kissing me goodnight. Or, well, good morning, I suppose.
------------------------------------------------
I awoke in my bed to the sound of an alarm's screech and stretched. *This world is so boring and plain by comparison. Fuck work.*
Even worse, I'd dreamt too long, leaving me poorly rested for the day.
Lunch break couldn't come fast enough for me. I went over to Harry's for a club sandwich and coffee, like I usually do, when I saw her. We locked eyes from across the room and immediately recognized each other. There was no doubt in my mind.
"Hey, Dianne! Long time no see," I joked- we worked in the same department. "You look pretty tired. Long night of partying?" I winked.
"Very funny," she replied, rolling her eyes. "But in a sense, something like that. Pretty intense dreams and stuff. Now get back to work, lazy."
I looked at her quizzically. *I wonder if...*
*Nah. Don't be silly.*
I dragged about the rest of my day as I always do, swinging my pen around in daydream, wishing for nightfall.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/43mjo9/wp_you_possess_the_ability_of_persistent_lucid/czkbwjv)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/43mjo9/wp_you_possess_the_ability_of_persistent_lucid/czlsv0t) | I reached over and picked my phone off of my nightstand. 12:30. *Damn, I was supposed to meet her a half an hour ago*. I quietly laughed to myself as I set the phone back down. *Oh Jacob, there you go getting wrapped up in your own delusions again*. When you have persistent lucid dreams like me you often blur the lines of reality and fantasy. But there was one thing I could never quite grasp, and it was tantalizing.
I could build anything I wanted in my dream planet. Tall glass skyscrapers, vast and beautiful mountains, bustling cities rich with common folk who would delightfully cater to my every whim. The people I created were pleasant, of course, but naturally lacked what I can only describe as a soul. Maya was different though. I had imagined her at the very beginning. Hell, we practically grew up together on that illusioned planet. She was stunningly beautiful to me. Not the average pin up girl as you might expect, but perfectly imperfect. And no matter how hard I tried (and trust me some nights I did) I could never shake her of her free will. She said what she wanted and did what she wanted, and always with admirable grace. I remember the night we were stocking a lake with an assortment of vibrant exuberant fish...
"Jacob" she began.
"Yes, love?" I joked playfully. She smiled but her gaze never left the lake.
"I want to stock this lake with crane" she said.
"OK" I rose off the ground and brushed myself off as I began to conjure some cranes from the clouded memories I retained from watching discovery channel. I had never actually seen a crane in person before.
"No" she interrupted. "I want the crane to be like the folded origami cranes my mother used to make for me."
"Oragami cranes huh? That's pretty silly, considering we just stocked these hyper-realistic fish don't you think?"
She smiled again.
"Silly perhaps, but beautiful."
At that moment lively Oragami cranes of every color soared over our heads and elegantly encircled the lake. She was truly an artist. My mind was always conjuring realistic, practical objects in this world. She truly made it unique and alluring. Maya may have been the cause for many of my failed relationships in the real world. Sure I'd had my share of ups and downs with a handful of interesting women, but none of them held a candle to Maya, and I only had my imaginative mind to blame. The calm night finally swept me away into sleep and slowly my blurred vision focused on Maya's glowing countenance.
"You're late again," she claimed with her arms crossed and her feet tapping the floor as she so often did. I smiled, "well it's good to see you too." That night we constructed a monumental fountain together. I worked out the mechanics as I always did and she painted the scene in serene beauty. We marveled at our creation together as we held hands on a bench. I conjured a daisy in my hand and wove it through her thick brown hair just behind her ear. She rested her head on my shoulders. We sat until the inevitable piercing light penetrated the sky signaling the arrival of real consiousness. *What a good dream*.
I reached over and silenced my phone. I got up, brushed my teeth, fed my dog and told him to be a good boy, and grabbed my keys to leave my apartment. I took a final look back and sighed. *Reality is the labor I must endure so I can return to you every night*. I had a good half hour to kill so I stopped by a local coffee shop to grab a pick-me-up. I sat at a table near a window and let the natural light illuminate my newspaper, sipping coffee inbetween paragraphs. In the corner of my eye I saw someone place something before me. Curious, I dropped my newspaper to see what it was. Chills consumed my body from my head to my toes. Sitting before me was a handcrafted origami crane, just like the ones Maya had evoked. My coffee mug slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. It must have caused quite a stir in the shop but I had no idea. Everything around me blurred to oblivion as I focused my gaze on the person who had placed the crane.
"Maya..." I uttered as a sweet smile stretched across her face.
*sorry for the shit formatting. On mobile. Constructive criticism welcome!* | 2016-01-31T23:21:09 | 2016-01-31T21:10:36 | 435 | 166 |
[WP] Ancient custom dictates that once a year the old or crippled warriors are led into the arena for a final battle against the young warriors, thus ensuring an honoured place in the afterlife. Despite everything, you are kicking butt armed with nothing but a cane.
Bonus points for ignoring the last sentence and writing about the inner turmoil of warriors facing their friends and comrades across the sands, and the grim duty of sending them honourably to Valhalla. | Sun Tzu said: "All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive, when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near."
These wise words repeat themselves, my constant reminder of the wise man whose teachings graced me with life through three wars. Each soldier in the great general's army was taught the Art of War as a child, not only in theory, but such that it moulded our movements in battle.
A young man, not older than the year of the rat, runs towards me sword raised like a wild animal. He is undisciplined, arrogant. I wait until he draws near. Wait. Parry now, cane at a sharp slant so his sword glances off instead of cuts through the thin bamboo. At he stumbles past me, I bring the wood down hard on the back of his knee, careful not to break it. The emperor needs as many men as possible for the wars to come, and I wish not to dishonour him.
Another approaches. This one more cautious. He understands the cost of his friend's overconfidence. He is tall and wields a spear. I cannot beat him with only the stick in my hands. But there exists another weapon for my use.
"Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt."
A swift flick of my wrist casts a cloud of sand into his eyes. Now strike. I advance and step down on his spear. Pinning it to the ground. No sight and no weapon, I strike twice on his neck, then one more on his skull, knocking him unconscious. I thirst for death, yet my honour prevents me from simply allowing one of them to win. I yearn only for a worthy opponent to end my life. Yet seven have so far faced me, and seven have failed. Their inexperience is the reas-
The arrow pierces my throat with a splashing sound. I remain standing, feeling the chiseled stone protruding, with the warm, wet blood trickling down it. He approaches, sword drawn, ready for the final blow. "Well done. A worthy death". The last thought through my mind is that of Sun Tzu: " If you know the enemy and yourself you need not fear the result of a hundred battles."
Finally, I find peace. | "*Survival, that's what matters, living to fight another day. To strike another blow. Men who survive are to be regarded as heroes, who will bravely put their lives at risk for their people again. Who wear their scares with the pride of someone who knows that someday they may have more*" - Tablet of Itkapua
Needless to say, there weren't many men like this.
"intelligence" Kohn muttered as he shuffled down the road with his son " that is what people need. That is the problem with everyone. They don't think! They think with their arms, not their brains. Hah, I don't think most of them know that the brain exists! Uncultured swines"
Silently, Hulon listened to his father. Normally, he would smile politely but today he didn't have the life for it. Walking down the dirt road, amidst the loud merchants and wooden houses, he would smile and feel his spirit lifted. He would feel his body warmed by the caressing of the sun's rays. But today, the merchants seemed to be very far away and the houses around him belonged to strangers.
The faded wood all around him reminded him of the past. The dull red of the blacksmith's reminded him of his first sword, the dull green of the alchemist's reminded him of his first potion and the pale blue of the hospital made his scars itch. In each of those memories, he had been with Kohn. His father had always stood beside him.
Looking up at him, Hulon noticed how much he had changed. Long grey hair grew where it had been black before. Wrinkles lined a once youthful face and the beard he once prided himself on was unkempt. But his eyes, they were still as sharp as he remembered them and beneath the shuffling walk he saw strength. He saw the figure of a man who never gave up.
Everyone knew Kohn's story, the scratches on his worn armour. He had lived when he should have died. Time and again, he found a way to escape death's grasp. When others charged, he struck from behind. But still no one listened to him. No one listened to his way of fighting, of being smart. Behind his back they called him a coward. Inflamed by the emotions of important men, they refused to see the number of men Kohn had killed.
Well, Hulon listened.
He really had no choice. He wasn't as tall or as strong as the other warriors. For years, he had been cast aside by his teachers as the weakest. Until they began forgetting about him.
Sometimes, people seemed surprised when he talked. As if they didn't remember that he was there. In reality, he had learned how to fade away a long time ago. How to be forgotten so no one could hurt him, so no one would touch him.
Countless time his life had been saved by this and many lives had been lost.
"Hey, are you listening to me?" Kohn snapped.
Startled, Hulon snapped out of his memories and looked at his father. What he saw there, framed by the light of the sun, became engraved in his mind. Tears streamed down his father's face. The wrinkles, however, were gone. The grey hair seemed as strong as the black and there was order in the mess of his beard. Yet what he really noticed was those teary eyes that seemed to pierce his thoughts.
" I have always said" his father began "to anyone who listens that you have the most wonderful eyes I have ever seen. When you look at someone, there is no doubt that you are listening. Your eyes are focused, calm and show that you listen. I am blessed to be your father. No, I am blessed to have ever known you"
Looking at his father, Hulon began to cry. Beneath the strength of his eyes and beneath the false weakness of his figure, he was a man. Beneath the warrior, he was a father. Beneath his experience are years of joy and hardship.
And they expected Hulon to kill him.
--To be continued....
-------------------------
Thanks for reading, I wrote this in a hurry - I'll re-write it and continue it as soon as I can!
| 2016-07-18T08:09:59 | 2016-07-18T07:31:36 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] Two time travelers, one from 1750, and one from 1320 land in Times Square in 2016. The one from 1750 is trying to explain to the one from 1320 what's going on. | “By God! This is cooked to perfection.”
Roland Vanderville was seated on a bench and looked to be in a state of utter bliss. He took a bite of his hot dog, coated with a thick layer of fresh chili, and turned to his traveling partner. Alexander Rantham of East Collinship was not impressed.
“There hath been sausages cooked over the fire by the village idiot that tasted better,” Alex groaned, tossing half of his meal into a nearby garbage can.
Roland took a deep breath, then coughed after inhaling fumes from a nearby cigarette smoker.
“So – echhhh – what do you think – ahem – of this place?”
“I cannot say for sure. You said all this brightness was – what do you call it – electricity?”
“Precisely. Hard to believe it’s come this far. You know, this is where one of those British colonies used to be.”
“I hath no knowledge of 'Britain'. Or a 'colony'. And these strange costumes make me feel as though I am in a dream.”
A fellow in a knockoff Elmo costume wandered by.
Roland stroked his chin. “It appears to be some sort of large-scale theatrical production! I deeply admire the commitment to character here. But I must say, I’ve never seen audience participation to quite this extent. What do you think it is? Shakespeare?”
“Shakespeare who?”
“I’m sorry, lad. Arriving from the fourteenth century must be a bit, uh, challenging.”
“You are correct. I assume some of these glowing boxes are shops? But no blacksmith around, and certainly not a meeting hall…”
“Ah, that’s the thing, Alexander. Everywhere is a meeting hall. That place on the corner is called a ‘Starbucks,’ if my research is correct. People congregate there to get ‘brews’ nearly every morning. It’s apparently quite a widespread tradition.”
“I wish there was a bit more quiet. I am tempted to run an axe through one of these ‘cars.'"
“When I dropped by 1940, the vehicles weren’t nearly this...aggressive. Perhaps the more people there are, the more they feel the need to use the horn."
Alexander sighed. “I suppose so. Though I must admit, Sir Roland, it is nice seeing so many people all together. And they all look so…different.”
Roland chuckled. “It’s called a ‘melting pot’ for a reason.”
They both sat on the bench for a while, observing the colors, hypnotized by the screens.
“Dost thou desire to purchase some of those chairs and head back to my land for a home-cooked meal?”
“Absolutely, my friend.”
Alex and Ronald stood up, clapped three times, and disappeared into the cosmos.
***
*Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites.*
| The first thing Joseph noted was the sheer amount of *noise.*
The roar of these strange moving things, the throngs of people all around him, the sights and sounds of another world, so moved him that he almost fainted. Unfortunately he did not, and so he had to regain his bearings.
In the year 1750 this place would surely be uncolonised. The new world had changed; it had become something like the old, unknown world. And these *people!* Gadzooks, they were all dressed in - in those *things*. Some of the passers-by had these flaps of clothing hanging off their necks, and shirts that were whiter than any white Joseph had ever seen. And so many different ones, too, red and white and blue, a mix of colour, an explosion of sound everywhere, a taste of life-
Joseph was nearly knocked over by the force of a blow from behind.
He turned around, and behind him there was a man with a plain white shirt and blue trousers looking bemused.
"Watch it!" the man yelled.
Joseph wanted to say something back, but momentarily he was stunned into silence. The man spoke English, but it wasn't like any English he had ever heard or spoken. Seeing that Joseph was mute, the man simply grunted and moved on.
People didn't stop to gawk in this square. New York was the melting pot of the world, and if someone wanted to get dressed like a Pilgrim - well, that was his bloody business. Joseph kept walking, gaping in awe at the buildings before him, eliciting one or two stares from passers-by. He got no further comments.
Then, as if by magic, another man seemed to appear before him-
Joseph flinched, and the Indian completed his appearance. This second appearance was enough to stop the crowd, who started looking increasingly interested in the buck naked man that had just appeared in their vicinity.
"Stand back!" Joseph roared. He knew very well the threat - some of them could be domesticated, Joseph thought, but some - well, it was better to avoid and never know, than be killed and find out. Blindly, Joseph took a few steps back, but then he tripped over someone's foot, and Joseph fell backwards.
"Whoa!" the passer-by said. "Chill out, du-"
The man was wearing sunglasses, and he had frozen solid, in the middle of Times Square. Quickly, he looked at Joseph, than back at the Indian, and then back at Joseph again.
And here Joseph summoned all his strength, and spoke up.
"Who art thou?" he asked.
The man seemed bemused as he helped Joseph to his feet. "What's wrong with this guy, then?"
The noise mounted, singing in Joseph's head; he was powerless to keep it all out. "Who art thou?" Joseph repeated the question, this time to the Indian. But the Indian seemed even more confused than before.
"I am Joseph," Joseph lectured to the Indian. "I reached this land by fickle chance - I know not how I arrived. I am from New Amsterdam - pray tell, where am I *now?*"
The Indian's eyes narrowed, though he didn't understand a word of English. Joseph couldn't know, of course, that the difference wasn't just one of mere language, but also one of time. Had he known, he might have been tempted to play it a little differently. As it was, the hostility seemed to engulf them both, like it always will even at the best of times.
By now a small crowd had formed around the two of them, encircling Joseph and the Indian like they were duelists. Eventually, the he sea before them parted, and a small police officer pushed through.
"Alright people, alright...what's going on?"
She looked at Joseph, then back at the Indian, before suddenly realising what was going on.
"Iroquois?" she asked.
The Indian smiled, and for the first time, he nodded. Stamping his feet into Times Square, he said, "Manhatta."
"Manhattan!" Joseph blurted out. "Tis' the same location! But then what fickle chance..."
The officer was wearing a look of greatest concern. "Come on then, you two," she said, holding one hand out to each of them. "We'd better get you guys down to the station. You're going to have a lot of explaining to do."
---
/r/KCcracker | 2016-07-18T09:19:09 | 2016-07-18T09:07:31 | 285 | 91 |
[WP] Suddenly across the globe, large, feathered, rotted corpses begin to drop out of the sky. They are soon identified to be Angels. | "Whelp." Marv sucked on his teeth and tucked his thumbs into his dusty suspenders. It was difficult to see the descending shadows as they tumbled like flakes of ash out of the low, sickly green skyline now. The deluge had slowed over the past few days. "I guess them hippies were right. We shoulda reduced our carbon footprints. Who knows what heaven musta been like."
The boy sitting on top of a rusted-out car next to Marv wiped the back of a dirty hand across his forehead to smear some of the grimy sweat collecting along his hairline. "...can we eat 'em?"
"What?! No, boy! Whatchu mean, can we eat 'em?"
Instead of chastened, the boy looked thoughtful. "Well, I'd bet even with the pollution and all they are safer than stuff down here. And it's not like we're gonna have the money to buy synthmeat any time soon."
"Hm."
Well, the boy wasn't *wrong.* Two days later, Marv answered a question he never thought he would ask: Yes, angels taste a bit like turkey jerky. The spicy variety. Must be all that righteous fury. | The angel of death stood on the viewing platform of the Empire State building, watching his brethren fall with glazed eyes. He felt it too; the sharp pain in every one of his nerves, the searing heat of Hell opening, the terror, as everything did not go to plan. He got distracted by the screams below, and the immortal flesh of his left arm turned black with rot. It took all he could muster to bring it back to a dull, sickening grey. A legion of heavenly angels screamed and fell to Earth, on fire with red, unholy flames, and leaving a smoke trail as black as sin. Death sighed. He felt selfish. The demon-spawn of Lucifer were attacking Heaven and Earth, and the rising death tolls in both were keeping him alive, if just barely. God and the archangels had left to deal with His Darkness himself, but they were gone, Death felt it.
An immense heat and a dull throbbing appeared behind him. Leaning against the railing, he turned on weak legs and smiled with yellow teeth at the monster before him.
"God," It spoke, "is dead. But I suppose you already knew that, didn't you? I mean, I'd understand if you were in denial, or if you started drinking, but we all have to grow up and face the facts. For example, I lost my Father when I was very young, because he shunned me and my (It gestured vaguely, and took on the corporeal form of Anton Lavey) liberal ideas."
Death snorted, and grimaced. "You weren't liberal, you were evil! You killed for sport and ruined humanity! You broke God's heart! You were his favourite! He loved you and you took that gift and threw it all away to have fun! He banished you instead of killing you because he loved you!"
Lucifer rolled his eyes, and the New World Trade Center crumbled down. "He just saw me as a way to achieve his means. He used me and mine and the prison he built for me as a way to gain power without cheating, as if lying's any better. God," he chuckled, "no pun intended, but he was an idiot thinking I'd just play along with his plan. 'Intelligent design' my arse."
Death trembled, and puked blood. He was too tired to speak, and he let his muscles atrophy. His skin began to flake away, and his last image was Lucifer, standing over him, shaking his head, grinning like an idiot.
When he was certain Death had died, Lucifer took the angel's skull and drew a small vial of blood from a hidden pocket. He dabbed his finger, and drew his centuries old sigil on the forehead. "Luciferi excelci nomine dei nostri satanas," he laughed, and he threw the skull to the pavement below.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
Edit: Damn autocorrect | 2016-07-19T07:42:38 | 2016-07-19T07:14:04 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] As a henchman to the Joker, you've now broken the record for the longest surviving employee. This means you'll receive something no one ever has from him: your annual review. | Weird place, this is. Well, that's not entirely true. Pretty standard for most people really. Weird for my boss is what I mean to say. Whole place smells of marble floor buffer and office supplies. Makes sense, in a Gotham sort of way. It honestly wouldn't surprise me if the big guy was actually paying the monthly rent on this place. That'd be right up his alley. Probably signed "The Clown Prince of Crime" on the lease, just to see what it felt like (or just to tease the Bat with once he finds out all he had to do to stop the most recent crime wave is check the zoning permits).
Here she comes. Is she here for me? No. She's here for him.
"Your 12 o'clock's here Mr J."
Guess she's the secretary today.
In all the time I've been with Joker, the craziest thing I've ever known him to do is shack up with that lady. 10 out of 10 in my book, but any lady who would take Joker as a boyfriend has got to be certifiably insane. She'll slit his throat mid coitus one day, I'm sure of it. Or worse; take him to court for alimony. Women are all nutters. Cold hearted nutters.
"Ahhh, WONDERFUL! Thank you Ms. Quinn! Send him in!"
Guess that's my cue.
I hope I'm dressed properly. I wore my best suit for the occasion; Polyester tweed with brown and orange striped patterning; White silk gloves that come up to my elbow; Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle cuff links. Wanted to be fancy, but I don't know. Joker's never been one to put on airs. I'm sure it's fine.
The big guy's office is a bit messier than I would have thought. You'd think the CEO of his own crime family would be a bit more organized. Not this guy. I suppose that's why I like him though. He's a cool boss. Not like my last boss. That guy was uptight.
"Come in! Please, sit down. Better yet, stand... on your head."
This guy! He knows how to keep things casual. Starting to get light headed though.
"First things first. How ya doin'? Can I get you something? Water? Tea? cola?"
"No thanks, boss. I'm good."
"Good man. You know why you're here?"
"I think so, boss." Starting to feel a little whoozy.
"Great! Well, I've been going over my records, what with it being tax season and all, and I noticed something very special about you. You're not dead."
"Nothing gets past you, boss." Man, I'm starting to get a bit uncomfortable. Should I say something?
"That's why I'm the boss! So, I come across this information, and I think to myself, 'How do I fix this?' And you know what?"
"No. What?" Starting to get tired. Hope I don't fall over.
"It was EASY! All I have to do is KILL you! So I sent for you and now here you are, standing on your head in my office with my gun pointing right at your... Actually, could you get back on your feet? I'm used to aiming a bit higher. I'm afraid I'll miss, then WHAMO! Testicles all over my office."
"Sure thing, boss. Honestly, I was beginning to feel a little worried. Thought I was going to pass out during your presentation."
"Oh? Well, I am terribly sorry about that. Why didn't you say anything?"
"I didn't want to be rude."
I made him smile. Look at that! It's a good feeling, to make others smile. Especially the boss.
"You know something, whatever your name is? I like you! You're polite. And fashionable! Where'd you get that suit? I must know."
"Well, the gloves belonged to my grandma, may she rest in peace. The cuff links I bought with money I stole from the jewelry store that sold them. And the suit was my dad's. Glad you noticed, I went through an awful lot of trouble digging him up to get it when I heard you wanted to see me today."
"Ahh! So that's what that smell is! You know, I couldn't quite place it, but I had a sneaking feeling it was corpse. You know, I was all set up to kill you. Now I'm not sure. You tell me, should I kill you? Pros and cons, I need a cost/benefit analysis to decide."
"Uhh. I don't know boss. I don't really have a head for figures. That's probably why I dropped out of school to be a busboy at Big Belly Burger."
"But now you work for me. Do you miss your old job? Would you be happier back there?"
"No. I like you, boss. The boss at Big Belly Burger was kinda uptight, and not very generous. He gave the entire staff iTunes gift cards for Christmas. Like we don't already get all digital media for free! Useless. Made me mad."
"Oohhhh! That tears me up inside! How out of touch can you get?! I tell you what, let's go kill him! Where was that Big Belly Burger?"
"He's not there anymore. He's at Arkham."
"Arkham, huh? My old stomping grounds. I remember admission standards there used to be quite high. Seems to have gone down in quality since my graduation I suppose, letting someone like THAT into the place. Are there no STANDARDS any more?"
"I don't know. He just started crying the day I quit and stopped moving, so they took him away. I think he knew he was losing a valuable employee and couldn't handle it. Also, I fed everyone who came to the Big Belly Burger that day meat that was made from his wife and kids, so he probably missed them too. Who's to say what makes a guy go whacky?"
"You know something? You're gonna go far in this organization. You get a promotion! Let's celebrate!" | Rusting pieces of partially finished roller-coaster track and partially painted merry-go-round horses sat on the floor of the abandoned factory for the Gotham Amusement Manufacturing Corporation. The horses had graffiti on them, all of them with a Joker-like look. In the middle of the factory, a vat of acid boiled while a henchman tested activating a slowly moving winch above it, at the end of the cable was a mannequin which happened to be dressed like Margaret Thatcher. At the other end of the floor, beefy men with T-shirts that said "Henchman #1" and "Henchman #2" were fighting in a ring, with others betting on the outcome.
A voice rang in an old-style PA system over the place. "Paging Mr. Jenkins" Harley's New York voice, reverberated through the factory, "Mr. J wants ta seeya." As tough as they are, as much as this organization was all about looking out for only #1, all of them knew what that meant, and they looked at Jenkins with some sympathy as he looked up at the overseer booth that Joker had made into his office. The windows were darkened, but there was a machine gun that was trained on Jenkins, and followed him as he started to go towards the exit. He slumped his shoulders and started to walk up the rusted steel steps, jumping over step #5 because it was about to fall apart.
Harley was behind a desk in front of a typewriter. She had a bouffant-style wig on over her hat, and old-style 1950's glasses that were rimmed with rhinestones. She tilted her glasses down and looked down her nose at Jenkins. "Have a seat."
Jenkins looked behind him and realized that there were no chairs. Only a hole that fell through to the manufacturing floor with twisted rebar partially obstructing it.
"SEND HIM IN!" Joker said in a cheerful voice. "SEND THE LUCKY BOY IN!"
Jenkins trembled and headed towards the office, even as Harley looked down at him with the glasses tilted down, shook her shoulders back and forth, and then started typing. He opened the door and walked in.
Joker was wearing a full three-piece suit with a huge flower on the right breast. His desk had a picture of Harley in front of a little house, wearing a flowered dress and the same bouffant wig. Her right hand held the hand of a terrified looking little kid that was no doubt kidnapped.
"She's something else, isn't she Jenkins?" Joker moved in front of him, and Jenkins tried to read his expression, ready to try to dodge out of the way of a bomb, or acid, or any number of things.
"Reeelax, Jenkins. I called you in for a happy occasion. And you all know how much I like happy occasions?" Joker put his finger on a device on his desk which Jenkins had missed when he walked in, and realized it was a bomb. The timer was set to 10 minutes, and started to tick down.
Joker laughed. "I read some time management techniques, and learned about putting a timer to limit my meetings. I thought it was a wonderful idea and I wish I'd thought of it sooner! Anyhoo, times-a-wasting, so let's get to it! I looked at the calendar and do you know what I found?"
"W-w-what's that, boss?" Jenkins eyed the timer.
"Why, it's the anniversary of the Bunsen Burner. Isn't that wonderful! Also it's your one year anniversary. And that makes you a standout because you're the only one standing out of everyone that worked for me in the last year. Ha ha!"
"I, uh..."
"Oh so articulate! Well, no one can claim that I hire for smarts. But, then again, you're alive. That has to count for something. In fact, you're one of my most successful henchman. HARLEY!"
Harley walked in on high-heels, accentuating the swing of her hips, and handed Joker a file, which he opened.
"Harley, what do you think of Jenkins here."
Harley pulled the glasses down again, and peered at him. "He's smart, and dedicated and gets things done."
"Oh yes, it says right here in this report that he's consistent and works best under pressure-cooker situations...no wait. You brought me a recipe for chili. Needs more arsenic in this one, I think. Thanks Harl, you can go."
"How long will you be, Mr. J?"
"No more than..." Joker looked at the bomb, "6 minutes and 23 seconds."
Harley flounced out as Joker grabbed a gun from his desk, as well as two cigars.
"Do you think that you deserve a promotion, Jenkins?"
"Um, whatever you want boss."
"Whatever you want boss," Joker mocked. "Why do I always get Yes-men? Oh, right, because I kill everyone who says no." He pointed the gun at Jenkins.
"You're doing a terrible job. I hire henchmen to screw up, you know. How else can I make sure Batman can face me down in the final battle if my henchman succeed? Do you know the mission statement of this company m'boy?"
"Uhh...to take over Gotham City?"
Joker put the gun down, but used it to make his points as he talked. "Tut-tut-tut, nothing so simple, I could have done that any day, no, think bigger Jenkins!"
"To take over...the...world?"
"Oh please. I'm going for something MUCH harder and more important."
Jenkins' mouth fell open as he looked at Joker. "Wha..."
"I still have failed at all of my schemes this year, again and again. And I finally figured out why. You make a perfect inside-man. Because you're not just on my payroll, are you?"
"I..." Jenkins started to look at the window, hoping that he could dive through it in time.
"Oh, don't be coy, I'm THRILLED. You're working for HIM. And for an entire year! Betrayal is a wonderful thing, and you pulled it off. Until now."
He looked out the window at the winch mechanism lowering the mannequin. He grabbed an old-style microphone and pushed the button at the bottom. His voice reverberated through the factory, "MAKE SURE THAT LOWERS MORE SLOWLY. THAT'S TOO FAST YOU IDIOTS!"
Joker put the mic down and walked over behind Jenkins, and put a cigar in Jenkins' mouth, and then one in his own. Then he put the gun underneath Jenkins' chin.
"Let me tell you what my mission is." The timer on the bomb was at one minute eight seconds. "It's to make the most humorless person in the universe laugh. Batman. And how can I do that if he doesn't know where my lairs are?"
Joker pulled the trigger on the gun, and a flame came out of it, which he used to light the cigar. "Happy anniversary Jenkins! Keep up the good work!"
Just then, the windows in front of the factory broke open, as Batman kicked through on a zipline. Joker smiled big, and pushed a very large button on his desk, and a skylight opened, a ladder attached to a helicopter flown by Harley fell through, which he grabbed and got pulled out of the building.
The timer showed 10 seconds, Jenkins threw the cigar on the floor and ran into the first room and dove through the hole in the floor, grabbing some rebar on the way to swing himself to the floor diving underneath some heavy equipment. "BATMAN! It's A BO..." The office exploded.
| 2016-11-21T09:04:26 | 2016-11-21T07:30:01 | 64 | 19 |
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute. | So about 7,000 years ago Ollie dropped a boulder on my head. We were hunter-gatherers then, and he convinced me that there was a herd of red deer in a canyon near our camp. When I went there to check it out, he was on top of the ridge and rolled the boulder off onto me. It took a week for me to claw my way out.
Okay Ollie, funny prank. Ha fuggin' ha. But the thing is, he wouldn't shut up about it. As we progressed through the neolithic era, the bronze age, the iron age, when we were Roman senators, he would bring it up every single time we met.
Maybe it was kinda funny at the time, but not funny enough that I enjoyed hearing about it every week for 5,000 years straight. When our friend Hallie tricked our other friend Marko into being in Pompeii when Mt. Vesuvius erupted it was legitimately hilarious, and even they knew to shut up about it after a few centuries.
When the Renaissance and Enlightenment started in Europe, I finally figured out a way to get back at Ollie. As you can probably guess, being an immortal gets pretty boring. But the Enlightenment was a genuinely exciting time to be alive. I started making friendships with all the scientists and innovators: Newton, Galileo, Bayes, Kepler, Laplace. It was the first time something interesting had happened for me in thousands of years, and I immersed myself in it. When my astronomer buddy Giuseppe Piazzi up in Naples told me about his discovery of asteroids, I knew what to do.
Fast-forward 250 years. NASA's [Asteroid Redirect Mission](https://www.nasa.gov/content/what-is-nasa-s-asteroid-redirect-mission) is nearing completion, and an asteroid plucked from the asteroid belt is on its way to be put in orbit around the moon for further study.
Too bad the mission was doomed to failure from the start. The asteroid wouldn't achieve a stable orbit around the moon and would strike Earth instead. Their calculations for the orbital dynamics were the tiniest infinitesimal fraction of a percent wrong, and they had no way of knowing that. Why not? Guess who has two thumbs and has been subtly introducing tiny errors into every branch of science since its outset ... this immortal!
And, guess who was standing exactly where the asteroid struck, staring up like a dumbass while an asteroid hit him in the face?
Your move, Ollie. | We did it. We finally pulled it off! Yazbak was always so high-and-mighty and we finally put them in their place. The look on their face when they finally got the notice was priceless.
Sure, the dinosaurs were a nice touch. Eating, basically all of our other creations, both plant and animal; it was a great retort for having made all of the oceans water undrinkable. Round One: Yazbak.
Humanity was a clever little twist planned out by Hez, always waiting for an opportunity to build from nothing. If anyone could make lemons into lemonade (credit there too, literally) it was Hez. We always liked Hez.
It was dark when we all got together last, the meeting place was always so... exposed during the daytime. Despite the darkness, however, there was a noticeable difference to Yazbak. It had taken form. Now, a slender female human, tallish in the modern way of humanity but not too-tall that it seemed out of character. There was something about how she carried herself now that seemed like she didn't quite fit, like the suit wasn't tailored as well as it could have been but it wasn't unflattering, or was it?
The meeting wasn't long. Items of issue were doled out, things to be corrected were answered and old reports from the last meeting were resolved. All-in-all a very productive meeting indeed. No one of us could have predicted the Nazi's. It was known that occasionally the universe, and humanity, has a way of playing their own jokes from time-to-time. This was no joke, however, and it was unanimously decreed that we should take efforts to ensure that the planet not be challenged like that again. Two-point-three BILLION people were at stake. You're always happy to see your children leave the nest and fly on their own but when they start murdering each other en-masse it's time to step in. Death is no joke.
Time had passed and everything was looking great. Yazbak was pulling all of the right strings, things were falling into place, some of the others had taken forms as well, some were settling in to more mundane rolls across the globe. Hez was prime minister somewhere and doing a bang-up job, It was the perfect opportunity, we couldn't resist.
Snow was everywhere. We liked snow. It was a fun little way of using some of all of that damned water Hez was always going on about. They forgave you for that whole salt water thing, eventually, and now you had inadvertently made snowmen and skiing, all was forgiven. Our favorite thing about this whole project was the unintended positive consequences. No one planned Van Gogh or Renoir or Monet, they just happened. Sure, sometimes a Bieber or Kanye happen too but you just have to roll with the punches when they come.
A helicopter appeared in the distance, the blades whipping up loose snow into a frenzy. Little particulate water crystals blazing about gently stabbing us in our new human form. He had such an air of dignity about him for someone so callous and brash, he wore it well, true, but so undeserved. The bunker was... quaint, you know he has more elaborate bunkers but this was his way of saying he doesn't quite trust us yet. No matter, this will do. Vladimir always had a way of putting people in their place which is *exaclty* what we were counting on.
