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[WP] Humanity exports 98% of all the galaxy's food. This means that no empire can attack them due to reliance. Of course, someone had to try. | It was a stupid, stupid war.
Humans lacked the Iselin telepathy, the Tara's size, or any other trait that could give it superiority. At least, that was what most of the galaxy thought.
Instead, it turned out that they were - ugh - adaptable. Survivable.
Most species were limited to a few biomes. The Iselin, for example, needed their thin, dry air; a planet that got any kind of rainfall was downright deadly to them. The Tara's weight kept them on planets made of the densest rock. There was only so much land they could roam safely, let alone use for food production.
It turns out most food plants, animals and minerals will grow on a variety of planets. It only took Humans a few years to figure this out, and a few more to produce varieties unheard of to native species. They were not limited to the Iselin sand farms or Tara quarries and could produce whole new varieties in overflowing bounty. Even their waste products were transformed!
And then it happened to us. The delicate Tako fruit that only the elite could afford... it did not take long for a Human to grow a dozen varieties cheaper than our native species, and at least twice as nutritious and three times as large. There are a few traditionalists, but they simply can't compete to the amount a Human farmer can output. Soon the Humans were providing us with all the food we could desire, at a fraction of our government's cost.
Speaking of our government, it took them too long to realize the foothold Humans had in our economy. A quick survey revealed that at least 95% of a citizen's diet was provided by Humans.
They did not like that. They proceeded to launch an embargo - to protect our native interests, they said.
It's been ten planetary revolutions since we were forced to survive off of these ration blocks. The leaders assured us that we would win, that the Human's food was an unnecessary reliance. We would be self sufficient!
But as each moon sets, we grow slightly more discontent at our government's stubborness. In fact, it wouldn't take much to ignite the citizenry's rage... for example, a picture of them dining on Human-grown Tako fruit... | The abandoned station spun slowly on it’s axis giving a dazzling display of the Cat's Eye Nebula that showered a rainbow of colour on every surface of the small room. Ambassador Hosseini clutched her tie nervously, unable to turn her eyes from the tendrilous creature sitting opposite her. This was not the Ambassadors first dip into extrasolar relations, but she was certain that the creature sitting in front of her was the most alien thing she had ever seen. It did not seem to have any consistent form and was instead made up of a series of small tendrils that moved and squirmed, seemingly in response to what the creature needed to do at any given moment.
“You’ve seen our ships; you know their capabilities.” A machine-like voice said, automatically translating the rhymic movement of the creature’s tentacles. “Earth does not have the means to resist.”
“We couldn’t resist your armada.” Ambassador Hosseini agreed. “But what is to stop us just burning the planet, I assure you we can do that.”
“With your primitive nuclear weapons?” The creature laughed, its tentacles moving rapidly in delight. “Perhaps you could succeed in destroying a few cities before we shoot your missiles from the sky. But it would make no difference, your planet is large and fertile, there will always be enough food for us and if other species have to starve so be it.”
“If you are so sure of victory then why are we meeting?” The ambassador asked.
“We have been called warlike and this is true, but we are not genocidal not without reason anyway. If you surrender you will live. It won’t be the life you know; the work will be hard, but your species will survive. Which is more than the other galaxy’s inhabitants can expect.”
“I see. So, it appears the our only choice is slavery or death.” The ambassador sighed. “You don’t have to do this you know, there is another way.”
“There is no other way, we are destined to be the dominant galactic species. Our star is ascendant, it would be wise not to stand in our way.” The admiral began to crawl away before adding. “We will give you some time to discuss this with your leaders, I hope you make the right choice.”
“You’re wrong, there is another way.” Ambassador Hosseini said. “Remind me Admiral, how far away are your ships.”
“It doesn’t matter.” The creature said turning to face the Ambassador.
“It’s the only thing that matters. I find it interesting that you were generous enough to give us time to choose our fate, considering your species has no notion of the concept. I can only assume your ships haven’t left your home planet yet or else the human race would be extinct right now.”
“It’s of no consequence where our ships are, whether it’s a day or a year they will be there.”
“Yes they will be, but who will be there to greet them.” Ambassador Hosseini fiddled with her tie and produced a small device between her fingers. “This is what we call a tie clip, an archaic accoutrement to be truthful, something that is easily overlooked even by a security scan. But what’s interesting about this particular tie clip is the small holo recording device embedded within. Everything you have said has been transmitted to a network of orbiting communication probes, ready to broadcast across the galaxy. How do you think those other species will react to this message? My money would be on a coalition intercepting and destroying your fleet, but who knows they may just decide to turn your planet into a ball of dust.”
The creature seemed to be still as a statue and Ambassador Hosseini couldn’t help but smile at its obvious shock.
“Now Admiral, I think it’s time to discuss your surrender.”
| 2021-04-15T10:25:50 | 2021-04-15T05:34:01 | 272 | 139 |
[WP] Meet John. John is the dumbest human alive. John is so dumb that the mind control ray that enslaved all of humanity only left him unaffected. Now it’s up to John to save the world. | John lay alone in an empty hospital. His lips were dry and parched and the inside of his mouth wasn't too disimilar to sand paper by this point. Unbeknownst to him, the TV across the room from his bed had been on for two full days. The nurse hadn't come in to turn it off since Tuesday. "That's odd" he would have thought. If he could think.
Weeks earlier his parents were kindly informed by medical staff that, for all intents and purposes, he was a vegetable. Lifeless. Purposeless. Better off dead. He hadn't been the sharpest tool in the shed before the accident but a sharp shovel to the head only made matters worse for young John.
Outside his window was an endless horde of humanity. Dead-eyed and listless. Slowly drudging their way down the road past empty shops and abandoned cars. "That's odd" John would have thought. If he could think. "I wonder where they're all going?".
Unbeknownst to poor John, the underestimated Norwegian Scientist Magnus Mindcontrolsen had unleashed his brand new mind control device just a few days ago. "A mind control device? Wow! Just like in the movies!". John would have thought.
But he didn't think. He couldn't have if he tried. The concept of having a thought was as alien to him as the concept of a concept. If John could have just woken up, got his act together and done something about this Norwegian tyrant, perhaps humanity would have had a fighting chance. "I'll show this Norwegian fella". He would have thought. If he could think.
But he couldn't. Humanity's last hope died to the sound of an advert for "The leg pillow". A pillow designed to be placed in between a person's legs while they're sleeping to aid good posture and alleviate pressure on the hips and knees. This advert aired a lot over the last few days. John would have heard it and absorbed it's message already if he could think. But he couldn't.
Thanks John. Thanks a lot. | John woke up one day, as he usually did, by falling out of his bed and landing on 5 of the mousetraps he planted in his room to solve his termite problem. Given the fact that his bedframe had been reduced to a plank with holes in it, it wasn't helping. John, after screaming, then proceeded to do his daily routine of asking questions on Twitter about black people and went on his way to work, the local McDonald's. But something was off. When he arrived, none of his co-workers were there, and Randy, the homeless coke dealer that had been living there was gone too. He assumed there was some holiday he didn't know about, and that Randy had finally won the lottery, even though he always loses. He steals himself a Sprite and leaves, soluting to the Ronald McDonald statue that was too big to be removed, and went on his way to the store. But no one was there either, and by now John was confused, although that wasn't saying much. He then noticed a weird beam and suddenly a bunch of rats came out the sewers started scurrying towards the source. Completely forgetting about everyone being missing, he followed them. They eventually led him to a huge skyscraper in the main part of John's city, New York. It was different though, John had noticed, as it had this weird glowing ball at the top. John was curious, and considering everyone else was gone, he ran in and decided to check it out. After 30 minutes' worth of running up steps ( John could not operate elevators) John eventually saw the source. A bunch of weird individuals with green skin and huge foreheads was all there, speaking something that was definitely not English. John, being a sensible human being, immediately proclaimed them to be Russian, and attacked them violently. The first one he saw was the first one he hit, and surprisingly it only took one punch to knock him out cold. He then kicked the other one that was closest to him. There were only 2 left. The first shot him with a mind-control ray, but he was unaffected somehow. He threw a punch and suddenly the 3rd "Russian" was defeated. The last one dropped his ray and said in English "Fine, we give up!" John asked, "Why are you in the U.S.?!" The "Russian" whose name was Gregamore said, "I am from another planet, you imbecile! We're here because our star is going to explode, so we need to find another planet. Yours was the most habitable." Being lost at "imbecile" John said, "IN ENGLISH, PLEASE!". Gregamore dumbed his speech down, saying, "Our star was going to explode, so we moved to your planet." John understood, and then had a brilliant idea. "Why don't you just move your planet somewhere else?" said John. Gregamore was going to call him an idiot but realized they had the technology to do that. "I guess we could. We'll just move all of the people of this planet back. Do you want me to do a favor for you, as that is a pretty-" Gregamore was cut off because he saw John pressing his face against a window, admiring the view. "Why even ask?" he said. He then ordered the fleet to stop controlling everyone and to just return the planet to how it was. When John turned back around, instead of aliens, he saw a company CEO cussing him out for being there. He then went back down the steps and started walking away. Suddenly, he received a call from his boss, who threatened to fire him if he wasn't at work. John then proceeded to run back to work, already forgetting about the aliens. | 2021-04-22T11:02:59 | 2021-04-22T10:48:01 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | “Please, around the roses.” I called out, trying to salvage my garden. It was impossible to be a gardener class in an age of warriors and mages. No one cared about the little gardener boy who was just trying to maintain a healthy system of flora. No, if my plants couldn’t fire lightning bolts or wield a sword, they wanted nothing to do with me.
I could see the culprit in the distance, a burly bear like man dressed in heavy plated armor, the metallic clanks drifting from him with every stride he took. “HAHA, my grandmother has the same hobby as you noble gardener and she eats radishes.” I wasn’t sure what the insult was there, but he said it with enough gusto that I still felt embarrassed, watching him trample each of my lovely plants to death only to trip. Time seemed to slow in that moment as he fell, only for the heavy thud of his body to leave a dent in the soil below.
“Um, you, ok?” I inched my way towards the man, crouching at his side. I gave his chest plate a cautious poke before giving his head a few frantic shakes. “Oh, no. Come on, don’t be dead. How will I explain this to the people that pass through here?” I grabbed his helmet, pulling it off him, seeing the bearded man’s brown eyes staring up at me. He was still alive, though barely. A gloved hand reached for my tunic, tugging me forward.
“Heh, Radish eater.” He said before falling back dead. Wasting his last word on an insult. When he passed, I felt a rush of energy, like I had eaten a bunch of fermented fruit. Everything tingled with a strange aura of energy and soon my muscles developed, growing a few extra inches while thick green vines enveloped my arms.
The tight grip of the vines should have caused pain and yet it felt pleasant, like they belonged pressed against my skin. For once I felt powerful, leaning my body back as the plants raised themselves from the ground to hold me up, offering me a back rest.
“This is incredible.” I rose from my spot beside the fallen adventurer, raising my hands as the surrounding soil twisted, reviving the trampled plants, causing them to spring to life, swaying along with the sunny breeze. “Finally, I can keep those heroes off my garden.” I felt a small amount of relief at that thought. It would be nice to not be a joke anymore. Maybe I would even earn their respect.