We got caught up, everything was in order. The suitcase was exchanged and a small envelope was placed on the table. He said that he knew "just the guy" for the job and a glimmer of mischief sparkled at the corner of his eye. The picture in the envelope was hideous, these humans have such a weird sense of humor, and pleasure, but no matter, we hadn't laughed that hard in a long while. We slid the portrait of the little orange man back into the envelope with the other less savory images. Vladimir was smiling, "this'll do nicely, very nicely indeed," we chuckled. The game was on and oh man was it going to be a doozie. | 2017-06-23T00:57:11 | 2017-06-23T00:05:18 | 220 | 10 |
[WP] You've been a gravedigger for 20 so years. Each coffin obtains a button that'll alert you if pressed. A buzzer goes off years after the burial of a coffin. | It was a quiet night. A little chilly for July, but soothing nonetheless.
Bob sat in his chair, absolutely bored.
Now you see, Bob was a normal man. Bob dug graves, and that was about what Bob did with his life. Outside of digging graves, Bob also watched ESPN and CNN. Bob liked football. It reminded him of his high school days. Bob was a bench player at Sallyvill High.
The only weird little thing about Bob, apart from a monotonous voice describing his life to you, was that Bob installed sensory buttons in every coffin he had lowered. He had numbered them and, for the past 20 years, none of them had lit up on his screen he kept in his office. Well, Bob called it his office, but it was really a place to watch ESPN and CNN. Bob had built it himself, with hard logs and steel window sills.
Bob dozed off a little, his tattered hat drooping over his eyelids.
Suddenly a light flashed. Then, all lights started flashing. The CNN broadcast was cut short, and a reporter started frantically yelling. "It seems that all corpses have reanimated as zombies! I am here at New York and it seems that... WHAT THE FUCK GET AWAY FROM ME..."
On Bob's screen, all the lights began frantically flashing. The corpses were now all zombies. Every single one of them. Except for Judie's grave. You see, Judie was brutally murdered by a serial killer, and only her head was found. Why Bob still installed that button is beyond the narrator's knowledge. Maybe Bob got hit a little too hard in his freshman football practices.
Bob kept sleeping, unaware of the danger right next to him. Except there was not a lot of danger. You see, the graveyard is one of the safest places to be during a zombie apocalypse. Sure, the bodies all reanimate, but they can't fucking dig through a hard wood coffin and six feet of packed dirt with their rotten little fingers. So Bob kept sleeping. | **That foggy night the chilling sound of the living dead sent shivers down my spine.**
Roger Turner is my name, I am a gravedigger with two decades of experience buried inside me. No one comes close to me in that field, that's why I work alone in Dreamsbury Graveyard, Ominous City's only graveyard... now that I think about it, the fact that all my coworkers disappeared mysteriously on their first night might have to do with my loneliness.
Last year, Major Walter Ekatsim invested in fancy coffins after his mother, Lady Likansy, was found horribly mutilated in her bedroom - I will only tell you that her coffin was almost weightless. Anyway, Walter was wrathful and incensed when he saw the - pardon my expression - shit boxes we had as coffins.
"Finally, investing in what really matters." I said, extasized when I saw the new coffins.
He gave me a disgusting look. "Turner, when was the last time you changed those rags that you call clothes?" He inquired, ignoring what I just said.
"Change?" I said bursting in a hideous laughter that quickly turn into a dead serious stare. "Every particle of dirt, every hole, every stain in my garments represent traces of the dead merging with me. To answer your ignorant question: two decades."
Walter's skin turned pale. "So the rotten smell didn't come from the graveyard." He mumbled as he examined the new coffins.
"What's that?" I asked, pointing at a red button in the top cover of the coffin.
"That's an alarm, in case someone get's buried alive." Instantly answered Walter. "Pretty good idea, don't you think?"
I swallowed hard, my forehead sweated slightly. "Y-Yes g-g-great idea." I stuttered and left.
*"If they only knew the mysteries that Dreamsbury holds."* I thought to myself.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**A year later**
The streets of Ominous contrasted with the darkness of the night. All 11039 inhabitants were celebrating the anniversary of Lady Likansy, as Walter ordered. Everyone but me, I knew what was coming that night.
11:58 p.m: My leg twitched uncontrollably as I waited in my humble hut in the center of Dreamsbury. A rusty shovel, an old scotch, some tea, a worn wooden table, a metallic kettle, a single hob and two stolen cups were all my possessions.
11:59 p.m: I got up and prepared two cups of my finest tea.
12:00: An strident sound repeated itself over and over again across Dreamsbury. A sound that I won't forget. At first I tried to convince myself that it was the whistle of the kettle but the noise was far from a too different.
12:01 a.m: "Don't be shy. I was waiting for you. I chose your favourite tea, you might recognize the cups too." I said, beckoning for her to join me.
The wooden walls of the hut slowly froze as she got nearer. "Roger, what happened to me?" She asked, terror cracked her spectral voice.
I sighed, "please, join me."
"Where's my body?" She asked as she looked down just to find emptiness.
"Lady Likansy I know you are overwhelmed with doubts right now but it will all be faster if you join me and just listen." I said, two decades have taught me how to treat the lost souls properly. "I will be your guide tonight."
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I will probably post a part two in: /r/chasisoxidado tomorrow!
| 2017-07-02T20:22:14 | 2017-07-02T20:15:08 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :) | *Captain S. Hoggoth, of the 40,000th Templar Division, Report on the failure of the Earthican War, Stellar date ASK 29.001..75.16.04*
We thought htat this would be a simple pump-and-dump. We had our Keyship loaded for bear, with thousands of rounds of ammunition. This backwater, the self-titled Earth, didn't even have stellar travel! What hillbillies!
...We did not account for their technological paths.
This species, dubbed *Homo Sapiens sapiens*, have near-unstoppable physical power, incredible healing capabilities without technology, and their weapons...we thought our Empire muskets were top-of-the-line weaponry.
These guys has lightning boxes; machines that would crush our armies and fire rounds so large we thought them *impossible*; flying ships of murderous intent, with their Whirling Blades of Death, and their cyclic sprayers that chew through ammo. Even their hand-arms were incredible, being capable of firing at the rate of a full clip of nine rounds almost instantly, and with better accuracy.
I am one of the last of our Imperial Army left alive. These things are cutting open my squadmates. It's only a matter of time before they come for me. I have uploaded everything I have found on their primitive communications technology they call the Web, as well as audio files through my quantum di-lithium crystal.
Tell my wife and children I love her. I'm not likely to be coming back. | "Hello there. You are a human...or Xogloytian, I assume. As you all know, We Xogloytians have been your friends for a few years. I, X-42, a former military squad leader, Has been authorized to give a personal narration of my own of the war here on this system The Internet"
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Our squad has been tasked on invading the portion of the planet they call "America." Intel has reported that this area is heavily armed and has advanced weaponry. I laughed upon hearing the word "advanced". These creatures can barely reach the end of their solar system! So what are the chances of their weaponry being advanced?
Our squad has arrived on our destination. We didn't hesitate. Upon exiting our ship, we killed every human our eyes can see. They were absolutely helpless. They can only run.
All was going well, Until an elite force called the "police" came. They tried negotiating with us and said they don't want violence. But we just shot them.
What happened next was surprising. They fired some sort of Musket at us, but smaller... and deadlier. One of my squad mates have been heavily injured just by one hit. They were extremely accurate as well: They managed to kill some of us in just one shot.
We called in support. Immediately, reinforcements came. But the humans had reinforcements as well. After barely escaping the police, we head to the place where the reinforcements shall arrive. But, as we approach the reinforcements, we were ambushed by the "Military". They were extremely aggressive. And, their weapons are horrifyingly powerful. Their muskets shoot a hundred bullets or more in a minute. We managed to hold out against them, Then their own aircraft arrived. Those aircraft dropped oval-shaped metal balls on us. And they caused EXTREME damage to us. One of those metal balls just performed an "explosion". A technology our race hasn't mastered.
We grabbed a vehicle and started driving away. We requested immediate extraction. But even more aircraft arrived. They sprayed us with tiny little metal bits (they call it bullets) Our vehicle has been heavily damaged. Then our path was blocked by a monstrous metallic vehicle. It was slow. But when it shot its cannon -- Our vehicle was destroyed in the blink of an eye. (they call this a tank)
We were surrounded by soldiers. We underestimated this race. Their weapons are far more advanced than ours. Then I realized the others have suffered the same fate. Everyone else was either killed or trapped. The humans threatened us:
We either leave alive, Or stay and get nuked.
I shivered at the word "nuke". They have mastered nuclear energy, And has weaponized it. One nuke could destroy our entire planet. And so our leader begged for mercy and made an offer: We will give them our intergalactic travel technology in exchange for their weaponry knowledge. All this without killing each other.
Their leaders have accepted this offer. And after that, things were pleasant. After every leader accepted the offer, the war ended. And peace ensued.
Edit: This was rushed -- So I didn't have time to think some of the stuff through. Thx for the feedback tho!
| 2017-08-08T05:41:07 | 2017-08-08T05:31:18 | 251 | 69 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits. | He watched, bored as people streamed in the bar, only stopping the ones underage, and occasionally a few just over to keep suspicions low. His kind was uncommon, and people
hunted for his power. It seemed like an odd thing to want, most just wanted it to make them feel *special*. At least, those that knew about it. Sometimes age didn't match up to looks, but he kept to his own, unless they were underage of course. But then *she* came along. As soon as the girl passed, his eyes flickered to the space above, knowing what he would see. The girl was likely 16, or 17, as was the guy with her. But she wasn't. 1000 was her age, the one with her was 1001. This wasn't possible, but yet, that's what it said. Maybe it was wrong? But he'd NEVER been wrong before. As they passed he realized his mouth had been hanging open and he shut it reluctantly. A tap on his shoulder made him jump, but it was only the guy taking over next shift. Perfect. Making his way through the crowd he saw the girl heading into a storage room with a 18year old, different from whom she came with. He shook his head, about to leave when a silvery glint caught his eye. The boy was nearby, a knife in his hand. The girl disappeared, the other following suit. Breath catching, he hurried over, sure he would be greeted with a bloodbath. The door shut behind him and he looked around. In the darkness he saw the pair fighting the young man, backing him against the wall.
"Jonathan, will you do the honour?"
He laughed in reply and stepped up, twirling a silver bladed dagger in his fingers. He laughed and drove the blade straight through the heart. Black blood flowed from the wound and the boy seemingly folded in on himself, disappearing all except for the puddle of black on the ground.
"Welcome to the world of the lightbringers, young one. We have long searched for one with a gift like yours, it will be quite useful. That is, if you don't mind joining us. Hunting demons is much better with more people involved, especially with talent like this. Let's get started, shall we?" | 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 2017-09-01T21:45:33 | 585 | 25 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits. | It was a typical night in LA. People getting piss all drunk and underage people trying to get into the club, my club. I always laughed at the smugness of some of them. Always compensating with false confidence, it was kind of pathetic. 15 years and a perfect record for keeping out underage guests and they still tried every night. Almost like they had something to prove.
This night however was about to get strange. I had just turned away a couple of probably seniors trying to celebrate graduation early when he walked up. Clean with a perfectly tailored suit that looked more expensive than anything I could afford with strikingly blue eyes like daggers of ice. His face terrified me. His sunken cheeks and sharp jaw really made him look threatening but the most terrifying part was his age. 8590. After a few seconds he spoke, his voice a flawless British accent.
"Are you going to let me into my club?" He spoke with a perfect smile.
"Yes, of course." I replied snapping out of my haze.
His club? He couldn't be serious, right?
The next night came and again he came; just as tailored as last night. This time he had a woman with him. I recognised her from somewhere but couldn't place it.
"Evening, I have a plus one tonight." He spoke cheerfully.
"Of course, sir." Who is this guy?
A few hours later both him and the woman exited the club and we're having a conversation on the sidewalk. He was flipping a coin, no spinning. He was spinning a coin as it floated above his palm. Floated. Then it all went to shit.
A car came by with loud rap music playing, a man pulled a gun and began firing on the man and the his guest and then was broadsides by a semi in the intersection.
The police arrived and questioned everyone. One of the detectives walked up to the apparently new owner of the club at the piano.
"Lucifer Morningstar?" She questioned stifling a laugh.
"The one and only." He replied.
That, can't be. He can't actually be. He'd have to older.
A few moments passed and he walked up to me and said.
"They only count years I've been on Earth." And walked off. | 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 2017-09-02T00:24:05 | 585 | 14 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | 28, 34, 21, and 54.
I remained where I stood, nodding to the guests in silent affirmation that they were allowed in. As they trudged past me and through the door of Barney's Strip Club, I reached into my pocket, fumbled for a cigarette, and stuck it in my mouth. Now where was my lighter? It would be so much easier if I could just-
20, 17.
Ugh. I groaned inwardly. 17? That was definitely not a number that should be here. Time to perform my job, I suppose. "Hey, you two. Hold it."
I shifted myself into the doorway, blocking the two young men from entering. Behind his expensive looking sunglasses, I could see the younger one already beginning to sweat. Was he really unable to wait for just one year longer? Honestly, kids these days... I sighed inwardly, but continued standard procedure.
"Excuse me, but can I see your ID?"
At the first mention of an ID, they both began to fidget. The younger one kept glancing over at the older... his brother, maybe? Eventually, the older one took charge, handing over two pieces of plastic with an artificial smile plastered on his face. I ignored the small talk he tried to make and pretended to study the cards intensely, while in reality I was rolling my eyes behind designer sunglasses. I didn't know the first rule about being a bouncer, let alone how to identify fake IDs from real ones. All the club wanted was for me to do was two things- keep out the riff raff out, and be good about it. Which suited me just fine.
"Nice try, kid, but you're going to have to try somewhere else." I couldn't be bothered to mess with these two any longer, as my cigarette was getting soggy. I handed back the IDs and glared them off. Any possible protests they contemplated melted like snow upon seeing my iron-set muscles, and they beat a hasty retreat. In my profession, it helps to be a mountain of a man like me.
And another thing that helped was this ability. The power to see numbers over peoples heads that showed their age- at first, I thought it was a stupid power, but eventually I came to see its use. After all, I turned out to make a pretty good bouncer, despite knowing nothing of the job. It came in handy for my other business as well.
Speak of the devil. I was just about to light my cigarette when something else caught my attention.
3,214.
A petite man who couldn't be over thirty, wearing an elegant tuxedo and tie that dripped of extra money, stood in front of me. He looked like your typical, unassuming gentleman, the type who wouldn't hurt a fly. And I might have been fooled by this disguise as well, if not for that 3,214 floating over his head. This wasn't work anymore. Now, it was business.
Once more, I sigh inwardly. Over 3,000? Then this might actually prove to be troublesome. As *they* get older, they get stronger as well. Feeling a pain welling up in my back from an old injury, I crack my neck around. Then I spit out my cigarette and lumber into the doorway once more, standing above this ancient wonder of a man.
Well, not that *it* is a man. The *thing* tilted its head in inquisition.
"Pardon me, but is something wro-"
I didn't give it a chance to finish its sentence. Pulling back my shoulder, I let loose a full powered punch straight into the face of the *thing*, a clean punch that would have demolished a building. And yet, even as the man goes flying, he's already fully regenerated by the time he hits the ground.
*It* immediately enters combat mode, transforming its arms into pairs of wickedly sharp blades, but I don't give it a chance to use them. Utilizing another power of mine, a more useful one, I ignite my fists into flame, and unleash a barrage of punches upon the creature until its been reduced to pulp. Only once its been melted into a puddle on a ground do I cease my attack.
"Ha... ha..." As I pant, I observe the creature for movement, but it appears to be completely and thoroughly dead. Just to make sure though, I light the remaining puddle on fire, and watch it evaporate into the air.
Sticking a new cigarette in my mouth, I light a fire beneath it with the snap of a finger. Then, leaning back against the wall, I crack my neck again, dispelling the misdirection barrier that I had erected around the area. Once more, customers begin to trickle in, and I continue my vigilant watch.
I work as a bouncer, but my real job is somewhat different. It just so happens that *they* like places like clubs, where life energy and youthfulness is abundant. But I'll be here. And I'll be watching. | I check their I.D.'s for fun now, noticing nose jobs and cheek implants and the occasional sex change. It doesn't matter though... there are always some who try to get past me. A strikingly beautiful blonde with a shining "19" above her head brazenly looking me straight in the eye, not a flicker of hesitation as she hands me a well made fake stating she was twenty three years old. The three men around her, all with numbers higher than my own glare menacingly as I shine my light on the counterfeit piece of identification. I decide it's not worth the altercation and let her through but I yearn to just whisper "Why are you trying to grow up so damn fast? There's nothing in here for you."
I never learned why I could see these numbers, to be honest I thought everyone could, and by the time I was old enough to question it, I knew enough not to bring any more attention to myself. Now it makes my job easy, and it's a neat trick at parties. I don't question when women lie to make themselves younger, and yes, occasionally I let someone who is trying make themselves older slide past, into the bar for their drinks and their laughs. Frankly... I just couldn't care anymore.
Ive seen it all, women who look thirty five but have a bright "50" floating a few inches above their head. Young men with full beards that would easily pass as mid twenties who are mere teenagers. It's remarkable, really, the variations in how humans age. Were I a man of more scientific inclinations I might feel compelled to get to the bottom of my "gift". In truth, I'm typically more concerned with when I can punch out and get drunk enough that the numbers start to blur and I can pretend I'm not seeing the mortality of others... but angels with luminous halos.
Every week I stand outside the door to a trendy L.A. bar and grit my teeth through the drip, drip of painful repetition. Mine was the sort of redundant occupation that people might complain gave them carpal tunnel. I used to look forward to the occasional bar room brawl to break up the monotony that has become my life, but as iPhones get larger and pants get tighter and more and more men declare themselves as "feminist" it's a rare occurrence that I can't set my hopes on. So instead I look at these little plastic rectangles and relish in the tiny details they hope won't be noticed. Live in L.A. as long as I have, and you'll see every nip and tuck.
Most nights, I arrive at the bar by seven thirty, have a beer or two with Lonnie, the bartender, before taking up my post on my wooden stool just to the left of a black painted door. I've worked at many bars but this bar had the unique distinction of being the only place I'd encountered that put forth an effort to appear seedy in order to sling overpriced whiskey sours to L.A. hipsters who wanted to feel as if they'd spent a night slumming it without any of the real life danger they might encounter were they to venture into an actual slum. You know the type, they wear ripped jeans that cost as much as my rent and carry folded paperback copies of "The Old Man and The Sea" in their back pocket. In other words...real winners.
Tonight was no different and after my second beer, some craft bullshit from down in San Diego that Lonnie said, "We're the only bar in L.A. That has this. Some guy literally brews this in his bedroom. It's totally exclusive", I took my seat and waited for the string of mullet wearing degenerates to pile in.
At first I rubbed my eyes, thinking maybe I'd blurred two people's numbers together. Maybe there was someone walking just behind him, out of view. Nope, as he got closer I stood up. The man was a little taller than me. Not any kind of unusual looking character, but not the typical patron of this joint either. He wore a simple suit and close cropped haircut, but what I was seeing couldn't be possible. The man looked to be at most, in his early thirties. The bright, shiny number hovering just above his dark hair however, showed "2021". I realized my mouth was open and that I was staring.
When he got closer he mumbled "hey" and reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, then, just like everyone else, an I.D. Just a normal California license with his photograph, his height, weight, address and name- "Christensen, Jess H." The birthdate gave him an age of thirty three but my gift had never been wrong. Ever. Not in my entire life had a number above someone's head been even a year off their actual age. This simply, wasn't possible.
I turned the plastic over and stalled for time, "So, from L.A. originally?" He replied, "Israel, actually, but it feels like I've been in L.A. since forever." I hand him back the card and he just smiled and walked inside.
All night I couldn't get the man out of my head. Was he some kind of vampire? Or maybe some monster of an Israeli Dr. Frankenstein? It just couldn't be. I came to the conclusion that something had gone haywire and my gift was starting to falter. "Shit" I thought to myself, "Now I'm gonna have to really start paying attention to birthdates." But the rest of the night my numbers always matched the birthdates on the I.D.'s. It seemed this man was the only one the glitch affected.
The night started to wind down and people trickled out as bar close neared. Finally, I noticed the four digit man slip outside. He stopped to light a cigarette and I don't know if it was the late hour or if it just bugged me too much but I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder, "Excuse me, man" He turned and smiled, this guy didn't seem like a monster. In fact seeing his face made me feel like I'd bitten off half a Xanax, but I persisted, "I gotta ask, you know, I have this real good knack for reading people and I gotta say... something's telling me you're older than you say you are." What he said back to me... well, it just about knocked me over.
| 2017-09-01T23:18:34 | 2017-09-01T21:03:45 | 189 | 122 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | One knows when they're in the presence of something ancient. A turn of phrase, the way their gaze meets yours, the way the air around them hangs, as though to communicate an unspoken form of reverence. Or fear. Simple folk like to trade their wives tales, attempts at justifying the things that exist just outside their conceptions. Makes them feel better.
I wonder what they'd say about me.
But my gift, a paltry glimpse into the age of those who cross my path, is nothing compared to the man- er, woman? Hard to tell after so many years. Anyway. Is nothing compared to the figure who comes, every eight months like clockwork, to visit our humble distillery. The first time I met them I thought, sure. Someone's slipped me something. Just because I can see the age of things doesn't make me immune to tampering. And I've been at this for a few decades.
All this to say, the first time I met the man (at the time) who saved my life, I had difficulty believing he was nearly four-thousand years old.
"Been around a while, then?"
"Oh, I dread to think."
"What brings you 'round the Juicy Jailer then?"
"It really wasn't my decision. Just passing through, I suppose."
"Not much inside worth your time, I'd think."
"Well. You'd be surprised what I find when I'm not looking."
Turned out he was right, as later that evening we learned the distillery had been housing an underground warehouse what took people and stuffed 'em into tin suits. Sy-buh whatitsorsomething' he called them. Made this dreadful, monotonous speech about "upgrading" everyone. But quick as a flash, this man had done them in and cleared out just as quickly as he'd come. I asked for his name, but he gave me his vocation instead. Weird bloke.
But you never can tell with Time Lords, can you?
| 4 digits. For a moment, my degree in mathematics failed me, as I struggled to count the numbers before me. Un, Deux, Trois, Quatre. There was no mistake, though the existence of such a person...frightened me. My vision had always been right, as evidenced by the guilty looks on the minors' faces when I turned them out of the bar. I'd never had to kick someone out for being overage. But 5746 years was a lot of time, far before Anno Domini 1. Was he immortal? A god? Or some old guy with a superpower? I didn't know, and I definitely didn't trust the 'Age: 30' that his ID proclaimed. Maybe my powers had faltered this time. Maybe...
From behind, I saw another man slowly approach me, his IDs in his hands. But as he made eye contact with me, his eyes widened in fear. I saw him whisper into the 4-digit-old man, with visible shock on both faces. That was when I saw the age of the newcomer. 5746.
I tried my best to suppress my shock, though I failed miserably. 1 was surprising enough, but 2? 2 men that had lived for the exact same time from so long ago? I was about to demand an explanation, but one of them beat me to it.
"Why are you 5746 years old?" he questioned, fear in his eyes. I opened my own wide. Could he read ages too? And was I...that old? No. That couldn't be right. I remembered my childhood, the photographic proof of my birh just 28 years ago. But they didn't seem to be lying, and the mention of that 4-digit number again was chilling. What kind of sick joke was my powers pulling? Or were they the ones pulling my leg?
"We've found another suspect, boss," one said into a walkie-talkie. The other drew a gun from his pocket, training the muzzle on my forehead. "What are you doing? You're-" I tried to explain, but he cut me off. "No more words, time traveller. We've waited long enough to catch you and your gang," he replied, smirking as a group of policemen appeared from the darkness. I felt the cool metal slide around my wrists, as I was forced towards the car. "Move!" one of them shouted. That voice...I seemed to recall. The cold handcuffs. The interrogation. Disjointed images flashes before my eyes, as they slowly became clearer, culminating in...
I knew now. But...why were they doing this? Was it a plot to throw of the police? "James!" I shrieked, to the man I'd once been partners in crime with. He chuckled, though I could tell it wasn't just for effect. I saw the twinkle in his eyes, the signature twinkle he gave when he condemned a foe to death. My other pal Aldrich stood by, his eyes conveying his helplessness. James' face wasn't one of friendliness anymore. It was one of animosity and hatred.
"Good riddance," I saw him mouth, as I was shoved into the car. As we drove off, I could still see him, as he advanced slowly towards Aldrich. I closed my eyes in cowardice, though I knew what would happen. What I had feared when I agreed to sacrifice my memories...it had all occured. There was no way back.
Even inside the driving car, I could hear the terrified screams. The circle of betrayal had been completed. | 2017-09-01T23:22:02 | 2017-09-01T22:15:29 | 62 | 16 |
[WP] You're possessed by a demon. You quickly realize he's never done this before. | The cramp in his calf knotted up again in white hot pain. “God damn it!!! Will you STOP doing that?”
A menacing and undoubtedly demonic voice replied back from within Fred's head. “Feel my wrath, human! I will impose my will on you as I see fit! Your shell is now my domain!”
The calf pulsed as the cramping intensified. Fred grabbed the edge of the sink and stared into his own bloodshot eyes. “Look. If all you can do is give me fucking leg cramps, you're either an asshole or you don't know what you're doing!” Silence hung in the air. “That's it! You don't know what you're doing! Do you?”
A voice roared in his head “SILENCE HUMAN! I WILL NOT.....”
Fred grimaced and quickly cut him off. “I will. Because all you can do is give me a charlie horse. I opened myself up to you. I performed the ritual correctly. I expected to be possessed by a demon who would guide me to greatness! What do I get? An idiot!”
The voice sullenly grumbled “I'm not an idiot.” as the cramping in his calf eased. “I'm doing the best I can.” Fred eyed his own reflection as his face drew into a contemptuous sneer. His own sneer. Not the demon's. “And now I know that demons can pout.”
“I'm not pouting!” the demon replied in a tone that was definitely pouting. “Do you think it's easy to just pop right in to someone and hit the ground running? For all the times I've done this I....”
Fred cut him off again. “How many?” The demon went silent. “HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU DONE THIS, DEMON?”
The demon sheepishly replied “Well. There's this time.”
“And?” Fred queried.
The demon coughed. “Just this time.”
Fred shook his head and sat down on the toilet. The cold porcelain pressed into his back. He looked at his naked body and studied the sigils he'd painted on himself for the earlier ritual. “Fine, demon. We're soul bonded, so I'm stuck with you. You and I are going to work together. I am going to teach you how to properly possess a human being. We are going to achieve greatness together. Do you understand me?” Silence hung in the air. “I SAID.... DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, DEMON?”
A quiet, “Yes.” echoed within his head.
“Now, demon, tell me your name.” “My name is Philbert.” the demon replied in a still-pouty tone. Fred rested his head in his hands. This was going to be a long and trying lifetime.
Edit: Line breaks! | "Oh... a visitor, how lovely." The words dripped sardonically from Manny's mouth.
"*Silence! You will obey me!*" shrieked the voice in his head.
Manny chuckled. "And why should I? Because you possessed me?" He strolls to the mirror to stare at his reflection, and smile at it with a condescension that made his words seem downright cordial.
"*Yes, exactly! I am in control now, now obey before I destroy your mind!*" The shrillness of the tone made the robed man chuckle to himself even more. This was going to be good.
"I can tell you're new at this, so I will give you this one chance, begone from my mind, and I will let you live." Manny's face turned dark in the mirror, his grin turned cruel, and he gave his reflection a menacing glare.
"*Do you think you... scare me?*"
A little sneer from the man in the black and red frock was all the voice got as an answer.
"*You...You can't hurt me!*" The words were less like a statement of fact, and more like a plea. "*They said you can't hurt me! You're helpless against me!*"
Manny bellowed with laughter. "Were I anyone else, perhaps. But your chance is now squandered, Elxafizath." The alien word rolled off his tongue fluidly. "By your real name, you will bring your corporeal form to me."
The voice let out a panicked squeal, and the twisted form of the demon wrenched itself into the room, bemoaning the fact that he was unable to resist. He almost immediately tried to slither back to his own dimension, but Manny's hand snapped like a viper to grab him. The oily-black energies that coated the man's palm stained the sallow flesh of the demon, and left it stiff as a board.
"*No! This isn't possible!*" The mind of the demon screamed, its body no longer obeying. "*Who are you? How did you know my name?*"
Manny sneered. "Emmanuel Rophe, that is my name. And you foolishly failed to even try to shield your mind from mine. So getting your name was trivial. I had it the moment you made your presence known."
If the demon could shiver under the effect of the spell, it would have. "*Let me go! Let me go and I will never bother you again! I don't want to be bound to a mortal's service!*"
Rophe's expression darkened. "Oh, I can assure you, you will not be bound to my service." His hand started to mingle with the flesh of the demon in a crackle of red energy now. "You will never be bound to anyone's service."
The mental scream of the demon seemed to echo through the room. The rank confusion was only matched by the rankness of its bowels as they emptied.
As more of his own skin tone spread over the demon's body, Manny started a monologue. "You chose not only a necromancer as your first target, but also a fleshcrafter, and a former member of the Argent Order."
The form of the being began to twist and wither. "*NO! It was just some harmless fun! A bit of a laugh! Please, stop this! I beg you, don't consume me like this!*"
The necromancer continued to drain away the flesh of the demon, using some of the mass to fuel the spell and absorb the foolish thing's powers into his own. He laughed again, as sinister as ever, "You had your chance to flee, and squandered it. Most don't get that kind of chance with me."
The demon's terror reduced its mental voice to pained and frightened wails, until it grew so weak that all there was were whimpers. Manny's voice bellowed stronger, as the rush of power from the demon's equivalent of a soul spilled into him. The villainous laugh echoed through the monstrous man's fortress, sending chills down the spines of his guards at their posts and filling those in the dungeon below with dread.
The laugh subsided as the last of the demon wilted into his arm. He looked at the site and muttered a single word.
"Fool." | 2017-10-07T09:19:54 | 2017-10-07T09:03:31 | 3,308 | 289 |
[WP] There are many gods, who create many universes. Our god, a preschooler, has just submitted our universe for his universe making class. His teacher sighs, shakes her head, slaps an F on it and begins to explain where he went wrong | “What is this? I asked for a universe and all you handed me is this blank canvas.” said Mrs. Smith
“It’s not empty. See, look! I put a dot on it. That’s my universe,” protested Stella.
Immediately Mrs. Smith brought her hand up to massage her forehead. “Oh dear, why can’t you be more like the other students Stella?” she asked. “Universes need fundamental laws and actual finite definitions of infinity. Yours, well yours is just a dot.”
“But Mrs…” interjected Stella.
“No buts or ifs missy. You obviously didn't pay attention again and thought you could create yourself out of this but, no.” said Mrs. Smith as she scorched an F on the canvas and handed it back to Stella. “Bring me a new one tomorrow if you want a chance at passing.” Mrs. Smith gave Stella a disappointed look as she got up from her desk and walked out of the classroom.
“I just wanted to see what happens if I squeezed everything into one spot,” thought Stella. She let the failed canvas fall from her hands as she walked out of the room to join the others outside at recess.
The canvas hit the ground with a bang.
edit: spelling. oops.
| “An F?” exclaimed E, gapping at his teacher in shock.
S sighed heavily. “Yes, E, an F.”
“B-but-“
"E,” S said gently. “You must understand that this world is unacceptable. The creatures you’ve created, this humans, are completely defenseless. You’ve given all the creatures around them great advantages, but the humans nothing.”
“They don’t got nothing.” E pouted. “They gots their smarts. And they can pray to me to make things better.”
“Pray to-“ S shook his head. “E, the point of this task is to create a universe where we give creatures a chance to thrive. Is it not more satisfying to watch creatures you’ve created grow and achieve great things without you interfering?”
“No.” E said simply. “I wanna help ‘em.”
S looked down at E’s universe. “You seem to be picking and choosing which ever prayers you want to answer.”
“Yup.” E said, popping his ‘p’.
“And you-“ S froze. “E, what is this?”
“Hm?” E looked down. “Oh, dat’s a war.”
“War?” repeated S.
“Yup.” E kicked his little feet back and forth in his chair. “Da humans are fighting over who’s right.”
“Right about what?”
“About who created their universe.”
S gapped at him. “You've revealed yourself to them?”
“Yup.”
“E, you can’t do that!” S exclaimed. “Look at the chaos you’ve created!”
E laughed. “It’s funny!”
“Funny?” repeated S. He gapped at the pathetic universe. “And what is this? Why are they dying? Is that-is that illness?”
“Mhm.” said E.
“And why are the females screaming?” S’s eyes widened. “Is that-is that how they’re reproducing?”
“Mhm.”
“And they’re giving death sentences to each other? E, what have you done?”
“I made humans.” E said in a ‘duh’ voice. “They’re funny to watch.”
S rubbed his temples. “I was originally only going to fail you because you’ve created many solar systems with only one planet each with life forms, and made them all so pathetically defenseless. But this? This?” S stared at E. “I’m going to have to pull you back another year.”
“Awwwww.” E pouted.
“A,” S called to his assistant. When she appeared, S waved a hand to E. “Return E to his room.”
Still pouting, E slid off his chair and walked over to A. As the two exited, S glanced at E’s universe. He sighed and shook his head.
“And now,” He said aloud. “Time to put these poor creatures out of their misery.” | 2018-03-16T08:25:36 | 2018-03-16T08:15:25 | 156 | 28 |
[WP] Your new 3D printer can print anything... a n y t h i n g | First, the hair, fluffy and white
Then the mustache, thick and full
The old man’s skin, loose not right
His arms, his legs, his testicles
The brain that gave us so very much
The eyes that saw through time and space
The fingertips so he might touch
The see that, yes, it’s his own face
My Einstein clone will have it all
Wits and smarts and a fancy new lab
But his research may come to a quick stall
Because I spliced his genes with a hermit crab’s | I had found a magical 3D printer this morning, sitting in my living room. I had spent the majority of my precious day off experimenting with it.