“Bullith?” A voice called out, watching as a smaller knight pushed through the shrubbery around my home, only to stare at me with a horrified expression, seeing me standing over their fallen hero with arms outstretched. “You murderer.” They hissed, drawing their sword.
“I didn’t. It’s a misunderstanding. He fell on my plants I swear.” Unfortunately, the hero didn’t seem to care about my failing attempts at explaining my innocence, only charging towards my garden. I put my hands up to block the attack, and the plants responded, rising from the soil to form a protective barricade. I could hear metal thumping against plant but no matter how hard he cut; the wall held.
“Fell on plants? You expect me to believe that would kill the mighty Bullith? I will bury your head next to him as a trophy.” The hero dramatically wailed, unable to even cut a hole in my defenses. I kept one hand raised to hold my defenses while the other hand scooped down, using a set of roots to pick up the body, tossing Bullith out of the garden, towards the other hero.
“Here’s his body. I promise you will find no wounds on him. If you just put your sword away, I’m sure we can discuss this respectfully.” I expected the sound of the thumping to stop, only to hear a shriek followed by even more frantic slashes.
“YOU KILLED HIM, HE’S REALLY DEAD. I WILL DRIVE MY SWORD THOUGH YOUR THROAT.” His threats were empty, unable to even break a hole in my defenses, but that wasn’t what concerned me. It was the other voices that I could hear in the distance, each one getting attracted to the hero’s screams. I could handle one hero, but two or three? Eventually, they would outnumber me.
Searching for a way out, I glanced at the bushes surrounding my quaint cottage. I hated the idea of leaving my garden, but it had to be done. I lowered my defenses and put my focus into the bushes instead, growing them around the garden, making a thick, confusing wall of greenery that would hide me until I got into the forest.
The bushes were a maze, the tall thick shrubbery impossible for anyone else to navigate. For me, it was simple. I would keep walking straight until I hit a dead end. Once I encountered that, I would open the dead end and continue. After a few minutes of walking, I finally reached the forest that surrounded my cottage, able to still hear their confused curses behind me. I considered freeing them, but thought better of it. If I dropped the maze, they would only try to capture or kill me. I needed time to escape.
With nowhere else to go, I headed north, making my way to the small village of Tuntail. Maybe someone there could use a person with my skills?
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | Stepped on. Belittled. Trampled over... Ignored.
The people have always relied on gardeners; we used to be respected! That was until the kings hunters realized every beast and monster they slew gave them something in return... power.
Suddenly adventuring was their career of choice. They no longer served king nor community, hunting beasts to extinction and calling themselves monster hunters. Don't get me wrong, monsters have always been a threat to the kingdom, but now it's an all out war! The dragons hadn't attacked our village for centuries until the adventurers realized even a defenseless egg would grant them tremendous power!
The most fabled of these adventurers have become untouchable, too powerful for any force to reign in. The gods forbid one of these self-appointed heros came to your village; you were expected to treat them like royalty, otherwise they may gain experience off you!
One day a uniquely deplorable adventurer came to my village. Apparently room and board wasn't agreeable enough for them, they demanded a tour of THEIR new village! They rampaged through the village, disparaging and destroying anything they deemed "unsightly." They had plans of creating a perfect village, and any merchant stall or family home was fair game for the adventurers incineration magic!
My garden has always been practical, so I knew my home was already on this deviants chopping block. I had grown tired of these entitled killers trampling over my garden; so I decided this would be the last day I put up with it. The man and his traumatized tour guide stood at the entrance of my garden, I could see his soured face from my porch. He beckoned for me to come out, lest I get incinerated with my garden.
Slowly I approached the man, my breath escaping me with the knowledge of what I was planning to do. The man began to speak, gesturing towards the skies like an egomaniac as flames spewed from his fingertips. I couldn't bare it; listening to an entitled man-child disparage my life's work! As he was distracted with his own grandiosity I chucked a stone straight at his chest! I began hurling every insult I could manage, knowing that soon I would be burning cinders in the wind!
The man was furious; he wanted to make my death personal. He began to walk forward, his voice booming with magical power. I kneeled to the ground, hands clutched above my head in fear of what was to come! The man towered over me, but one step from enacting his wrath! He took a mighty step forward, but had not noticed the roots in his path. Suddenly he fell, face planted into the loose soil and manure nearby! I uncovered my head and began to laugh, for at least the man had embarrassed himself before incinerating me! I laughed for what felt like ages until I realized something... The man wasn't moving an inch. His skin was as hard as iron, but as he fell a gardening instrument had managed to pierce perfectly into his eye.
Moments later I felt it; the power washed over me! Chronic pain disappeared, my strength grew tenfold, and I could feel the tingling of magic within me! I, a lowly gardener, had leveled up!
I used my newfound powers to rebuild what the deviant had destroyed, enamoring the villagers. They tried to give me gifts, but I refused them. It is the gardeners way to serve their community. I continued my humble life for a few more years, scaring off any adventuring riff-raff that laid eyes on our village, but every day their numbers grew. Across the kingdom these deviants vied for wealth, power, and control. I decided to leave my village and aid others suffering at the hands of adventurers.
My power grew as I went from village to village, cutting down the most vile of adventurers along my path. I was confused by their sheer number, how could there possibly be this many monsters to slay? Eventually I learned of their secret. The courageous adventurers had created breeding farms; forcing dragons to give birth and slaying their young to gain experience. A tyrant lead them, drip feeding his subjects experience and demanding they lay claim across the lands. I knew I was not strong enough to match them, but I did not need to.
I was but a humble farmer, and I had brought wagons full of food to impress the benevolent adventurers. Delicacies from across the kingdom were theirs to sample, free of charge! You see adventurers magical abilities are defined by their unique abilities. I met a swordsman whose power allowed him to control the winds as he sliced, cutting indiscriminately anything in his path. I met a hunter who could manipulate his arrow, never missing a shot. My power was boring, all I could do was manipulate the properties of plants!
These simpletons have never respected the sacrifice their ancestors went through, what gardeners went through! While the gods blessed us with plants to nourish us, it was not without sacrifice that we learned which ones wouldn't kill us! The food I had kindly bestowed may have appeared harmless, but they would soon understand the suffering they inflicted upon the innocent people of our kingdom!
"This is the sweetest peach I've ever eaten!" one of them exclaimed. They all began to gorge themselves of my harvest, even demanding I bring them more tribute by the months end! Their eyes filled with glee, blissfully ignorant of what was to come. My father, my fathers father, and his father before him had passed down tomes of knowledge. These tomes contained descriptions of the most toxic plants known to the kingdom. My plants contained the properties of all of them.
First they suffered the effects of Orcweed, as bloody blisters formed around their eyes and mouth. Then came the effects of the Rotted Toadstool, expelling vomit and diarrhea. Some of the less dim-witted amongst them realized what I had done and began to charge at me, but the effects of the Creeping Moonshade Vine put them into a state of paralysis and vein popping rashes washed over their body!
I waited for the properties of the final plant to overtake them, the dreaded Elveswood Berry! Long ago when humans dared encroach into the Elves territory they discovered the deadliest plant known to man. Hundreds of soldiers feasted upon the plentiful and delicious berry. Luckily for them the Elveswood Berry is more merciful than the others, causing sudden and painless death. One by one the men who had been trembling and screaming in pain went silent. Exponentially I could feel my power grow.
I approached the dragons dens and freed them from their captivity, knowing that not even all of them together could challenge me. "I bet they'll call me freer of dragons, savior of the kingdom! Maybe they'll respect me now..." I thought to myself. I could feel it, the power overtaking me. Grandiose thoughts pervaded my mind, ideas of how I alone would bring greatness to the kingdom!
The eldest dragon looked upon me. They were imposing, but I could see the fear in their eyes. "Will he became the next tyrant?" I bet they wondered. I stood before the dragon and took a bite of the worlds most delicious apple.
"Perhaps I've grown too powerful" I thought, before my body fell abruptly to the ground. | 2021-11-12T11:42:53 | 2021-09-09T22:42:51 | 1,235 | 23 |
[WP] When the Emperor appointed his horse to be the Consul and given it full executive powers, everyone thought it was a joke. Turns out the horse is AMAZING at its new job. | When the Emperor first received the horse from the Northlands, he was ecstatic. A beautiful silver coat with strange, blue eyes that seemed to be almost intelligent! He named it Alexander, after some long forgotten conqueror, and rode it into battle. In their first battle against the western kingdom of Solar, a wayward arrow struck the emperor’s armor and knocked him to the ground. Before a nearby foot soldier could capitalize and drive his blade into our great leader, Alexander kicked the warrior down and caved in his skull with a single strike from the hoof.
When they returned, Emperor Harris was forever changed. He granted Alexander full executive powers and named him Consul of the Silver Keep. Outrage spread throughout the populace, and all doubted that a horse could maintain control. Yet when Alexander ushered the twelve generals into the war council, each left with solemn determination. Three suppressed the raging people with ruthless efficiency as the other nine began conquering each of our neighboring nations simultaneously. Alexander himself was a deadly tactician who lost few and slew thousands.
When at last all threats to his rule had been exterminated, he returned home to feast. All the finest vegetables were brought before him, and gobbled up in short order. So voracious was his appetite that he quickly grew into obesity, and then into ill health. As gluttony took its toll and Alexander breathed his last, he left one proclamation for all of mankind to remember.
“Food was my folly. For though I was a mighty beast, you should never look a gift horse in the mouth.” | "Does The Emperor in all his greatness seems to be a bit coocoo today?" Said my fellow Royal Knight Commander John.
"That is an insult to the emperor in all his greatness my friend, yes he may seem to be... odd but I am sure that there is a reason" I spouted out while standing guard to the meeting board of the lord and the council.
We overhear something in the office in the back of our ears. "What do you mean my Great Destroyer Freddy can't be Consul!?" exclaimed a rough old voice. "Well you see my lord this is an important mission and you can't be serious that it will represent our country!" said a meek voice. "Well Freddy will be the Consul and that's that or it'll be treason!" said the emperor "\*sigh\* ok my lord but please don't embarrass me in front of the senate"
"I wonder what's goin on in there?"
"Important business my friend now back to being silent for the next 20 hours."
As I said that the door opens with the ambassador and two of his finger pinching his nose "^(I wonder what's going on through thats old mans head") He muttered. John walks inside the emperors chamber "Is everything alright here my lord?" said the commander "Well Yes but no my military fellow you see alot of people are saying that Fredrick can't be the consul, I bet he'll make a better consul than me!" said the emperor spinning his chair slouched "Well not alot of people know of this Freddy my lord maybe you could tell us who he his?" John suggested "How do you not know of him? He's very popular." "Well you see my lord- Wait you mean **that** Freddy?" "Who else?" John let out a small chuckle before realizing that the emperor was serious "Your serious my lord?" "of course I am he's the best believe me I just called him in to prove your incorrectness" As I watched this exchange happen slightly sweating for this is the first time I've ever seen the lord, I noticed the caretake bringing in a horse with a nametag "Here he is!" exclaimed the old man happily ^("I see now") John whispered under his breathe. "Now look at him and tell him that he can't be Consul!" asked the emperor. John looked at the horses eyes and as he was beginning to speak "Well now you see I think I'll make a fine job as Consul" said Freddy, Shocked John screamed "IT CAN TALK!" "of course he can talk" replied the emperor "Well now I see, since I guess he can talk let's give it a go and send him in as Consul." he said before leaving back to his post "Now do you think the horse will last in that country?" said John "Of course he can, the emperor knows best" said I.