The problem, I reflected, as I stared at my philosopher's stone, is that the device broke reality, and so did its offshoots. At first, I had been thrilled to find that the printer would make anything.
I had slowly escalated. By now, though, I knew- it could make things that didn't, couldn't exist. I'd had it make as many things as I could, but eventually I realized there was nothing more I wanted. Shortly afterwards, my joy turned to fear.
After all, someone punching in something as simple as "the sun" could ruin the planet, and while I'd probably survive with all the assets I had printed, humanity wouldn't. I wouldn't mind living without them, but I'd rather not have to.
Briefly, I considered what else I could give to humanity, before punching in "contagious cancer cure". Once that was done, I tried to break it, and had no luck. Sledgehammer, lightsaber, and blowtorch all failed to scratch it. Clearly, physical destruction was impossible.
I punched in "way to destroy this machine", and an error popped up. "Destruction of device is not possible at this time" Seriously? It could make the physically impossible, but this gave it trouble? I punched in "way to stop the machine from working", and the error bubble. "Cessation of functionality is not possible at this time"
I swore, and spent the next five hours trying to figure out how to get rid of the thing, or limiting access to myself. Eventually, I stumbled upon something that worked, "Device to ensure that this machine will never be used in the future". Out popped a three-inch disk of what looked to be metal. I could have sworn I'd seen it somewhere.
I placed it on the printer, and the printer and metal disk vanished instantly.
Then I stubbed my toe. I peered down, and an exact copy of the disk lay on the floor in front of me. I frowned. Where had that come from? I had only made the one. | 2018-03-29T23:57:02 | 2018-03-29T21:26:27 | 26 | 17 |
[WP] France is now illegal | "Hey, you. come here!"
"What?"
"Want to try something good?"
"Sure. what you got? crack? weed?"
"nah, I hot something better. I got pieces of France"
"France?!"
"Shhh! Keep it down!"
"Sorry. You seriously got some France?"
"Yeah, some nice rocks from Paris. High quality shit. Pure stuff. Want a taste?"
"Hell yeah."
.
..
....
"Hey man, this shit is cut!"
"Nah man, it's pure!"
"Nah, this ain't even from France! I've seen this shit before. Just a baguette cut with pieces of Paris, Idaho! You trying to scam me!"
"Fuck you! you have no idea what you're talking about! This is real quality France here!"
"You are lying to me, I don't like being lied to!"
"FUCK YOU!!!"
*BANG!*
*BANG!*
> 5 hours later
"Well Tony, looks like a simple case of a drug deal gone wrong."
"What drug was it?"
"Hmmm....looks like France"
"My god" | "You do understand that we have a long and storied history with the French? That we may not have won our independence without them?"
"We're not here to talk about the past, OK? They're losers, and we're winners."
The press conference was going much like a thousand before it: combative, unhelpful, and often embarrassing for everyone involved. But the news of this total ban was so jarring that the assembled reporters hoped against hope for some clarification, just this once.
"Have you considered what this means for global politics?"
"Listen, listen," the old politician croaked, "it's talk like that which got us in trouble in the first place. We tried to play nice with everyone -- and no one plays nice better than me, believe me -- but we're focusing on us now."
"But sir, the new G8..."
"G8? Did they come out with a new plane?" The man behind the podium leaned over and spoke softly to his assistant: "Look into getting me one of those G8s. The first one off the line. Or at least make sure it's bigger than everyone elses."
"France is one of our biggest partners in trade. How will this effect the economy?"
"It's going to be great for the economy! It's going to bring jobs back to our country. Are you saying our workers can't make baguettes? That we can't make a little more wine? If those sissies can do it, so can we!"
Then an aide leaned over the President's mic, "We have time for one more question."
A visibly emotional reporter up front spoke above the rest. "Sir, you were elected on promises to end these sorts of thoughtless policies and harmful rhetoric. It's 2025, and we thought we were done with this era..."
But the President cut him off. "I'll tell you this right now: America is never done winning!" And with that, he marched off stage, ignoring the outcry of furious press who hadn't learned a single thing.
At the same moment, a television in Florida clicked off. The Tang-colored retiree smiled as he walked towards the closet to grab his golf clubs. He didn't need to check the poll numbers to know this move would only help his successor's popularity. This was his legacy.
*America is never done winning*, he thought. Not a bad line. He wondered how it would look on a cheap hat.
\--------------------
37/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\---------------------
edit: grammar. also realized that the g8 isn't a thing these days but leaving it anyway. | 2018-07-27T10:16:58 | 2018-07-27T09:16:24 | 128 | 91 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human. | “I trust this will be done by nightfall tomorrow?”
“The contract has been made. It’ll be done, as sure as the sun rises!”
The vampire literally looks down at me. Not too hard ta do considerin I only come up to his left knee.
“As your new erstwhile... *employer*, I would hope for a little decorum.” He leans forward, mouth slightly open, fangs bared, doin’ his best to look imperious.
Idiot.
He must be newly made.
I cock me old red cap back and give him a smile of me own. “Now, now, laddie. Unlike yer kind we keep to our contracts, especially with our... *clientele*. It’ll be fookin done ‘fore the sun has a chance ta burn yer pale arse!“ Unable to help myself I give him a wink just for good measure.
Apparently the git didn’t take well to me wee bit of old world charm and starts to draw closer.
I raise me hand and show him a flash of the Old magic - just a tiny drop, the kind that only his kind could see. Without a word I make it clear there are oceans more where that came from.
He pales. Well, as pale as his kind can get anyway.
“Ahem. Yes. Very good. Thank you. If this goes well I’ll be sure and spread word.” He stumbles out and nearly trips on one of me little work stools along the way.
Dumb cunt.
The papers, the radio, the television programmes, the ‘Me-Ja;’ all hootin’ and hollerin’ about the vampires and werewolves now living openly amongst them.
What is a vampire or werewolf but just another human?
Humans infected with some filthy parasite, true; - but still human nonetheless.
We were here before them. We will be here after them. As long as the sun sets, the moon rises, and the mists blanket the greens, we will be here.
After he leaves I set about plannin fer the task ahead.
I may have to call a brother or two.
But the contract has been made and ‘tis a matter of pride.
After all, we’re the Brownies.
We get shit done.
| The man looked at me with incredulity painted on his face. It was very clear that whatever he'd expected, I wasn't it. Wearing a tailored suit, handmade Italian shoes and carrying a rosary around my neck. And then there was the icy blue skin, the black eyeballs and the red irises
"You the vatican's man?" The mortal finally managed. "I heard you were a frost giant, you don't seem ver..."
He stopped as he saw the scowl on my face "Jötunn, singular, jötnar, plural. Frost Giant is a translation error we've fought hard to correct" I said to him, my voice almost a whisper.
He swallowed and nodded "o-of course sir" I kept staring at him "the fact that I deal in Ice is ENTIRELY coincidental do you understand?"
He nodded, frightened by now, mostly because the urine that he had released when I had fixed him with the scowl was freezing.
Now, you might be wondering, how a Jötunn got around to working for the Vatican. Well, let me tell you something about religion for us immortals my friends. Being associated with an established belief system is all well and good, it is how my primary magic works, its how I came to be. Joining and being accepted by a new religious system just adds to the skill pool, so to speak. I was a very effective vampire hunter in the old days, but since joining the church, it's become downright easy to dispose of the night waste.
There were two of them, they were wearing full body coverings to hide from the sun, vampires, newly turned according to databases. Their sires had tried to make them come out, to no avail. So, they had summoned me, as I was in the area anyway.
They had agreed to let me come in and speak, I wouldn't need anything else, just line of sight, that was all. They would both be dead, vanquished by the Lord's holy ice.
The sound of my footsteps echoed in the church "Silly protestants, forgetting your wards" I said cheerfully, smiling as they both saw me. My rosary was in my hand as I began the prayer
"Sáncte Míchael Archángele, defénde nos in proélio, cóntra nequítiam et insídias diáboli ésto præsídium. Ímperet ílli Déus, súpplices deprecámur: tuque, prínceps milítiæ cæléstis, Sátanam aliósque spíritus malígnos, qui ad perditiónem animárum pervagántur in múndo, divína virtúte, in inférnum detrúde. Ámen."
One of them coughed, once at first, taking many fast rasping breaths before he began coughing again. He could feel it no doubt, the holy ice I had formed from the vapour in his throat, it was working its way both further in and out. Soon his head would fall from his shoulders. The other stood still as stone. His pain must have been unbearable as well, considering he had fed minutes before I had entered. See the thing is, I cannot touch their blood, it is unholy to the extreme, and as such impossible for my art to touch. However, the blood of a virgin, taken by force now flowed with his and that, that I could touch. I forced it to circulate as it shredded him from the inside, blood ice rupturing his veins. They were both dead within a minute and a half, slumped in their seats on the floor, the hostages already on their feet and running towards the exit. | 2018-08-27T17:11:47 | 2018-08-27T16:44:38 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] They say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time. What they don’t say is that in between those deaths, you get stuck in purgatory with all the great philosophers and authors - all just waiting to die. | “But seriously,” I continued, “why is there a naked man sitting in the corner?”
Socrates scratched his chin and studied the man for an uncomfortably long time before replying: “Wonder is the beginning of wisdom.”
It was the closest thing he’d gotten to a reasonable answer. At least it wasn’t another question.
Plato, who seemed to always be by his side, defended him. “It’s kind of his thing. He doesn’t do straight answers. He wants to sound deep, but I can already tell you he hasn’t got a clue.”
Socrates snorted at Plato. “Don’t you think, as my protégé, you should maybe show me a bit more respect?”
Plato, clearly sick of hearing this, shot back as if on script. “We both know I wouldn’t still be here if it weren’t for you.”
“I mean, you’ve both been here thousands of years. Neither of you have even tried to figure out why that dude in the corner isn’t wearing any clothes?” They both shrugged.
“I think everyone who gets here asks the same question”, Burt Reynolds interrupted, “but nobody I’ve asked even knows what language he speaks.”
Hammurabi joined the group and nodded at me and Burt. “New blood, eh? Let me guess, you’re wondering about the naked guy?”
We all waited to see if he was going to be the one who could add any insight.
“He’s one of very few people who has remained here longer than I have. And even I don’t know who he is.”
I grunted in frustration. Ugh, sitting in the corner, turned his head to look at us.
| I really imagined dying to be a more spectacular or dramatic thing. For all I know, I fell asleep one evening and woke up on this hill. Maybe I was just dreaming, but some thought in the back of my head, clearer than any thought I ever had, told me I was dead. Just as I wanted to take in the strange landscape for a second a shout from right behind suprised me:”Look, a new fella!” I turned around and couldn´t believe my eyes: Was that Einstein? Before I could think any further he grabbed me by the shoulder and started walking while chatting in the most cheerful way:”I know what you want to ask, yes I´m Einstein and all this here is...well... some sort of afterlife or purgatory, and we are probably stuck here until our name is said for the last time, atleast that´s what Sokrates thinks. But let´s go faster, you still have to see a lot!” Stuck in an afterlife with all famous souls? Great! But what was I doing here? I mean, I was just an average scientist that published some papers about stem cell research...wait...maybe this one thing was more important than I thought... Einstein interrupted me again:“See, that guy over there under the tree, that´s my friend Newton! He still sits there everyday, thinking he´ll come up with something great. HEEY NEWTON! We already discovered gravity, no reason to sit there anymore!” His positive energy seemed to flow into me; I didn´t resist. Newton defied his own theory by not reacting at all to Einsteins words. I realized some other, very slim person was sitting under the tree aswell:” Who is that?”, I asked. “Ah, that´s just Buddha.” “Really? I always imagined him to be... you know a little bit fatter, like in the sculptures.” Einstein laughed out loud:”There´s no time for eating when you meditate all day. Well, he isn´t very talkative anyway. Hasn´t moved one inch since I came here.” “Wait, not one inch?” This place seemed to hold an endless amount of suprises. “Yup. No one really knows how long he was here, but King Arthur said he was already there when he came.” “Wait, King Arthur was real?” Einstein just nodded, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Suddenly, a familiar looking old man that I couldn´t quite identify came rushing towards us, carefully trying not to spill whatever was in the in the 2 glasses he was holding. “Come on, Einstein, don´t keep him all to yourself!” He raised his hand, and in doing so dropped one of the glasses he was holding. Looking at his sad face I finally got it: It was Hemingway! A very, very drunk Hemingway. I shook his hand and he offered the remaining drink to me:” Care for a martini? Don´t tell Nietzsche though, he always gets mad when he sees us drinking!”
​
// I just couldn´t think of all those poor souls waiting to die, so I decided to make a comedy out of it. Truly fun to write, thank you for the inspiration. Might write another part, but at the moment I just can´t think of any more references to throw into the story. // | 2018-09-18T14:11:15 | 2018-09-18T13:33:42 | 224 | 30 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. |
I knew he was trouble when he walked in.
He came in, head held up high, posture like someone had shoved a metal rod up his ass. Young, cocky, asshole. It was slow day, only a couple of people were around. None of the regulars. A guy working on his laptop, and another girl watching the snow fall over Union Square outside.
He walked over to the counter like he owned the place. He raised his voice. “You folk might want to leave,” he said. “This might get ugly.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. He must have a foot on me and his arms were as thick as my thighs. The two customers looked at me and I nodded. “Best to leave, yeah.” They hurried out. What were the odds either of them would call the cops? Next to none. They’d think the other person would.
“You want something?” I asked.
The man picked up a cup and threw it at the wall next to my head, probably intending to make me flinch. I caught it as it flew by my head and set it back down. The PTSD and emotional trauma did come with some upsides.
“So you’re Elizabeth, I take?” eyes narrowed.
I went with the classic response. “Depends on who’s asking.”
He sneered. “Nobody’s asking, *sweetheart,*” he said. “We’ve been keeping track of what kind of clientele you serve. The rotten. The wannabes. The worst of the worst.”
“Strange,” I mused. “None of them have ever threatened me in my own workplace. Truly, nothing screams paragon of virtue like trying to intimidate women.”
He walked over to a table, picked it up with one hand and threw it against the wall. The table shattered and left a dent in the wall. He picked up a metal chair and, looking me in the eyes, bent it in half.
I rolled my eyes. “You realize you’re paying for that, right?”
He laughed and continued to wreck the place. Tables, chairs, vases, whatever he could find his hands on, grinning all the time. This was just pathetic, this is what the League had resorted to? Petty intimidation? And it could only be the League with their idiotic ideals of heroism. The government weren’t a bunch of thugs, and anyone else wouldn’t have bothered with the intimidation, they would’ve tried to kill me. Honestly, I would have preferred that. That was honest. This though…
“Are you done?” I asked as he sauntered back over to me.
“For now I am,” he said, again with that grin showing impeccable teeth. I was tempted to punch him…but no. I was out. I didn’t interfere anymore. It wasn’t worth it. “Now listen here, no more serving your “regulars,” yeah? Tell them someone, ah, tipped you off to what they really are. And that you don't serve their kind."
“They don’t trash the place, and tip well. They seem like better customers than you are.”
He leaned closer, looking me dead in the eyes. “Now, the League is protecting all of you from…maniacs like them, maybe you should be a little grateful.” He straightened. “You know, it might get some people thinking, why would any self-respecting citizen serve people like them. Might give the League the wrong idea...”
A handful of people sauntered into the shop snow on their shoulders. “I heard you were having trouble, Liz,” the man in the lead, Jon, said. Behind him, there was Rory, her red hair falling out of her fur hood and Michel, his dark skin a sharp contrast to the winter wonderland outside.
“Oh, speak of the devil,” the Leaguer said and *smiled.*” Actually smiled. He couldn’t see the tension in the air. I could feel it. Didn't realize how screwed he was.
“Jon, Rory, Mike,” I said, nodding to each of them. “What brings you here.”
“Heard a bull was running around in your shop, Liz,” Jon said, his eyes locked on the intruder. “Thought you could use some help getting it out.”
“Look, don’t worry about it,” I said, asshole or not the guy looked in his 20s. “He’s just a kid, let him go.”
He swiveled towards me, eyes ablaze. I mentally chastised myself. I hadn't thought before speaking. Forgot how sentimental these young heroes were.
“A kid? Listen bitch,” he spat, “I’ll show you how much of a kid I really am.” I saw the punch coming a mile away – really those idiots with super strength were always slow for some reason, and moved to the side, but I needn’t have bothered. The kid flew back and hit the wall with a wet sounding thud and a crack. One second he was in front of the counter reaching for me, the next he was against the wall, a red stain on the wall, his neck at an unnatural angle.
I put my head in my hands. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jon,” I snarled.
Jon frowned at me, moving his hand back down – he didn’t actually need to move his hand to use telekinesis – he just liked to show off. “He was going to hit you, Liz.”
“Seriously? You think that idiot could have even *touched* me?”
“I don’t know, Liz,” Rory spoke, laughing, “You’ve been out for a long time…”
I glared at her. “Now the league will investigate, things will only go downhill.”
Jon’s voice was laced with steel. “The League won’t fucking dare.”
I knew that tone of voice. “Jon no…”
But he was already turning away. “C’mon Rory, Mike. Let’s have a chat with the local League office.”
I surveyed the broken tables, the body, the blood. "Leaving the adult to clean up the mess..." I muttered uncharitably and went in the back to get the bleach.
***
Due to demand, I present
[Part 2: Blood on the Snow](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/comments/9q1h8u/urban_fantasy_blood_on_the_snow_out_of_retirement/?)
If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| (Sorry my English I love the Prompts and try to make something more "fantastic")
​
The clientele was faithful, although irregular, sometimes half disappeared a few weeks, returning sometimes had changed race, or sex, or were one more, or less. Arnold never asked questions, he was there to listen, to serve coffees and sweets that the charming widow Rachel, from the pastry shop in the next corner, gave him each morning with a smile and the smell of vanilla oozing from every pore.
His schedule was not usual, from 9 pm to 09 am, at least not usual in the big city, he had assumed it when he worked in the small cafe next to a large transport warehouse, that was the time when many trucks unloaded and they left. The truck drivers were good customers, quiet people who just want their hot coffee and their fluffy chair to forget the road for a few minutes. When the cousin of his boss retired, they offered him this place in the city.
Arnold decided to try the same schedule, almost experimentally, more out of habit. The first few days he had few clients, only a couple of surprised policemen who told him to get donuts, thanks to which he met the beautiful Rachel by the way.
But other customers appeared, many dressed in black, large coats and jackets although it did not rain. They were good customers, he remembered the truck drivers, they came tired, exhausted, but always with a smile, they were proud of their jobs, whatever they are.
Although, strange things happened, sometimes a cup of coffee flew from the counter to the client's hand sitting, others a sugar burst on someone's head and made a general laugh. And the money…. everyone paid of course, but soon learned to look at the box in the morning and separate the normal money from the other, the one that had never known countries, dated in the future or with presidents of two heads.
MissT was a strong, strong woman of indeterminate race. He was one of the first clients and from time to time he came with companions, some of them were walking, others were floating, some were better not to look at them, seriously, it was a headache. Sometimes she sat alone at the bar and told him fantastic stories, wars between gods, portals to hell and drunken angels. She also listens to her worldly things, laughed when she told him about the strange money and how she had been shouted at the bank for trying to used it. MissT offered to exchange the strange money for the common, that helped him a lot, although the most beautiful bills and coins, those that shone, had impossible colors or the crystal coins that the stone being gave him, those, put them in a frame after the bar. MissT also laughed at his stories of flirting with the neighboring widow, had offered him steaming potions, but Arnold was classic and preferred to go little by little, and had planned to invite Rachel to Saint Patrick's dance next month ...
For normal passersby the strange money was a collection of very strange alternative art, but for visitors, it became a sign that there, they were welcome.
"Your cafeteria is a cardinal point ... not only for us on this plane, but for many planes ... in other worlds here there would be a temple of sacrifices .... in this, we have your cafeteria and I prefer your coffee to a cutted head "MissT told him one night.
That helped him to understand why clueless clients sometimes appeared, naked, some did not speak, but in general everyone understood their gestures, they accepted coffee or tea, a blanket to cover themselves and a stool to sit on before they regain strength to continue their trips.
One of these lost beings, had appeared wounded, a huge wing crawling torn and had collapsed at midnight in front of the door. Arnold ran to load him inside and put the sign closed, his golden blood stained the floor, but it did not matter, he dialed MissT's phone, he had given a number in confidence for situations like this. In a few minutes she emerged from the bathroom door, she did not ask questions, she understood it when she saw him and she went out the door again. Soon he returned with several people, a doctor in a robe, giant and with horns, who attended to the wounded and several hooded men who ran to stand next to the door of the premises.
"This is not good ... this person is very important and should not be here, not this time or this reality ..." Miss T was scared for the first time in front of Arnold. "This can end very, very bad ...", strangers arrived outside the premises, the windows burst and MissT's hoods opened fire with their fists closed, the outside became a war zone, horrors of a thousand eyes peered out through the broken windows and were volatilized by MissT's flaming sword. A blinding light froze everything, several beings similar to the wounded, appeared in the street, everything was frozen, the creatures became dust, entered the premises, saw the wounded and raised their hands, the injured spoke, with the sound of a thousand tuned out violins and stopped them, in an instant they were gone, the place was intact. The hooded men looked at each other and at a sign from MissT disappeared at the bathroom door followed by the diabolical doctor.
There was a golden feather on the counter, MissT stared at her in astonishment.
"Arnold, that feather is a gift from them, save it well, it's worth more than anything in this reality ...but be very careful they don´t play with livings things" she whispered, before kissing him on the cheek "Today you saved not only this planet, but thousands, thank you… "
It was dawn when he was alone, Arnold closed the place and went to sleep. From that day on, a new type of clientele joined, they were monks in robes who respectfully drank their coffee and pleaded with their eyes until Arnold opened the drawer and showed them his golden treasure. He tried not to do much and carefully, as he had discovered that the brightness of it hurt some of his usuals, so he just opened the drawer and let them peek over the bar to see the feather with pens and clips.
One morning it had been quiet, he put the sign of closed and walked to Rachel's bakery to pick up the cakes she would put in the fridge for the afternoon. Across the sidewalk a scream broke the air, a silhouette ran out of the alley, the side door of the bakery was open, Arnold ran inside, Rachel was lying on the floor with the handle of a knife protruding from her chest.
"I thought you were ... and I opened without looking ... age makes me do nonsense" whispered Rachel with the mouth full of blood. "I wanted to go dancing, you know? ... I already had the suit bought ..."
Arnold shouted, holding her, his breathing stopped, he thought he could do it. He picked her up and crossed the street to lay her carefully on the counter. Only one thing occurred to him, he opened the drawer, took the golden feather and placed it on it. The light grew and enveloped them.
A winged being emerged at his side, Arnold recognized a slight mark where the wing had broken. The being looked at both of them and asked a question in his mind, Arnold answered without hesitation.
The being nodded and his hand moved over Rachel's body and the blood disappeared, the color returned to her face. Arnold cried on his lap. The being touched his shoulder and disappeared. Rachel woke up and asked where she was, she did not remember anything, Arnold just hugged her very hard.
That night the cafeteria was full, everyone had felt the presence of the being and they were eager to hear the story, MissT in the front line he rebuked.
"Do not you have no idea who you asked for help?" MissT smiled. "And what did he ask you for? They always ask for something, have not you done anything foolish?" I ask with obvious concern.
"Well ... he asked me to have free coffee forever ... and I told him I would add cheesecake even to the agreement ..."
Those present looked at Arnold a few seconds before laughing loudly as never before. Not always the owner of the cafeteria invoked a god in exchange for coffee and cheesecake | 2022-11-10T02:01:25 | 2018-10-20T23:21:55 | 1,330 | 10 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. | My coffee shop was nice. Designs chosen from pictures of a mid-50s shop I once saw mixed with a little western. Booths on either side along the walls, with tables occupying the center. It was a night-time hobby of mine to keep me busy during my later years. The wife and I, God rest her soul, always wanted to open up a small little shop in the heart of New York. The clientele that frequented weren't the usual run-of-the-mill people. I never asked questions and they kept their private business away, or so I had hoped. The handcrafted mahogany tables, that I had had special made, were currently being used as projectiles in an ongoing battle. Three versus six. The six had come in during a slow evening, only three customers in.
"Oi, old man." Said the, presumed, leader of the group. He was about 6ft, well built, wearing the same black suit, white shirt, and black tie as the rest. His tone made me stiffen slightly. I knew they were here to cause trouble. "We don't like the kind of folk you keep serving in here." And that was all he needed to say before the three jumped into action. The red-headed girl jumped off her stool and sprinted at the group with fire in her hands, she ducked a swing and replied in kind with a jet of flesh-melting fire to the assailants chest. Her name was Grace. Young, beautiful, deadly, and wearing a hoodie that was ever-so-slightly too big for her.
The second of the three didn't even need to move, he started picking up chairs and, much to my disdain, tables and began launching them at the group. Two of the six were sidelined instantly by the initial barrage of improvised projectiles. His name was Vincent and he was a brick shithouse of a man.
The third vanished and reappeared behind the leader and took him on a little trip, presumably, out into the ocean. That was Jack's favourite way of disposal. I didn't know how old Jack was but he looked about 15. Too young to be doing this sort of thing but here he was. Fighting alongside two others to "protect" my little slice of heaven. There were only two men left standing and the both screamed and exited as fast as humanly possible. The fight was over as quickly as it started. I hadn't even stopped wiping down cutlery. The three turned to me with apologetic looks on their face. I just sighed and shrugged.
"Vincent, throw those three out in the backstreet. Jack, get that man out of the ocean. And Grace? Put that fire out." I appreciated their help, even if at times they went a little overboard. All three offered to help pay for repairs but I waved them away.
"It's fine. I appreciate the help, and your continued patronage." I said with a smile. "However, I am going to have to close for the night and get this sorted asap. Now out with you." I shooed them out to protests and locked the doors. Smiling to myself I flexed my shoulders. I myself had a superpower even if I only used it to repair my shop at least once a week. | Simple fact, if you catch more vampires with blood than stakes.
​
Washington DC, other than being a hotbed for politics, is a playground for lobbyists of all types. Creates a lot of problems. The simple word on the street is, though, if the problem is weird, people pay a lot of money to have it solved, no questions asked. When I made my first coffee shop, the place was wrecked three weeks in by what looked like a bear on the CCTV. The cops didn't take the footage, at first. Some men in suits flashed badges and told me "it never happened" when they walked away with the tapes.
​
Insurance paid up though, didn't even make a fuss. That was the part that got me.
​
I never asked anyone what they liked when I made my new shop. No consultations. I just did my reading, made my menu, and waited. I found out what the local blood bank did with blood that didn't pass inspections, they got rid of it. Hazardous. The tech I found seemed used to find it hilarious to be paid for trash, so it didn't cost much.
​
Build it and they will come. The more I read on the subject, the more I realized that there's a lot of things that go bump in the dark that like the taste of human blood. I could guess at the nature of the pale folks who walked in, but the kinds that kept their hoods up in a basement I never asked.
​
I just took their order.
​
More ideas came in after I listened to the light chatter. If I started serving the right kind of salted cod, a few Swedish guys would come in regularly and buy a few ales. Venison, horse kebab, you name it. A lot of these guys have been a round a while, and their tastes came from Ye Olde European times, with a little research you can find a new niche (but dear lord, finding the people who can cook it right is a pain).
​
Live insects made it onto the menu, briefly. After the first Senator came in I decided to keep my place low profile. Lizardmen aren't worth the business.
​
It happened after closing, one night. All the cooks had gone home, it had been a big night and they deserved a break. It was just me and one other server. I had no words when I saw him again. He wore a massive sweatsuit over his entire body, but exploding with hair from the hands at the snout that poked out from the hood. He only spoke three words.
​
"New place, eh?"
​
Nothing else. I bolted for the back room, acting purely on instinct. I heard crashing from behind me, a roar that left my ears ringing after I slammed the steel door of the freezer shut behind me. I was shaking, not from the cold, not yet, pressed against the far wall as the door shuttered from every time the beast flung itself into the door. A roar. And then silence. I couldn't leave. The walk in freezer was ancient, the only way I could afford it, so it locked externally.
​
They found me around an hour before opening, frostbitten, incoherent. As the took me out, babbling and wondering what the hell had happened, I saw that the only thing left of the server was blood. I spent all night wondering what I'd see when I came out, if the beast had just gone for me...I knew I'd never see him again. I also knew that if I'd taken the time to throw him in before me, I'd have been caught by the beast, and we'd both be dead.
​
The customers...I never saw them. They weren't the type to rubberneck with police lights flashing and the DO NOT CROSS tape put up.
​
A week later, after all the paperwork had been done, the report filed, the CCTV footage that "never happened" had been handed over to silent men in suits...I got two letters letter in the mail. Simple as that. The first one was this:
​
"The beast is dead, he won't bother you ever again. -Loyal Customer
​
P.S. When's the new place open up?"
​
The second piece of mail was much more formal, dense with legalese. I didn't even open it, I just laughed. The insurance came through without a hitch. Imagine that. | 2018-10-20T23:09:29 | 2018-10-20T22:39:44 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You are a world famous super hero and single mother with a secret identity. One day you bring your eight year old son to his new friend's house, and meet his mother who you've heard is also a single mom. Unfortunately she turns out to be your evil arch nemesis and you recognize each other. | 317. There it is. I parked the car next to a simple suburban house, identical to the ones next to it and suspiciously similar to mine. "Yay, we're here!! Can I go play wizards with Annie now?" John, my 8-year-old, asked excitedly. I couldn't help but smile. As a single mother and secret Worthy Wizard, the extra hassle it takes to raise and provide for him means I'm often too tired to play with him very well. He's very patient with me, but still, it's good to know there's someone who makes him happy. He has a best friend--more than I could ever say for myself.
I walked with John up to the front door, feeling him quiver with excitement as I held his hand. "I'm ringing the doorbell," he insisted, and before I knew it, the door was open. Annie--a cute little one with blond ringlets--ran up right away, as excited as John. "Can we play now?" they asked in unison. I nodded, and I heard Annie's mother say "of course" in a gentle voice, and together, we watched them run off.
"Would you like to come in for tea, or is there somewhere else you have to be?" Annie's mother's gentle voice brought me back to where I was, and I looked up to see a familiar face. Not familiar from a job or from parent-teacher conferences. Familiar in secret. The Wicked Wizard to my Worthy. The punishment to my rehabilitation.
But also, somehow, another single mother just like me, with a gentle voice and an amazing child, best friends to my own. Another face sharing in the stress and hassle, and in the relief of their child finding a best friend. A friend that I somehow knew neither of us had had.
I walked inside. | The exterior of the home was undeniably attractive. It was evident that the front porch had been recently renovated, as the elegant baby blue paint featured an intricate design of criss-crossing golden flowers- all of which lacked so much as a single scratch. She wouldn’t call it charming but rather... immaculate. Yes. And just a mite cold if she was being honest with herself. Even though there was supposedly an 8 year old child living here, it was in surprisingly perfect condition!
“Come along now, Thomas,” she sighed. Her son was only 8 and had gotten distracted by the massive Rainbow brand play-set on the eastern side of the lawn. She glanced at her watch, feeling the seconds tick by. She really had no way of knowing when she might next be needed. Being a world-famous world-saver was simply too much effort sometimes, but she was making efforts these days to clock out for awhile and take Thomas to friend’s houses and the like. She was immensely thankful for Roberta as well… Having an on-call babysitter had saved her countless times.
Together, they walked side by side to the impressive door of the even more impressive house. She knocked politely on the door, preferring this method to the doorbell whenever possible. The door was opened by a boy close in age to Thomas, and after a quickly exchanged goodbye hug, they ran off into the interior of the house. She noticed that the other boy, whose name she believe was Ethan, was clutching two action figures… Huh… She hadn’t gotten a clear look, but she was nearly certain one had closely resembled her superhero persona while the other had been a nearly spot-on replica of her arch nemesis, Nemesis. Yes… not the most original of baddies, that one. But undeniably clever.
She walked cautiously into the interior of the home, hoping to greet Ethan’s mother and clarify a pick-up time. What she saw, took her breath away. Standing directly before her, albeit in casual clothes, was none other than Nemesis! Adrenaline rushed through her, like a fire catching on dry grass. She wasted no time, fanning the flames of the adrenaline rush and kicking into a ready-stance as she yelled “Nemesis!!! I have found you at last!” Their eyes locked, but before either could act, they felt their bodies go slack… “What… what black magic is this?!”
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
In the upstairs playroom, Ethan and Thomas sat opposite one another, each holding an action figure in a ready pose. Considering that the toys belonged to Ethan, Thomas had been given second choice… He was grasping Nemesis tightly, and had placed her arm out, ready to aim for Lady Savior’s face with a well-timed punch… They fight was quick, and neither played fair. They dipped, ducked, and dodged each other’s attacks, each giving the other no quarter. But eventually, one of them was bound to make a mistake… Ethan noticed that Thomas was following a movement pattern, and… Yes!! He landed a crushing kick to Nemesis’ stomach, knocking her out of Thomas’ hand.
Downstairs, she now lie on the floor, out cold… a casualty of her own son’s prowess. Lady Savior towered over her, allowing the feeling of victory to rush through her veins. “I’m so glad I’ve refused to buy any action figures for Thomas,” she chuckled to herself. | 2019-08-08T19:45:36 | 2019-08-08T19:41:47 | 130 | 44 |
[WP] "Welcome. You're dead. Congrats. Door to Heaven's on the left. Door to Hell is on the right. Go ahead and pick, but just know that the decision is final." The figure sitting at the desk spoke, stifling a yawn and not looking up from their book. | I enter a grand hall that seemed to have no walls but thousands of magnificent marble columns lined up so perfectly. A simple wooden table with a crumpled old man sitting in a rickety old chair sat in the atrium.
“Heaven or hell?” He asked in a raspy old voice. He sounded tired and bored, his bristled beard was untrimmed and could have housed a hundred mice.