Months Pass and as we are attending the peace treaty and union of the worlds most warring countries, The horse Freddy stand there with a crown being treated as the king who mended the 3 year war.
Please be nice this is my first post on here! | 2021-10-01T10:38:50 | 2021-10-01T07:20:55 | 28 | 16 |
[WP] "No! Go away! I can't let you go near me when I turn into a werewolf!" "Don't worry, I will love you always, even if you become a monster." "No, I'm just stupid as all hell when I turn. I'll not hurt you, but I am sure as hell not ready to show you me barking at a lamppost for the whole night!" | ##Werewolf Obedience School
Marcus walks into the storage unit. He places the six bounds of beef next to him and waits for the sun to set. Someone knocks on his door, and he opens it. Laura is waiting on the other side.
"What are you doing here? I told you not to come," Marcus says.
"I want to be here for you. When I said that I loved you forever, I meant it." Laura moves closer and kisses him.
"I know you love the human me, but can you love my canine self?"
"Of course, I know you love me enough to not hurt me."
"Uh, that's just it. My canine self is really dumb. I'm pretty sure I'll hurt you on accident." Marcus steps away as the sky darkens.
"How dumb can you be?" Laura asks. Marcus's eyes turn yellow.
"You'll see." He lets out a roar as his legs weaken. Unable to support his body, he collapses to the ground. His fingers become paws and sprout claws. His nose and mouth protrude from his face while his ears sharpen. He howls at the moon.
"Oh Marcus, you're so majestic," Laura says. Marcus looks at her and starts wagging his tail. He runs and jumps on her aggressively licking her face. Laura falls to the ground and pushes Marcus. "Woah, that's enough."
Marcus keeps licking her.
"I'm glad to know you like me, but I need you off," Laura screams. Marcus backs off of her wagging his tail. "Let's see how well-trained you are."
Laura walks over to the pound of meat and turns off a chunk. Marcus runs over. "Sit."
Marcus tilts his head.
"Sit." Laura holds the meat in the air and presses on Marcus's waist. Marcus obliges. "Good boy."
She tosses the beef, and Marcus eats it. Laura tears off another chunk of meat and holds in the air. Marcus sits.
"Alright, you're learning quick. Stay." Laura walks away from Marcus. Marcus follows her with his. "Come." Marcus walks to her. "Sit." Marcus sits again. "Good boy." She tosses the chunk of beef.
A car honks outside. Marcus perks up and runs out of the storage locker.
"No, Marcus don't." Laura chases after him, but Marcus is fasters. A car honks again in the distance and breaks. Metal crunches. When Laura reaches the street, she sees Marcus lying down.
"I'm so sorry about your dog." The driver steps out of the vehicle. Marcus stands and barks at the headlights. "Wow, what breed is your dog? It's massive and strong."
"It's a..." Laura pauses to think. "A cross between an Australian Great Dane and Maltese Husky."
"I've never head of either of those breeds in my life."
"Their new. Come on Marcus." Laura walks away from the accident. Marcus follows her as if nothing happened. When they reach the storage locker, Laura shuts the door. "Let's keep you in here until you can behave better."
She spends the rest of the night training him. When the sun comes up, Marcus changes back into human. He whines less during the process.
"Thanks for staying with me and training me. I hope I wasn't too much trouble." Marcus looks down embarassed.
"It was no trouble at all. I had dogs growing up."
"I will say it was nice not just pacing around in here," Marcus smiles.
"Who knows. Maybe next time, we'll go for a walk."
---
r/AstroRideWrites | A hot summer night.
The air is heavy with the scent of an oncoming storm, the moon is locked behind dark, thick clouds, and the lone woman walks the street of a remote village.
She appears under the light of the lampposts and disappears into the darkness in between them, heading for a dirt path. She wears a jean and a red hoodie.
Dirt crunches under her boots, the last house disappears behind her. During the day this is just a meadow bordering a fenced field meant for the cows to lazy around and grow fat. In the night, the mind plays tricks with the shadows, shapes take form for a second before vanishing, reality and fantasy merge together.
Trees border the path, the leaves rustle gently under the wind as she walks upwards. Atop the hill, a much-needed fresh breeze plays through her hair and invigorates a horde of insects hidden in the grass. Suddenly, the relative emptiness is filled with the chatter of critters, and a lull in the clouds shows a single star.
She sits there, atop the hill, back against a lonely oak tree, gazing at the village lights below. Beyond the village, nothing but the calm dark.
Claire has been walking this path since childhood to soothe her mind, it worked just as well in adulthood. She never got over the sudden dread she could feel when her imagination made the shadows come to life, brought her head to turn and wonder if, just for once, there wasn't indeed something right there in front of her. A childish fear she was delighted to have kept into adulthood.
Seclusion, darkness, peace, a sanctuary.
"Risky night to be alone for a girl, is it not?"
Claire jolts upright.
Not every shape at night is a trick from the mind.
She hadn't heard the man coming, doesn't recognize the voice. She can only make out his shape, a tall, slender person with large hands and a curiously high-pitched voice.
"Who are you?"
"Someone who walks in the night, just like you."
He isn't from the village, and few would dare walk these parts without a light, he has none. He takes a step forward, Claire takes a step back.
"Don't approach me."
"Isn't it why you're here?" she can hear his wicked smile as he speaks, "to meet the big bad wolf, to play the fierce girl when you're dying for the beast to come out for you?"
A light drizzle comes down, Claire hears the envy, the aggression, the wolfish savagery in the words. Whatever the man is, he's dangerous, and she should have been more careful.
"Fuck off."
"Won't happen."
His joy pierces through in his words, he's delighted to have found a lone girl lost at night, far from everything, for his own amusement, for whatever horrors this meant for Claire.
It started to pour. Claire pulled up her red hood, she wouldn't go down without a fight.
"Fierce," she hears him licking his lips as he speaks, "I like that."
Just as he's about to advance, the clouds open and the full moon shines through, a ghostly light illuminating the gaunt, grinning man and a soaked Claire with her fists closed. The instant stretches wide, droplets fall from the leaves of the oak tree over Claire.
"Last warning," she whispers, just loud enough to be heard over the rain.
"Amuse me, get wild,"
Claire can see the stiffness in his pants.
"You asked for it. Fifi, come and say hi."
*Thump*, it is barely audible, the sound of a heavy being taking great care to not make too much noise.
Claire didn't like her night outings to be cadenced by Fifi's loud steps, it scared the owls and muted the insects. The latter still happened, they could feel when Fifi was near and weren't sure if they could sing.
All the fun is drained from the man's face as he slowly turns around.
Fifi stands taller than the madman, despite walking on his fours. A stocky, bulky mockery of a wolf, with every single muscle bulging wide across his frame, steely limbs to spring over wide distances, teeth glistening in the dark, eyes sparkling with sheer savagery.
"Go and get him, boy."
Not every shadow at night is a trick of the mind.
Fifi certainly isn't, and his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of a fragile neck are ample proof of it, the realest experience tonight for the poor man, and his last too.
It's over in an instant, the neck cracks like a twig under the titanic maw, and Fifi is having a midnight snack while Claire pats his head.
"It's getting dangerous to walk out there at night."
Fifi grunts.
Anyway, back to the scheduled program of the night.
Claire sits back at her tree, looking at the night over the land, while Fifi chomps his appetite away behind her. The rain is a needed refreshment after the hot day.
In a minute, Fifi has ended his meal and comes to lay next to Claire.
A minute later, and the insects starts to sing again.
Tonight is a good night. | 2022-05-14T12:54:59 | 2022-05-14T11:02:49 | 106 | 31 |
[WP] Instead of hearing what people say, you hear what they mean. It has been both a blessing and a curse. | **Based on a standard summer morning for me. My step-father and I do not get along.**
"Morning Dad."
"Acknowledgment that you are finally awake, followed by sarcastic but light-hearted quip that states I am dissatisfied with the transitioning social norm of beginning the day at this late an hour, not because it personally upsets me, but because I am jealous due to the fact that I was forced to awaken at a much earlier hour in my childhood. I do not personally blame you for this change in norm, but since I cannot voice my opinion to your entire generation, I'll displace this dissatisfaction onto you."
I'm pretty sure all he really said was 'look who's finally up.'
"Yeah, yeah, did you or Mom make breakfast?"
"Your mother's status as the breadwinner of this household also upsets me, as it conflicts with my traditional values. The fact that she has left early for work while I stay at home due to my temporary unemployment challenges my sense of masculinity and fatherhood. I do not wish to fall deeper into what I view as a traditionally effeminate role, so I have not prepared a homemade meal for you, and have instead spent my time watching sports programming to re-assure myself that I am a man, as well as take my mind of my employment situation."
'Nope, your mom had a meeting and I'm watching the Master's.' would have sufficed.
I made myself a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee as I listened to the commentary on the television.
*"I'm speaking quietly despite the fact that it's well known none of the golfers on the course can actually hear me from my sound booth, and am using extensive golf vocabulary to reassure you that I am a professional commentator. I'll give a brief description of the hole at play and weather conditions which may or may not actually be noticed by the players, or effect the outcome of the game whatsoever, all while contemplating suicide due to the fact that my dream of becoming a professional golf player failed miserably, and I figured 'well I may as well get a job in the field'."*
*"Fraudulent reassurance of the value of co-commentator's observations, as well as a layman's re-iteration of what was already said."*
I cleared my throat as I finished my breakfast, "Well, I'm going to the gym so I'll see you later."
"Second sarcastic jab intended to demoralize your fitness efforts. The fact that you are younger, faster, and stronger than me, and continuing to grow more so everyday while I continue to practice lazy behaviors makes me feel threatened in my status as alpha-male of the household. However, since I lack the will to join you in self-betterment activities, I will instead attempt to prevent you from participating in them. When I see that you intend to anyway, I will give an unnecessary and meaningless command to you to re-assure myself that I still maintain some form of dominance."
He probably asked me to mow the lawn or something, but it clearly didn't actually need to be done.
"Okay, see you later Dad."
Honestly I just feel sorry for him now, instead of angry. I'm really not sure how I feel about all this. | "I'm sorry."
God I'm sick of hearing that. Nobody ever really seems to MEAN it. Usually they mean "go away" or "you're so annoying". People also don't usually mean "I love you". Usually it's "I feel very close to you" or "I want to seem overly happy and keep up this impression so therefore I state that I LOVE everything, you included." In the same vein though, very rarely do people mean "I hate you" when they say it. I've learned hate, like love, is an incredibly powerful emotion and as frequently as it is used, it is almost never truly meant. Usually it means "I'm hurt and you've hurt me" or "Give me what I want". "I don't care" has to be my favorite phrase that has a completely opposite meaning to what people who often say it intend to portray, though. It often means that they care a lot. That they care so much it drives them crazy or they are painfully aware of it constantly. It's almost sad how people continually try to diminish great feelings and meaning.
When I first realized that I could determine a person's true intentions without fail through their speech was when I was 8 and my soccer coach said she was going to make us run until our hearts stopped if we didn't start passing the ball more. This intimidated the other children, some to the point near tears, but I immediately know it wasn't true and that she simply wanted us to play a better game and to learn. But she didn't know how to communicate this, was all. She could shout and scream, although she didn't because she was a good coach and a good woman, but it would have no greater affect on me than if she had simply calmly stated her true intentions. It wasn't until I was 14 that I realized this ability extended to every person I knew.
My parents were having a quiet discussion in the kitchen one night. I was walking out of the upstairs bathroom, and overheard them talking. My sister was already downstairs, one to bed early, and I was the last to go to sleep.
"What are you guys talking about?" I asked, curious.
My parents sat quiet for a moment, looking at each other. My mother turned towards me.
"Nothing" she said.
"Your Opi is ill" I heard.
"How ill has Opi become?" I asked, unaware of the deception which I had just avoided.
My mother looked shocked
"How... what?" she said. My father looked just as shocked
"How did you know Opi was ill?" I heard.
"You just told me."
"Told you what?" she said
"I did not!"
"Yes, you did. You just said that Opi has become very ill. How ill?"
"I...Your..." she fumbled for the words.
"He has lymphatic cancer." My father said.
"He has lymphatic cancer." I heard.
"We're not sure exactly how ill he's become, but it doesn't look good".
"He's going to die, and soon." I heard
"Are we going to visit him? Does he need to be taken care of?" I asked, seating myself at an open chair at the table.
"We're going to see if the family closer to him needs help. It would be easier for them to be primary care takers, living in the same city, rather than us, half a world away."
"No. The rest of your Mother's family is closer. They'll have to do it" I heard.
"We're not even going to visit?"
My father was smart but my mother was smarter. She caught on that what they were saying was very different from what I was hearing. She changed her tactic.
"What we mean to say, is that we aren't he best fit for caretakers. It is easier for those closer. Of course your father and I will visit, we'll do what we can, but I'm afraid it won't be much."
"Your dad and I will go, you kids will stay."
That was the end of that conversation, but more came throughout my life. People are compulsive liars. Professors are compulsive liars, police officers, definitely doctors, men, women. I've found that young children and many among the homeless, those that still have their minds that is, are honest people. Along with the elderly. And I mean *elderly*. The old geezers who would just as soon fall asleep mid sentence as mess themselves. These people are honest. They have no reason to lie or mislead or try to save your feelings. Their intentions are to say what they mean to say, because they may never get to say it again. I've spent most of my life, since college, working with these people, trying to help them, to get people to listen. But people only hear what is said, and not what is meant. | 2014-10-14T10:27:41 | 2014-10-14T10:08:28 | 124 | 31 |
[WP] The last two humans on earth decide to have a game of hide and seek. | Two years. I have been hiding for two years. The game started out simple enough when Jenny and I found each other. We had bonded over being the first human either had seen in over five years; the wars had made sure of that. The cholera, dysentery, measles, mumps, and more had been the final nail on the coffin for humanity. We were all that was left.
We met inside a Walmart of all places, in the good ole U.S. of A. I think it was what had once been North Carolina, but I wasn’t sure. I had wandered in to see if there was anything left to salvage; canned goods, blankets, or the rare water bottle; when I had heard a noise. Startled, and worried that I had found yet another escaped group of gorillas, I cautiously moved through the aisles until I saw her. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life, and I’m not even gay.
After wary introductions, we became fast friends. Talking and laughing about what the world had once been: drunken nights with boyfriends, drunken nights with friends, college, jobs, the works. It was like we had finally found something that gave use purpose again. It was a few months later that she proposed the game: The Ultimate Hide-and-Seek Championship.
The rules were simple: You counted to 1,000, and anywhere in the country was fair game. After a few more months of hiding in the same building, then the same town, then skipping the town over, we made it more complicated. We both became excellent trackers, and so the game had to adapt to become more challenging. We started hopping across full state lines, spending weeks hunting the other. It gave us purpose.
Finally, even cross-country became too easy, and so one day I hopped on a boat and skipped the continent. It took me two months to make the voyage across, but I think I landed somewhere in Spain. I’ve been living on the coast since then. I’m sure she’ll eventually figure it out, but this, so far, has been our longest game yet. Much longer than the time I found her somewhere in what used to be Ecuador.
After two years I have grown comfortable, and quite fond of this place, Jenny would love it. Every day I feed the chickens, but today when I went out something seemed different. I couldn’t quite place my finger on it until I heard a rustling in the bushes behind me. Startled, I turned and looked around; fearing that another beast of some form or another had found me. Grabbing my shotgun I quickly scanned the perimeter fence, but saw no sign of anything. Putting it back down, I returned to feeding the chickens.
I hope it is Jenny, secretly hiding out there in the bushes, waiting to startle me by screaming, “Found you.” While playing this game we learned something very important about ourselves. We had found that we were the happiest, the most excited when we were tracking a survivor, or being found by a survivor. The saying goes that if you can’t give a man hope, give him something to do. Well this game, this mock hunt for survivors, gave us hope that one day, we maybe wouldn’t find each other, but someone else. | "Do you remember what it was like to be a kid?"
The question caught him completely off guard. "A what?"
"A kid" she replied, a little too jovially for someone who had barely eaten for the past week. "You know, a child. Being young, having no responsibilities. Do you remember what it was like?"
Nathan put down his binoculars, frustrated. "Mia, if this is about us having - "
"No, I know. You're not ready for that."
"She's still out there. I know it."
Mia sighed and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. "This isn't about your wife, Nathan. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, you know". He turned towards her, his expression quickly turning from frustration to sadness. It was hard to get angry at someone so beautiful, and he hated knowing he felt that way about her.
"It's okay. I get it, life must go on. If - and that's *if* we're the only ones left - well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, okay?"
Mia shot him a smile and gently flicked his ear. "Get your head out of the gutter. I already told you, that's not what I'm talking about".
"Then what *are* you talking about?"
She picked up the binoculars and scanned the scarlet horizon. "I mean, when we were little this would have been one big adventure. Sure, we'd miss our parents, our brothers and sisters, but just imagine... We would have loved the opportunity to have a whole city to ourselves. To drive without a licence down to a candy store and eat chocolate for dinner".
"*Please* don't mention chocolate..." interrupted Nathan.
"But you know what I'm saying, right? When we were kids all we wanted was an adventure. A challenge. The chance to experience something new and exciting".
"Not me" said Nathan, rummaging through his pack for anything that even remotely looked like a chocolate bar.
"Oh bullshit. Didn't you ever want to find a treasure map? That's what I always wanted as a girl, I used to dream about being a pirate whenever I was alone".
"Well unfortunately I don't have any eyepatches in here, but if we don't find any fruit trees within the next few days we'll probably get to find out what scurvy is like. I guess dreams do come true." He couldn't tell whether she appreciated the sarcasm or not.
"What I'm *trying* to say is we've been scavenging for days, when was the last time took some time to relax? When was the last time we did anything to get our minds off what happened? What's the point in living if we can't have any fun?".
Nathan didn't know how to reply to that. *When was the last time I even thought about 'fun'?*, he asked himself. *How the fuck can you have 'fun' when you're surrounded by skulls, femurs and craters?* He wanted to yell at her, tell her to grow up, tell her that she didn't have to see the shit *he* saw, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. She didn't deserve this any more than he did.
"Well, what did you have in mind?"
She smiled, something he hadn't seen her do much since they stumbled across each other. "Do you want to play hide and seek?"
He couldn't help but laugh, and she couldn't help but join in. "Come on!" begged Mia, "It's not like anyone's gonna judge yes, right?"
Nathan composed himself as well as he could. "Two full-grown adults playing hide and seek in the apocalypse? It's not exactly how I pictured the end of the world".
"Well it's our world now", she replied. "We can make the rules how we see fit. Acting like kids once in a while shouldn't be frowned down upon by society anyway".
"It's not like there's much of a society to judge us, I suppose?"
"Exactly". Mia picked up her bag. "I'm going to walk down to the outskirts, I'll hide somewhere between... That road there and that big black building. Be a darl and count to at least five-hundred for me, will you? My ankle's still a bit sore".
Nathan smiled at her. "Okay, but don't think for a second I'll go easy on you." He cast her one last look and, for the first time in a long time, he felt excited. Leaning head-first against the charred tree behind him, he started counting down.
"Five-hundred... Four-hundred and ninety-nine... Four hundred an ninety-eight..."
For the next forty-five years of his life Nathan would often find himself wishing that he skipped a few hundred seconds.
*****
Edit: Spelling and wording. | 2014-12-03T06:40:03 | 2014-12-03T06:13:33 | 46 | 12 |
[WP] Make a story so awkward even the narrator start's getting uncomfortable.
. _ .
Starts*
Auto correct is my mortal enemy. | “ “Can I get you anything else, sir?”
“No, thanks. Coffee is good.” I reply, no eye contact. I feel like a bit of a prick applying this manner of interpersonal dynamics. I’m sure her day is no better or worse for my lack of visual acknowledgement on receipt of my coffee but the burr sticks. I should have just fucking looked at her and given her ‘the nod’ or something, now I’ve spent the 15 seconds I would have been using to think of clever words admonishing myself for being rude instead. But when you really think about, had I wanted anything else I would have asked for it. It’s not like this coffee shop is particularly busy.
2 ginger guys poring over a laptop, cute 20-something with a fringe on a comfy chair flicking through an iPod, couple of generic looking suit types poring over one broadsheet or another. If I really felt all of a sudden like I wanted a brownie to go with my coffee, I’m sure I could get her attention in a few seconds. If I whispered in this place she would hear me at the other side of the joint. If I shifted in my chair ever so slightly the sound would startle all present and they would look in my general direction to gauge the scale of rumpus.
So, actually, fuck her. I’m not paying her to ask me shit, I’m paying her to make me fucking coffee.
Did I say that out loud? Why do I feel like the energy of the room has suddenly gone off a little? I’m sure she just stopped in her tracks like a record may have skipped or something. Nothing. Fuck, I get so introspective sometimes, I swear everything’s one big simulation.
Coffee tastes like shit.
It’s all milk.
Definitely saw the two girls behind the bar looking over at me, and not in a ‘hey that slobby guy with coffee on his shirt is looking pretty smoking’ sort of way. All I did was not look at her when I said I didn’t want anything, what’s the big idea. I wasn’t vocally rude, I wasn’t even, like, tonally curt with her.
“Hey, want to keep it down over there?” One of the laptop ginger’s has just piped in
“Sorry?”
“We don’t need a running commentary mate, keep it to yourself.”
Shit, I had the inverted commas open from the start.
“You still do pal, wind it down, please.”
“Sorry.” I cannot drink this coffee quicker.
“ | Once upon a time, in a land far, far away called Uttoxeter there lived a man called Terrance.
Now Terrance wasn't really a significant sort; a bit of a loner and a hardly mention-able in any of the town's proud and long annals of history. In fact, when asking most of the populace about Terrence there would be a statistical certainty of 98% responding "Terrence who?" with the other 2% having either recalled a mate's friend of the aunt who had a younger uncle married to the family who was called Terrence and lived in Stoke-on-Trent or simply lied about knowing Terrence because they thought the questionnaire would give away free biscuits.