I look at him and realize within my peripheral vision that two doors appeared on either side of me.
I look to my left. The ornate golden door swung open to reveal a paradise garden with people smiling and waving at me to come join them. There’s PapPap, Grandma, Amber... everyone I’ve ever loved!
I look to the right and see the heavy black gate groan open, swinging a trail of blood with it. She’s sitting there, alone. She looks up and waves and then points the seat next to her.
She’d actually saved my seat for me!
Edit: punctuation | “But...which do I choose...?” I asked, not realizing that this is what I would find on the other side.
“Either. That’s why I gave you the option when you got here.” Said the figure at the desk, pearly annoyed that’s I hadn’t already chosen.
I stood for a moment. *It should be obvious, shouldn’t it?* However, no one from before had ever said that there would be a choice. And now, facing this decision, I couldn’t move a muscle (or whatever I was made up of at this point).
I took a moment and looked around. I one else was in sight. There was any sign of another other being, just me and...wait a minute, I never got their name!
“Um... excuse me.” I sheepishly mumble yo the figure at the table. “What’s your name?”
He looks up at me from his book, with a look that conveys plainly that he cannot believe that I am still standing before him.
“Are the rules too difficult for you to understand?”
“No, I just...”
“There are two doors in front of you. See? As I explained when you got here, one leads to Heaven, the other Hell. Most people just walk through one right away, leaving me to my book!” The last word spoken in a clearly exhausted tone, even though I had only been there a few minutes.
“Okay, well how do they decide?”
“I don’t know! They just walk forward. No one else seems to have a problem with it.”
“I’m sorry but back on Earth, or in life, or whatever you want to call it, I was very indecisive. Most nights I got into an argument with my wife about what we were going to have for dinner because I couldn’t decide what I wanted.”
“That’s a very touching story. However, I am in the middle of something far more interesting, so if you’d please choose that would be great and I can get back to my book.”
I stood there staring from him to the door on the left, then the door on the right, then back to him.
“I’ll go left! I was a pretty good person, so I think that’s the right decision. Although, I did have secrets when I died. Stuff I should have said to people that would have changed things between us.”
*sorry, I can’t write anymore, work is over and I gotta head home, but thanks for sparking something in me. I’ve never written before, you could probably tell, but it was nice to get away for a minute and picture myself in this place. Have a good night everyone!* | 2019-10-03T17:24:58 | 2019-10-03T16:20:11 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] The healer was treated horribly by the knights he was assigned. Belittled and humiliated at every turn. Until one day a monster killed his squad and spared him. And the monster looked at him and she said something he didn't think was possible to even say. "Would you please heal me?". | "Would you please heal me?"
I stared at it, shaken, and confused.
"Wha.. what did you say?" I muttered weakly.
"Uh.. I asked would you please heal me. You didn't lose your hearing did you?" The monster said, rather bluntly, but at the same time offering a smile to conceal the seriousness of the question. "Please?"
I stood up, and brushed the accumulation of blood, dirt, and whatever else was staining my red pants off of me. I had been sitting on the ground, arms behind me as if I was scooting away from something, but frozen by the chaos that I saw before me.
"That's the first time I've heard that word before." I said in a serious manner, and while looking around for hat.
"What, please?" He said. I looked at him, and my expression gave him his answer. "Where I'm from, healers are regarded above our warriors, and praised as such."
I looked it deep in its eyes. It had crystal blue eyes, and pale skin, very pale, like the color of flour, but maybe just a tad darker. Its hair was brown like tree bark, and no longer than its ears. It also sported a short, but thick beard. It was significantly taller than me.
I finally asked, "what do you call your kind?"
It chuckled and looked down, then met my gaze again, and said "we call ourselves humans. Is that enough to get me that heal?"
I could see that it was bleeding from its side, or more precisely its right abdomen. I shook my head in agreement, and proceeded to approach him. I took one last look to make sure I was the last of my kind left.. By the look of it, there weren't more than 3 of his kind left either.
Upon reaching him, he extended his hand out to me. I stepped on top of it, and he held me steady next to his wound.
He asked, "what did you say your name was?"
I hesitated, than answered stoically. "*I didn't. It's Papa. Papa Smurf.*" | Alivia rotely matched her spine's verticality to that of the Imperial Bannerstaff she rotely planted into the ground, sending the Emblem of the Impaled Fetus up in a blazing projection far above her team of Shock Inquisitors.
Being a Bannercleric was typically a cushy job, as far as boots-on-the-ground work went, anyway. In standard formation, two Heavy Sentinels would take point with their fortified manashields, followed closely by two Assault Magi, casting frenzied barrages of precision micro-fireballs through their comrades' one-way barriers. A singular Bannercleric would stand proudly with their Imperial Bannerstaff in the rear. Technically, they were supposed to be the banner carrier and the cleric, using their Bannerstaff to channel the very will of the Goddess Herself, mending the deepest of wounds and curing the most potent of toxins—but this was seldom necessary in a squad with *one* fully-fortified manashield, never mind two. In practice, their job was more or less to ensure the Imperial Emblem remained sufficiently imposing towards whatever daemons the squad was fighting, which was not particularly challenging when said emblem was a flaming daemon fetus writhing on a pike.
However, this was not the case for Bannerclerics in the Shock Inquisitors. They would lead the team and stay in the center of the action, planting their staff as a rally point, and channeling a continuous healing circle. The two Assault Magi would stay within the circle and guard the Bannercleric, typically with beginner-level magic, to kill slower. In lieu of Heavy Sentinels, two Punishers—agile warriors clad in light armor, and equipped with spiked maces and spiked buckler shields—would dance outside the healing circle and target any would-be flankers and assassins, deftly snapping apart whatever limbs they used for locomotion before, again, killing them slowly. Their shields were not needed for minor concerns such as spells or arrows, for which even terminal wounds could be healed fairly quickly by a Bannercleric after only a short period of extreme pain. Nobody minded the pain, after all—if you did, you wouldn't sign up to be a Shock Inquisitor.
There was no tactical advantage to utilizing Shock Inquisitors over standard Imperial Infantry. The Empress called them in for one purpose only: psychological warfare. When she wanted her enemy not to die quickly and efficiently versus her unseen soldiers, veiled behind their shimmering bastions of irridescent mana, with only the Fetus hovering high above, but to suffer slowly against an enemy that knows no suffering, and usually, to leave one half-alive to tell the tale.
Today, however, was yet another boring day of peace—no daemons to massacre and bring glory to the Imperium. Alivia's team had been deployed on a standard quest to investigate a reported monster sighting near a mountain cave by the Imperial Quarry. This would typically be handled by standard Infantry, or even fresh recruits, but the report talked about a "creature with a strange blue glow and vague round form," which sounded just potentially dangerous enough to rule out sending in kids with arming swords and minimal training, and the possibility of the monster fleeing up the mountain meant that deploying Heavy Sentinels in bulky armor might hinder the pursuit. Thus, Alivia's more agile, maneuverable squad marched to the Quarry, tracked down the monster within the cave, and cornered it.
Ember casually rolled her compact Tacwand across her fingers, like a professional chanca player flourishing her claychits at the table. "I have a feeling this will be the most one-sided battle ever fought in the history of the Imperium," she quipped.
She wasn't wrong.
**[TO BE CONTINUED SHORTLY]** | 2020-02-23T14:40:38 | 2020-02-23T13:54:21 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] You're in love. And you think she loves you back. Sure, she's an eldritch horror from beyond spacetime, barely comprehensible to human minds, shifting and warping reality into a nightmare hellscape with her mere presence. But love conquers all, right? | There are, amidst the tumble and turmoil of everyday life, certain rules that we must all follow, or face the dire consequences. Beacons of order among the chaos of a world without rhyme or reason.
And one of these is, if you’re a tired man returning home after a long day at work to your beautiful wife, you toss your hat onto the coat rack and yell out “Honey, I’m home!”
And by the same ancient laws of social norms and civility, your loved one calls back “Welcome home honey! How was work?”
Alas for the tragedy of broken norms -- for my call was not met by the typical response, but rather with a tremendous growling, followed by a train whistle. A tentacle shot out from the kitchen, a thousand glowing eyes wedged between grasping suckers. As it slithered forward the space around it seemed to warp. My home’s lovely formica countertops were suddenly replaced with several viola-sized clumps of ice cream, festooned with sweet cherries and chocolate syrup.
The tentacle finally landed on my recently removed hat, which promptly transformed into a large Xerox copying machine, crushing the coat-rack under it before printing out a large ASCII heart above the words “YOU ARE LOVED YOU ARE LOVED YOU ARE LOVED ….”.
I considered for a moment, then gave the copier a kindhearted pat and said “I missed you too honey”.
It exploded into a hundred black hummingbirds with glowing red eyes. They burst out a baritone rendition of a single line of a Taylor Swift song, and then rushed back to the kitchen, leaving me standing alone in the foyer.
Although pleased to be reminded of the (somewhat) unconventional marital bliss I returned to each day, I was quickly dismayed to see my coat-rack smashed and my shoes covered with ice cream.
Oh well. We all have to make sacrifices for love.
(r/StannisTheAmish for more of my writing). | I was floating on time, drifting in being, unable to set carefully my mind to the exact coordinates of existence. I wasn’t making sense, that was sure. She was jumbling my language, my atoms, my histories, and my sins, all into a giant ball.
I love you, I told her, holding her close to me, or far away from me, or all of it, at once, too much and too little. I wanted to become her, so that I could understand.
Her words were not comprehensible to me, same as her existence, but this was the end, not the beginning. It was the point of time at which all converges.
I met her far from the Earth, as I was pacing the rings around Saturn. She was creating universes in her dreams, tearing at the delicate edges of our own spacetime as she tickled her fancies, wet her lips on succulent new places to haunt. And I loved her immediately. It is such a strange thing, for a god to love a being like her, but I was swept up as a babe is swept up in its own existence, so suddenly thrust into suffering and joy that they become indistinguishable.
So I took her to see a supernova, to watch something burn in a way I could understand because the burning in my heart felt so foreign I did not know how to express it.
This is how I feel when I see you, love.
Incomprehensible language—but the emotions, oh!—well, I believed them to be emotions, great wafting waves of energy that ringed around the both of us as she gazed at me, as she looked past me with her non-eyes, with that no-thing that she was and wasn’t at the same time. I felt like one of my creations, staring up into the vast void, searching for answers and meanings. She made me feel small, dumb, infantile. And that made me burst, become the vacuum of space as she lifted my body into the ether, past the confines of knowing and unknowing, past being and non-being.
We became paradox, folly, the incomprehensible, and she held me close, far away, same as it was the first and last time, all of it at once. And she kissed my body, felt the delicate curves, my own geometry, the math that made me into existence, into space, into everything. And I kissed her back, the lack of things that I filled with my love, with my touch, with my desire to know and unknow her so that I may know her for the first time again, to bring her to that supernova.
Now, I hold her formless shape and I am pulling her away from the swirling enigma of her dreams, those universes branching off of her till they create ecosystems all their own. I am taking her to the point where no-thing can exist, suspended, in existence. I am pulling her into the center of a black hole, into a place where pressure becomes so great it is all and yet nothing, when we are crushed but frozen at the point before crushing.
I kiss her one final time, and that kiss is the whole of my existence. What does it matter that I abandoned my creation? She is greater than anything I could have ever dreamed up, and I will exist, bending, becoming, blackening, at the center of being with her for eternity, because I love her, and she loves me, too.
\_ \_ \_
r/AinsleyAdams
This was a super fun exploration of language! Hope y'all enjoy reading it. | 2021-03-11T10:46:53 | 2021-03-11T09:29:08 | 54 | 26 |
[WP] You were an "evil" king who has been dethroned by conquering heroes for your "horrible tyranny". It takes less than 2 years for the people of the kingdom to be begging for you to be reinstated as king. | I stood in the street squinting in the sunlight. It had, after all, been almost two years since I had seen the sun or been in the street. Much less standing in front of a dozen soldiers and nobles who had just released from the prison. I was to be taken to the palace apparently. A place I had not called home ever since the band of five "heroes" had garnered the support of the people and noble alike and decided the only suitable place for me was the dingy prison on the other side of the capital.
I had not been told the reason of my release. But walking through the street was oddly telling. The wide road, once dubbed the "silver road", was in shambles. Houses looked worn and neglected. The plants that decorated the street and separated the lanes looked grey and dead. It was with a heavy heart that I saw that my once proud capital had lost all its glory.
It was the people though I was satisfied to see. They had not escaped the fate that had fallen upon the city. In rags they stood lined across the sides of the street. The look in their eyes all but told me of what was to come. Starving and pale they held their breath as I walked silently towards the palace. They stood in front of their homes, and on the roofs , and it was their expectant gaze that set me off.
"Two years? It took merely two years to see the truth, did it?" I said without raising my voice. I knew fate would carry my voice to the far ends of the city. "Two years for you to want back the tyranny you destroyed? Two years before giving up on your utopia? ONLY TWO?" I roared the last two words and with grim satisfaction I saw the crowd tremble. I resumed walking and saw the ghost of the past walking exactly in the other direction. To where I came from.
"Now you see why I condemned villages that carried the plague? Not because I enjoyed burning the homes of your brothers. But rather to save you from the mark. Do you see why I made the deals I did? So that you could eat. Why I hung thieves and only fine nobles? I did not want to waste resources rehabilitating when I could be taxing those rich bastards to feed YOU. It was not I that ordained you poor or rich. But I tried to make life better with what was given and you rebelled. All because I did not treat you all the same. Now do you see why I threw galas for foreign dignitaries when people starved down the river?" I spoke.
"Economics You Fools" I roared again, rejoicing in the shame of the people. "Running a country is not what you thought it would be HUH? Or do you want to discuss the children? Of why I took children born of magics from their home? Not just for my army but also to teach. BUT NO, all you saw were what you wanted. You did not see parents finding their children tutored and fed and raised. You saw the fools who refused to understand. Who failed to understand that they had to be trained far from home. For magic is like a fire and once lit, it knows neither friend or foe. BUT NO! It offended you. Horrified you that I nurtured talent to foster an army. How has Damacia treated you recently?" I finished coming in front of the 5 "heroes" who stood in front of the gate to the palace.
"Belief and faith does not feed. Honor does not shelter you from the storms now does it? Goodwill does not clothe you nor your child. But your precious heroes are all these, aren't they?" I jeered turning my back to the five and facing the crowd.
"I am not what you deserved but what you needed. And all the things you rebelled against? You must accept them if I were to return. And I will bring all that you accused me of. I will flood the streets with your blood and sweat and your tears. But I promise this: your children will prosper. They will be fed and clothed and they will grow up to be better than you. All because of your stupidity. I will do all that I deem necessary to restore this country. I will be the Tyrant you accused me to be. And I will restore this country that you tarnished by burning half of it if need be. Do you accept?"
I turned back to the heroes and saw their gaze move to the floor and clench their hands. They knew what I was capable of and what I would soon do to them. But they remained quiet as I moved past them to the gate of my palace for they were true heroes and the people came first. Retribution would be slow for the fools who thought to depose me but there were things that needed doing. But first before all else I looked over my shoulder and spoke lightly one word: "Kneel"
The only thing that accompanied a hundred thousand and five knees hitting the cobblestone was the glint in my eye that spoke of power undulated.
And a smile that whispered of the changes to come. | (Obligatory on my phone, Can't really edit. Yes this Is how I write my stories sorry if you don't like it. But wahey heres a quick hour of writing.)
2 years... Wow. I looked out the window of my cell, Staring at the moonlit city I used to govern.
Barnaby: "And how is that your problem now?"
I turned away to see the guards flanking Mira, The newest hero to join the governing body. Starting supposedly 6 years ago as mercenaries, hired to protect or kill.
Mira: "These people are animals, Have you seen the way they treat the city?"
Barnaby: "Believe me child I have a great view from the prison they locked me up in."
????: "Sire if I may?"
Barnaby: "New guards loyal to the old King?"
Guard: "Yes and no sir."
The young guard could barely get another word out before Mira punched his shoulder, Stopping him from saying another word.
Mira: "You don't say yes and no to the old King."
Guard: "I remember my father telling me the King prefers Honesty over being pissed on."
Barnaby: "He's a smart boy, You should listen more."
Mira: "You are still in a prison."
Barnaby: "And you are here to break me out. Yes yes I know all etc whatever. Are you breaking me out or not?"
I saw a grin on one of the guards faces to the back of the troupe, A sense of humour got you far with me. What surprises me the most though, Is being so transparent with my people. Telling them about why I had to raise the taxes, Telling them why we would fight in only certain wars. The constant approval of my people to suddenly and infamously plummet the next month out of nowhere. They called me the worst Tyrant they had ever seen as my throne was usurped by this so called group of Heroes.
Barnaby: "I suppose it would be an easy transmission when I knew it was coming."
Mira: "Who are you talking to?"
Barnaby: "Oh? No one important."
Guard 2: "Mira did you ever find out why he was sent away?"
Mira: "For apparently, Being a tyrant, Yet every day someone brings you food and water and you are only ever looking out your window, Down to the city beneath you. At first we thought it was spite, Hatred for those that put you there. But Jarnice came back one day and said she spoke to you. You said you miss your people, That you wish you could change what happened and actually fight the heroes to be saved from your cruel, forsaken fate."
Guard: "Barnaby Lirolika, Heir to the throne, One of the best Kings our country and the world, Has ever seen. You may know him better by his birth name. Oráculo."
Mira: "The Oracle?"
Barnaby: "A fan of dead languages, Can I come out now?"
Mira: "The Oracle are only born women."
Barnaby: "Well my mother did give birth to twin girls. One survived. Here I am."
Mira: "You're a boy."
Barnaby: "And?"
Mira: "I. Um."
Barnaby: "Do you want me to help you or not? I may have left my throne willingly due to the sights unseen, But I assure you that I have years worth of knowledge. How the kingdom has functioned, How the darkness is coming, How the heroes have treated my people. I have some things to do. And if you want my help, telling you what to do as your advisor. Then let me out so I can kick these so called Mercenaries out of your Kingdom."
The guards shuffled nervously, Mira looking at me completely bewildered while I stood my ground. I had foreseen the usurping of the throne, I saw what rehy would do to me in 2 years and 3 days, keeping me here to drum up as much bullshit about me as they could. And they were succeeding with the youth, the new generations. Mira was still aghast as I heard the first ruckus of an attack.
Guard: "We need to let him out now. Mira there is a lot for us to discuss but right now. If we want to get through the night, and survive these next few hours, We need Barnaby in charge."
Mira: "Who is attacking us?"
Barnaby: "Likely Queen Amaranth from the east. She found out about your "heroes" about 4 months ago. And has been planning an attack for about that long. She wanted to attack earlier when I was in power but I would see it coming and send her letters to stop."
Mira: "You keep saying..."
Barnaby: "You have time for one more question before we need to get out."
Mira: "You keep saying My kingdom, My throne, It's yours still?"
Barnaby: "That I will explain later, Long story short the people won't just accept me back in charge. They need someone else, However if The Oracle comes out in support of someone, They are almost guaranteed to support them. The Oracle sees all Mira, And I've been watching you for many years. Waiting for you to mature enough to begin working in the castle, Running pots and pans for the Cooks. Helping the maids and cleaners to learn Humility, The Nurses to learn compassion. You may have never known why you never wanted for anything, or why you never lasted long in one place working. But it's all been in preparation for this day. Now if you excuse me, Zilo, The door."
Zilo, An older guard who has always been posted to look out for me by the heroes. Stating his connection with me would keep me placid and cooperative, Opened the door to my cell.
Mira: "That's..."
Barnaby: "A lot, I know. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some mercenaries to execute and a Bloodthirsty Queen to calm down."
Mira: "These Mercenaries are heroes?"
Barnaby: "Would a Hero try to turn the people against their King, Take over the throne and then drive our country into the ground? No, I didn't think so. One is already dead from the initial explosion, Two will die soon if we don't get to them first. And the other 5 won't survive to the end of the week, when the attack stops."
Mira: "Didn't you just say you want them dead?"
Barnaby: "Oh I do. But I'll do it myself." | 2021-03-30T20:56:30 | 2021-03-30T18:28:07 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You are the strongest villain in the world but when another villain says that they want to cause violence for fun, it boils your blood. "You think all of this is just FUN!" | The Magnificent Bastard slammed his fist on the table. The other villains around them sat rigid watching the new villain lean back in their chair with a grin on their face.
The Rookie: "Oh? Did that strike a nerve old-timer?"
Magnificent Bastard: "You know no manners at this table. We are the elite, we are the strongest, we have the power to change the world to our liking!"
The rookie laughed as he propped his feet onto the table, the soles of his boot showing off stains of dried blood. His eyes flashed a dim red as they scanned the room of lesser villains.
The Rookie: "You speak as if we are gods, so gods I shall refer to you all as."
The Magnificent Bastard: "And as with all pantheons, the greatest of gods is the ruler. You are naught but a lesser deity compared to I."
The Rookie placed his hands on the back of his head.
The Rookie: "You know, this is getting very dialogue heavy. Maybe you do remind me of a god. The god of flapping his lips."
The Magnificent Bastard's chair flew back against the wall as he stood with such a force, the lesser gods around him backed away from the table. Some drew their weapons and readied their power, others merely stood with their faces frozen in fear and lips wandering in whispers. The Rookie simply smiled.
The Magnificent Bastard grit his teeth as he listened to the whispers, but his glare set itself through the Rookie's skull. Then he closed his eyes and smiled.
The Magnificent Bastard: "I realize, it so happens you have not taken our rite of passage."
The smile on the Rookie's face faded as the air around him electrified.
The Rookie: "Oh please, we're villains. No such rite of passage needs to exist! We are beings of chaos, that is where the fun is at!"
The expressions on the Magnificent Bastard dropped to a sincere stare. He stood upright, adjusting his tie.
The Magnificent Bastard: "Oh, but to sit at this table, you must prove yourself to me. Simply causing chaos is child's play. The sense of chaotic amusement grows old on ventured artists such as ourselves. True villainy is an art form. Planning, preparing, execution. The process and schemes lead to far greater violence and destruction. Painting the town red is nothing more than a simple... release."
The Rookie's chair clattered to the floor as he stood, his eyes glowing blood red and his face contorted into a sinful grin.
The Rookie: "Oh, you want me to prove myself? A rite of combat it shall be then!"
The table split in two and the other villains fled from the room as two gods clashed. There was a sound of thunder and in its wake, the mountain side which they had met exploded into ash and rubble. Villains who could not escape the clash lay dying in their own guts or were crushed from the sheer force of chaos. The Rookie lay in pieces, scattered to and fro in unrecognizable heaps of blood and guts. In the midst of the carnage stood the Magnificent Bastard who simply smiled and adjusted his tie. For all around him was the sublime of his masterpiece. | The nature of a villain is to stand against the established order of the world and challenge it. They are opposed by the heroes of the establishment, who fight for the law and order imposed upon the world by its current rulers. Mighty heroes in ridiculously colourful and marketable costumes who face off against sinister and malicious forces of chaos and evil. This is of course a very binary and limited point of view. A very black-and-white morality. So very simplistic and easy to understand, which is good as heroes often pay for their massive biceps and laser-eyes with braincells. Such is the way things are, for now.
I am proud to call myself a villain. Proud to wear the moniker of the strongest, most insidious, most powerful villain on the entire planet. When the media calls my actions heinous, I know I'm on the right track. When a spandex clad idiot with good hair comes around to tell me about the errors of my ways, and of course to punch me, I know what I am doing is the right stuff. I stand against the order of the world and they try to fight me because of it. This is natural. They are a thesis, I am the antithesis. They hope to make me see that it is better to work with them, yet as I have eyes to see and a soul that is still human, I recognise this for the blatant lie that it is. I will never stand with them, for I am the villain, and I know that my will and determination is far stronger than anything they could ever say or do.
I attack a factory making phones or jeans in some third-world country and recruit the enslaved children to be junior-henchpeople in my organisation; I get to fight against the Captain Righteousness, Lord Justices, and Capitalist-Womans of the world. They win sometimes and I have to evacuate without having finalised my plan, I win sometimes and those goons have to run back to their Citadel of Justice with their tails in between their legs. When I steal priceless art from greedy private collectors in order to put it in the open public museum in my realm, I expect some do-gooder to come and fight me. On every continent, whether it is assisting the labour-unions of South America in their revolutions against the corrupt American-bought governments, liberating people from government re-education camps in China, organising jailbreaks for people who have have been put into jail for decades for owning a few grams of fun stuff in the US, I expect to be opposed. Because I stand against the status quo.
I am known by the usually unflattering self-serving media as the Firebrand Commissar. Those who work with me call me something different though, they call me the Flame of Liberty. Where I go, the people rise, where I go, the establishment soon learns that they are only masters at the behest of the people, where I go, the enslaved are emancipated. Most villains are just interested in wealth, or power. Only I truly threaten the order that is, by working to replace it with something better. Which is one of the reasons I can't stand my fellow villains. So small-minded, so short-sighted. They cannot see that we can make a better world, if we overthrow those who would gladly sell out the planet to alien empires if they could, and they have tried. Some villains have come around, and many more begin to listen.
Yet when some stripling of a villain, some D-lister, says that they just want to cause violence, death, and desuction. for the sake of fun. It really boils my blood. You think all of this is just fun? That is an erroneous statement, and as you, my fellow villains can see, one which I have answered with the truth of the guillotine. You have asked me to lead the Grand Alliance of Villains, and now I lead as I am supposed to. Those of you who are wise will join with me in my grand and intoxicating revolution, and you shall be rewarded greatly after the current corrupt world leadership has been overthrown. When organisations who promote lies and hatred are destroyed, when the people who would gladly burn our world to ash for an extra dollar are in the ground, when the enslaved are free; Then you will all have positions in a New World Order, which will shake the very foundations of the human race to its core. But make no mistake. This is not something we do because it is fun to cause destruction. This is not something we must do to make ourselves the new rulers of this crumbling world.
This is what we must do, to preserve the world, to save the human race, and ensure that whatever happens in the future, there **will** be a future for it to happen in.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 2021-04-30T06:47:31 | 2021-04-30T06:08:33 | 44 | 26 |
[WP] At a young age you made a deal with a fey in which you promised them your firstborn. Now you’re a 35 year old virgin, and the fey, sick of waiting, comes to help you around the dating scene. | "How about her?"
"Shes like fifteen."
"Exactly. She wouldnt know better."
"No, thats exactly why we don't."
"Hmph."
I squeezed the bridge of my nose as the faerie crossed her tiny arms as she hovered in front of me, invisible to everyone else walking down the busy street. Our daily walks had become increasingly aggrevating. She had no idea how the real world worked, or any idea about human biology other than the mechanical acts of sex.
It wasnt like I could ignore it considering the consequences of defaulting on the contract though.
"There was always that one lady-"
"That was my sister, stop bringing her up."
She tisked. "Im not asking you to marry her, im asking you to fuck her. I accept inbreds. Besides, I checked for you, shes kinky. Just sneak into her house, blindfold her before she know who you are, and-"
I swiped at her halfheartedly, causing her to giggle as she easily evaded. I didnt want to hear about my sister's sex life. I didnt need to hear about my sister at all. I didnt need to hear this ten inch anime reject talk at all. My life was perfectly fine before they came along and would be when they finally left me alone.
Asuming he could get her to.
"Ooh, what about a prostitute? Over at the hotel downtown, she'll fuck you you for some rock. If you go around seven though, she'll probably be so high you can give her a sugar cube and she wouldnt notice."
"Im not losing my virginity to a crackhead."
"Or at all clearly. Its almost like you dont care that I get your eternal soul if this doesnt work out."
I stop and glare at her. "What is your problem today? Its like you are trying to make me snap at you."
She raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes thats all a girl needs."
I began seeing red. I noticed people stairing at my apparent conversation with myself, but I didnt care anymore. "I wont fuck just anybody. I want something to be there. I want my first to be my last. Is that too hard for your tiny brain to understand? But how can I just be with someone if I know you are going to take their child? How could I force that on anyone? I care about?"
"Do you need the bones?"
The faerie began giggling as a third voice interupted. I turned to notice one girl stepping out in front of the crowd. His breath stopped. It wasnt her baldness. It wasnt the amputated arm.
It was the faerie on her shoulder.
"I need to make a simulacrum," she said brethlessly. "It needs to be of my own flesh and blood. One third of my bodyweight in correct proportions of hair, bone, muscle... you get it. I... I just need the bones. I got most of the way but," she wagged the stump where her arm was. "I cant get the rest of the way."
I felt sick, but my faerie giggled.
"I accept your terms, assuming a first born's bones are sufficient?"
"Oh, you are just adorable," her faerie cackled before turning to him. "I am absolutely ok with it. Now its up to the humans."
"All your excuses are gone," my faerie laughed. "How will you excuse your way out of this one?"
"Shes under duress," I growled, but my faerie shrugged.
"As are you. Your point?"
The girl pretended to smile, but he could see the desperation in her eyes. It was the kind I saw every day in the mirror. I held out a shakey hand. She took it and pulled me towards her into a hug.
"Business partners?" She asked in a whisper. I nod.
"For now." | In'faly is listening in utter frustration to single word echoing through room "No, no, no, no, no, no" "just say yes!" "I want my future wife to be star of my life" collar of his red polo shirt is almost ripped away as she lift him from chair "it is of no importance if you fancy that girl or not all you have to do is put this.." her slowly tap on his pride hidden beneath blue jeans "and put it inside her so I can take that result and we will all live happily ever after"
After retreating from gazing war she takes to hand glass tube "you said this helps with stress?" not waiting for answer with quick snap lights knot on fire and inhale white smoke coming from tube. With spinning head and in baggy t-shirt she confiscated from human lays on sofa leaving him swiping left and right..... Well only left. *oh God, my head*. Last night expedition proven two things. First Jack Daniel's is God damn criminal when it comes to metabolism of creature that measures between twenty to thirty centimeters in original form. Second. Marc can't impregnate even females almost prone on ground.
"why can't you just do as I say so we can both live in peace without the other breathing precious air" "you want me to find mother of my child, I want woman I love" anger is again coming from hazy alley of her head to surface "maybe you should stop bitching about that love and just fulfill contract" his sight drift away as he dreamingly continue infuriating speech "love is the most important thing in life, it makes humans better people it....". *and that's it*. Glass tube fly across the room and shatters when colliding with wall few centimeters above speakers head, her voice already trembling with fury she tried to hide for those length days of attempts to finally get that stupid child" love is something you fleshy, brain limited animals mistake for need of reproduction, you have no idea what it even mean only thing you know is that you want to avoid our deal!" searching for another thing that can serve as ammunition, finally settling for book almost shattering windov.
Annoying human doesn't even flinch through whole explosion coming from sofa. Even now he's only silently sitting and listening to endless rant. "seems like I am not the only one struggling here" such prompt her pick up another book from table. Title reads: Advanced physics: velocity. *what a fitting title for ammunition*. " I'll give you struggle you useless, dickless, childless idiot" "okay that's enough stop throwing my books and sit down* drilling curses through teeth she sits down with visibly stressed dickless. *hopefully not of them works*. His voice was back to calm after previous protective scream of his books" why do you get so angry because of child what the deal" piercing him with yes and considering cursing him for real this time she decides to give some answer " I am fairy that's what fairies do, we grant wish we take child we go we fine" suddenly thought emerges in her mind recalling something she almost forgot "anyway what you did with my wish, you wished to be loved by everyone for a week, you should have had tons of children"
*is it alcohol or am I just hearing bad* in complete disbelief she stares at Marc, unable to put together sentence capable of expressing her thoughts. "you did what?" " as I said I used it to publish my papers on technology Stan can save usable energy which is great issue of our planet". *everyone LOVED you and you were solving environment*. Glass of wine appears in her hand as she tries to dissolve into pillows "where did you get it I though we drank everything on that party last week" Marc shyly twitches and blush appears on his cheecks "when you said you want my first born child I went and bought that for night, I might have misunderstood"
She laughed. Honestly for the first time in many years. Marc went red as lobster. "anyway back to that child" "oh no no no this is way better topic". *and I am not telling you I can't have my own, and fairy without child is outcast*. "so you went and bought this on that day ten years ago when we made deal? Is it at least something special?" she slowly turns glass in hand trying to as they say catch glimpse of spark but glass is already missing most of liquid. "pink shatoe clerk said its best hey got"
"it's not even pink.... But it is good so pour" Marc fills her glass almost to top and offers his to toast. Rage almost vanished due to sparkling alcohol but mostly because of what just occurred to her " so It took you thirty-five years to find someone you would date but when we met first you did was to buy most expensive wine. You really misunderstood assignment". *sweet*. Confronted with nativity only this human is capable of night no longer looked so infuriating and even sofa became more comfortable. *so I am here with human who could have wished for fortune and hookers but he used it to fight environment crisis, who can't choose partner but buys wine for 20 centimeters tall mystical creature*.
"did I? Question catches her unprepared. It took her minute to realize what he refers to. First thing she considers is cooling his head down with wine. Gentle shiver under her belly stops her hand and forces smile on her lips. " Maybe you did not" | 2021-11-01T10:29:32 | 2021-11-01T06:14:44 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You are a necromancer's apprentice. One of your most important jobs is holding down the revived bodies in their first moments alive again, while they scream and beg to go back. | "Press the lips together, grab the needle, suture." It's a mantra I tend to say aloud as Ma'am Everlong resurrects her army. She's already taking her gloves off, from here on it's assistant's work.
"Bring the silent one to the fields afterwards," she says as she washes the viscera off her hands. "He was a brave green knight and deserves respect in death."
Pretty words from an evil woman. They mean nothing; she says it to inspire the recently awoken. They don't remember their past life; the brain decomposes too quickly to retain meaning.
The cadaver screams into its mouth as I complete the sewing, puffing its cheeks full of air. I look down and tenderly say, "rest, brave knight. The words of the dead are unwanted and dangerous. Rest your voice and ready your heart to serve your queen once more." I give a smile, small enough that the insincerity in my facial features can't be detected. He's breathing hard, eyes open with panic.