Terrence wasn't much of an achiever either. Many loners in stories, as fairy-tale experts could tell you, have often some secret ability or trait that really makes up for all the nonsense and absolute lack of character they have at the start of the story, making a sort of rise through the entirety of it.
So let's see... What else? Oh, right-o. Terrence was moderately good at making a reasonable miniature replica of the North Staffordshire Railway, also called the Pottery Line.
But the Stafford Railway Building Society had already made 3 of those and they were either far more miniature, maxiature or replicated than his work, so it wasn't really that noteworthy either. And really, I don't think a decent fairy-tale or story would be dependent on the character's ability to create a miniature likeness of the Pottery Line, though I'm just a narrator so what do I know?
Anyhow, Terrence. Good old Terrence, or "Fearsome Beastlord" as he's sometimes called. By himself. Online. Playing Call of Duty. Shoddily and poorly at that.
His mother thought him a bit queer. Not the homosexual sort, mind you, but the 'something's a bit odd about my son' type of remark that she'd bemoan and press the issue on at her bridges club though the others couldn't really give a toss because 'Terrence who?'. Or was it Terrance with an a? I feel it doesn't really matter. His mother's dead, by the way. Died of leukemia. Though our hero Terrence couldn't even be bothered to attend the funeral because the Blizzcon live stream was obviously more of a priority, even though the git - I mean hero - doesn't even play any of the games. But that's life I suppose. Or at least, that's his life. If you could call it life, I'm not sure there's a supporting consensus on it at the time.
Terr-a/e-nce told himself he enjoyed the solitude, right up until he discovered that cutting himself was pleasurable and then he was scared of it but didn't know how to escape it. He.... oh dear. Oh no.
What story is this? What fairy tale am I supposed to narrate? There's supposed to be furry little animals who help people in need of help and love, romance, epic sagas no? What *fairy-tale* is this!? I m-- Okay, okay. Unprofessional. I know. I'll continue. Apologies.
When the memories of his suppressed childhood had resurfaced at the lonely age of 34 he suddenly found out his dislike to intimacy and close contact as the memory of his uncle havi- No, no no. This is NOT a fairy tale, it's now quirky! It's not even coherent! What am I supposed to convey to people reading this, what is the red line here? And I made fun of the guy, I mean ... Jesus. So, okay... what's next?
That's when Terrance Seymore Jackson at the age 34 discovered the gate-way to Wonderland and a whole new life began and he discovered that inside himself he had the powe-
Wow, bloody hell, suicide analogies? Really? Right after the molestation bit? Is that where we're at?
Sod it, I quit. | 2014-12-23T09:45:16 | 2014-12-23T09:23:38 | 249 | 28 |
[WP] Make a story so awkward even the narrator start's getting uncomfortable.
. _ .
Starts*
Auto correct is my mortal enemy. | "Linda. Will you marry me?"
Simon was kneeling down on the beautiful red carpet in the giant room full of tables, chairs and people. Simon could *really* have chosen a better situation, but he thought it would be best while his lovers friend and family were all here to witness *his* proposal.
Linda was baffled and embarrassed out of her mind. "How could he do such a thing!?" she thought to herself whilst looking at all the guests, quietly looking at them. The bride and groom, her sister and her newly wed husband, staring intensely at the one pair that just had to ruin it all... I need a fucking drink!
The tension in the air was so thick and heavy, that you could kill Simon with it, but for the sake of the story, Linda won't.
Linda *finally* broke the ice cold silence that had been going on whilst i was getting something to calm my nerves. "Can... We talk about this another time maybe? My sister is *kinda* getting married, you know.
"Oh, right. Yeah..." Simon said, silently sitting down. I knew what Simon was going to say and even *I* couldn't stop it.
"Sorry about that! Please ignore me!" Simon yelled jokingly in order to ease the tension a little.
I can't go on... | “I can’t wait to finally meet your parents.” Brians tells Chelsea on the drive over to her family’s house. Chelsea has been hesitant to bring me over to meet her family. I don’t know why. She talks about them a lot. They’re both rather successful. Unfortunately, Chelsea knew something about her parents she didn’t want to share with Brian.
“Yeah. It’ll be great.” She says, looking out the window and mentally planning reasons to excuse herself from the meeting.
They pull into the driveway and Chelsea walks up to the door in much the same way a person would approach the gallows. She opens the door and walks in. “They’re upstairs. They texted me to tell us to have a seat. They’ll be down at the minute.” She stares at the floor and when she arrives at the table she stares at her plate. Brian is still excited to meet them. He can tell Chelsea is nervous so he…(sigh), plants a kiss on her forehead and…. wraps an arm around her. He regrets his decision to display affection as soon as the parents come down the stairs.
“Uncle Robert?” I ask. I haven’t seen him since I was four. They only recently moved back to the area. Brian was supposed to be meeting his…cousin….for dinner….over the holidays. They had not met before, or skyped, or texted, or seen each other’s facebook accounts. OR ANYTHING ELSE THAT WOULD HAVE PREVENTED THIS SITUATION WHICH ANY NORMAL ADULT WOULD DO. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, anyway, the parents froze a bit on the stairs when they saw Brian with his arm around…his cousin. Brian had decided to play it cool and pretend nothing was happening. He decided to ruffle Chelsea’s hair affectionately to show that it wasn’t a big deal.
“Should we play this off?” The uncle asks.
“For now.” The aunt responds.
“So Chelsea, nephew Brian, how are you?” The uncle asks, trying to acknowledge the situation without stressing the relationship too much.
“Related.” Brians pipes up, without any tact or hesitation. “But not too closely for the legal purposes of this state. Am I right Chelsea?” Chelsea had buried her head on the table and was pretending she doesn’t exist. A position for which I envy her greatly as I am not getting paid enough for this.
“Ah, yes, first cousins right?” The aunt asks.
“Yup, and since neither of us bear any genetic markers for recessive lethal trait we don’t have to worry about the consequences of mating!” Forget it! I’m done! I see where this is going and refuse to be a part of this anymore! This was supposed to be a classical retelling of Cinderalla!
Sidenote: Credit to weird al and the big bang theory for the inspiration. Also there’s an app for this in Iceland. | 2014-12-23T08:59:18 | 2014-12-23T08:43:21 | 105 | 12 |
[WP] You awake in the middle of the night to your phone loudly playing a message, "This is the emergency Broadcast channel, This is not a test. Please seek shelter immediately. Do not look outside, do not make noise, do not-", the transmission ends.
It's been quite interesting to read all the responsed, thanks everyone! Credit goes to [/u/Emperor_Cartagia](http://www.reddit.com/user/Emperor_Cartagia) for his post in [this](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2qwm98/its_354_am_your_tv_radio_cell_phone_begins/) thread. | The garbled sound woke me up. Rain sluiced down my window as the wind howled in the distance. I was momentarily confused as to what was actually occuring. The sound was coming from my phone. The message kept repeating itself, but in my sleep induced haze, I was not able to understand what it was saying. I yawned and rubbed my face. The message was now clear.
'This is the emergency broadcast channel, this is not a test. Please seek shelter immediately. Do not look outside, do not make a noise, do not-.' The message abruptly shut off as I took the battery out of my phone.
"Fuck that shit," I said as I pulled the blankets over me and shuffled around under it to get comfortable. "These assholes play these messages at the most inconvenient times, I have work in five hours." I then rolled over and went back to sleep. The storm raged around me outside. Stormy nights are the perfect times for sleep. | ^I ^really ^wanted ^to ^write ^what ^the ^actual ^warning ^was ^for ^but ^as ^I ^wrote ^I ^realised ^I'd ^probably ^be ^that ^person ^to ^freak ^out ^and ^hide ^so...
--
It wakes you slowly so that you think at first it must be part of a dream. It cuts off for a beat, two, then politely asks for your cooperation again. Once you’re sure you’ve heard correctly you pull yourself from bed, groggy and disorientated, to survey the damage.
You reach for the curtain but something stays your hand.
The light filtering through is not tinged blood red. Outside, no one is screaming. There are no bombs or planes or sirens. It may not be the state of emergency the media had convinced you to believe in but there is also nothing else, just your own quiet breaths and the broadcast.
There is no other information, when you build up the nerve to check, the internet is down and every television channel transmits the same warning. When you try to phone your mother all you get is an unwavering, monotonous dial tone like the flatline of a heart monitor. You sit, listening to the tone for some time before something snaps.
*That’s it*, you tell yourself with forced conviction, *that’s it I’m out of here.*
(And maybe you’re just imagining it but the broadcast seems to get a little louder, a little more urgent.)
You grab a bag, pack in a few clothes, a plastic pocket knife you got from a Christmas cracker two years ago. You can put a little food in, maybe some medical supplies, drive down to your parents house and- and then what? What if you step outside, look to the sky and your eyes start to bleed, what good would you be then? This is not how you imagined the end of the world would go (because that is what this feels like). After all those films and all those tv shows you were sure that you’d know exactly how to handle an apocalypse. You know, get mum and Liz and head to the Winchester.
But it’s not that easy and you’re just not that brave. So, you’re not the protagonist and that’s okay. You drop the sad attempt at supplies and crawl back into your bed.
As if sensing your resignation the broadcast fades a little, enough to lull you back to sleep. And as you drift, the it changes.
Thank you for your cooperation.
| 2014-12-31T06:05:50 | 2014-12-31T05:26:51 | 31 | 15 |
[WP] Adults and children are separated into two dimensions. When a baby is born, it is sent to the "kid" dimension, and will only rejoin the adults when it turns 18. A mother and father are anxiously waiting for their child's 18th birthday tomorrow.
Can't take credit for the basic idea, I got it from a Young Justice episode! I'm interested in what the dynamic of the world would be if the whole kid/adult separation stayed permanent.
Edit: Wow, what a response! Everyone please go watch Young Justice on Netflix so it gets uncanceled (shameless plug). Great stories y'all!! | Petra panted heavily as the sweat drained down her brow. Blood vessels in her eyes had burst from a long labor. Her swollen abdomen blocked her view of the midwife in front of her.
"Let me see it, GODDAMN IT, let me see my baby!"
"Calm down, P. She's fine. A perfectly healthy baby girl. God, she's beautiful. I can't believe my shithead brother helped make this." Aura reassured her best friend.
Petra reached out her arms and held the baby to her cheek. "Oh, my little one. You'll feel like I'm abandoning you. Hold on and grow into a strong woman. I can't wait to see the person you will become."
"P, you know she'll be in good hands. Say your goodbyes, it's almost time." Aura glanced at the sun falling in the sky. The shift always came at sundown. The pink hues let them know they had only moments left.
"I just wish I could be with her longer. Maybe just enough to catch her first steps, or to get her to say mommy."
"You know we can't change the way it works. Maybe someday, but for now just relax...It's starting" Aura was hushed, trying not to show her fear and worry.
Petra began to wince as the bright glare that comes with the shift filled the tiny hut. In moments the flash was gone. Petra closed her eyes as she realized that her arms were empty.
"Petra?". A voice came from across the room. "Is that you?"
"Mother! I'm here, it's me." Petra opened her eyes and embraced the woman she had dreamt of meeting her whole life.
"Oh my dear child, we have so much to share with each other."
"Yes, we do mother. Most importantly, you have a granddaughter. A beautiful little girl we will get to meet in 18 years." | The crackle of the speaker interrupted the deluge of anxiety circulating in the room.
"Again, Sarah arrived five minutes ago and is now waiting in room B."
The room was full of couples, men and men, women and women, men and women together. Sitting on the end of a small bench almost tucked away behind the other excited couples, sat Iro and Sharon.
Through her pasted on smile Sharon whispered out, "Well?"
Iro sat with his eyes clenched tightly together, "I'm thinking."
Still smiling Sharon parroted, "You're thinking?"
"Yes." said Iro.
Exhaling Sharon cooed, "We are officially the worst parents there are."
"I'm sure it has happened before", stated Iro.
Iro and Sharon were discussing something that had actually never happened before since The Beginning. Everyone knew as soon as a child was born it was taken to the other place and returned upon it's 18th birthday. For lesser families this thoroughly lower class site was where many happy reunions took place, but for the Harmons it was different. For you see, Iro and Sharon might actually have been the worst parents imaginable, for they had forgotten their daughter's name.
This of course was a very large problem. The only way to identify a child to parent was to remember the name and date of birth. They had one, but not the other. They looked around the room and contemplated the roads that lie before them.
"I'm just saying if- and I am saying IF, we accidentally took a different girl, it would be fine. Everyone in this room looks extremely normal", Sharon said too quickly.
Iro's eyes swept around the room and then stopped on Sharon's before rolling in their sockets. "We cannot leave her to these people. I don't see one person in here I would want to take a car ride from never mind let them raise our daughter, or have to raise whatever heathen they bred."
"Maybe the announcement is for us. I mean who else would not remember their kid on The First day?" reasoned Sharon.
Iko mulled this over, "Sarah? Sarah. I don't know it doesn't feel right."
"The name Sarah doesn't feel right to you?", Sharon asked dubiously.
"It just seems very close to Sharon. Why would we have chosen that?", reasoned Iro.
"Why wouldn't we have? Sarah is a very lucky name to have gotten. Such an easy name to say and spell doesn't come up very often.", stated Sharon.
Iro thought about it for a few seconds. He took a deep breath in and let it out. "I think we should just take a chance."
"A chance?" asked Sharon.
"A definitively good one. You're right. Of course we would have snatched up Sarah, and who wouldn't have gotten their kid yet on The First Day? That's got to be our girl and we need to be confident going up there. Are we in this together?" asked Iro.
The speaker crackled to life again. "AGAIN. Sarah is waiting in room B."
Sharon stood quickly. She turned to look at Iro. Iro nodded once and stood. On the short walk to room B Iro slipped his arm around Sharon and gave her a squeeze. They paused outside of the room.
Iro raised his hand and knocked softly on the door. It opened with a creak that neither seemed to hear. They stepped into the room and let out a breath that they hadn't even known they had been holding. | 2016-03-04T00:12:25 | 2016-03-03T23:50:24 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] After Lucifer was kicked out of Heaven, he decided to make his own paradise. Both compete to have the best afterlife, sadly you lived a sin-free life and got sent to Heaven. God is throwing a very boring, sin-free party. You spend your time trying to get kicked out so you can go to Hell. | Well, shit.
So, I fought the law ... the law won, and by the grace of god, I ended up here. Not what I expected, ya know? I mean, death row confessionals are a big thing and all, but I doubt any of us really expected to get here -- it's just like ... a last resort kind of deal, ya know?
Pete. Can I call you Pete? Peter? I knew a Pete once; smashed his hea -- Oh? You know about that huh. Well, I guess you ought'ta. Man, I bet the look on my face was priceless when I got here. All that praying an' hoping, even as they put that needle in my arm, and then ... Here I am, standin' at the pearly gates and you -- YOU! Just standin' there, book of life in your hands and grinning like an old cheshire cat. Damn near blew my socks off.
So, uh ... seein' as how your like the H.R. up here and all, I really need to confess somethin'
No, No Pete. I'd feel better talkin' to you about it.
DAMNIT PETE! LISTEN!
I sodomized Mary. She's still a virgin and all ... technically
WHAT DO YOU MEAN "NICE TRY?"
Yeah, I guess ... Same time next week? | I looked down, eyeing what seemed like a black cloud with strobe lights shooting off of it, as well as the loud cheery noises of the men and women on there. As I turned around, glancing at the Milk Fountain, I could imagine the party they were having... Women, beer, all sorts of crazy, sinful activities... While I was stuck up here, attending the party God threw. Stuck up here, with nuns and priest, while those on the Devil's paradise were having the time of there afterlife.
I knew wanted to be down there... But how?
Maybe if I did something... Disturbing? Yeah, that would work, I said to myself. My eyes swept the room, searching for a target; and I found it. Another man was coming to walk past me, in his hands, a tray full of food... Perfect, I said. As he walked by, throwing a friendly glance in my direction, I 'accidentally' extended my leg, and he tripped, going face first into the bowl of chile on his tray. He got up, and one of the Angels came over, handing him a Godly Towel, which instantly cleaned his face. I thought this would be it, but no, the man simply said 'accidents happen' and walked away, smiling like a dork... Dang it, I murmured... I would need to concoct a plan, so nefarious, it would get me a one way ticket to The Party Downstairs!
I walked into the game room, watching a dozen or so people play some dumb board games... Then, I saw it. In all its glory... A Pac-Man machine... With someone playing. There were about six of these machines in a straight line, one after the other... A woman was playing on the frontmost one, so I swiftly walked towards the machines, pretending that I was going to play on the machine behind hers... Little did she know, I was going to push the machine on top of her... I smiled evilly, rubbing my hands together and getting ready for my transfer from Heaven. I put both hands on the back of her machine, and pushed as much as I could... It tilted, yes, I could feel it slowly being pushed forward- but why was it so heavy? As I pushed, the machine came crashing down on her, until the last moment, when she pushed out of the way by a Guardian Angel... Suddenly, I realized a flaw in my plan that I hadn't thought of... The machines were linked by a thick wire that connected to the top of each individual one... It now made sense why it took so much effort, as I was unconsciously pushing about six machines... But this realization came too late, as I was crushed by the machines, and pushed into a white, infinite box... Oh... This is what happens when you kill yourself in the afterlife, I guess. I looked to my left, at the only other thing in the place, a white desk with a stack of postcards on it. I took one, and read what it said, losing hope every second... "Greetings from Limbo!" | 2016-06-01T22:20:25 | 2016-06-01T21:08:40 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | "Have you ever considered, you know, doing something with your lives Seamus?" Death sat next to me in the pub, taking a swig of his pint.
"What do you mean!? I've finally perfected the brew, can't you taste how amazing this is? I have it on good authority that it's the best in the universe!"
"Seamus, you perfected this brew well over a century ago. Yes, it's the best beer in history, but surely there's still more you can do. I mean, it's gotta be divine intervention right? Nobody is supposed to win the coin toss. 235 fucking times Seamus. That's how many in a fucking row that you've won. Don't you think maybe you're genuinely mean to be doing something with all this time instead of sitting here getting blitzed? You don't even get any fucking customers out in the goddamn middle of nowhere except Joe in the corner there!"
At the mention of his name, the little old white bearded man in the corner roused himself just enough to look up from his half gone pint for a moment, mutter something unintelligible, and then seemingly go back to sleep.
Seamus, glanced over at Joe "Oi, don't be knocking Joe. He's been my loyal customer for years now, and he knows the true value of my brew."
Death had stopped all the theatrics centuries ago. He showed up in the modern dress of Ireland these days. Neither he nor Seamus could fake an accent to save their lives, but may as well blend in. He had last been at the pub 80 years ago when it was new, and 95 years before that at the tavern in Britain. Always whenever he came to visit "Seamus" was in his personal drinking establishment, serving up his same brew. Nothing ever changed with him, not even the result of the coin toss.
Death swigged down the last of the pint, it really was beyond compare. He'd been all over the world, through all the years, and he'd still never had a brew as good. Seamus was right, he really had perfected it.
"Welp, I got work to do, you know the rules, you get to call it, I get to flip it."
Seamus gargled "heads" through a sip of his drink.
Death used to think he was cheating. He knew it wasn't possible, but still, death couldn't figure out how to recreate that beer, so maybe Seamus had other secrets. Even so, it never mattered what Seamus called. Death tossed the coin in every way he possibly knew. It always came up in Seamus' favor. So this time was no surprise either. The coin landed, death swiped it up, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door.
"92 years, 84 days, 8 hours. I'll see you then."
"Oh aye laddy. Sounds grand. I'll have your drink waiting for you." Seamus said in his awful fake accent.
After death had left, Seamus went over to sit with his only other patron. The only patron he would ever need for all time.
"Thanks again Joe, guess I get to keep on brewing for you for another 92 years!"
Jehova looked up from his beer with a big smile.
"It really is the best in the universe!"
Edit:
Jesus! that blew up pretty thoroughly! I really appreciate all the compliments. Makes me feel good about taking the time to write it! | Sit now. Sit down my friends. Thank you, thank you.
I see so many familiar faces in the crowd, and I am glad to see all of you return. I am also quite pleased to see almost as many new faces. And to you I simply say welcome. I’m not sure how all of you found your way here, maybe you just saw the sign out front and though “might as well!”. No matter what, I just want to let you know that everyone is welcome. And is loved. Amen.
Now what we’re all about here is different. I’m about to share something radical, but I swear if you just stick through it you’ll be quite pleased. I just ask you one thing. Leave all your preconceived notions at the door.
I’m not here to sell you eternal bliss. Profound material happiness, the key to unlocking all your potential. All your success. So I just ask, can you leave all your expectations at the door? If you're new and this sounds okay. You don’t need to do it if you don’t want. But if you do, walk to the back door, and yell, “My mind is clear!”
Great! Wonderful! I’m glad so many of you are willing to trust me. I’ve never been one for training wheels. When I was six years old my father tossed me in the pool head first yelling, “boy, swim goddamnit!” And you know what happened? I almost drowned. Sucked in breath after breath of water, and began to sink to the bottom of the pool. And as my butt sat down, staring through the hazy blue expanse, I thought to myself, “This is not how I’m gonna die!”
And as I took that first stroke towards the top of the pool, I felt a hand pull me the rest of the way. You know who’s hand that was? No, no. It wasn’t God. It was my father. I learned that day that I was capable of a lot, but not everything. And that my father expected the world out of me. Expected the impossible. And when I failed he was there to pick me up. Both my motivation and my savior.
But in a lot of ways this has been the conventional outlook of God. See that’s why you all assumed that the grace of God lifted me up. That God is this divine force that tests you and judges you, tells you right from wrong. Lifts you up from the depths and shows you the light.
I’m here to tell you that God doesn’t meddle in your lives. This may sound radical. It may sound heathenous and counter-intuitive to everything you have learned. The gift that God has given us, the part of us that separates us from the wild beasts is our intellect.
What God provides for us is choice. Doesn’t direct us in one way or another, but simply puts us in situations where we are allowed to use our own sense of self to direct us in one direction or another. Gives us the ability to inherently know right from wrong, even if that means morality is sometimes presented in ambiguous ways.
Most preachers will come up here and tell you that your life comes down to a certain kind of faith. A faith that God is love, that god is benevolent. Forgives all, and that at the end of the day, faith leads you to the promised land. But what I’m here to say to you is that what you have now is all you’ve got. And not just for your life, but for all of eternity.