I comb his hair back, "it's okay. Returning from beyond takes time. You'll be okay." I walk to the sink as I continue, "when you've collected yourself, you'll find fresh linens on the chair. Dress up and come feel the sun and the breeze once more."
I wash my hands and exit the room. Fresh air fights its way into my nose filled with death. I take a deep breath and sigh. This work gets old, even for the heartless. But I know the horrors of being re-awoken and I have no intention of becoming an immortal for the Madame. The only thing worse than dying is dying thrice, after which a fourth time becomes impossible. Eventually widespread cell damage is too difficult to repair. We have some fourth revived corpses walking around as crippled servants, but soldiers need athleticism.
As I walk around the campus, I take note of the many closed-mouth military men and women striding around with confidence. You may think they'd catch on that they were all told they were valiant knights, but then again, suturing their mouth shut is an 'important' part of the job for a reason. We occupy the new recruits with training until they're sent to the front lines again. No time for them to chat non-verbally for good measure.
At the end of a walkway lined with non-native flowers and insect-less lawn grass, I open the heavy stone door to my bedroom. I go to my favorite corner and sit in my favorite chair, put my head in my hands, and cry silently as I think about what we've done. If the war goes on much longer, the dead will have won against the living. In which world is this a victory? | Dusting the ash off my coat with a “*sigh*, another one.”
The boss nags from behind, “Esteban! We’re losing moonlight! Get a new body on the slab asap while I gather mana for the next spell!”
Blood rushes to my head “Old man this is the 12th one tonight how about calling it quits and trying again another day! You keep pumping the stiffs with mana and I get a bigger mess to clean up!”
“Silence boy!” The boss spits. “You’re 100 years too early to mouth off to me! I’ll have you know I’ve quite the pedigree in the dark arts!” He says proudly.
Furrowing my brow and hauling another body on the rune etched slab, “in destruction maybe but necromancy clearly isn’t your forte’ why don’t you stick to lightning bolts and fireballs and leave the stiffs to the pros? 100 years too late for a mid life crisis don’t you think?”
I turn around to a man at peace unlike the hate filled crone he was a second ago he’s praying, communing with mana to grant him power and give life to this wretched abomination.
Flakes of blue light gather in his hands. The wind gently swirls kicking up ash as it dances in the moons pale light shining down on the corpse.
It’s beautiful in a way if not for what happens next. I hear a spark and the smell of embalming fluid is overtaken briefly by the musty smell of rain.
I dive out the way onto the ground, a pile of ash softening my fall.
“POOOOOWEEER!!!!!” The old man shoots lightning from his fingertips onto the corpse.
“OVERWHELMING POOOOWEEEER!”, he amps the voltage. The runes ablaze with energy, and then the violent crackles are replaced by a melodious hum.
I get up to see the corpse still intact for a better lack of a term, a-little char here and there but not bad, not bad, major improvement. But had he done it, finally?
The Boss glides to my side hand on my shoulder “13th times the charm dear boy.” Excitement in his voice.
The corpses eyes jut open electric blue fills the irises with life. I dive toward it as it screams trying to break away from my hold.
The corpse screams, “NOOOOO! What is this!? Why did you bring me back!?”
The boss approaches “kind sir welcome back I have graced you with a second chance at life and now that I have helped you I would like you to help me.”
“My pet gargoyle, Zuzu which I’m certain you’ve been acquainted with and the cause of your untimely end may have been in the area of your death. If you would be so kind as to point us in the direction of your town we would certainly be happy to drop you off on the way.”
The corpse grows violent, “Your pet did this?! Well I got news for you I ain’t goin’ back! They collected from me once fed my intestines to your pet, hollowed me out and left a nasty surprise where they used to be and they ain’t getting a cent outta me again, kill me!”
A smile creeps across the bosses face, “kind sir if it’s bandits your worried about we are more than qualified to handle them in exchange for your service.”
The corpse let’s out a mocking laugh, “good luck but I learned my lesson already a group of bandits, ok but messing with the IRS nooooo thank you!
The corpse jerks on a string hanging from the outside of his stitched stomach, I hear the faint sound of a tick.
“Head east, follow the moss on the side of the rocks, good luck.” Another tick.
Esteban get down! I’m snatch back quickly. The corpse explodes in a blaze of blue. The boss protects us with an unseen force, its shape being betrayed by the dance of moonlit ash filling the room.
The ash settles and the boss strokes his beard deep in thought muttering and shivering “IRS…”
“Esteban” he utters with a sullen tone. I’ve never heard him like this.
“Yes sir?”
“Prepare a homing pigeon, we’re gonna need some help.” | 2022-04-11T10:08:59 | 2022-04-11T07:54:10 | 33 | 23 |
[WP] Your adventuring party is unstoppable. It has a fighter, able to crush steel armor with bare hands. A cleric, able to cure any wound imaginable. The wizard, who can manipulate energy and matter into anything. And Bob, a random person who found a sniper rifle | There once was a fellow named Bob.
Monsters despised him from goblin to hob.
Why?
He killed all the mobs.
And what was the tool of Bob’s great murder streak?
A sniper rifle, given unto him by the god of the weak.
She’d noticed that Bob had no special skills.
Thus, she gave him a weapon to get all the kills.
His cleric companion would cast mass heal spells,
Their wizard raised demons from nine out of nine hells.
The fighter was a true friend and a fiend to all baddies,
But Bob sniped away, leaving single monster parent daddies.
As time went along, Bob’s legend grew tall,
The monster numbers dwindled, getting very small.
The team was unstoppable, they never got a scratch,
So they drank all the mead—every single batch.
At the end of their travels, they came before a giant rock monster.
It was as large as any they’d fought.
But the team had great fortune, they’d run into a mobster.
Bob had upgraded his rifle to a missile launcher he’d bought.
What was the moral of Bob’s sordid tale?
Save the magic, get a Glock, ‘cuz guns never fail. | -“ YOU FOOLISH HEROES STILL THINK I CAN BE DEFEATED?! CAN’T YOU SEE I GOT YOU ALL PINNED TO THE FLOOR?! IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MUCH STEEL YOU CAN CRUSH, IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MUCH ENERGY YOU CAN USE, AND IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MUCH WOUNDS YOU CAN HEAL! I AM UNSTOPPABLE!”- The demon lord said towering over the party, Wich was pinned to the ground thanks to the old relic the villain had in his hands.
-“that’s where you are wrong! We still have Bob, and I’m sure he’s going to save us!”- The fighter said in his optimistic tone, like he always do.
-“THAT LITTLE FARMER WHO DOESN’T HAVE A WEAPON?! HOW CAN HE HELP YOU ALL? I JUST SAW HIM RUN AWAY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA”- And the demon just kept laughing at the idea of Bob, the scared farmer, saving everyone! It sounded really stupid to him, but it was far from reality.
I was on the top of one of the towers, looking directly at the demon lord trough my scope. After some time in the mage’s library I had na idea of what I had in hands, a Barrett M82, a long range weapon from another dimension, it could be used to destroy almost anything according to the book, but I wanted only one thing destroyed, a demon skull.
The demon was still rambling about how “scared” i am while I did some adjustments to my gun, it had to be perfect aligned and I had only one chance to hit him, or he will run away. I still remember when I couldn’t hit a tavern mug 10 meters in front of me... That was yesterday... But today it’s different, and the demon lord is going down.
-“300 meters, so I had to compensate only two and a half notches”- i ramble to myself as I get ready to take the shot.
3
2
1
*BANG*
He’s down, right in the middle of the eyes. The rest of the party gets up from the ground since the relic doesn’t have a owner anymore. Looking at the body of the demon lord they find out what happened.
-“Bob you absolute beast!”- the fighter said.
-“thank the lord!”- the cleric said.
-“i knew that farmer had something powerful on his hands, the books don’t lie”- the mage said.
I put my rifle away as I get ready to reunite with the rest of the group. I had done it, the demon lord is gone and no one shall fear the destruction of our world.
I know my job is far from done here, but at least I have this great weapon to help me. | 2022-11-07T21:12:46 | 2022-11-07T17:39:22 | 311 | 77 |
[WP] "History is written by the victors", write in first person about a historical event as viewed by someone on the losing side.
Please; no Nazis. | I had never known such a weapon.
The stone hurtled through the air and stuck me down.
I tried. By all our Gods I tried.
The Israelites came, and we drove them back. I drove them back. For forty days I called my challenge to end this with single combat, the sight of my brothers dead around me had sickened my soul and poisoned my mind. I had to end this.
It was for naught. I strode out, my armour gleamed, my shield shone and my sword was sharp.
But I could not be ready for him.
For a stone to fly so fast. I would not have thought it possible. If only our own soldiers had such weapons.
I fell heavily, my bulk crashed hard weighed down by the armour.
I'm so sorry...
He took my head, and fed our corpses to the wild animals.
Run, David comes. | I am one of the last storytellers, one of the few that knows better than to believe them, maybe the only one left in this whole big land. It's kind of a lonely feeling, to be the only one of something, but if there are others, maybe we can be lonely together. Telling our stories until none of us have any words left, telling our stories until we can all agree on what the truth is, telling our stories until we change our minds again.
Our loss came long before they shipped the last of us off to the inoffensive corners of our land, somewhere we would not trouble them, somewhere we would not interrupt *progress*. Those old corners that had almost fallen off into the ocean from disuse, those new corners that we had never lived in, those corners that we did not choose, became a place to house our people. Maybe on the other corners some other storyteller tells those who will listen about how we did not always live in the corners, maybe he tells them the same story I'm telling you, maybe our stories are different enough to get the whole truth wrapped up to give to you.
We lost when we let them tell our stories, when we stopped creating our lives and let those strangers tell us who we were. They made us into little paragraphs in history books, permanent and unchanging, as they believe history to be. All sorts of stories they write about us, never getting it right, always making sure they got to be the hero, hogging all the words. It's a greedy thing to do, to keep all the words to yourself, to never let the others talk.
When they write about how they found us, they like that story best, the one where they *discover* us, they always forget that we existed before they arrived, that our stories stretch back into the beginning, and if you have a really good storyteller, even before that. But they always forget us, make us appear on the shores only to greet them with arrows or offerings, depending on which history book you ask. They create us with their boats in those stories, make us appear only when they need us, make us into characters rather than people, take away our stories and replace them with their myths, then print them up and call it truth.
But I am one of the last storytellers, maybe the only storyteller you will ever meet, maybe the last one who will ever live, maybe there will be no one left to tell my story, maybe you can sit down and let me tell you what really happened. | 2013-11-09T19:02:11 | 2013-11-09T17:36:44 | 63 | 17 |
[WP] "Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there". A State Farm agent and her client go on a crime spree, using his ability to summon her to their advantage.
Any ability seen in the commercials is fair game. | Two men to my front, and three at my back
a kilo of diamonds, held firm in my sack
One walked up to me, with hand on his gun
"Throw the bag over, and don't try to run"
"Oh!" But I said, "I never play fair"
And like a good neighbor, State Farm was there | **State Farmer**
The agent walked into the room, casually, as if she didn't know every man in there had a gun.
"You got my cocaine?" she asked.
"Yeah," the man said, his face frozen into a permanent snarl by a scar. He opened up his briefcase, full of packets of white powder.
"Good. Hand it over," she said.
"Where's my money?" he said. She reached towards her briefcase, knowing there was a gun trained on her from the back.
"Right here," she said, opening up her briefcase. Then she ducked.
Inside that briefcase there was a bouncing antipersonnel bomb, also known as a Bouncing Betty. It was designed to shoot up and explode at chest height, killing everything above 5 feet. In this case, that was everyone in the room.
The blood flowed as she strode, her Target-bought high heels clicking against the concrete. She reached the briefcase filled with cocaine, and pulled it. It didn't budge. The man was still holding onto it. In his other hand was a gun.
"Not so fast, bitch," he said.
She sighed. Then she simultaneously yanked the briefcase and spun, the man's body moving easily across the slick floor. His shot went wild. Then her stiletto went through the back of his skull.
She grabbed the cocaine.
"Neighbor, I need extraction, and fast. More personnel are coming," she spoke into her wristwatch.
"Roger that. Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there!" her wristwatch crackled.
The police arrived only minutes later. All they could do was record the carnage. The State Farm duo had struck again.
*Written neighbourly by Stranger_andStranger*
Hey, thanks for reading my story! If you'd like to read more stories like this one, please check out my subreddit at r/Stranger_andStranger. Thanks! | 2015-09-30T20:42:02 | 2015-09-30T19:12:47 | 56 | 20 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear me,
I'm sorry I've let you down. I'm sorry I've not achieved what you thought you would. And I'm sorry I couldn't' be braver for you.
I want to assure you that you are a strong person, though. I want you to know that you will achieve what you want and that you'll eventually be the person you want to be. You can get past me, I'm that school friend who keeps your foot in the past. It's time to shake off the nostalgia and move forward.
I'll be here if you ever want to just kick back and listen to some old favourites.
Yours,
You. | Dear Katie,
It feels strange to be sitting here writing this to you. Especially in the form of a letter, emails seem to be a way of life, but I have to say that watching my pen move over this page has a certain draw.
I never thought I would need to write a letter to you. In my mind you should be right here with me. If I close my eyes I can imagine that you're right beside me, our shoulders touching while we hold hands and enjoy each other's company.
Even in my imagination my hands are a bit sweaty, but you've always made me nervous Katie. I remember you used to worry about that, you would say "just be your self. I'll love you anyway." I'm not sure I ever convinced you that I was being myself, the nervousness couldn't be helped. I couldn't stand the idea of hurting or disappointing you. Lot of good that does me now.
It took weeks to write this. Seeing your smiling face in my mind and sometimes barely remembering your voice hurt too much. When the pain was all I knew you were my life raft in the ocean. Now I just have to drown until the waters subside.
Know that I don't blame you, special. Remember when I called you that all the time? Anyway, I really don't. Everything was always intense between us. Amazing highs and amazing lows. I'm so glad you found someone that makes you happy. I used to tell you that as long as you were happy I would be as well. That's at least somewhat true.
I'll never date again, people tell me never is a long time but it's not the same. Who knew I would be a one woman man? But I am and I found and lost the only woman I'll ever want. Ever.
This could ramble on for a long time so I'll wrap things up. Know that I still love you, I never stopped. I don't blame you for moving on. It sounds ridiculous but sometimes I hold out hope that our story isn't over. That somewhere down the line you'll love me again. Hah, pathetic. Be safe special.
P.S. I recently lost and then found the bracelet you made me senior year. It doesn't fit anymore so it stays around the gear shift in my car. Love you always, Alex. | 2015-12-05T13:04:05 | 2015-12-05T13:01:25 | 1,756 | 661 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | I am writing this with tears in my eyes and 15 years of wishing i did this sooner.
Dear Dude who molested me when I was a child,
You ruined my life. It has been a long time since you molested me and those 3 other kids, and I hope you are rotting in that cell.
Ever since what you have done, I have battled severe depression and extreme psychosis. Do you know what its like being a 10 year old boy huddled in a corner thinking the shadows are going to get him while the voices in his head scream at him in unintelligible words? Do you know what it's like for a 12 year old to contemplate suicide just to get the voices to stop. You probably think I deserve it because my testimony put you in prison for 50 years.
Thanks to you, I have had 24 days in my life where i have held pills to my lips, or a knife to my throat, or held a gun in my hands, all because it would "be easier" than living.
Thanks to you, my career in the Navy was cut short because i was to unstable and had to spend a week in a mental hospital.
Thanks to you, I have spent the last 5 years of my life wasting away because I didnt think there was anything left for me.
But you probably don't care.
Thankfully, though, I have found a girl who loves me. I have found a therapist who tells me it isn't my fault. I have a life I have now built that I love and wouldnt trade for the world. Now i have 2 cats and a dog. Now i have an apartment that I can call home. Now....I have a life, one I don't want to end because it would "be easy".
~One of the boys you raped so long ago. | Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar. | 2015-12-05T15:55:07 | 2015-12-05T14:15:59 | 61 | 11 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear dad,
I fucking miss you. You died too quickly and I never got to hear your last words. I know though, I know you'd tell me you're proud of me and that you love me. I know this, but goddammit, i wish I could have heard you say it. I'll be the man you always knew I could be. I promise you that, and i will continue to promise that until the day my time comes as well.
I love you, pops. | Dear Natalie.
So here I am. Funny how things work, right? Never thought I'd end up penning this letter, but I guess something prompted me to do it.
I know. I've known ever since it happened what your real motivations were, and you never had me fooled for a second. After you apologized, and said that you were just messing around and didn't mean anything by what do guys did, I knew that was bullshit. I looked you right in the eyes and I didn't want to look away, I saw exactly what you were thinking, because I was thinking it too.
Don't treat me like I'm naive, I never was even in my deepest innocence. I haven't forgiven you and I don't think I ever will, I trusted you. I didn't know Dave, but I fucking trusted you. I love you to pieces, but you betrayed me in a way no one ever has, and now no one ever can again.
You know what it felt like, lying on that couch, feeling an empty void in my stomach sucking away everything. I felt unclean, I felt violated.
I was violated.
You did it. You both did it. I've never felt so emasculated, so small. I tower over both of you, I exercise, I work out, I play rugby. I try to embody the ideal man, but I didn't do anything, I was locked in my own body, bound with shock. I felt worthless afterwards.
Some sickening part of me hopes that you two stay together, despite the shit he's done to you, and despite the pain you've caused me, and despite how much I care for you. I want you to explain to your kids that the day mommy and daddy got together they did something dark and terrible. I want to be your fucking family secret.
Because then I'll have something. Anything. Other than a story to share with strangers while I talk away my problems. Other than that thing that was "oh so me". Something to go with the whole "hopeless romantic" thing I have going. Something to hold on to at night.
With all the love that I can muster and more, your friend, Redrum. | 2015-12-05T15:43:07 | 2015-12-05T14:43:55 | 45 | 26 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Hey Matt,
I know you're hurting. I know you're struggling. You tell yourself you can do it, you're going to change the world, you're going to do this and that and you end up doing it. You know telling yourself that its hard and painful isn't going to help so you tell yourself its easy and that you can do it. I get it, you say you do something and you plow forward to do it. BUT right now, please just let yourself bask in the moment-- this moemnt right here of raw emotino. This is you, this is where you're at right now. It hurts and you still loved her but you needed to let go of this one. She wasnt ready. There was too much on the line with this one. Matt, I know you loved her. You gave it your 100% and you can't say that about some things, but know that you did everything you possibly could--so please let her go for the sake of you. Times are rough. but they will get better. i promise you that. so please. let yourself free.
Love,
Yourself | Dear Azura
You have no idea how much you mean to me. Throughout the years I have known you you have brought me countless joys, you make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me happy. When people bring up perfection you are the first person that comes to mind, even though you don't believe it yourself. Your eyes. Your face. Your Smile. Your laugh. Your personality. Your Everything. Even your name. Azura. Just saying it is beautiful. Before I met you, I didn't believe in love at first sight. When I saw you, all of that changed - you were the most beautiful, wonderful person I have ever met, and like a fine wine, you only grow better with time. When I am around you, I am at my happiest. When we talk my heart dances to your voice and your laugh, and my eyes get lost in you, and I can truly say I am happy.
But your love is like a drug.
When you leave I delve once again into emptiness and loneliness, and nothing can fill the void left in me when you're not around. When you decide that I'm not worth your time, I recede into a place where only sadness resides. When you take advantage of my kindness, when you treat me like trash and when you play with my feelings, I feel a sadness that is more powerful than the sadness felt at a lost relative, a failed exam, or a disappointed parent. Yet despite the way you treat me sometimes, I can't help but love you. I have tried everything to move on, and yet I am still lost within you, and something tells me I will never be able to find my way out of those eyes. Something tells me, in years to come, when you have forgotten me, I will still be dreaming about what could have been.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
It kills me that I'm not good enough. That I'm ugly, awkward and not experienced. It's not your fault. You deserve perfection nothing less. When you find perfection, and when you forget me, I hope that it lasts, and I hope you find every happiness you have ever wanted. I will be glad when you find the person who completes you, and I know that person will never be me.
You will forget me. I'll just be another face, another person you used to know. However, I will never forget you. You will always be in my mind, up until my dying breath, when the world has decided to let me go, in search of one last beautiful sight - I will think of you, and the times we spent together, so that I can smile when death takes me.
With all of my love,
Alex. | 2015-12-05T15:02:39 | 2015-12-05T13:59:40 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Mom,
I know you're just a room away from me, but I probably will never have the courage to tell you this. I'm sad, mom. Everyday. I know I'm the one that always laughs and smiles through anything, but it's been getting pretty hard for me. It's weird though, because there's nothing terribly devastating going on in my life, but it's honestly been really hard for me. Whenever I'm alone, all I want to do is cry for hours, because I feel so, so lonely all the time, but I can't. I know seeing my sad makes you guilty, and I love you too much to hurt you.
I'm really sorry I disappointed you today. I didn't mean to. But mom, I don't know what to do. I'm really trying to listen to you, but sometimes I can't tell what you want from me. Sometimes you demand so much and it just makes me feel like this horrible, useless thing that you take care of only because you feel this sense of responsibility.
Mom, I truly do love you. I want to give you the entire world, but I don't know how. I know how you cry yourself to sleep at night, and I know that you feel miserable and glum all the time, and I know it's because of me. I'm sorry.
I know you're dating someone new. I'm happy for you, but I wish you didn't have to keep it a secret from me. Do you know how devastated I was when I found out? You know how supportive I am about you meeting new people, but couldn't you at least tell me? Couldn't you at least tell the person who's always been by your side through everything?
I really wished I was able to tell you this, but here I am, showing it to everyone but you. It's ironic, isn't it?
I love you, your daughter. | Dear Brianna,
Kaden and a handful of my other friends often poke fun at me for even falling in love with you in the first place; "It's just summer camp love, move on." "Maybe if you gave her a call... oh wait! She's deaf!"
When we met that weekend in a grassy field I can't remember because all I cared about was you, we were lined up for breakfast, and I verbally asked your name. As though from many past experiences with hearing people like me, you turned to Natalie and asked her to tell me that you were Deaf.
I had been taking ASL for two years at that point, and I excitedly waved my hand to get your attention, and introduced myself in your language. The look in your eyes, I can't even describe. There was a spark, a look of sheer joy that there was someone else you could talk too!
From that minute, I knew I loved you.
The rest of that weekend, we talked about ourselves. Where we came from. I lived in Portland, and you lived in San Francisco. A tiny voice told me to leave you to stop me from hurting later on, just like it always told me whenever my heart ached for a girl. But you were different. You were adorable, funny, able to hold a conversation, willing to teach me more, allowing me to teach you, we swapped books and life stories.
We fit perfectly together.
Over the following four weeks, our time together was short; we only saw each other from Friday evenings to Sunday mornings, and even then only for a few hours at a time. But we made the most of it.
During weekend 4, I was dared by a few friends to kiss you. Outwardly, I objected the thought, saying you were "nothing more than a fling". But on the inside, I had been considering that myself for quite a while. That Sunday, as were parting ways, I told you what they had dared me to do. You laughed your adorable laugh, and told me to wait just one more week.
The next weekend is the one I hope you never forget. We were going to go on a rec trip to Crater Lake, but I was pulled out of the group to go to the top of a nearby motorbike trail instead. And you left your sister and Shawntee, the only other Deaf people at our camp, to be with me.
I loved you
We hiked for half an hour, reaching the top a mountain covered in golden grass, beneath a cloud-dotted sky as blue as your eyes. You read a book in the shade of the sole tree in our area, and I sat next to you, enjoying the peace. I reached for your hand, you accepted. I moved my head to go for a kiss, you moved yours and met me halfway. It was both our first kiss. We locked eyes and kissed again, longer, more intimate this time. We moved our bodies closer together, laying together under that tree.
That was the last time we touched. The next weekend, we had everything packed and you flew south to your home. We texted on and off for the next few weeks, but we haven't seen each other since.
Brianna, I'm sorry I never text you. I'm sorry I've never had you use the Skype account I made you create. I can't believe I haven't been able to overcome my anxiety for the one girl that loved me.
I write so many messages that never get sent.
Maybe I'll send this one someday.
Yours truly,
Justin | 2015-12-05T19:23:33 | 2015-12-05T18:42:16 | 31 | 11 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Mom,
I know you're just a room away from me, but I probably will never have the courage to tell you this. I'm sad, mom. Everyday. I know I'm the one that always laughs and smiles through anything, but it's been getting pretty hard for me. It's weird though, because there's nothing terribly devastating going on in my life, but it's honestly been really hard for me. Whenever I'm alone, all I want to do is cry for hours, because I feel so, so lonely all the time, but I can't. I know seeing my sad makes you guilty, and I love you too much to hurt you.
I'm really sorry I disappointed you today. I didn't mean to. But mom, I don't know what to do. I'm really trying to listen to you, but sometimes I can't tell what you want from me. Sometimes you demand so much and it just makes me feel like this horrible, useless thing that you take care of only because you feel this sense of responsibility.
Mom, I truly do love you. I want to give you the entire world, but I don't know how. I know how you cry yourself to sleep at night, and I know that you feel miserable and glum all the time, and I know it's because of me. I'm sorry.
I know you're dating someone new. I'm happy for you, but I wish you didn't have to keep it a secret from me. Do you know how devastated I was when I found out? You know how supportive I am about you meeting new people, but couldn't you at least tell me? Couldn't you at least tell the person who's always been by your side through everything?
I really wished I was able to tell you this, but here I am, showing it to everyone but you. It's ironic, isn't it?
I love you, your daughter. | Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar. | 2015-12-05T19:23:33 | 2015-12-05T14:15:59 | 31 | 11 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Boss,
I have come down with a dreadful case of homosexuality and will not be coming in (to work at least) this morning. I realize I am out of personal time and that vacation time must be scheduled in advance, but there is nothing to be done. I am simply not fit for work right now -- I have fluid coming out of (and for that matter going into) both ends and am stiff all over. I want to assure you that I will arrive for my shift tomorrow. I am sure it is just a 24 hour thing, and I am taking medication to control the symptoms.
Yours (and several others', repeatedly through the course of the day),
Me. | Frankie,
Once, you told me that one of the moments that sticks out in your mind is driving in the car with me. I remember that, too; just the two of us, somewhere on Route 64, headed back from Taos. I can still close my eyes and be right there in the passenger seat; I can see our intertwined fingers and the white paracord bracelet hanging from your wrist, lit up occasionally by the headlights of a passing car. It's the same paracord bracelet Gene made for us at Philips Junction, the morning after we woke up on the cabin roof, covered in dew. It's the same paracord bracelet I noticed you wearing in your pictures for years after we last saw each other.
I still have that damn bracelet, somehow. Incidentally, I came across it the other day. I picked it up and ran it through my fingers, and instantly it brought me right back to being in the car with you. I always held on to the idea that we'd run into each other *somehow*... no matter how improbable it was. But it has been years now, and we've never even been in the same state.
I really, truly was head over heels in love with you, and I was in love with you in a way that I don't think I could ever be again. I think I had such a hard time letting go because there was never a definite goodbye; we kissed each other one last time and promised to see each other again next summer, but you never came back. For years, it broke my heart every time I heard a banjo, because all I could hear was you picking away on the porch swing. But finally, I'm at a point where I don't think about you all the time. Finally, I'm at a point where I can stick by bare hand into the cold ashes and really feel that it's over.
And the thing about ashes is that you can use them as fertilizer.
You taught me so much about love - *real love*, without jealousy or petty games. I think the version of me from that summer will always be in love with that version of you, but the truth is, neither of us are those people anymore. So now, I'm stepping forward and enriching my life and all of my relationships with the love you taught me I could hold.
Always,
wheezystevie | 2015-12-05T16:37:04 | 2015-12-05T15:04:15 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed. | ”Okay, here we go,” June said, spinning the wheels on her mechanical glove, which sent her on a dizzying ride through space and time.
She landed in a pub buzzing with activity, colorful bottles lined the wall behind the bar and yellow light radiated through heaps of stacked cups. Women in long dresses and updos danced to the live tunes of a jazz band, while the bartender idly polished the counter.
June made her way through the thick vapors of cigar smoke towards one of the quieter corners of the pub. A man in a black suit and hat sat alone in a booth, swiveling cubes of ice in what undoubtedly was a glass of scotch.
“Fashionable as ever,” he noted, raising his glass unenthusiastically at June.
“Well, it’s not like I had time to change,” June said, looking down at her wrinkly renaissance dress.
“Time, sure.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket. “Want a smoke?”
“Come on, Roman,” June said. “You know I don’t smoke, and besides, we’ve got important things to do.”
“Important, right.” He said, inhaling deeply. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”
“Why don’t you start by giving me an update?”
Roman leaned back, regarding her with an amused look. “Why don’t you start by sitting down for a moment, Sweetheart?”
June felt like kicking him. This was why she hated the fifties. Roman basically turned into a Philip Marlowe with an impossible reluctance to cooperate.
“Fine,” she said, with a resigned sigh. “Buy me a drink.”
“Buy your own drinks,” Roman said, yawning.
“You know, I like you way better in the seventies.”
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said, winking.
“Tell me one thing, Roman,” June said, snatching away the cigarette he was just about to light. “If I were one of those dainty women over there – one of those swooning helpless things, without a hint of independence – would you help me if I came running to you?”
“Swooning, huh?” He emptied his scotch. “If I remember correctly, back in the 16th century–”
“Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t handle the corsets, whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What would it take for you to give me the damn update?”
“How about you get out of that moldy old dress and get the next round?” Roman said, nodding at his empty glass. “I haven’t seen those lovely butt cheeks since Leonardo painted Mona.”
“Why did I marry you back in the Antiques, I simply don’t see it,” June said.
“I think it was the hair.”
“You know, I was going to give you the night of your life, but I guess you’ll have to wait until Zeppelin releases their first album, I mean, it’s only another twenty years.”
“I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait,” Roman said and got up. “Until then there are some swooning ladies by the bar, who appear to be in need of my immediate help.”
June cursed through her teeth and watched him strut over to the dance floor. Be that way, she thought and spun the wheel on her glove again.
| "You still didn't do the dishes," Ali said, gesturing to the sink. The teetering pile of white china, encrusted with dried tomato sauce and burnt cheese, looked exactly the same as it did a week ago. Didn't smell the same, though.
"Hey, I was busy," Clark said, his ice-blue eyes barely looking up from his laptop.
"Yeah, busy dawdling on Reddit," Ali replied, rolling her eyes. She stepped out of the machine. It resembled a smartcar, but with its silvery chrome and sharp edges, it was hardly cute.
"Come on. I have my entire life to do boring things like doing the dishes or getting a job." He snickered. "My entire, infinite life."
"But if you procrastinate forever..." She trailed off. He could procrastinate forever, without repercussions. She turned on the faucet, scraping off the crud with her fingernails.
"Not forever. Just a little while longer."
"How long?" Ali felt her pulse race, her anger surge. "How long until we can build a life together, Clark?" She tilted the plate; water glanced off of it, spraying her top. She grumbled.
"What does it matter to you? You can just zip in your little time machine and come check on me in a thousand years. It's nothing to you. By then I'll be a fantastic lawyer, the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, or even the president."
"I'm still human. I still age, I still want things," she said, on the verge of tears. "Unlike you. You can just sit there, on your throne of garbage and stench, for however long you want. I don't have that time."
"But you do. You can just fast forward through all that time."
"It's not that easy! What if I come back in a thousand years, and society is different? What if I hate it?" In a warbling voice, she continued: "I like it here. I like the Internet, I like the airplanes. I like it all." Wailing, she said: "I want to raise a family *here*!"
"But I should be the most important thing," he said, indignantly, finally standing up. His voice grew louder and echoed through the house. "In a thousand years, I'll still be here, and that's all that should matter!"
"Fine," Ali said, her temper bursting through. She stepped back into the time machine and cranked the controls. Blue and red lights flashed out the bottom of the machine. "I'll see you in a thousand years -- and by then you better be more than this!" She cranked the dial up, and with the sound of crackling static, faded away.
*~ 1,000 years later: 3010 ~*
Still wiping away her tears, Ali stepped out of the vehicle. The house was no longer there; instead it was a barren field of dried grass. The trees and shrubs that skirted the edge of the backyard had all been chopped down. In the distance, the outline of the city cut through the haze. Larger, taller, pointed buildings. She tried her cell phone: no signal, of course, in this strange world.
A distant clamor of shouts rose up from down the road, but she ignored it. She walked down the road (which was made of a soft, pinkish-gray tar). A cool wind blew, pressing the still-wet shirt against her body. She hugged herself, shivered, and continued forward.
At the end of the road was a small cabin. As she got closer, she saw it was more of a dilapidated hut -- rotted wood, fractured windows, pitted lawn. After pacing around it a few times, and hearing soft voices inside, she knocked.
"I'm sorry, I'm lost," she said to the scowling, middle-aged lady who answered. "I -- uh -- I'm looking for someone, and thought you could help me."
Without a word, she pulled Ali inside. "What're yew doin', walking aroun' like dat in de middle of de day?!" she whispered. "Dey all gonna get yew." The dialect was difficult to understand.
"Who's going to get me?"
"De govenmant, o'couse," she said loudly. She drew the blinds and ushered Ali into a back room. "Dey goin' turn yew indo one of dere brainwashed slaves. No freedo' thought, no freedo' speech, no nuthin'. Jus' worship of C. K."
"C. K.?"
She gestured to a large photo taped to the wall. It was crinkled, torn, and scratched through with a red X. The man's face was cut with wrinkles and an odd smirk, but it was recognizable.