And when you die you don’t live in the clouds experiencing eternal bliss. Instead, like the culmination of all your life you are faced with one last decision. A coin flip that you know the answer to. Heads you are reborn with no memories, a blank slate. Tails you are bound to live the exact same life again.
So what’s the point of all of this? I can see a lot of you squirming in your chairs right now. And I know, it’s uncomfortable. Placing the onus of responsibility on yourself is something that we try to avoid all our lives. Faith isn’t leaping across a deep chasm into a warm embrace. That’s easy. Faith is leaping, with the full understanding that you will fall. And that the bottom of the chasm is something you can’t possibly imagine.
But that if you leap enough times, what you find at the bottom is something that closely resembles the most perfect representation of yourself. And that at some point when faced with that ephemeral coin flip, the prospect of reliving your life over and over again becomes a peaceful proposition. That you have an understanding of yourself, how you are one with God.
Amen!
And if you’re ready to accept this than I embrace you with open arms. And if you want to storm out that door, hooting and hollering I don’t blame you. It’s a terrifying prospect. But it’s something that if you face head on will lead you to truly eternal salvation.
| 2016-09-23T09:14:52 | 2016-09-23T07:20:45 | 2,418 | 13 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | "Just pick another fucking age!" Death said, snarling as he looked at Bobby.
"No, I get to pick, and I pick my 16th birthday."
Death screamed and punched the little shit in his head, and Bobby disappeared. All death had to do was touch his forehead, but he was way to angry for that. He waited for a few minutes, and as it started to rain a light appeared in front of him. Death held out his hand and flipped the coin. He stopped putting it away 4 centuries ago. It spun in the air, and death didn't even look at it when he grabbed it in his hand. "Tails again?" Death sighed as he knew what the kid was going to say next.
"Yep, tails just like what I was getting."
Death looked down, and saw it was tails. It always was. The kid was saying when he wanted to go to, and Death punched him again. As he was waiting for the kid, he started flipping the coin as he had so many times. Tails, heads, heads, heads, tails, heads, tail. It was an ordinary coin, not double sided or rigged or anything. He saw the light, and looked at the kid appearing again.
"If you don't accept the blowjob, you can make it past your sixteenth birthday. Then Christine's boyfriend wont shoot you."
"I don't care about that."
"You don't even finish! You haven't once! You have tried a hundred and thirty million times, and you haven't even cum yet! If you refuse the blowjob, then you could cum another time! JUST FUCKING SAY NO!!!!" Death yelled at Bobby, the force of his lungs sending Bob flying back.
Bobby got back up and came over to death. "To my sixteenth birthday please."
"NO YOU FUCKING RETARD!"
"Do I have to go talk to Jesus again?"
Death growled, knowing that if he didn't send him back he would have to send him to Jesus for judgement, and then he would get in trouble. He screamed out in anger, and punched Bobby in the chest so hard he flew back a couple miles. With a raise of his staff, Bobby appeared in front of him, and he sent Bobby back, then started waiting again, the heat of his anger and the rain causing him to literally steam.
| Flam, a plump little man, looked down at his bleeding body. Stabbed. In the back. An actual backstab! Those had been out of vogue for at least fifty years. The Assassin's Guild would hear of this. He looked up at the imposing figure beside him, it's billowing black cloak hanging on a skeletal frame. "So it's a game, yeah. For my life?"
"NOT CHESS." Death answered. "I CAN NEVER REMEMBER HOW ALL THE PIECES MOVE."
"Oh you know I prefer games of chance." Flam grinned, swaggering forward and fishing an old coin out of his pocket. "A gambler in life, a gambler in death. What do you say old pal, another flip?"
"YOU TIME HAS LONG COME. YOU SHOULD MOVE ON. THERE ARE RULES."
Flam had often been described as spineless, but now, actually sans spine, he felt a chill go down his. Death had always been a friendly sort. Morbid, but at the end of the day just a man doing a job. This tone was new, and frightening.
"Hey now, you have to give me a chance." He chuckled, the sound catching in his throat, and held up the old coin. "Fair's fair, right?"
Death stepped forward and a fell wind buffeted Flam's ethereal body. "I HAVE GIVEN MANY CHANCES. ONLY ONE IS DEMANDED." Then a long moment of silence, quieter than a tomb, before Death spoke again, "BUT. WHAT IS ONE MORE. YOU CANNOT ALWAYS WIN."
Flam would have breathed a sigh of relief if he had lungs. "That's the spirit pal!" He readied the coin, making a great show of apprehension.
"IN THE AIR."
"Of course, of course." Flam nodded. "Can't cheat you."
With a flick of his thumb Flam sent the coin whirling up into the air. Death's hood shifted as his gaze tracked the glittering coin.
"Heads."
The coin came down flat on the ground, showing off the shiny bald head of some king who died two hundred years before. Flam grinned and, after giving Death time to get a clear look at the coin, bent down to pick it up.
Death was faster, snatching the coin away in the blink of an eye. He rolled it between two bony fingers, studying both sides with an avid gaze.
Flam felt his heart stop, which is an especially frightening feeling when it is already stopped. He put a ghostly hand to his chest.
"BOTH FACES ARE HEADS." Death said.
Flam began to stammer. "W-well, you see..."
"YOU HAVE CHEATED ME. FOR CENTURIES." Death's gaze rose to meet Flam's.
"I-I can explain if you just..." Flam put up his hands and staggered back.
"THIS IS AGAINST THE RULES. THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES." Death strode forward, the fury of a thousand storms gathering around him.
"But I did call it..." Flam pointed out in desperation.
"UNLESS."
"Unless?"
Flam couldn't see Death's face in the shadows of that dark hood, but he sense a dreadful smile growing there. The sort of smile that gives psycho clowns nightmares and makes dentists shudder with horror.
"U-unless?" He asked again. And then there was darkness.
Flam awoke some time later. He felt warm and his heart was beating steadily. He tried to laugh, to give out a happy prayer to whatever gods were watching, put a curious sound came out instead.
"Meow."
Looking himself over Flam saw fur and paws. A tail swished near his rear. The buildings around stood huge and imposing over him.
A skeletal figure approached. Flam cowered back in fear as Death crouched down and scritched his widdle earsies.
"THE RULES ARE NOW SATISFIED. YOU HAVE TWO MORE." | 2016-09-23T10:49:59 | 2016-09-23T09:58:51 | 232 | 97 |
[WP] Your girlfriend wants a church wedding. You are madly in love with her, and don't want to lose her. However, you also don't know how to explain to her that you are almost sure that you're the Antichrist, and bad things always happen when you enter a church. | "Honey, you know what's my opinion on all of this. I'm not a very religious person, don't make me do this" - I pleaded her, making a mental list of my abilities that I could use to make her change her mind without hurting her. Perhaps if her grandma would jump out of the window... No, that would only distress her. Also, I could already hear her saying: *"That's what my grandma would've wanted"*.
She puffed her lips and crossed her arms: "Oh, Damien, I know, honey, and that's why I love you so much: you're so unlike my father! But everyone in my family has been having a church wedding, I can't be the first one to break the tradition! Please, baby, just this one time, just for me. Going to church just once won't do any harm, now would it?" - she asked, making puppy eyes.
"You have no idea" - I murmured, remembering the last time. I was screaming so hard that the Hell itself shook, literally. Even my Father became concerned, and he was literally Satan.
"Baby, I just... I just think we should step away from this obsolete tradition. I mean, no man in the sky will consummate our marriage, and even if he did, we wouldn't require his approval. I love you, I know that, and I don't need no priests to verify that" - I tried to sneak out of the situation, but my devilish charm that always saved me throughout my life wasn't working on her.
"Baby, don't say that!" - she made round eyes. "You shouldn't say that God doesn't exist! He is real, and so is Hell. And you know what they say awaits those who are not faithful".
I smiled: "Honey, it doesn't matter. On the night after the wedding I'll make it a heaven on Earth for you. It will be our own garden of Eden".
Of course I was lying. I was going to bang that girl all the way to Hell, but it had to be *that* girl. For some reason, I knew that no other would do. But going to church... I didn't want to melt right in front of her whole family. My Father used too many connections to get me here, and I couldn't just blow it all. Not to mention the fact that the proof of Antichrist's existence would be all over the news, and I couldn't have that. My Father and his companions worked too hard to persuade people otherwise. So much influence...
Influence...
*That's it.*
"Honey, I must confess to you" - I said, taking her hands into mine. "I can't go to church because I was abused by a priest when I was 8. And then he tried to stab me 11 times."
Her eyes went wide: "Baby, that's horrible! No wonder you're an atheist".
"Yep. Childhood trauma, and all that" - I said, barely holding back the laughter. It seemed that I killed two birds with one stone.
"Then I understand. It would break my grandma's heart, but I won't force you to have a church wedding".
*"I'm going to break your grandma in two afterwards"* - I thought, but all said was: "I love you, Rosemary".
"And I love you too, Damien".
_________
More? [Here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Scandalist/comments/4n4iu6/authors_message_welcome_new_readers/)
| "It's going to be *beautiful*, honey! I just know it!"
"Yeah. I...I know." I swallowed hard, and I couldn't help but notice that my tongue felt like it was made of parchment. Behind me, the sweeping buttresses and stained glass of the chapel loomed into the sky like a castle. She was right, of course. It *was* beautiful. But...
"Is this your thing about churches again?" Alice scowled, putting her hands on her hips. "I thought we agreed to leave that behind at home for today?"
Oops. Busted.
"No no, of course not...that's what we agreed upon." I said. "It's just...I'm a bit nervous, is all. Pre-wedding jitters."
"It *is* about the church, isn't it?" Alice said, raising a sculpted eyebrow.
"Ok, fine, you got me!" I said, laughing lightly. "I can't help it, you know? It's just how I am."
*Tsk Tsk...* Crowed a deep voice within my own mind. *Don't you mean* what *you are? Lying to your own wife on her wedding day...maybe you show some promise after all.*
I ignored the voice as best I could. "Did it really have to be a chapel though?"
Alice sighed. "We've been over this, John. My family is old, traditional, and most importantly *Catholic*. There was no way they would have let me get married in some rundown little church, let alone outside of one! I'm already breaking enough rules just by seeing you before the ceremony." She smiled kindly, gently taking my hand. "But I knew you would need a bit of moral support for this."
When she let go of my hand, I felt a small metal object slip into my fingers.
"What's this?" I asked, holding it up to the light. It was a coin, made of a soft, golden metal, adorned with dozens of unfamiliar runes. Emblazoned on one side was a five-pointed star, reminding me of nothing more than a pentacle.
"An heirloom." Alice said coyly. "It's supposed to bring luck and ward off evil...my gran would kill me if she knew I was giving it to you. But I think you are going to need it more than I will."
*What a silly trinket.* Said the voice. *It will do her no good. Nor you, for that matter. As if the likes of* me *could be contained by that.*
"You might be right about that." I laughed.
"See you in a few hours?" Alice stroked the back of my hair.
"Yeah. Until then."
With a smile and a quick peck on the cheek, Alice darted off into the chapel, holding her dress aloft to keep it from dragging along the floor.
***
"Love...is a gift. A wondrous gift, given to man by the likes of God, to make His world just a little brighter. Today, we have gathered together...in the name of Love. And God..."