Those cold, ice-blue eyes. | 2022-05-07T07:51:43 | 2016-11-10T13:47:53 | 2,588 | 35 |
[WP] You're a neo-Nazi scientist who has been working tirelessly to revive Adolf Hitler. You succeed after decades of effort, only to find that Adolf has no memory of Nazism or the war, and wants only to become an artist. | "National socialism? What's that?", the recently-revived führer asks me. Surely, he must be joking. "It's *YOUR* ideology. You used to spread it, before you died. You got an entire nation to cheer for you every time you held a speech!" I reply. "You still have followers around the world, even after being called a war criminal for half a century! I am but one of them." "Followers?", he asks, "Why would I need any? And a war criminal? I just want to paint!"
"Paint? What do you mean?" I reply, confused. "Yes, I want to be a painter. I've already got a few pieces, my parents say they're nice. But I want to go to an academy of arts and learn to be truly great!" he says, with juvenile excitement in his face and voice. Obviously, he can't be reasoned with, so I just send him on his way with some cash and spend the next few days wondering what went wrong.
Suddenly, my phone rings. It's a strange number, but I pick it up anyway. It's Hitler, calling from Austria. He's mad, yelling at the phone and everyone around him. He was rejected from the academy.
--
PS: It's my first one, be gentle! | "Fuck," Zach says and falls into his chair, sighing.
James and Francis stay standing, looking intently at the painting. James shrugs and offers, "It's not terrible."
Francis scoffs and turns to the table, looking at Zach. "Well, the board isn't going to like this." He then sits down and opens the folder on the table. "And you say there were no failures with the revival? Wasn't there an issue with his heart rate?"
"There was," Zach replies and leans in to grab the folder, leafing through white pages. "Here," he says and pushes a few pages toward Francis. "He failed several engagement exams, not responding to the Semitic stimuli. We threw other segments at him but nothing excited him. That is, until we introduced art into the mix. The Emotion Team is tracing back its steps currently, trying to identify where things went wrong."
James sits down and shakes his head. "Francis, where do we stand on budget? I mean, we got anything left?"
Francis laughs. "We're 14 percent beyond projections. We already had to pull on reserves. The legal team is even trying to extract more from the education endowment. Several teams have contractors who haven't received their last two paychecks. And—"
"So the answer is no," James says irritably. "We're going to have to kill him."
"You want to kill the Adolf Hitler?" Zach says and pounds his fist on the table. "Are you fucking mad? Get rid of the second coming? This is over a decade of work, Jay!"
"Other options?" James asks, leaning into his chair and rubbing his temples.
"We can sell the IP," Francis offers. "And then kill him."
"I was kidding, Francis," James says and sits up, nodding to himself. He stands up and looks at the painting again. "And this is the third painting, right?"
"Yes," Zach says. "It's the third of this type. He drew another version of the flowers first, and copied it seventeen times. This is from a few days ago. Brenda emailed me this morning that he's currently working on his 24th iteration of this."
"So he's nuts, too?" James asks.
"Well, he's obsessive," Zach says.
"Okay, heres' what we do," James says and looks at Francis and Zach, both of them pulling out pads. "Keep him producing art. Send the latest versions to the Communications Team. Tell them we're going to roll out a new art-centric campaign. Tell them all we need for now is a reason why art is the most important medium for cultural hegemony and, um, impact. Yes, impact." There's silence for a moment. "Charter me a place to New York," James finally says and pulls out his phone. "I need to deal with the board."
"Yessir. Heil Hitler."
"Heil Hitler."
"Heil Hitler." | 2016-11-14T12:12:22 | 2016-11-14T11:58:42 | 95 | 15 |
[WP] A few teenagers get superpowers, but they are opposite to their personality (like the school bully can heal, sailor's daughter is pyrokinetic) | "Is anyone home?"
"It looks like only the mother is in the home, we didn't see any sign of him." replied an officer.
The detective sighed, he had been hoping for a quick and simple arrest.
"Let's talk with the mother then."
At that, the group of assembled officers started towards the house, several disappearing around each side of the house to keep an eye on the rear. The detective and the first officer stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door. After a short moment, an older woman opened the door.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"Mrs. Finch?" The detective pulled his ID from his coat pocket and showed it to her. "We are with the county police."
Mrs. Finch looked at the ID a moment.
"Was... was there an accident?" she asked in a shaky voice.
"No Mrs. Finch. There wasn't an accident, we simply need to speak with your son. Do you know where he is?"
"He's at work. Is he in trouble? Did he do something?"
"Where does he work?"
"He works at the hardware store. Is he in trouble?"
The officer stepped off the porch and began speaking into his radio relaying the information.
"Mrs. Finch, your son was seen reviving a car crash victim this morning."
"I don't understand, isn't that a good thing?"
"I don't mean he performed CPR or first aid. The victim had been declared dead by the paramedics. Your son brought him back to life."
"But, he's just a kid. He couldn't..." her voice was filled with fear as it trailed off.
"You understand then? Revival is a very rare power. It's only ever been documented in s-"
Mrs. Finch cut him off. "Serial killers... It means he is a serial killer." | George was always absent minded, but the meteorite changed every thing. After touching it he was able to see into the future. He knew of the town was under Imminent threat and would soon be endangered.
"Just touch it! I'm telling you it works."
"Predicting what I was gonna have for dinner is not a super power." Jamal said.
Jamal participated in 0 school activities. No groups, no sports no nothing. He stays to himself usually and is known for being the meek quiet kid.
"A-are you for real? Is this some sort of prank? I'm not touching some random rock for your amusement. Are you in on this lizzy?"
"What? No! I'm just as confused as you are! I came because george said the world was going to end if I didn't. I didn't think he meant it literally.."
Lizzy loved the outdoors: bugs, animals, plants everything! She enjoys volunteering at the animal shelter and part of the service club at school. She was the epitome of kindness.
"Listen Jamal, I will literally pay you 50 bucks if you touch that rock right now."
"I don't know, I should really get going."
"Just touch it!"
Jamal touched the rock, wincing in anticipation of an awesome energy flowing through his fingers.
"Jamal are you okay?" Lizzy said
"...nothing happened."
"Well what did you expect? Now try clearing your mind are you getting any visions?"
"No, but I do feel something. I feel light on my feet."
With a single bound, Jamal jumped high into the air before falling back to the ground.
"WOO! Super Hops. I might actually talk to the basketball guys ar school, now."
Lizzy and george stare at Jamal with their jaws dropped in awe and wonder.
"Wait what?! No fair I didn't get a power half as cool."
Lizzy shook in excitement. "I can't believe it. George is right. We're going to be super heroes."
"That's not all guys! I feel strong."
George raised his eyebrows. "Like empowered strong? Please don't tell me you have what I think you have."
Raising george in the air with one hand, Jamal put any doubts to rest.
"Super strength! I'm amazing"
"This is totally unfair. I found it first and all I get a lame nerd power, meanwhile Jamal is practically superman."
Lizzy spoke up. "Guys! If George says the world is going to end, then we have a responsibility as the only super powered people to protect it!"
"Right" Jamal said dropping george to the ground.
"Ow! Some super hero you are!"
"Sorry!" Both the boys turn to see Lizzy holding the rock in the cup of her palm
"Feel anything lizz?"
"Nothing. Did I do it wrong."
"Put it down! Now!" George yelled lunging himself on her. The meteorite fell with a thud onto the dirt. Her hand began to turn a dark grey.
"What's happening?" Jamal asked. "Is lizzy okay?"
George broke into tears. "I don't know why I couldn't predict it sooner."
The grey from Lizzys hand spread to her whole body. George's body quickly began deteriorating. His face went white and deformed, falling slowly from his skull. His body collapsed to the ground
"George?" Lizzy said as the grass around her began wilting away.
Jamal started to run, but the effects have already taken it's toll. Despite his super strength he felt no more powerful then a child. He fell to his knees and began to wither as well.
| 2017-03-24T18:09:44 | 2017-03-24T17:52:25 | 63 | 45 |
[WP] You possess the ability to quick save in real life. When someone upsets you? Quicksave and beat them up. Wonder what would happen if you kiss that girl? Quicksave and find out. Then one day you attempt to come back from a failed attempt at something to find your previous save corrupted. | As I bled out on the floor, I smiled. Now I knew exactly where all my most recent of set of enemies where in the building. It might take a few more tries before they were all gone, but time was literally on my side.
As the darkness rushed in, I felt the usual twist, before finding myself kneeling on the floor behind the metal containers on the third floor. But instead of the rush I usually got, I only heard the click of a gun.
"Hey! How'd you get here?"
Bang.
Blackness swirled in.
Light.
"Hey! How'd you get here?"
Bang.
Blackness swirled in.
Light.
"Hey!" | This was one shitty situation. I had the idea to stop the robbers, see if I could take them out. I could always reload the previous save, right?
I ran towards the first robber, punching him in the face, I grabbed his knive and stabbed the other in his heart. Hey, this went better than expected. Two down, 2 to go.
The biggest man I have ever seen in my life started running towards me, a broken wine bottle in his hand. He was quick, quicker than I had anticipated, he could kill me and there is no way I can reload that. I had to make a choice, jump out of the window, reload and try again, or get killed. The choice was easy, or so I thought.
I leaped through the window of the 23rd floor. The sky was cold and I immediately fell down. Quickly I tried to reload my previous saved file and then everything faded till there was nothing left to see.
"Hello?" I called out. I couldn't be dead, I thought. I tried opening my eyes, only to see a horribly mutated world. Blocks everywhere, birds flying in place, people moving in unnatural ways. A loud buzzing noise surrounded me.
"What is this place?" I thought to myself. And I started walking towards the nearest building I saw, well, I would call it a building but the shape was inexplainable. Big pieces of black mass covered the corners of the building, the rest looked like a puzzle with the pieces all in the wrong place.
Suddenly, the noise stopped and I heard someone walking towards me. As I turned around a voice softly spoke "So, you did it. You broke it."
"Broke what?" I asked
"The game, you broke the game. Your whole life, you have lived inside a game, nothing you saw was real. Why do you think the strangers you met kept saying the same things all over again? You were the chosen one, now you've broken the game. Now you can live a normal life."
Everything faded black again, and all I heard was the soft beeping of a heart-monitor.
*please be nice, this is my first story. I hope you enjoyed!*
Edit: Formatting on mobile sucks, I will try to make it more readable | 2017-04-19T05:06:21 | 2017-04-19T03:45:41 | 206 | 147 |
[WP] You made a deal with the devil and now he wants payment, but in the worst typo in history he's come to collect "your sole".
If you can think of any other words that work go ahead. | My sole? I stopped and stared, agape,
At Satan's scrawls upon the scroll.
How blessed I was to have escaped
A far more dire toll.
My Nikes lay, from yesterday,
When I had worn and laced them last.
An oh-so-meagre price to pay!
I grabbed my knifeblade fast.
I pierced the shoe, the rubber flew
And landed at my naked feet.
A sweeping carve, my blade, it starved
For tender runner meat.
And with a pop, the sole came off
In one large muddy, flappy piece.
And then I yelled, "O King of Hell,
Come up, your eyes to feast!"
The power flickered. Ghostly snickers
Flew, demonic moans and whispers
Filled the air. I didn't dare
To think about the coming bicker.
Air grew chilled, upon my sill
My tabby screeched, a noise quite shrill
As through black clouds, with voice so loud,
*He* rose, my soul to kill.
"Your life, my friend, has met it's end,"
He cackled in his voice of doom.
His wretched laugh broke every glass
Within my humble room.
But still I stood. Oh, just how would
He take the news of his mistake.
Was it a ruse? I took the shoe,
Although my hands did shake.
I took the scroll, also the sole,
And I began my explanation.
As I debunked, His grin, it shrunk,
His face one of consideration.
"Well..." He said, he shrugged. His head
Hung low in grim and timid shame.
"I guess you've won. My work is done.
Your soul's still in your name."
And as he left, I heard his "Heck!
I must see to that autocorrect."
Then with a *poof* the Hellish goof
Returned from whence he came.
I, with a grin, turned back within
And nestled down to bed.
The moral of this story is
Be careful where you tread.
| The collections department sent an email with the next job. As soon as I saw the name, I knew who it was. I didn't even bother using Google Underworld to map a route. One snap of the fingers and the red walls of the underworld went streaming past.
I summoned the seven fire-breathing demons of hell, the undead, my three forked trident, and loaded up some screamo on Google Christ (the anti-version). Dirt exploded out in every direction as we penetrated Earth. Wooden beams shattered into fragments.
We rose out of the destroyed floor of a bedroom. I couldn't imagine just how unbelievably evil we must have looked then.
A boy in a rock t-shirt sat on the edge of a bed. There was a girl next to him, one with sandy blonde hair and a similar t-shirt, with her lips puckered.
"Oh, fucking hell, this guy again?" the guy said.
Dave was always trying to dodge me when I came to collect. But this time I'd get him for sure.
"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Dave. We've never even met before."
I'd throw him off by playing it cool. It would make me more evil and confuse him in the process. Human's couldn't think straight when they were confused, it's their final weakness.
"What the heck is this, Dave?" the girl said. She crawled back on the bed. I could tell she was a distraction, a well placed aesthetically pleasing human that would draw my attention from his get away. It wouldn't work this time.
"I'm leaving!" she said.
Not if I had anything to do with it. I reached back my trident hand, preparing to throw.
"Just. . . stop," Dave said, holding a hand out to me. "The last time you ruined my first kiss, you left the girl bald."
He was onto me.
"I've come to collect, Dave. Give it up, you won't be getting away."
Dave slapped a hand to his forehead. He was channeling his deceptive energies, I could feel a plot cooking.
The girl rolled off the bed and began putting things on her feet. Human devices, created to foil my collections.
"Stop you! I'll throw it!"
The woman screeched and promptly fainted. She's not the first that couldn't handle my evilness.
"Every time . . ." Dave groaned. "I told you. It's the KISS album. Not a KISS."
"Pay your dues, Dave."
He grumbled under his breath while searching under the bed. I kept my eyes peeled and my beasts ready. A high collection target like Dave should not be taken lightly, by anyone, least of all the lord of darkness. And I could be pretty dark when I needed to be.
Dave turned around with something in his hand. "Here. This is what I owe you."
And there they were. White-faced creatures, angels in the flesh. It sent my mind racing, my blood bubbling. The lord of light was close and I had come without my army.
"Not this time, Dave!" I said, before the angels could jump out and attack. "But I'll be back!"
Dave groaned. "I am never going to get laid."
The Earth zipped away, the red walls of hell streamed past again, and I was back in the job booth. There are some things even I should not be forced to see.
*Job failed,* I keyed into the system.
The system responded, *a drink for the nerves?*
*Enough to make me forget,* I typed back.
-----
/r/cassidylilly
| 2017-10-16T07:33:44 | 2017-10-16T03:22:17 | 143 | 10 |
[WP] There's a knock at the door at three in the morning. It's an intergalactic bounty-hunter, and they're after an escaped criminal they've tracked to your home. They show you a photo of the fugitive: It's your pet. | "Earthen, we seek an escaped criminal. It is hiding on your world in the form of a common terrestrial animal."
/* Looking up at tall grey skinned man with big black eyes I frown. He is not nice, and he brings no snacks. *"I do not like the way you speak to me weird face. Show respect to me!"*
"Our apologies Earthen. We mean no disrespect. How may we make amends?"
/* Nod in approval, because respect is good place to start. *"Got any snacks? I am hungry!"* Grey skinned man goes to metal fly car and returns with tube. Pours out liquid meat smell stuff. It is very tasty. *"This is good. You show respect, now so will I. What can this one do to help find crime doer?"
"Earthen, we believe he may be dwelling in your home. Have you seen this animal?"
/* Tall grey skin man with big black eyes holds out frozen mirror paper with picture of my pet Bobby. Bobby is the one who brings me snacks and gives me snuggles. Feel very upset. *"Bobby cannot be bad man. Bobby is good to Barkley."*
"Earthen, please, we assure you, we have much evidence of this animal doing very bad things. We will show you."
/* Black eyes grey skin shows many frozen mirrors that show Bobby do many bad thing. This one can not deny anymore. *"Yes. You must take Bobby away, Bobby is a bad boy... and bad boys must be punished... but Bobby is also snack bringer and water giver to this Barkley. What now, will become of Barkley?" Grey skin man stare at this one for long time.
"Earthen... would you like to come with us? We can take you on our ship. We can show you many worlds."
/* This one thinks for long while. This idea is good, but... *"Will others like Barkley be on ship? This one doesn't want to be lonely for a mate."* Grey skin man pauses in think.
"We can go to one of the prisons run by the animals that hold your brethren inside Earthen. We can liberate many of them, so that you will not want for friends and mates."
/* Smile up at Grey Skin man with kind, big, black eyes. *"Yes. This will be good."*
/* Translated into English. | I was sound asleep. I was having a pleasant dream about me and my pet Goldfish swimming together in the ocean.
But it all went away when a knock on my door ripped me out of my dream. I meandered over to the door, Flashing lights were shining through the windows at the front of the house. I didn't even compute that the colors were yellow and green, but my mind went to cops immediately. i calmed my inner panic and opened the door. I was greeted by a man dressed in black clothing. "Good Day, i'm here looking for an Escaped Inter-galactic Criminal, we traced the perp to your house.
My mouth felt dry but i spoke up "That can't be possible... i'm the only one living here." He rummaged through his satchel bag and pulled out a piece of glass, he showed it to me and it lit up. I was shocked for a second but i became even more shocked when i saw what shown on the glass. It-... it was my Goldfish.
"I-i-i-i don't understand, that's my GoldFish Aquarius." he put the glass away and proceeded to speak into a walkie-talkie like device strapped to his coat. "He's here alright, moving to apprehend."
He shoved past me and started going through my house, i put my hands on his shoulders and started shaking him. "Listen dude... i don't know if you're joking or not but you have no right to be going through my house!" He turned around and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me. "Here's the Warrant, your degree you got at Law School should help you out." I read through and sure enough, it's all legit. I had shown a look of defeat and handed the paper back. I raised my arm and said: "I'll show you to him."
He followed me into my bedroom and pointed to his tank. He opened the top and dug into the painted rocks at the bottom. He pulled out a black box, He opened it and it showed tiny fish like armor and weapons, including knifes, tiny guns and tools. I was shocked.
"See?" he said "He's a killer, he even kept his stash of weapons in your home... I'm surprised he hasn't killed you yet, maybe he would've tried to use you as a Scape-Goat." I was speechless from what i was looking at. A man claiming to be a Inter-Galactic Bounty Hunter was after my Fish?
He pulled out a clear glass box and opened it up, he put it in the fish tank. Aquarius slowly swam out from behind the foliage i planted in the tank. he swam into the box, the man closed the lid and started walking out. i stopped him before he left. "Isn't there some way to like... i don't know let me see him?" He paused and, turned around and stared at me. " Sir this Criminal is a Class X Killer, he escaped Cage et Pervia (Latin for The Impervious Cage) after being there for only 5 days.
I felt depressed, crushed, stricken down to my very soul. I accepted defeat and set him on his way.
I got no more sleep the rest of the night, feared that i might have nightmares about it. I cryed for the rest of the night.
One month later. I had adopted a baby Labrador puppy. as i was walking out with the dog in my hands a man dressed in full black came through the door. My mouth dropped, it was the man who took my gold fish. I bolted past him and jumped into my convertible, I raced through town to get back home. He didn't follow me, i felt relaxed when i realized he wasn't after my newly adopted dog.
I am now enjoying my dreams of me and my dog running through a forest together.
The End
---------
Let me know what you think! i'm an amateur writer and it's a spare time thing.
Send me some feedback on what i can improve!
| 2017-11-16T00:25:06 | 2017-11-15T23:34:51 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] Your father is forcing you to marry someone you have never met. The night before your wedding you tie your sheets together and make your escape through the window. Half way down you make eye contact with someone doing the exact same thing a few windows over. | As she reached the ground, she ran over to the young man who was almost to the ground. Her face showed surprise as she realized it was Matthew, the young man she was supposed to marry tomorrow. The surprise quickly turned into anger.
"Excuse me! What do you think you are doing?"
Sophie's voice was not something he was prepared to hear, and his hands made that apparent as they decided to let go of the rope so he could meet the ground sooner than he was expecting.
"What the hell?" Matthew stood up, rubbing his backside, almost as if consoling it. "You couldn't have waited two more seconds for me to get down before making me fall?"
"You didn't answer me," Sophie questioned, trying not to make too much noise as they were both right outside their parents' rooms. "What are you doing?"
"I'm running away. Isn't that pretty obvious? Now look out, I need to get out of here."
Sophie got even angrier. "Why would you run away? You are supposed to be marrying me tomorrow!"
Matthew looked at her in shock. "*You're* Sophie? You're the girl I'm supposed to marry tomorrow?"
Sophie had forgotten that the groom is not allowed to see his bride before marriage, at least once the proposal has been accepted by both fathers. "Well yes, I am Sophie, but you still haven't answered my question. Why are you running from our marriage?"
"Well, I don't really want to get married, that's all."
"WHAT?!" Matthew reached over and covered her mouth. Sophie slapped his hands away as he shushed her.
"Stop being loud! You'll wake our parents."
"How dare you?" she snarled as loud as she could while still maintaining sneakiness. "How could you not want to marry me?"
Matthew's face turned a little red. She was quite pretty, but another thought crept into his head. "Wait... why are you out here?" He looked back towards the other rooms and saw another handmade rope of sheets hanging from another window. "You're running away... from our wedding? You're doing the same thing I am!"
Sophie was caught a little off guard, realizing now that they were doing the same thing. "Well, I also don't want to get married."
"So why the hell are you getting mad at me for doing the same thing?"
Sophie thought for a moment. "You should be happy that you were supposed to marry someone like me." She smiled, thinking he would now feel guilty.
"I should be happy to marry you? I DON'T EVEN KNO-," this time it was Sophie's hand that covered Matthew's mouth.
"Be quiet!" She removed his hand.
"Sorry. But I don't even know you and how am I supposed to know that you're pretty and that I might want to marry you?"
Sophie blushed. "You think I'm pretty?"
Matthew began examining the ground rather intently. "Uh, well yea, I guess. You are pretty, um, pretty."
Sophie began to calm a little more. Maybe Matthew wouldn't be the worst husband to have.
"But that doesn't mean I want to marry you." Matthew looked up and saw Sophie beginning to get a little upset. "Sorry, I don't mean to be mean, but just being pretty doesn't mean I love you."
Sophie still was upset even though is apology made a lot of sense. "So, what do we do know then?"
"Even though we don't want to get married to each other, or at all right now, that doesn't mean we can't help each other out."
Sophie looked up, "What do you mean?"
"Well, we're both running away, why don't we run away together. It'll be a lot easier if we help each other out along the way."
Sophie smiled. Maybe it would have been okay to not try and run away. Maybe this marriage would have worked. "Yea, that does sound like a good idea. Do you know where we should go?"
Matthew looked around. As he tried to figure out which way to go, his mind kept returning to Sophie. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad to stick with the marriage, although she does seem a little hot headed. "Let's try that way. We can always come back if we have to."
"Lead the way." | Luna knotted the last of her satin bedsheets and silk dresses. She smiled in satisfaction with her handiwork, and after a quick test of its dexterity, she fastened them around her best rope, she threw the line out the window. She watched the satin covered rope propel to the very bottom of the tower, landing in the flower bed.
Her mama would be far from pleases. She imagined her grey irises narrowing into feline slits, a sign of her tightly controlled rage. Her brother would be sent to retrieve her, but they both would come to understand and accept she would not return unless she wanted to. And as of right now, returning was not an option.
She carried the essentials and made her way down her bedroom tower. She was going to miss her late night reading in the library. Her favorite handmaiden, Bellatrix, would have to sneak into the kitchens without her. Her former professors at the university would feel the pain of a different type of disappointment when they would hear of her exploit.
What she missed was not as important. She scaled down the wall, moving quietly and swiftly, and glad the knot she tied to the oversized wardrobe had done the trick. All she needed to do was make it to the train station before her absence was noted, and timing her speedy dexterity, she was crossing the halfway point she desired. All she needed to do was press a gentle foot on the flower bed.
As she crossed that triumphant threshold, she heard a similar scraping sound to her right. Luna turned her head, felt her chest constrict painfully, and swung her body harshly to the right.
----------
Solis was falling, and suddenly, he was not. He secured his rope up in the library, but somehow, lost his grip as he descended half way down. He was falling, and without anything to grip, he knew he was about to die or suffer a grievous injury. He closed his eyes, bracing his body and mind for impact, and apologized silently to his parents for his foolishness.
He didn't reach the ground as anticipated. He was falling one moment, and the other moment, an arm looped around his waist as he plummeted to his apparent death. There was no death. There was simply a tangled mess of silk bedsheets and a soft flower bed that broke his fall. He opened his mouth, gasped, and sat upright with peonies sticking out of his already spiky hair.
"I'm not dead." He gasped, "I'm not dead." He checked his fingers -- all ten, unbroken fingers. He checked his arms, both unbroken. He stood and patted his body, and was relieved that every part of him was unbroken and in good health. He was alive, not dead, and not injured.
"Urrggh," moaned underneath him. Solis stilled in a second and glanced down, and felt the color drain from his face and body. *Wait...is that...no...it can't...but why...oh no.* He rolled the young woman, the fourth princess on her bed, and saw that her arm was bent at a terribly awkward -- unnatural position. *Broken. It was broken.* He swallowed thickly, feeling the muscles in his throat constrict in terror of what was to come.
All he wanted was to attend the festival.
----------
Luna did not make it to the train station, and Solis did not attend the festival. He gathered the princess' battered body, covering her bag in the dirt, and found a guard to send her to the infirmary.
"What were you thinking carrying so many books to the library in the first place," Noctis crossed his arms firmly, a thin place replacing the usual jovial smile that masked his expression, "you could have been killed."
Luna sighed, staring at the ceiling and wondering where it went wrong. Her plan was perfect, absolutely perfect, and if she had stuck to the plan...*it can't be changed now.*
"You're lucky that the third Prince Solis of Ignis was there to find you."
She scrutinized him, realizing shortly that he was not joking, "What do you mean Prince Solis? Wasn't I supposed to meet with --," she couldn't recall his name.
"Prince Rex." He corrected her with a smirk, "Unfortunately, he has...been occupied with certain things, and could not accompany his mother Queen Regina for this visit."
As her brother described the events that unfolded during her stay in the infirmary, her memories forged an image of a young copper skinned man whose eyes were filled with bristled panic as he lifted her into his arms. His hair was a shade darker than her own, a night grace blue tint, and she shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.
"May I ask where he is now?"
"Oh." A light smile played on Notcis' lips as he sat on the bed, "He went to join the festival for its last day. Queen Regina thought it was a good idea, and Selene will host him."
He left her alone with a reminder their parents would arrive to check on her. *And for the truth, Luna.* She watched him leave with indifference. The fact she was not questioned on the state of her room must have been Bellatrix's work. Good. She turned on side, taking care to not disturb her casted arm, and saw a book on the bed stand.
"At least they left me with some entertainment." She squinted at the leather bound cover, flipping to the first page, she watched as the letters scrambled together. An apologetic melody emitted off the page.
*"Thanks for the save! And sorry! I panicked. You really need to be careful when scaling down those stairs, y'know! Prince Solis of Imperium."*
Luna fell back on her pillow and sighed. Closing her eyes, she whispered, "There's always next time."
| 2018-03-24T19:23:57 | 2018-03-24T17:59:56 | 59 | 30 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "Table for one, sir."
I reclined on the wooden chair and sipped at the complimentary cup of lava-heated water. The water, its temperature just nice to heat up my icy skin, spilled out as I set the cup down on the table. Dribbles of water remained on the plastic file beside the cup.
"A hundred and eighty-six thousand, huh." I breathed out lightly. I tweaked my nose and picked the file up again, opening it to reveal a rather impressive stack of paper. The paper was written in a language my presiding Overseer had called Archean, but the only thing that mattered on the piece of paper was an absurd Arabian number written on it.
186,292.
My presiding overseer had slapped himself silly when I stepped forward, muttering about pig-like teammates and 'too heavy to carry'. His eyeballs had also popped out of his sockets, prompting his assistants to help him pick them back up. His stately demeanor lost, it didn't take him long to dismiss me without a word. There was something distinctly unfair about my lack of information...but it wasn't prudent for me to bring that up.
I shook my head and sipped from the cup again. I didn't do any damning act in my lifetime. No murders, no kidnapping, nothing. I sighed again, this time audibly.
"What's the matter, signeur?"A voice piped up from my right. I turned, and a masked man came into view. His mask was coloured a white so pure that it stung my eyes to look at it. The only hint towards his emotions was his exposed mouth, which was straight...for now.
"Nothing much, friend," I replied. I picked up the paper and stared at it forlornly. "Just an absurdly long sentence."
He clapped my back lightly. "Don't fret it, son. At least you're better off than him." He pointed at a man, who was walking with an incredibly awkward gaunt, wobbling from left to right.
"What happened to him? I mean, is this even supposed to happen?" I looked at the man and shivered inwardly. His face was filled with a despair that I couldn't fathom, so deep it was.
"He's scum. In life, he was a serial rapist-cum-murderer. His sentence in the afterlife was to experience the pain, shame and fear felt by his victims a hundred-fold." The masked man spat on the floor. "It also happened that he was a homophobe to the extreme, so the powers that be decided to let him experience a...brand new world."
He smiled darkly. "Using a metal rod 20 centimetres wide."
"Well, at least we know what caused his punishment," I complained grumpily, a current of pity hidden inside. "My text was in something called Archean, and my overseer didn't even read out what I was being incarcerated for."
The masked man's upper lip curled. "Well, I happen to know Archean. Do you mind if I read it for you?"
I waved my hand lightly. "Sure, go ahead."
I chucked the file lightly at him and the man deftly caught it. I picked up the cup and sipped at it again. It was rather unfair...I lived a life filled with kindness and dignity. Why subject me to this? My eyes flitted onto the masked man, who was actually frozen in place.
"Mister?" I asked.
The mask fell off, and before I could register his appearance, he shot to his feet and saluted. "Your humble servant offers greetings, Lord Administrator! Please pardon my previous rudeness!"
The file fell off his lap, landing with a plop that resounded throughout the silent tavern. I swallowed and picked up the file.
As I examined the words again, the scribbles shuddered and rearranged themselves.
On it was written in eye-catching letters: "Administrator of the 9th domain, term to last for 186,292 years. Effective immediately."
"Balls."
As the curse escaped my lips, the number increased by one. | “Why? What did I do to deserve this?”
Charon the gatekeeper just looked down. “If you want to dispute this sentence. Then you will have to speak to management. However I don.....l
“Well get me the fuckin manager then. This can’t happen to me in life I had thousands of more followers on social media then any of my friends. I had a great house a great family and an awesome job. I lived a great life.”
Charon simply smiled and cordially responded. “Very well please wait in the vestibule.”
So I waited.....and waited.....and waited.....and waited what seemed like an hour. This is total crap I used to get what I want when I wanted it anytime with the push of a button. I earned what I wanted and got it. Man this sucks. Well I wonder this tool bag manager is going to be like? Probably some simple minded yes man who never took a risk in his entire life. I was the man in life and I got everything I ever wanted. But I tell you what this waiting really sucks.
Just then some pimply faced accountant doofy looking dude showed up.
“Excuse me sir. My name is Nergel and I understand you have a complaint. How can I help you?”
Nergel??? What a turd name! But honestly I think he should call himself Nerdel. Made me laugh just thinking about it.
“Yeah Hi. There has to be a mistake here. The guy in front of me cheats on his wife and gets 100 years or something but I get like 200,000 years??? I was a pillar of my community. I did several good things with charities, and my family had everything they ever wanted.”
“Yes I understand that this may come as a surprise to you but the decision has been made. It would be best if you just served your....”
“Bullshit I don’t deserve this I should have some entitlement here! That dude in front of me was a drunk and a waste of life! He probably should have killed himself a long time ago.”
“Well technically you automatically get 500,000 years so that would not be advised.”
“I don’t care about that guy I care about ME. And you know what I am tired of your face, So listen here NERDEL why don’t you go get someone who has a pair of balls so I can get my reward.”
Nergel changed his demeanour slowly then just smiled. “Ok I guess it’s time to drop the pretences then. You are such a limited simpleton, a walking bag of garbage and if I didn’t have responsibilities here I would just end you.”
“Who do you think you.....”
Nergel waived his hand and I couldn’t speak. I tried but the words wouldn’t form.
“We’re done talking. Now it’s time for you to listen. You want to know why you got this time? Because you are an asshole. You used your family as a shield to show people you were a good guy when in fact you hated them. You never spent any time at home. Oh what’s that oh yes ‘because you were working!’ No no no that’s not exactly true. How many late nights in bars or strip clubs or weekends at the golf course did you spend?”
“Still nothing huh? Well how about all the anonymous social media bullying you did to improve your position at work? Man you sure did some things. Did you know that one guy you hurt spent the last few miserable years of his life in a group home? Survival of the fittest is what you called it. Well let’s just I can relate. I am the original survivor. I faced more pain then you can ever imagine and I think I know I am going to do with you.”
“Don’t be nervous it’s ok. I have great news! I have heard your complaint and I have decided that you won’t have serve 200,000 years.”
I looked up at him still not able to speak.
“I don’t really think serving 200,000 years is necessary for you. You probably wouldn’t get anything out of it. So instead I will reduce your sentence to 200 years where you will receive my finest training so when you do go to heaven you will be ready.” He waived his hand again so I could speak.
“Oh thank you very much I really appreciate it. I’m sorry I got hot I’m just a passionate person.”
“Oh your perfectly excused for that. No problem.” He motioned to an attendant. “Can you please escort this gentleman to level C. This man is ready for his training.”
“Yes my lord. This way please.” I was led to a room not too far from where I was. There was light coming out the door. Hey maybe I am just going straight to heaven after all. Ha ha ha I talked my way out of that one again. Survival of the fittest even in the after life. The door opened and I saw the blinding light.
“Step through.” I walked inside and the door behind me was shut. Then the light went out and I was in total darkness. A small lantern lit up in the corner of the room but I could not see anything. I heard some chittering and some gear noises. When my eyes adjusted I saw some spinning wooden crates with metal and hooks attached to it. Where was I.
Then a figure came from the darkness. A man with pins in his face. Chains shot out and tore into me. I screamed not ever feeling this kind of pain before.
“Welcome to your training. Let’s begin.” | 2018-09-26T07:07:43 | 2018-09-26T06:56:58 | 895 | 74 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | I didn't expect to close my eyes in one moment only to open them the next and be escorted down a fiery flight of stairs to Hell. I thought I'd led a pretty good life. Never had a run in with police nor did I ever treat someone with less respect than they deserved. I was honestly quite surprised to be taken to Hell, but I guess I had some repenting to do.
I took my place in the queue behind a young man who looked quite complacent here.
"What do you think they're punishing you for?"
"Infidelity" He said matter-of-fact turning to face me, the bullet hole in his head glistening red.
He walked up to a demon who printed off a piece of paper that revealed his sentence.
"145 years? That's...not so bad"
A wave of excitement washed over me. If he only got 145 years to repent then surely I'll have much less!
With a pep in my step I walked up to the demon. It barely glanced at me before printing my ticket of sins and shoo-ing me away.
I took one step out of the queue and gazed at the number. I was horrified.
"No no this CAN'T be right?! 186,292 years?! I did great things for people! Brilliant things! I was a bloody lawyer!!" | "There is... one thing you can do to decrease your sentence," The creature said from behind the counter. Jeff couldn't decide if it was a demon or an angel, but either way looking at it made his eyes burn with glowing letters, after images shaking across his head and itching across the folds of his spirit.
"Alright! What is it?"
The creature stared at him for a long moment. "Jury Duty."
Jeff hesitated and stared up at the beast, watching the trailing golden letters smoothly replace any scrape of the creature that he could see. His brain simply refused to process the imagine beyond a frame at a time.
"Jury Duty?" Jeff asked.
"Jury duty," the creature replied, simply. "There are always trials to be had, from people who think they can reduce their sentence through the courts."
"Is that an option?"
The beast looked down at the list Jeff had given them, played long bone fingers against the wood, then shook their head. "Not at all for you, I'm afraid."
Jeff curled his fingers into fists and dug the nails into his skin. He had places to go. He had things to see.
He had people to chase after. He wasn't going to just let some bureaucratic bullshit lock him out of that.
He had a son to chase after.
"What does being a juror get me?"
"Out of hell," the beast said. "Instantly. You move up to purgatory, where you'll reside over every ambiguous case from now until your much reduced sentence. The tower only rises, you understand."
Jeff blinked. "The tower?"
"The pillar of heaven. It is an eternal stair case filled with levels, each holding the sinful back." The beast jerked a finger down at the ground. "You're stuck at the ground level, and by our calculations, a wretch like you will take 200 thousand years to get to the top without short cuts. It's how hell works. Sin is heavy."
Jeff was no wretch.
"And what," Jeff said, gritting his teeth. "Does it take to be a juror?"
The golden script receded around the beast's maw as they smiled, baring teeth made out of thousands of skulls, curled up on top of one another, descending into infinitesimal small points.
"Why," The beast said, long tendril fingers briefly revealed before the censorship of gold took effect. "All you need to do is survive a little bit of a hellish ordeal."
On some level, Jeff knew it was stupid to take a deal with something he found in hell.
On the other hand, he knew full well that he couldn't wait long enough for the hike to the top.
"Tell me what to do."
----
For more like this, go here! https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
guys on my subreddit made me write another part. https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/9j4p8t/pillars_of_heaven_part_2/ | 2018-09-26T06:12:57 | 2018-09-26T06:04:04 | 881 | 181 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "Excuse me sir, but this doesn't seem right? Are you sure you have the right results for me? This seems totally unwarranted." I said to the clerk who handed me my sentence papers.
"Sir, there are no mistakes here. Try this, it usually clears things up." he replied.
He handed me a blue flyer, like the kind they give you at a hospital, which answers the usual questions that they don’t have time to go over with every person who asks.
It read:
“Feeling cheated by your sentence?”
“Wondering how you could have possibly racked up that many sins in one lifetime?”
“Feeling like your perfectly average life couldn’t have possibly led to this?”
If you answered yes to one or more of these questions, this is for you. We often have newcomers ask similar questions and have found that the following self test can clear things up. If you still have questions after reading this, you can talk to one of our support staff.
Check all that apply:
1. I felt underappreciated during my lifetime
2. I often had to remind people why I deserved what I was clearly entitled to
3. People had a hard time recognizing my achievements
4. I rarely felt like I was among equals, often feeling like the smartest person in the room
5. Often felt like people were envious of me
6. I was almost always able to convince people to let me have my way
7. I found that I had to constantly make people understand that they were wrong
8. People often refused to see what I knew to be true
9. I sometimes had to use force to make people understand things that were for their own good
10. I often needed to remind people that I don’t settle or compromise
If you checked off five or more of the above, it is likely that you lived your life as a narcissist. You were unable to see the sins you were accumulating because you believed that you were not committing them at all.
Still confused? One of our support staff can help you by recounting your memories from the perspective of your friends or family. You can make an appointment at the front desk.” | "... Happy Deathday Dear Emily, Happy Deathday to you!"
It felt so good. One more year down, 185,211 more to go. She'd spent the past few weeks trying to distract herself from the excitement of her upcoming Deathday. Sometimes she treated the anticipation as something to be savored, adding a little color to her otherwise dreary life in hell. But right now it felt like anticipation just prolongued the waiting. Distraction was much better. Particularly in the nighttime.
During the day, there was torture, to be sure, but things were at least interesting. Things happened. There were lights, colors, sounds. Fuzzy shapes she could slowly track across her vision. Sensations. Smells. Once she pooped for 28.2 hours. That was at least interesting.
During the night, there was nothing. Sure, the familiar feeling of her blanket against her skin, the smell of baby powder and diaper cream, and sometimes the soft, very slow tinkling of the mobile above her crib. But mostly it was just darkness. There'd been nothing but darkness for the past 6 months and 17 days. If she were lucky, she'd get to wake up and do some crying in another (1.2 \* 365) - (.5 \* 365) - 17 equals... 238 and a half days. She felt a little dread at growing older. Soon, she'd be sleeping through the night, and she wouldn't have these blessed distractions anymore. Just .4 \* 8 equals... 3.2 years of night. All at a stretch.
Emily did a lot of math nowadays. She never did much math in life, but now she didn't have much else. Math and remembering and regretting and anticipating. In only 2306.13 more years, she'd be a year old, and things would certainly be much more interesting then. 12,467.52 more years and she'd go to school. And from there only another 45,116.69 before she could see her husband again. From there just a quick 3127.6 and they'd be married. 2540.34 and she'd be with her son. Was it really only two thousand five hundred and 40 years between getting married and having kids? They shouldn't have rushed things so much. Take some time to get to know eachother, maybe travel a bit. She'd only have 556.8 years at home with the baby before she had to return to work. If nighttime was bad, she wasn't looking forward to the 125,323.81 years she was going to spend staring at that computer in that office, only to rush home, plop the kids into bed, and squeeze as much Netflix as she could out of those 7696 years of TV-Related-Me-time. It didn't seem fair. 125,323 years is a long time to spend so much energy chasing after the next raise or promotion.
She often wondered what punishment that adulterer got who was ahead of her in line. Emily had a lot of time for wondering. What was happening to him that was so bad he only got 145 years? Maybe he was getting flayed for 145 years, or having razors dug into his genitals or something. That seemed pretty good right now. Maybe if she had known that those were her options she would have stopped more to smell the roses.
But then, if she did, she wouldn't get to look forward to year 57,660.2. That was when she'd calculated that she'd be able to kiss her husband for a full 94 hours. If that's not what heaven is like, Emily didn't particularly want to go there. | 2018-09-26T08:05:05 | 2018-09-26T08:03:37 | 488 | 62 |
[WP] you're bored in class, trying not to fall asleep until you recieve a paper. In very small instructions on the top of the paper you read "whatever you write in this paper comes true, but once the paper is full, you cant use it. Erasing a wish erases the effects" | The screams and wails echo oddly, a ragged chorus rising in the distance. I stagger to my feet, but the vaporised grit in the air tears at my throat as I suck in a breath, and a bout of racking coughs nearly takes me down again.
A strong arm wraps around my waist. Derek keeps me steady, holds me close, the one beautifully solid presence in my life. He's covered in dirt and dust himself, but when he takes out his surprisingly still-clean handkerchief it's to wipe my streaming eyes and disgustingly snotty nose.
I don't know what I would do without this man.
*You okay?* he mouths at me, and even though my ears are still ringing it's easy enough to read the words on his lips.
I nod slowly. *You?*
He shrugs. His lips twist grimly.
As one, we look up.
There is barely anything left of New York. I cannot fathom how long we've been unconscious, but it's been long enough for some of the immediate haze to clear from ground zero. My gaze skitters over the destruction, refusing to take in any detail in sheer self-preservation. Everything is grey and red and flesh.
We'd been lucky, far enough from the centre of the city to be spared immediate death. Whether the radioactive fallout will kill us is another matter.
Derek's grip tightens. I can barely make his voice out as he says, with bitter gallows humour, "This would be a great time for someone to discover that they've suddenly got superpowers from the radiation."
I swallow hard. The sting of my sandpapered throat is barely noticeable compared to the sudden, yawning hole that's opened in my chest.
There's no such thing as superheroes.
But I know for a fact that wishes can come true.
The hole swallows my heart, spreads to my lungs, my stomach. It feels like I'm choking on a void, pure panic and despair and a certain deadly knowledge growing inside me in place of my organs.
Wishes can come true, but eventually, there is a price.
I remember that moment clearly. I'm fifteen, and fighting to keep my eyelids open in class, when my arm slips and I notice a piece of paper under my notebook. There's only one line at the top, and I bite back a snort as I read it. Wishes? Ha. More like a sneaky way to find out my deepest wishes so that I can be mocked for them. Good try, Camilla.
It's strange, though. No one's looking at me, or looking even a little bit interested. There are no phone cameras pointed at me that I can see, and I've gotten good at spotting the tell-tale gleam of glass recording every second of my daily humiliation.
I look down at the piece of paper again. If only wishes really came true. The world is not a kind one, though. There are no miracles. Wishes are just futile hopes, and hope is there to wind your heart up only for reality to smash it to pieces.
Still...
Next to me, Rowan is actually drooling in his sleep behind the cover of his textbook. Camilla, front and centre, is secretly browsing Insta under her desk. The only one in the entire class who appears to genuinely be paying attention is Derek, always polite, always perfect. From this angle the strong line of his jaw looks like it could carry the weight of the world.
I pick up my pencil.
It's not like I have anything to lose.
*I wish someone would love me.*
When I look up, Derek's watching me. My heart stops for a moment.
Then he smiles.
It's the smile that drew me, slowly but surely, out of my shell. It's the smile that's given me courage to dress brighter, hold my head higher. It's the smile that I have woken up to, every morning, for the past fifty years.
It's the smile that's allowed me to erase every other wish on the paper since that moment, in order to prevent tragedy after tragedy. My acne-free skin traded for a dam that never broke, never drowned hundreds in a small town. My scholarship revoked so that the worst school shooting in American history would never take place. My promising career in law gone so that Washington wouldn't suffer from a devastating terrorist attack involving eight bombs all over the city. None of it mattered compared to the unbreakable love that held Derek and I together.
After nearly sixty years of tragedies and disasters, however, there is nothing left to erase that would not undo at least a hundred lives saved. Only one line remains that would destroy only one life, only one person. One line in faded pencil, in large letters, in childish handwriting.
Sixty years of true happiness. Sixty years of pure bliss.
Sixty years, and now the payment comes due.
I pull away from Derek abruptly. I want to kiss him, but I know that if I do, I won't have the willpower to continue down the path I *know* I must. "Don't!" I snap when he reaches for me, looking hurt and confused. "Just... don't. I don't know if I can do this if... just... please. Stay there?"
Derek looks incredibly worried, but he stays put for the moment. "What's wrong, love?" he asks.
Tears blur my vision even as I take out the waterproof, shockproof, airtight little case I carry with me everywhere. When I open it, there is a pencil, an eraser... and a folded piece of paper, entirely covered in tiny writing, front and back.
"Love? What's that?"
I pick up the eraser. I'm crying hard now, but I angle my face away so that my tears won't fall on the only thing that can save us all. Instead, I look at the love of my life, the man who I never want to live without.
"Thank you," I manage to say. "For loving me."
"What --"
I look down. A few strokes, and there is a free space.
*I wish...*
The ring on my finger is gone. There isn't even the tan-line left. It takes every single atom of courage I have to look up, where Derek...
Used to be.
There is only empty space, and the dust-ridden wind.
I'm sobbing so hard that my entire body shakes. My hand is trembling, and I can barely see, but I manage to write down my final wish. The air instantly clears, the unmistakable New York skyline returns, the sounds of *life* filter through my repaired hearing, but the void inside of me remains.
Thousands alive once more, and there is a distant part of me that knows I could not have made any other choice, and yet...
*I wish someone would love me.*
Sixty years of blissful memories.
From now on, it would have to be enough. | Something smacked the backside of Ethan’s head. He pulled his head up off the desk and glanced around the science classroom. The teacher was probably now halfway through the day’s lesson. The sports kids were taking notes on their computers, but Ethan knew better, they were playing Tetris or some Facebook extension game. To his left the infamous party-ers were dressed up in fashionable scarves and makeup that must’ve taken a good chunk of their morning. It was a Friday so more than likely they were going to the club straight after school, until early the next morning. And him? Today is Ethan’s last day at this school. His parents were shipping him off to some Christian gay conversion therapy camp that Saturday, for the entirety of two weeks.
Ethan ran his fingers through his messy black hair, over the area that whatever smacked him, hit. He pulled his sweater’s hood over his head and adjusted the cords so that they were even. That was when he noticed the folded green piece of paper on the corner of his table. The only person sitting next to him was one of the Ex-party-ers, but she was engrossed in her notebook, furiously taking notes. Ethan wondered if whoever threw the piece of paper, was aiming for her but got him by mistake.
It was folded in the shape of a Star, similar to those origami throwing stars, but it had your regular 5-points like a starfish. His arm moved to sweep the paper off the table but he stopped when he saw the tiny ink words: ‘open me ->’ on one of the legs.
Ethan, instead, dragged the paper towards him and dropped it onto his lap, where he quietly pulled away at the folds of the green star. He felt bad for opening it incase it was actually for the girl next to him, but if it was like those other times where it contained written verbal bullying, he felt as if he’d be doing her a favor. So he continued.
The face of the creased square had written on it, instructions. Peculiar instructions: ‘Whatever you write in this paper comes true, but once the paper is full, you can’t use it.
̶E̶r̶a̶s̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶a̶ ̶w̶i̶s̶h̶ ̶e̶r̶a̶s̶e̶s̶ ̶i̶t̶s̶ ̶e̶f̶f̶e̶c̶t̶s̶.’
The last bit was scratched out and partially erased... seems like a joke, Ethan pondered. The majority of the paper was scribbled out. As if other wishes were written on it and then scratched out as if to be illegible to the next person who picked this paper up. An idea came to him, it was stupid to think the paper was legit, but such stupidity never hurt him before.
Ethan took his pencil and wrote:
‘I wish this classroom didn’t have a whiteboard.’
He waited a few seconds. No ding signaling his request. No factor told him that his wish was granted. Ethan shrugged and crumbled up the paper into a ball. There’s no way this sort of thing had any chance of being legit. He cranked up his arm and threw the ball towards the trash bin by the classroom door. It bounced off the rim and landed on the ground.
The teacher glanced towards the noise and then at Ethan’s outstretched arm. The teacher set down the white chalk he was holding and pointed towards the ball on the ground.
“Who threw that paper? Was it you, Ethan? Go pick it up then step outside for five minutes.”
Ethan didn’t respond. There was a chalkboard behind the teacher. Not the whiteboard. Ethan’s gaze was transfixed at the sudden change in on the wall, where the whiteboard used to be. All of the green and blue marker ink of the chemistry notes were still there, same terrible handwriting, but in chalk.
“Ethan, don’t make me say it a second time.”
This time Ethan got off his stool and picked up the ball of paper of the ground. He dropped a ball of white paper into the bin instead and walked outside, closing the door behind him.
Ethan undid the crumpled ball of green paper and investigated it, front and back. He even tore off a corner of the paper. He had a hard time believing that this piece of origami trash changed the whiteboard into a chalkboard, and nobody even noticed. It was like... it was like it was a chalkboard the entire time. Like he, himself was the one who was hallucinating, that the physical chalkboard was instead an arbitrary whiteboard.
He looked back through the window, and indeed, there was the teacher writing on the chalkboard. The clacking against the slate was audible to Ethan. There was no mistaking it.
Numerous ideas flooded his mind. He could wish the gay away like his parent had always dreamed of, a normal kid. Or he could wish the whole scheme away and remain true to himself. F*** those camp guys.
Ethan’s hands trembled as adrenaline coursed through him. He began to shiver from head to toe, coldness in his hands, his fingers slowing in response speed. He began to walk away from the classroom, and down the stairs, towards the nurse’s bathroom. He felt like he was going to throw up.
He pulled the handle and made it just inside and locked the door before his breakfast began creeping up his throat. Ethan lunged at the toilet and emptied his stomach into it, still clutching the paper in his pale fist.
Ethan spat and wiped his mouth with a wad of toilet paper. He reached up and flushed the toilet and sunk against the opposite wall. He tried to steady his breathing, struggling against the ongoing waves of one of his usual horrific panic attacks. He had practiced enough to overcome these in no more than ten minutes from start to finish.
“So, obviously something has you worked up... what are you going to wish for next?” said a voice that resonated off the walls of the cramped bathroom. It appeared to be coming from the magical piece of paper in his hands, but also only audible to him as the voice swam around his head.
Ethan held his head in between his legs, his arms wrapped loosely around his knees. A weak laugh sounded from Ethan’s mouth. It could’ve been confused as a sob.
“Well? I’m waiting.” It spoke again, very patiently.
“I had been too,” Ethan spoke under his breath.
“Well then, why wait any longer? I believe you have the answer in your hands.”
Ethan looked at the paper in his hand. “And you want me to just believe that Chance fate put this in my hand?”
“Why not?” It spoke.
“Yeah... why not.”
Slowly he got up. Ethan pulled the pencil out of his pocket. He approached the sink, and the mirror above it.
“Take all the time you need, I believe you’ve figured out that these wishes cannot be taken back anymore, once they’ve been written. You can thank the person before you. It was probably for the best.”
“What do you mean?” Ethan mumbled.
“That I cannot say.”
“Yeah,” Ethan agreed.
He flattened the paper on the mirror and wrote on one of the empty spaces: ‘I wish Cara lived a happy life.’
Just like the time before, nothing changed. But he knew something did change, and now, hopefully, the girl who sat next to him in Chemistry would be a happier person. She could forget about the people who had abandoned her.
Ethan felt as if the paper frowned at him once he pulled the pencil off the paper.
“We both know that’s not the pressing issue at hand.”
“I know.”
“It needed to be done first... so I... so I can know for sure that it happens,” Ethan said.
“Very well,” the paper straightened itself on the mirror.
Ethan took a deep breath and looked at his reflection beyond the paper. The scraggly facial hair that was growing back in. The sunken eyes and frown lines that were etched in permanently. He raised the pencil to the paper and wrote a wish.
If this paper had saved the lives of others before him, maybe it would do the same for him.
“Ahh, there we go.”
“...”
“Better now?”
“Yeah, it already is,” a soft voice replied. | 2018-10-11T13:52:21 | 2018-10-11T13:04:18 | 22 | 13 |
[WP]You’re a human stranded on an alien planet. The locals are sapient, but have a lifespan of only about six months. After dozens of generations (about a decade), you’ve managed to make quite a name for yourself.L | A strange buzzing noise fills the air as the drumming and chanting reaches a crescendo. It's almost a cross between a whistle and a hum, produced by an instrument that no one particularly likes, but is still used as a matter of tradition. In that respect, it's a bit like a bagpipe, which would still be a welcome sound to my ears after ten years away from Earth.
Abruptly, the music stops, and I stand a little straighter. A swirl of winged lizard-like creatures flit about my head like miniature dragons, each carrying a tiny green humanoid armed with spears that gleam in the bright light filtering through the trees. They pose no threat to me though; the little green men are the size of my fingers, and their weapons are purely for ceremony anyways.
One of the little dragons breaks away from the swarm, and approaches me. I hold out my hand, and its rider lands on my palm, light as a feather. He's a head taller than the rest of his kind, and his mount has four wings. And as if that were not enough to mark his significance, he wears a simple crown of gold upon his brow.
This tiny creature is Salaris, and he is the sixty-first of his line to bear that name, as well as the ring that I once wore on my own finger. I have witnessed his birth, seen him grow from infancy to adulthood, watched over him as he went through the Trials of his people. And now, he sits in my palm like his fathers before him, seeking my blessing to be king.
To Salaris and his people, the deep thrumming noise seems to come from all around them, vibrating the air and shaking their very bones. None of them have heard me speak, for my voice at its full volume is enough to rupture internal organs, and I have only spoken to them in whispers for sixty of their generations.
Not that they really understand what I say. None of them live long enough to learn my language, and I'm singing in my native tongue. The words aren't important, it's the music that will seep into Salaris's flesh and change him, making him stronger and wiser.
It's a strange quirk of their biology, but these fragile little beings who can barely withstand the full power of my voice are at the same time strengthened by my singing. Maybe it's something to do with the way the sound travels through the air, but that's merely my uneducated guess. I was a scientist once, but that was before, and I'm not willing to test my hypothesis.
I still remember, when I first arrived on this strange desert planet with three distant suns and a ring of tiny moons, how I tried to speak to the little green people in the oasis I stumbled upon, and how they perished horribly at the very sound of my voice. I buried the bodies left behind as the survivors fled the terrible monster that had descended from the skies, and sang a song for the poor creatures I'd slain in accident.
As it turned out, one of them was still alive, and it was my song that brought him back from the brink of death. To show him I meant no harm, I gave him the ring I wore on my finger, and carried him to his village. His name was Salaris too, the first of many kings who have ruled the oasis since then.
That Salaris is long gone, having passed on at the age of six Earth months. Even my song cannot grant these little people a longer life. But if nothing else, my crash landing on this planet has made the small village a mighty kingdom, ruled by strong and wise kings, protected by a giant with the voice of God himself. I wonder what will happen when I am no longer here to sing for Salaris... | It happened shortly after the crash. Two days after his ship crash landed in Zenon-6, Caide Newell was all but sure he was a dead man. Telecoms went dark. The ship, an unmitigated wreck. There'd be no salavaging that flaming hunk of debris. But at least he survived, somehow. The same could not be said about the months of rations and supplies he had set out with. On one hand, Caide thought himself the luckiest s.o.b, he had survived an errant asteroid collision in space and that was damn near unheard of. But, on the other hand, he was stuck on a rock with no tools to do anything about it and food to survive. So he was *still dead*, just dead in a much slower, and less dramatic way.
"This blows." Caide had quickly lost track of the times he uttered those words.
Just as he assumed the end was nigh, pangs of hunger gnawing on him, all hope of surviving gone, something really strange happened. *They* approached him.
Tiny little things they were. Round, puffy bodies the size of a baseball, covered from head to toe in hazel brown fur. They had these itty-bitty hands with three digits on each and walked on teeny little feet. Most defining characteristic of all was there overly large eyes that shimmered a vibrant color when light refracted on them. They came out in droves. Dozens, no hundreds, of these mini creatures. Though he didn't see a mouth-it most likely being concealed by the tufts of fur on their face-Caide was positively convinced of one thing: they were going to eat him.
Instead, they spoke. "This blows." One would say, it seemed like the leader of the group. When he uttured the words in his squeaky high-pitch voice, the masses behind him echoed it too. Over and over they chanted the words and each time they did, they gyrated, their big eyes narrowing. Were they laughing?
After this went on for a moment, a thorough inspection of occurred. With little hands jabbing him from legs to arms to even his face, their touch soft and rubbery, Caide knew when he was in the middle of a physical. He let it happen, too afraid to anger them. Somehow, he had seemingly passed their test, for after they finished, they began motioning him to follow. Why not? Caide figured, following them slowly as some bounced up and down while others simply rolled. It was odd, he was terrified, but admittedly it was kind of cute. So he followed, besides he truly had nothing else to lose.
Their civilization was surprisingly a complex one. They lived in a cliff that had been burrowed into, tiny holes leading into tiny homes. A series of bridges and pulleys were fully employed. And all over the place, little tiki-like torches illuminated the community. It was quaint, it was safe, it was their home.
"This blows." The leader said to Caide. "Come, come. We have food." A few moments later, at his command, a host of little ones rolled out from their respective houses carrying a tray of food on their head. One by one they proffered it to their guest. Each one was a mini morsel at best, but Caide knew when a kindness had been given. He accepted it humbly.
The leader spoke up. "This is our new guest, 'This Blows', treat him well, be kind, don't poke him too much, but be sure to ask permission first if you do. He is big, he is funny looking, and he is a little smelly. But he is our guest! Welcome him." They did just that. A whole swath of furry little balls began to gyrate.
It was weird as all hell, but, Caide had to admit, it was nice. The food was edible, the accommodations even more so. From having thought his life had come to an end to suddenly a new strange beginning, Caide was quickly coming to terms with his new station in life.
The little critters, he soon would learn, had a short lifespan. They lasted only a few months. The first time Caide watched one of them pass struck him in a profound way. He was growing attached to them. When the leader who invited him into their home had passed, that had left Caide feeling especially hollow. But quick they were to reproduce, their numbers always full. After the third generation came and went, Caide out lasting their cycle of life and death, the once strange visitor from a different world became something of a legend to these little furballs. They soon looked to Caide for more than just his company. To them, he was a foreign being. A benevolent one who seemed to live for an eternity. They made monuments in his image, wrote songs and dances in his honor. As months turned to years, his legend only continued to grow.
Caide Newell was regarded as a god. That had bothered him at first, but quickly did he let that slide. It made his new friends happy. As far as he was concerned, this was his home now and they were his people. So whenever they gyrated, whenever they uttered *This Blows* so too did Caide. | 2019-04-22T09:51:46 | 2019-04-22T09:39:54 | 60 | 14 |
[WP] Fear not the necromancer; His is the tireless arm that defends our land. There is no greater service one can offer the realm than use of that which you no longer need - your body after death. The duty of the living is to live. The duty of the dead is to serve as tireless protectors. | Captain Roderick looked over the battlefield. The battle was already lost. The Alliance army was outnumbered three to one by the Demon Lord's forces. It was only five minutes that the Chosen One was slain by the Demon Lord and the Alliance army was on the brink of a rout. As Roderick considered all this, he noticed something else. There was a new army, about as large as that of the Alliance approaching. Given that most the troops the Alliance had were already here, it had to be the Demon Lord's reinforcements.
Roderick was about to command a total retreat and try to save the lives of some of his men, when he noticed something odd. The Demon Lord's forces were turning to face the incoming army. He squinted and noticed the army didn't look like demons. They looked like... corpses.
The Alliance army leadership watched in shock as the army of corpses clashed with the forces of the Demon Lord. As they fought, something else happened. Black clouds flew in from nowhere and purple lightning hit the ground again and again, leaving behind rising dead with a purple glow in their eyes.
As the newly risen joined their still living brethren in battle, the Alliance army cheered and attacked with an increased vigor. It would not be enough, however. The Demon Lord still lived and his forces wouldn't be defeated that easily.
Slipping the sight of everyone, a figure clad in a black cloak rushed through the battlefield, until it reached the corpse of the Chosen One. The figure held out it's hands and the purple lightning stuck once more.
The Demon Lord was cleaving through the risen by the dozen, holding the demon line together, when he saw the risen Chosen One and man cloaked in black. He roared and charged at his nemesis.
As he was running, the backlines of the risen army were torn apart, their bones swirling and forming a gigantic warrior next to the Chosen One.
What followed was a battle of legend. In the end, the Demon Lord lay dead, the Chosen One torn apart, bone giant collapsed on the ground. The man cloaked in black joined the risen. He didn't need to. The demon army, having lost it's leader, was falling apart, their resolve broken.
As the Alliance army recovered, the risen chased down every remaining demon and swiftly killed them. They then left, never to be seen again. The story goes that should we ever need them again, they will return. | "Lads, look on the bright side, it is not us who are bleeding down there."
The bushy-bearded man points to the small cluster of creatures locked in heated combat with an assortment of skeletons, zombies, wraiths and enormous stitched-up monsters.
"The damned things keep on coming," a finely armored youth muttered shakily, his eyes transfixed on the abhorrent scene.
"Oi, Nat," the man chortled, his beard flailing in the wind. The unnatural wind battered the battlement, sending the flags of Lord Yordic's serpent and sphinx crisscrossed emblem flapping as if there is no tomorrow. The worst however, is the repugnant smells it brings.
One boy bent over and unfastened his steel helmet, then sends a load of half-digested breakfast of bread, bacon, and fruits down at the necromancer, whose shield emitted a shock wave that destroyed the contents.
The boy, red-faced, managed a weak "sorry", which sounded like a "meow" to Crane, he toys with his beard half-heartedly while casting dirty looks at his new squad of greenhorns.
"Well, Neil," Crane nudged the boy with his foot and grinned, "you will be the one to resupply the Lords and Ladies down there," he points his chin at the three bulging sacs near the merlon.
Neil's face is almost transparent, he drops his helmet and scrambles after it, but Crane hoisted the lad into the bucket along with the bags filled with potions and various trinkets.
Others from the 469th squad almost tripped over each other as they lowered Neil over the wall, their signs of relief drowns out Neil's pathetic protests.
Crane sneered and casts his overwhelming gaze over the squad, who ducks their heads and shuffled around each other trying to disappear.
"Pathetic," Crane leans over the embrasure and mumbles as a shadow suddenly looms over him, he just has the time to crane his neck up and hear the alarms go off as a whooshing sound erased him from existence.
Neil's first thought is that he wants to leap back to the comforts of the wall, but his comrades had already lowered him below the battlement, he then peaks at the gayly dressed, group of necromancers, who, not long ago were deemed the empire's arch-nemesis. He shudders as the tales surrounding the conjuror of death begins to haunt him.
Ever since the blood moon which opened the gateway to another dimension, the elemental and arcane mages along with their precious cities disappeared, the few spell casters scattered around either hid or was killed off by the enraged citizens who had once looked up upon the fancy cloaks and badges made out of precious metals.
Yes, they all say the mages had brought this disaster upon the land.
And who stood up and sworn to protect the people? The necromancers.
After the armies had been battered by the swarms of creatures to the last regiments, the emperor and his council hastily drafted new laws to enlist the help of the notorious, detestable dead-ringers, they humbly accepted, only asking for the emperor to open his treasury and vaults. His majesty's hands are tied, he issued a commandment for all nobles to open their vaults to the newly appointed defenders, he had decided he will not be the sore loser of this transaction.
And the defensive stretches on. The armies of rekindled death firmly held the enemies at bay, while the city walls grow larger and taller.
Neil screamed as the gigantic winged creature landed on top of his squadron, the bucket went free-falling, he managed a prayer before he hit the ground.
And it seems as if it had been answered, all of a sudden, he stops falling. After a few seconds of hesitation, he opens his eyes and sees for the first time, a necromancer’s eyes, with mysterious symbols floating around, drawing him in. | 2019-11-06T02:55:13 | 2019-11-06T02:51:13 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] The Villain uncovers the Hero's true identity, and targets his family. Unfortunately, the Hero's spouse is a retired villain even more powerful than the current one. | "Slowly, now," I warn, as Perry Gunderson, or, as we know him, the hero Paragon, stepped into his own living room. "You're going to want to play this one smart."
"And why's that?" he asked, stalling as he strove to comprehend the situation. As though it could be anything other than the obvious.
"Why, your wife and daughter, of course!" I gloated from his own recliner. "You do want them to remain unharmed, don't you?"
"You have them?" He questions, trying to buy time for his little mind to comprehend the threat.
"They're safe with the others, for now. As long as you play ball."
A rare flash of... panic? Anger? Then it was smothered by his characteristic self-control. After a few seconds' hesitation, he prompts, "others?"
"Yes," I purr, "they're quite well guarded. You see, the League has decided it's time for a change in our relationship."
"You know they're dead men." Calm and collected, that would have been a good opening if it was somebody else's family on the line. He was too much the doting father for me to believe it here.
"Yes, yes, you're angry, but we both know you care far too much to carry out that threat. You may have got the drop on the Lady of Terror, but make a move and you'll never reach your family in time. And I can assure you, it won't be clean."
"I'm the one who does the dishes."
"No, no, we're extorting you, not mugging you. Humanizing yourself doesn't help here. You've lost. This is the time for you to ask what we want."
"Not humanizing, commiserating. We're both guilty of underestimation." He sighed and continued, "I never beat the Lady of Terror. Nobody beats the Lady of Terror."
"Did you think anyone believed you were strong enough to take the most powerful supervillain of the last thousand years? Trust me, nobody thought it was a fair fight. But I can assure you, you'd never make it."
"You're not getting it. I never defeated her at all. I'm the one who lost. That's why I do the dishes. *And she doesn't*."
Was he saying what I thought he was saying?
"I just married her. You and your League threatened her child and invited her in." | There's a knock at the door. I know who it is. The audacity. *How polite.*
I'm immediately cold. Like a block of ice melting in my stomach. I can only look from my place on the couch. I'm quivering. I can't stop.
"You gonna get that?"
My wife calls from upstairs. I puke on the carpet. I force myself to stand. Force myself to push sound out of my gut. Mechanic movement of the mouth. Dry. Yellow crust in the corners of my lips.
"Uuh... It's..."
She's descending.
He laughs from the other side of the door.
"I'm sorry, man. It's over. You were sloppy, and now I'm here."
"Babe. Who is that?"
She's stopped in the middle of the stairs. The darkness of the hall making it hard to see her face.
"I'm sorry."
I'm crying.
Silence. My feet have left the carpet. Door in a sphere of splinters. My knee's connected with his cheek.
We HURTLE to the black pavement. Shatter it like glass. The air is roaring. The front of my house is missing. I don't care. I DON'T CARE. *I HAVE TO STOP HIM. AT ANY COST.* *OR MY WHOLE FAMILY.*
A FLURRY OF PUNCHES.
BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM
The sound of my fists against his face are extratonal. We drive through the earth like obsidian. Together. I'm crying.
He's laughing. *The sick FUCK. HE'S LAUGHING.*
I grab his skull. Thumbs in his eye sockets. PRESS. SQUEEZE THE FUCKING LIFE FROM IT. I'm SCREAMING in his face. I can't help it. I can't stop myself.
And it does nothing. Absolutely. Nothing.
I'm ROCKED from the gut. Like getting shot. *Except I've never been shot, because I can't* ***be*** *shot.*
I puke again. Dark this time. A lot of it. All over his face.
He's laughing again. Cackling. Pushing me off of him into the black rubble. He's wiping the blood from his eyes. My blood.
"You know, I will hand it to you."
He sits up. Looks at me.
"That was a pretty good time."
And with that - deus ex machina. We lift. With the surrounding scree. Weightless. And I can see her. A little silhouette, at the top of the hole, against the daylight. Closer and closer.
I can't move, but I wouldn't want to. I'm tired. Glancing over at him. He's squirming, like a little gerbil. Throwing his limbs to break free. It's almost cute, in a cosmic sense. When you forget about everything else.
I'm sitting up against our mailbox. I can't remember how I got here. He's floating high now. Really high. And my wife is... Standing on our front lawn. Arm outstretched. And her fingers, splayed. Curious.
He's rigid against her psychic vice. For the first time ever, he's grimacing. He's tense. I can see it from here: he's in pain.
I'm awoken to the sounds of screaming. I don't remember falling asleep. I can feel cold sweat on my eyelashes.
Still in the sky... I blink him into focus. What's left. A torso and head. He's SCREAMING. BEGGING. APOLOGIZING.
She turns, looks at me. Smiles. *So lovingly.*
She flicks her wrist. And he smears. Crimson paste against the sky.
"Let's get you fixed up. I'm bored."
"Okay."
She's my everything. | 2020-07-19T02:58:47 | 2020-07-19T01:54:40 | 96 | 38 |
[WP] The Villain uncovers the Hero's true identity, and targets his family. Unfortunately, the Hero's spouse is a retired villain even more powerful than the current one. | "Slowly, now," I warn, as Perry Gunderson, or, as we know him, the hero Paragon, stepped into his own living room. "You're going to want to play this one smart."
"And why's that?" he asked, stalling as he strove to comprehend the situation. As though it could be anything other than the obvious.
"Why, your wife and daughter, of course!" I gloated from his own recliner. "You do want them to remain unharmed, don't you?"
"You have them?" He questions, trying to buy time for his little mind to comprehend the threat.
"They're safe with the others, for now. As long as you play ball."
A rare flash of... panic? Anger? Then it was smothered by his characteristic self-control. After a few seconds' hesitation, he prompts, "others?"
"Yes," I purr, "they're quite well guarded. You see, the League has decided it's time for a change in our relationship."
"You know they're dead men." Calm and collected, that would have been a good opening if it was somebody else's family on the line. He was too much the doting father for me to believe it here.
"Yes, yes, you're angry, but we both know you care far too much to carry out that threat. You may have got the drop on the Lady of Terror, but make a move and you'll never reach your family in time. And I can assure you, it won't be clean."
"I'm the one who does the dishes."
"No, no, we're extorting you, not mugging you. Humanizing yourself doesn't help here. You've lost. This is the time for you to ask what we want."
"Not humanizing, commiserating. We're both guilty of underestimation." He sighed and continued, "I never beat the Lady of Terror. Nobody beats the Lady of Terror."
"Did you think anyone believed you were strong enough to take the most powerful supervillain of the last thousand years? Trust me, nobody thought it was a fair fight. But I can assure you, you'd never make it."
"You're not getting it. I never defeated her at all. I'm the one who lost. That's why I do the dishes. *And she doesn't*."
Was he saying what I thought he was saying?
"I just married her. You and your League threatened her child and invited her in." | The Executioner looked at the large screen as he reclined on his chair. “Mr. David Drake, the Paladin...” It was the man he hated most, who he has always wished to gruesomely murder, just so happened to be his hair stylist.
*That damn boy scout. Smiling wide, pointing his sword to my chest, and giving me amazing haircuts for an even more amazing price two weeks after I evade capture!* Executioner thought, then growling to himself. “I know what I have to do, but do I have the strength to do it? Who else could make me look so great?!” He stood up, put on his helmet, and made his way put of the lair.
Later in the night, there it was, the Drake home. Dark energy enveloped his hand as he gripped the axe, a single blast should do the trick. Destroy the home, kill the family, and maybe even the hero. Suddenly, a woman came out from the door, pale and looking oddly familiar.
Executioner slowly approched and with a cry, threw the ball of energy at the woman, certain that it’d kill her. The womans hand moved, a dark space forming, destroying the blast in an instant. He approched, realizing who he was dealing with as the woman sighed in exasperation.
“Younger villains, so sloppy.” She said as he came close. Executioner gasped. “W-Wait...Amelie?! I thought you died 15 years ago!” Amelie shook her head and smiled. “That whole death thing was just a ruse. I got tired, then had a family with someone I tried to murder on more than one occassion.” There was only silence. He now knew who was dealing with. Vanta Black, the most powerful villainess known in history. He gulped, thinking that he may not survive this.
Amelie’s smile turned crooked. “Now what was that you planning to do? Kill the family of the Paladin? How clichè.” Executioner quickly responded as he readied his axe. “Yes! Your husband may be an amazing stylist, but I will never forget the constant humiliation. I will bloody my axe through you and those little brats if I must!”
Her eyes narrowed, face twisted into anger. The weapon turning black and disintegrated, as if it was cut out or its molecules torn apart. “Threatening my husband is one thing, but my children? That’s another.” Amelie’s eyes turned that same black, an empty void from which no light could ever hope to exist.
Ropes of pure darkness entangled the villain, crushing his bones and armour. “You really wish to kill me so slowly?! What would your little spawnlings think of that?” Executioner groaned in pain as he coughed up blood. “Paladin’s patience is nowhere big enough for two supervillains in his personal life!”
She looked at him, a wide grin of malice and villainous delight. “Oh Executioner. You may be a villain, just not a super one.”More snaking darkness wrapped across the villain’s body, slowly crushing him as blood poured from his orifices.
The only thing to be heard was the sound of crushing metal, and bones being shattered. After a few seconds, a light was turned on upstairs and a young voice called down. “Mommy? What’s that sound?” Amelie turned back towards the open door to her home and responded: “It’s nothing Lizzy, go back to bed.” As the light switched off, she looked back at her target, forming a smile that even villains knew to fear. “Sorry about that, I’ll have to make this quick. I wouldn’t want to wake the kids again!”
Darkness enveloped Executioner and cut out his screams. Tonight, another villain mysteriously disappeared. But now, Amelie Drake, Vanta Black, can go back to sleep.
**Edit: I added another line to make Amelie’s villain line less jarring. And I decided to change the ending a little bit. Hope you enjoy!** | 2020-07-19T02:58:47 | 2020-07-19T02:38:41 | 96 | 28 |
[WP] All space-faring species use different methods of interstellar travel. Magic, prayer, even sheer willpower. Humans were the only ones impure and insane enough to use controlled explosives. | As soon as the first reports hit the galactic web, the entire Milky Way ground to a halt.
HUMAN PROTO-CIVILIZATION REACHES NEIGHBOR PLANET
But the second half of the headline is what shook the galactic community to its core.
**ZERO CASUALTIES**
The impossible had happened, a species not even qualifying as a Class 1 Civilization had made it safely to another planet. They had no unique way to draw energy from another dimension as others did, hell they hadn't even discovered them. Less than a century ago humanity reached galactic fame when they reached their moon in nothing more than a modified missile, but the obsession soon faded when experts concluded that they had simply been lucky and further travels were impossible until they discovered their variant of dimensional channeling.
The eyes, ears, and antennae of the galaxy waited with a mix of dread and amazement while they awaited more news. Was this the dawn of a new Class 1 Civilization? How did they discover their channeling so quickly? How soon will their channeling be proven enough to introduce ourselves?
And then the reports came. Across thousands of worlds, translated into millions of languages, were the words heralding the apocalypse.
"Ladies, gentlemen, various forms of hive conciousness, and Dave, good evening. I am confused to report, and this has been confirmed by all major Intergalactic Government agencies, that they used a bigger missile."
Edit: Dave is Dave. Dave is All. Dave is Good. Dave is Dave. | At the first Intergalactic Species Spatial Convention, Ambassador Susie Mclaren was under attack.
“That makes no sense!” Ambassador Klip roared, slamming his star-studded hand on the table. “You dare mock us, Susie of the Mclarens?”
Ambassador Sopa nodded her agreement. Tiny bursts of magic fell from her tentacle-hair like bits of dandruff. Susie tried not to stare.
“Surely, you play a human joke, Susie,” Ambassador Zyn said, shaking its metallic head.
Susie sighed. “I don’t understand how you’re all struggling with this. I mean, Klip soars through space using the might of prayer? Sopa powers her star-engines through magic spells? Zyn, your people use *force of will* to move across space. What’s so odd about human boosters?”
“You have to admit, precious Susie, that it’s strange for a species to willingly use explosions to traverse the galaxies,” said Sopa. “So messy and crude. Nothing like the ethereal and beautiful nature of magic.”
“Or prayer,” added Klip.
“Or willpower,” Zyn chimed in.
Sopa gestured to the others with her tentacle in a “See what I mean?” fashion.
“Explosions is really not the right word for it,” Susie muttered. “It’s more controlled than that.”
“So, do your people just bounce across space like a child skipping rocks?” Zyn stroked its iron chin in a very human manner. “So crude.”
“So messy,” Sopa echoed.
“No,” Susie said in exasperation. “It’s nothing like that. We *glide*, okay? It’s actually very smooth. The ‘explosions’ just provide momentum for our ships to move, and it’s very controlled and stable. You barely feel a thing while you’re on it.”
“Unlikely,” snorted Klip.
“I very much doubt it, dear.” Sopa gave a patronizing smile with her slimy lips.
“No way,” said Zyn.
Susie threw her hands up. “Fine, you guys wanna go for a ride and see? I’ll show you right now exactly how advanced human technology is. Much more than whatever nonsense you're using.”
The three alien Ambassadors exchanged amused glances.
“Yes, let’s do that,” said Sopa. “I’m feeling adventurous today.”
“We better not die from this,” Klip muttered.
“Shotgun!” shouted Zyn, rushing for the exit.
“How does it know about shotgun?” Susie asked as they walked out of the building.
Klip shrugged. “I don’t know what that is, but I hope it’s not some kind of human explosive seating. Do your people do that too?”
“Explosive seating?” Sopa repeated, worried. “Surely that’s not real?”
Susie rubbed a hand over her face.
---
check out subreddit for other prompts I've answered :D /r/chrischang | 2020-08-07T18:10:46 | 2020-08-07T13:31:16 | 705 | 406 |
[WP] All space-faring species use different methods of interstellar travel. Magic, prayer, even sheer willpower. Humans were the only ones impure and insane enough to use controlled explosives. | As soon as the first reports hit the galactic web, the entire Milky Way ground to a halt.
HUMAN PROTO-CIVILIZATION REACHES NEIGHBOR PLANET
But the second half of the headline is what shook the galactic community to its core.
**ZERO CASUALTIES**
The impossible had happened, a species not even qualifying as a Class 1 Civilization had made it safely to another planet. They had no unique way to draw energy from another dimension as others did, hell they hadn't even discovered them. Less than a century ago humanity reached galactic fame when they reached their moon in nothing more than a modified missile, but the obsession soon faded when experts concluded that they had simply been lucky and further travels were impossible until they discovered their variant of dimensional channeling.
The eyes, ears, and antennae of the galaxy waited with a mix of dread and amazement while they awaited more news. Was this the dawn of a new Class 1 Civilization? How did they discover their channeling so quickly? How soon will their channeling be proven enough to introduce ourselves?
And then the reports came. Across thousands of worlds, translated into millions of languages, were the words heralding the apocalypse.
"Ladies, gentlemen, various forms of hive conciousness, and Dave, good evening. I am confused to report, and this has been confirmed by all major Intergalactic Government agencies, that they used a bigger missile."
Edit: Dave is Dave. Dave is All. Dave is Good. Dave is Dave. | BANG!
Kalvar the Martianwas almost done with his midday ritual when he heard the noise. Surely it was...
"K to the R! What's up bro?"
"I've told you several times... My name is..."
"I know, I know, The Martian Kalvar of the Order of the Ethereal Knights. Is that your real name, or do you just put that on your resume because it sounds remotely cool?" Rex said, poking a head into the room with a lazy smile.
"It is..."
"Never mind, Calvary. The Provost says we're supposed to submit Article 214 at the Chapel before the Confession today."
"Did he say anything about late delivery?" Kalvar said, resigned to perpetual distortion of his name by Rex.
"Yeah, that we would have to attend confessional of we were two milliseconds late. I brought lunch."
As Kavlar wiped the blood off his blade, ending the ritual dedicated to his Order, famed for conquering the rogue army of Io. He looked at himself in the mirror and realized the stark difference between the status his parents enjoyed and that which he enjoyed now.
They traveled the galaxies in spaceships powered by stars.
He worked as an intergalactic mailman, partnered with the worst species of all - humans. They talked like barbarians, and had the most noisy means of transport, the...
BANG!
And Rex was off again, probably going to see Iogenia, his 'crush' or whatever he called her.
His luck had to change by all means, or when he died, he woukd not be inducted into the Supreme Order of Celestial Knights. Knighthood of such status was for those who lived valiant lives of dedication and sacrifice to make the Milky Way a better place, not to mailmen who worked as tentacles of a corrupt dictatorship run by the Satyr, Niviraah.
He checked the time. 4 hours passed the Climax of the Day. He had only half an hour before he was due to submit the Article. At this rate, if he kept lamenting, he would have to attend confessional. And he had no intentions of being strapped to a Lie Detector, telling his deepest darkest secrets to a corrupt bribe-collecting Reverend of the so-called Chapel of the Enlightened.
As.he picked up Article 214, he was stunned by its weight. It had to weigh half a ton, and he was sure Rex was unable to carry it. The Reverend had never requested something so heavy. He was tempted to open...
"I swear upon my life that I shall protect and maintain the confidentiality of any Articles in my custody" he said, remembering the Creed of the Intergalactic Logistics Sector. He was bound by a creed not to...
"Fuck the ILS," he remembered the words Rex loved. It was time to indulge in a few shenanigans anyway...
He quickly grabbed his synchroniser and set it to the required frequency. The package opened slowly, revealing the most surprising content.
Cadmium, the one weakness of Satyrs. Niviraah had banned the transport, possession or use of the substance, stating that offenders would be tried for treason and executed.
What was the Reverend doing with Cadmium? | 2020-08-07T18:10:46 | 2020-08-07T17:06:37 | 705 | 38 |
[WP] All space-faring species use different methods of interstellar travel. Magic, prayer, even sheer willpower. Humans were the only ones impure and insane enough to use controlled explosives. | The ship was derelict, a ruined husk floating gently in the Rividian asteroid belt. The bodies of its crew hung eerily in the vacuum, faces frozen in horror.
"Poor bastards" thought Yhellen as she flew through the corridors, surrounded by an air bubble she'd conjured. They had emerged from their interstellar flight in the belt and immediately collided with a Type 2 asteroid. It cut through the hull and caused a total systems failure by the looks of it. Well Arcinium would do that.
Yhellen was confused though, the ship should've survived. If it was an Arcinium magi-core then the sigils should've preserved the atmosphere. Sigils that she hadn't seen so far.
So maybe it was a Prayership, but there was a distinct lack of altars. But then again what these...humans deemed an altar was unknown. Their ship was spartan by Fulian standards, the only things that might pass as altars was a gaudy desk in the captains quarters.
Yhellens spell finally reached its end and she could finally understand the humans language. Maybe she could get somewhere now. She flew further into the ship, still confused by the humans lack of drive system. Finally she reached a hatch marked Engine Room. Flicking her wrist, she forced the hatch open with a modicum of arcane pressure.
In the centre of the room was a large cylindrical structure that glowed a dull blue. This must be their magi-core! Yhellen flew closer and inspected a nearby panel that was still active.
“What in the hells is a Matter-Antimatter Reaction Chamber?" | # first time doing this, please go easy on me haha
Logfile GA-0087:23Intergalactic-Subzone:FH247
## IGA-Sentient-ID: FH247-0 Self Classification: Homo sapiens
Humans.A less than averaged sized and shaped carbon-based life-form in this universe's equivalent of the badlands.They were seen as weak, their communities- known as 'Country's' in earths equivalent of common- were and still is riddled with internal strife and discord.They were never seen or even acknowledged as a hindrance, much less a threat.But perhaps it is because they started off as the underdog, the weak and unworthy,they are able to persevere and adapt to hardships much better than us.Hell, even EVO-D023, the stray planet that is infamously known as 'Impossible planet' to colonize, the planet that defeated the Lower type two Civilization of Hhoyrwjk, Known for their ships that are propelled by the power of god-like beings from other dimensions.
They conquered it. With their feeble, delicate glorified missiles that any respectable type-I-civilizations would lose face if seen using.
They managed to use their "tools" they called "Terra-forming missile" to blow the planets surface, covered in the frozen chemical compound known as "Carbon Dioxide" back into the atmosphere, engineered one of the semi-Sentient beings of their home planet known as "plants" to be hyper-resilient, put the completed "seeds" on D023, and used another sizable controlled explosive-device known to them as a "pusher" to move it towards the nearest stellar body, which in their case, was FH247-790432FG-525T418z or 'Sol' in human words, assimilating the once inhospitable planet that many civilizations older and more advanced than they have tried and failed at.
All in two Universal cycles.
I thought the aforementioned was just a fictitious rumor from one of our new planets, Caubo, that still had a rebellious nature after our Emperor so gracefully spared the natives after *peacefully* colonizing them. That it was just some sort of weird 'signs of hope' that type-I civilizations like to hold on to for Xors knows what reason.
But a report came, and then another.
Our tracking spell on the planet detected atmospheric changes too significant to be the work of nature.
And the fact that one of colony planets closest to Subzone-FH247 had seen, using a spell, what they reported as missiles slowly heading towards to D023.
I, the diplomatic Representative of the Great Galosian Empire to the IGA suggest that we lift the current Badlands Antiwar territory treaty, as the Htoleian Federation's power has waned in recent cycles, and the fact that the Rehoprwese Republic has split-up into many different warlords, And instead work together as a team under the banner of the IGA (for once) to conceal what dimensional gates("backholes" in human terms) really are.
Xors knows what would happen if such a barbaric and expansionist species got a hold of that much power.
We can only pray that we can hide it before they find out.
MESSAGE FORMAT: UCL (Universal common)
END OF MESSAGE | 2020-08-08T01:39:31 | 2020-08-07T21:47:11 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] You are a poor urchin scrounging for food. Suddenly the body of a dead prince is dumped in your alley. To your surprise the prince looks exactly like you. Seeking a better life, you usurp the dead prince's identity and return with something his former enemies didn't expect: street smarts. | Jane did what she needed to do to survive. She always had. And *yes* on some moral level she secretly wondered if she’d burn in hell for what she’s done. Lifting the clothes and crown off a body had to be a bad enough offence, let alone actually pretending to be Princess Ophelia.
But here’s the thing—Jane was fairly sure she’d be dead if she hadn’t made that switch. She was hungry and cold enough as it was when she found her opportunity, and that was only in early Autumn. She doubted she’d have made it through that winter on the streets.
And here was another thing—no one knew the difference. Sure, she might’ve gotten a few looks that first week. But she caught up fast. If you were a kid on the streets you had to learn to adapt.
And now it had been a good three years; Jane was coming up on her seventeenth birthday. Sometimes Jane found her old life to be as strange as a dream. Did she really live that way? Did she really struggle to eat? And wear threadbare clothes?
Yes. She did. Even if she forgot that sometimes when she was in the thick of a feast, the air of the banquet hall was warm with the smell of roast beef and gravy and spices from halfway around the world. It was easy to get lost in the moment when she was in the midst of a dance, a handsome knight in her arms, and the strum of a lute echoing off the high arches.
But deep down, she knew who she was.
And she was no fool—no pampered and pig-headed snob—like the kingdom seems to think sher to be.
It came in handy at times.
“Princess Ophelia,” the man in the black cloak said. she stepped forward, but her hood did not slip nor did any light cast a beam on her face. “Lovely to see you again.”
*Again?* Jane frowned. It must’ve been the real princess who’d met the man. But Jane couldn’t be thrown off her rhythm. When the man stepped forward, Jane stepped back. A deadly dance.
Jane took in her study—cracking fire, full bookshelf, delicate tapestries, and a small window through which she could see down to the courtyard. But it wouldn’t do. The window was the only thing possibly useful for escape, but it was much too high. Jane swallowed thickly. the weight of the circlet on her head seemed to press into her skull.
“Don’t even think about calling for the guards,” the man said. “Or you’ll be dead before the words leave your mouth.”
“Right.”
The man moved forward again. Jane circled the wall. She felt much more like a mouse than she’d like to admit. A mouse trying to get away from a cat.
“I thought I’d gotten you that time. I don’t know how you survived, but I won’t make the same mistake this time.” The man reached inside his cloak and pulled out a dagger. The firelight caught in the silver blade. “I’ve waited years for this opportunity. I won’t let it go to waste.”
“What do you want,” Jane spat out.
The man chuckled dryly. “Isn’t it obvious? Your father is an usurper. I’m here to restore order. You’re his only heir, after all. I’m here for the crown.”
Jane reached up and wrapped her fingers around her circlet. “You want it?” She lifted it free from her curls. “Go get it.”
With as much strength as she could muster, Jane flung the crown to the other side of the room. It clattered against the stone wall.
The man turned to watch it fall.
And, in the opening, Jane sprinted forward and ducked under his arm and bolted out the door. She smiled to herself. *Street smarts*.
*
r/liswrites
PS I’m so sorry the set up for that joke got out of hand lol | As a lowly echinoderm I was never given a lot of chances. Subsiding off the scraps thrown out by a local restaurant I couldn't take anything for granted: I had, after all, once been part of those scraps.
My spikes weren't just physical. To survive on the streets, you need to guard your true self as you would a great treasure. Don't let anyone too close. Keep them at a distance, and observe. Here, a "friend" is the one who'll sell you out for the highest price. I once made the error of befriending a sashimi chef. He had a slick tongue, but I should've noticed how he used it to lick his lips while he was around me. In the end, I'm the one who's still here. I'm sure you can put two and two together.
My life changed the day when an absurd product of intergenerational cousin-knitting was thrown into my back alley. I would've thought it was just the seafood leftovers of the day were it not for the crown placed firmly on what was either his head or his abdomen. And then it struck me: this Hapsburgian princeling was my spitting image. At that moment I decided I would no longer be a mere bottom-feeder. It was time to get my tube feet royally wet.
Whoever disposed of the body must've done so in absolute secrecy, for when I arrived at the palace I was ushered in without any question.
"Sir Jeremiah," said a butler, nodding sagely. "I see you have returned from the, uh, *gentleman's club*."
A banquet was in session. Servants slithered around like sea cucumbers, balancing trays and bowing their necks out of their joints. I cleared my throat to catch the attention of a nearby maid. She blushed.
"Sir Jeremiah," she said. "We are in the middle of a feast so I don't have time to attend to your ... requests."
"Oh," I said. "I just want a glass of wine."
"Is that code?" she said. "Last time we did that, I had to throw out the sheets ..."
"N-No. Just an actual glass of red wine would be nice," I said. What sort of guy was this prince?
She handed me a glass. "I'll see you later," she said, sighing. "And remember our deal: max two kinds of bodily fluids. We have a contract, you know." She gave me a firm glance.
Confused, I made my way toward the ballroom. A girl with a sagging forehead ran up to me. "Brother!" she said, wiping off her saliva with the sleeve of her gown.
"Ah," I said. "My dear sister whose name I obviously remember."
She cackled and lifted her forehead to wipe off sweat and some sort of ... mucus. "You're so silly, brother."
"A-hem."
A man with a stern face approached us. "Stop flirting with your sister, Jeremiah. It's unbecoming of a young prince. Your aunt is right over there."
A sagheaded old woman lifted her forehead to frown at me.
"You know how she gets when she gets jealous."
The stern-faced man mimed choking someone. It started off silly, but lasted a solid minute at the end of which he had grown teary-eyed and slowly whispering "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
I excused myself.
A flatulent blob of human flesh murmured on his throne. I ventured a guess. "Father?" I said.
"Ah, yes, Jeremiah my son. You have arrived at the feast. I am pleased. I am the king."
"Uh. Yes. I suppose this party is ... normal?"
"Huh-huh. Suppose all you want my son. I never went to college. I am a simple man. I am the king."
"Sure. So ... you don't note anything strange?"
"Strange! I'll tell you what is strange. I am the king yet they all shy away from me. Because of some gas. Gas! The sun is a ball of gas, but you don't see them complaining about the sun, do they now? No. No! I am the sun. No. You are the son. I am the king!"
"Uh. Right. I need, ah, a hundred thousand dollars?"
"Funds! Funds for my boy. My boy needs his funds for his fun, huh, isn't that right my boy? Mmmyes I am, after all, the king."
"Indeed. So ..."
"Ahh right my boy."
The king clapped his thighs together in a thundrous display of royalty. Servants dropped their trays and came running.
"Escort my son to the royal chambers. The *treasure* chambers. Not the torture chambers, right Cordroy James? Huh! That was an embarrassing error on your part, was it not?"
The king beckoned at the slimy figure who I took to be Cordroy James. Eyes cool as ice, he nodded. "A simple mistake, my liege," he said. Then he stared at me with eyes of calm fury. I guess I now knew who threw the real prince into the alley.
"Right this way, my young lord," said Cordroy James. "Oh," he said. "And there's a matter I'd like to discuss with you. In private."
"Just don't show him *your* privates," guffawed the king, sending a smorgasbord of spittle at the attending servants.
Nervously, I followed Mr. James.
TBC | 2020-10-27T04:04:46 | 2020-10-27T00:27:18 | 231 | 122 |
[WP] “hello, how may I help you?” The store owner, who is clearly not human, and wearing a very unconvincing human disguise, greets you as you walk in. | Alvin just needed some acetaminophen and a Gatorade. He was severely hung over from the night before. A few too many bloody Mary’s. It was the kind of hang over where you question your ability to live amongst people. Maybe I should get a babysitter, but for a 20-something. Someone to keep me from hurting myself, he thought. A 20-something sitter.
The electronic bell sounded as he entered his local corner store. All he had to do was grab a few things and he could get back in his cocoon bed. Try to sleep the rest of the day away.
“Hello there! How may I help you?” The stout barrel chested man behind the counter said with a wave. He was smiling wide but it was mostly covered by a large black mustache.
“Not so loud Saul, I’m right here. No need to yell.” Alvin said covering his ears.
Alvin could have sworn he saw Saul’s face droop below his eyes revealing a bit of green scales under his skin. But he’s also not in the best place himself so who was he to judge.
“Oh Alvin, I didn’t recognize you. You ok? You look like you got hit by a bus.” Saul said.
“I’ve had better days, just need to grab some things to nurse myself back to health.” Alvin said quietly. If he spoke any louder it brought the pounding back in his skull. He slid across the tiled floor. Not really lifting his feet. That would be too much effort. He grabbed a yellow Gatorade and a bag of chips. He headed to the counter to pay up and get back to the comfort of home.
“I know how that goes, some days it’s just better to stay in bed.” Saul said as he rung up the items. “Is that all for you?”
Alvin looked up Saul. “I’ll take some pain relievers and a new brain if you got one.” Alvin said. Saul looked below the counter. He did in fact have a new batch of fresh human brains in the cooler. Alvin didn’t strike him as the usual human brain customer but he couldn’t be sure so he just laughed it off as a joke to be safe.
“Hey Saul,” Alvin said pointing to his own upper lip. “Your mustache is falling off.”
Saul quickly grabbed the stache and reapplied it to his upper lip. Alvin didn’t seem to think twice about it. So Saul pretended it didn’t happen. At this point both of them are just trying to get through the interaction and move on. Saul grabbed the Tylenol from a shelf behind him.
“The Tylenol is in the house. Hopefully It helps.” Saul said hoping it would change the subject from his failing disguise.
“Thanks man, I really need it today.” Alvin said as he handed Saul a twenty for the rest of the items.
Saul took the cash and exchanged it for smaller bills in the till. He bagged up the impromptu hang over cure and with a green-scaled clawed hand he held it out to Alvin. Alvin took the bag without even a raised eyebrow at the obvious monster talons.
“Thanks Saul, I’ll see you next time.” He said as he grabbed the bag.
“I’ll be here.” Saul said relieved. He really needed to get to the basement and fix up his human disguise.
Alvin shuffled to the door which again let out a little ding when he opened it. He held to door and looked back at Saul.
“Oh and Saul, you forgot your contacts. Humans don’t have slit pupils. You’re going to get yourself caught.” Alvin said and let the door close behind him as he left.
Saul lifted a hand mirror to his face. He saw just how bad his disguise was. And he thought Alvin was looking rough. He quickly locked the door and went to fix himself up. Maybe Alvin did want a fresh human brain Saul though to himself. | A wide smile was plastered on the man's face.
Lorry was stopped on her tracks for a brief moment. But as she briefly nodded at the man, he simply looked away and continued on with whatever he was doing before. Thoughts of a slight indifference made her annoyed for some reason.
"Excuse me," Lorry said as she inched forth to the man stood at the counter.
"Hello, how may I help you?" the man replied with the same smile.
Lorry was taken aback by the man's smile. Not because of the intensity or friendliness, but rather the lack of anything behind it. The man's eyes were wide open, unlike how someone with a genuine smile would be so.
"I'm looking for a flashlight, think you got a bright one for a good bargain?"
"Of course, one moment please."
As the man made his way to the back of the store, Lorry took her sweet time surveying the store. The shelves were somewhat lacking. Some of the snacks perched near the counter were actually out of date. When she made her way around the aisles, eerie creaking sounds followed her every step.
She was growing impatient with the wait, eyeing the door every other chance she got. But just as she was about to walk out in haste, a familiar voice pulled her back.
"Would this be suitable to your needs?"
"Excuse me," Lorry squinted, "who are you?"
"Why, I'm the proprietor of this establishment–"
"No, no, I don't remember you having a pair of glasses. Heck, I don't think you had a moustache on you!"
The man simply looked on with a straight face. However, Lorry's were anything but straight. Her right hand slowly reached for her hip holster, all the while her feet made a gradual retreat to the door.
Somehow, the man had not taken the cue at all. He simply took the flashlight and beckoned her to come and check it for herself. Of course, by this point she had no intention of shortening the distance – like a cautious child at the playground.
"Stay back, sir, I'm good–"
"But, mam, if this is not to your liking I can always look at the back for something else–"
"NO! Stay where you are or I'll take it as aggression," Lorry took her small gun up to her chest, indicating to the man to not make any movement.
"Well, that's a shame," the man took the flashlight and stored it on the glass shelve on the counter, "have a nice day."
By now, Lorry had managed to exit the store. She holstered her pistol and made a mad dash to her car parked a few metres away. A flicker of lights, coupled by an annoying squeak, and she practically leapt onto the driver seat.
In a desperate attempt, she furiously started drawing the man's face – with and without the moustache – on a small yellow notepad. She scribbled and doodled, clearly struggling to get the right features on display. After a few tries, she also jolted down the defining features in a bullet points.
*White*
*Middle-aged*
*Average height, built*
*Green jacket*
*Thinning hair*
Then, she hit a roadblock. She had no way of knowing for sure about the identity of the man. She cursed herself for not being a bit more inquisitive, simply giving up to her fear. There was only one way she could make up for it.
***
"Hi, I'm sorry about earlier."
The man, this time without a moustache and glasses, turned and smiled as he did before, "Hello, how may I help you?"
"I'm... wondering if... are you from here?" Lorry awkwardly flashed a smile.
"Why, yes. I believe so."
"You... believe so? Can you please tell me your name?"
"My name is... Hold on," the man walked away once more to the back and within 5-seconds returned to the counter, "I'm Dan Miller."
Lorry saw the man had not changed this time around, his moustache was nowhere to be seen and he seemingly didn't need the glasses to see her. Even still, she wondered why the man hadn't flagged her from the disastrous encounter earlier.
"Can I be honest with you, Dan?"
"Yes, mam."
"I think you're gonna have to treat me to lunch and tell me more about yourself–"
"I'm sorry, but I can't leave the place unattended. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
Lorry hadn't expected it to be so straight-cut. While for some it would only be expected from such a development, Lorry had other things on her mind.
"Are you human, Dan?"
"..."
"Dan? Would you mind answering–"
"I think you better leave, mam," the man suddenly said in a deeper tone of voice.
All of a sudden, Lorry could see the man changing his facial expression into a sour one. When she pushed forth and grinned at the man, he took out a funny looking gun from underneath the counter.
"I see, well... I think you're quite busy today, so maybe tomorrow?" Lorry asked in a playful manner.
The man didn't respond. Instead, he lifted his free arm and pointed towards the door.
"I'll return, 'Dan'. Maybe I'll bring along some of my friends too, just to help you out with the stock you got lying around–"
"We'll be closed tomorrow for maintenance, please leave."
"Have a nice day, 'Dan'." | 2021-01-23T10:53:02 | 2021-01-23T09:35:12 | 19 | 14 |
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