I shot a smirk at Alice, who rolled her eyes quietly from under her veil. Her mother, Mary, sure knew how to pick them - this was easily the most boring priest I had ever had the misfortune of listening to. Not only that, but he was so old that I could practically hear his jaw creaking every time he opened his mouth.
"...and his Son, most holy and divine Shepherd of Man, Lamb of God, Son of the Virgin Mary..."
Was he really going to list every single title by heart? My dismay must have been more obvious than I thought, judging by Alice's sympathetic look. At least she was used to this - after all, she grew up with it. After the first few *incidents*, I had sworn off church altogether. But no matter how long the old priest took, I took solace in knowing that soon enough it would all be over.
A sudden movement in the crowd caught the corner of my eye, tearing me out of my ruminations. It was as if the entire front row had just *shifted* about a foot to the right. Not like they themselves had moved, but as if a space had just opened up in the world that had not been there before. Or, perhaps, as if they had withdrawn from one corner of the bench of their own accord. I frowned. It still *looked* the same, with the same people as far as I could tell - but now there was an empty space right in the dead center of the pew.
And then, all at once, *he* was sitting there.
His face was sharply angled and alabaster white, contrasting harshly with the long black hair that sprang from his scalp like a waterfall of ink. A pair of enormous wings curled elegantly from his shoulders. They appeared tattered and charred black, as if they had been in a fire. He would have been oddly beautiful, if it were not for the lip-curling smirk that was splashed across his face like a scar.
*Good evening, my child. What a lovely day for a wedding.*
***
*Part 2 below!*
| 2016-10-10T12:50:59 | 2016-10-10T12:44:32 | 145 | 31 |
[WP] Your girlfriend wants a church wedding. You are madly in love with her, and don't want to lose her. However, you also don't know how to explain to her that you are almost sure that you're the Antichrist, and bad things always happen when you enter a church. | "I think we should have the wedding outside, Annette. Early summer, all the flowers will be blooming. Butterflies everywhere." My hands are wet with nervous sweat as I watch her pace through the living and dining rooms.
"You *know* I want to get married at that church. My family has gotten married in that church for generations, Jesse." Annette sighs, and when she looks at me, it's with utter exhaustion. We've had this conversation at least a dozen times.
"I know, I know. And it's a beautiful church-"
"You've never seen it."
"Not the inside, no, but the garden outside is beautiful. ...We could do it th-"
"No!" She snaps, cutting me off. There are tears forming in her eyes, and I force myself to look away. "This is so important to me, Jesse, and you just- You just...." I can almost *hear* her gesturing.
I don't know what to do. "Babe," I say with a sigh. I've tried explaining it to her almost as many times as we've had this conversation. When I was five, I went to church with my grandparents and the stained glass windows shattered in a "freak accident." When I was seven, a statue of Christ cracked and started seeping blood. At eight years old, three people had a heart attack. Including the pastor. She's heard all of these stories before, and she's always been receptive to my emotions and protests until now.
"I've got something to say."
"*Yeah*?"
"I really ... don't like the scary way
I step inside a goddamn church
And everything goes astray."
"Jesse."
"The window shattered, like someone slammed it!" I suddenly find myself singing. I don't know why. I *really* don't fucking know why, and I'm wondering if it's because we watched *Rocky Horror* the night before last and I still can't shake the songs from my head. Whatever the case, I can't bring myself to look at her. I just stare at the tabletop and shift uncomfortably in my seat.
"Christ leaked blood and they examed it!
The pews that broke were made of granite!
I've got one thing to say and that's
Dammit, Annette, I'm the Anti-Chriiiiiiist~"
I notice that I'm out of the chair now, and spinning across the room with the flamboyance of a sugar-high toddler.
Annette throws her arms into the air. "*Jesse*! I can't believe you're doing this!"
"Don't you dare tell to cram it!" I sing-yell at her, pointing a finger accusingly, and jump onto the dining room table. I kick the candles to the floor and shimmy my hips.
"I'm opening up to you, so just jam it!
There's evil in this world and I am it!" I slap my chest as I leap from the floor and slide to my knees in front of her.
"I've got one thing to say and that's
Dammit, Annette, I'm the Anti-Chriiiiiiist~"
Her face turns red with fury and and in a fit of, perhaps justifiable, rage, she storms out of the room. "You son of a bitch! You're so fucked up!" She yells, and the clattering of her keys echoes through the house. "Fuck you, Jesse!" She slams the door behind her and I hear the pictures fall to the floor and their glass panes shatter.
I purse my lips and sigh.
...Yeah. I probably fucked that up. | "It's going to be *beautiful*, honey! I just know it!"
"Yeah. I...I know." I swallowed hard, and I couldn't help but notice that my tongue felt like it was made of parchment. Behind me, the sweeping buttresses and stained glass of the chapel loomed into the sky like a castle. She was right, of course. It *was* beautiful. But...
"Is this your thing about churches again?" Alice scowled, putting her hands on her hips. "I thought we agreed to leave that behind at home for today?"
Oops. Busted.
"No no, of course not...that's what we agreed upon." I said. "It's just...I'm a bit nervous, is all. Pre-wedding jitters."
"It *is* about the church, isn't it?" Alice said, raising a sculpted eyebrow.
"Ok, fine, you got me!" I said, laughing lightly. "I can't help it, you know? It's just how I am."
*Tsk Tsk...* Crowed a deep voice within my own mind. *Don't you mean* what *you are? Lying to your own wife on her wedding day...maybe you show some promise after all.*
I ignored the voice as best I could. "Did it really have to be a chapel though?"
Alice sighed. "We've been over this, John. My family is old, traditional, and most importantly *Catholic*. There was no way they would have let me get married in some rundown little church, let alone outside of one! I'm already breaking enough rules just by seeing you before the ceremony." She smiled kindly, gently taking my hand. "But I knew you would need a bit of moral support for this."
When she let go of my hand, I felt a small metal object slip into my fingers.
"What's this?" I asked, holding it up to the light. It was a coin, made of a soft, golden metal, adorned with dozens of unfamiliar runes. Emblazoned on one side was a five-pointed star, reminding me of nothing more than a pentacle.
"An heirloom." Alice said coyly. "It's supposed to bring luck and ward off evil...my gran would kill me if she knew I was giving it to you. But I think you are going to need it more than I will."
*What a silly trinket.* Said the voice. *It will do her no good. Nor you, for that matter. As if the likes of* me *could be contained by that.*
"You might be right about that." I laughed.
"See you in a few hours?" Alice stroked the back of my hair.
"Yeah. Until then."
With a smile and a quick peck on the cheek, Alice darted off into the chapel, holding her dress aloft to keep it from dragging along the floor.
***
"Love...is a gift. A wondrous gift, given to man by the likes of God, to make His world just a little brighter. Today, we have gathered together...in the name of Love. And God..."
I shot a smirk at Alice, who rolled her eyes quietly from under her veil. Her mother, Mary, sure knew how to pick them - this was easily the most boring priest I had ever had the misfortune of listening to. Not only that, but he was so old that I could practically hear his jaw creaking every time he opened his mouth.
"...and his Son, most holy and divine Shepherd of Man, Lamb of God, Son of the Virgin Mary..."
Was he really going to list every single title by heart? My dismay must have been more obvious than I thought, judging by Alice's sympathetic look. At least she was used to this - after all, she grew up with it. After the first few *incidents*, I had sworn off church altogether. But no matter how long the old priest took, I took solace in knowing that soon enough it would all be over.
A sudden movement in the crowd caught the corner of my eye, tearing me out of my ruminations. It was as if the entire front row had just *shifted* about a foot to the right. Not like they themselves had moved, but as if a space had just opened up in the world that had not been there before. Or, perhaps, as if they had withdrawn from one corner of the bench of their own accord. I frowned. It still *looked* the same, with the same people as far as I could tell - but now there was an empty space right in the dead center of the pew.
And then, all at once, *he* was sitting there.
His face was sharply angled and alabaster white, contrasting harshly with the long black hair that sprang from his scalp like a waterfall of ink. A pair of enormous wings curled elegantly from his shoulders. They appeared tattered and charred black, as if they had been in a fire. He would have been oddly beautiful, if it were not for the lip-curling smirk that was splashed across his face like a scar.
*Good evening, my child. What a lovely day for a wedding.*
***
*Part 2 below!*
| 2016-10-10T13:02:44 | 2016-10-10T12:44:32 | 53 | 31 |
[WP] It's your hundredth playthrough of Skyrim and as you press the new game button you blink and awake in the wagon from the opening scene. You're alive in the game, everything is going just like the cutscene. You have the game itself memorized, but can you really take on the main story yourself? | The cart rolled back and forth with the stride of the horses as the occasional stone jostled it further. It took me a minute to grasp my bearings, but I quickly realized what was going on. This was it, what I always wanted. I was in the game. I felt the harsh chill in the air. *This must be that wonderful Skyrim weather I've always heard about*, I thought.
But I was on the wrong side of the cart, for some reason. I thought it was strange. There was someone else sitting in my normal seat. *Oh well*, I thought. *Classic Skyrim bugs.*
I checked myself, trying to see if I already had a race. I was a Nord, from the look of things. I supposed that was the default and I'd just change it to my typical Altmer when we arrived at Helgen. While I half-listened to the NPC's chat away around me, I thought through what would happen once Alduin arrived. I ran through the course of events in my mind over and over. *As long as I stick to the scripted path, I should be fine*, I thought. *I'll head to Whiterun, unlock some Shouts, and focus on leveling my skills.* I thought about how different it would be without the myriad of mods that I had downloaded. Since the horses still looked like horses, I assumed none of them had crossed over with me.
After another ten minutes or so, we reached Helgen. The Imperial guards took us out, one by one. But something wasn't right. No one asked who I was, and I couldn't choose my race. Apparently I was on the list. *Well, I guess I'll be a Nord this time*, I thought. Still, this wasn't right at all. The guards roughly escorted me to the block, and I stood there waiting for what seemed like an eternity. I kept waiting to hear the roar signaling Alduin's approach, but it never came. I looked behind me, and I saw the other prisoners lined up a little ways back. In the front of the line was an Argonian. That was strange, because there was no Argonian on the cart.
Then I realized it. As I was kicked to my knees and my head was forced to the cold stone I knew why everything seemed so strange. Alduin wouldn't come in time, it was too early. The game was already over.
I looked up at the executioner as he stood, towering over me with his weapon drawn. I remembered the script. I knew what I had to do.
"My ancestors are smiling on me, Imperial." I said. "Can you say the same?"
**Edit for a few typos. Also, added a line.** | (So, it's been a long time since I played... don't judge ;)
"Wait, what?"
"Damn, you're practically just a kid. What are those damn imperials thinking sending you to the chopping block?"
I looked up to the Nord as we bounced along. "No, I'm twenty three, hardly a child."
The Nord chuckled, "our rising youth think so highly of themselves."
Ulfric Stormcloak grumbled, "I killed my first man at the age of twelve. Surely this young man is old enough to be considered our peer."
The other man fell silent.
"Look," said another, "we've arrived at Helgen."
I craned my neck to see the deary place, doors open wide to receive us. Imperial troops swarmed the place like ants on a piece of apple. As we passed, people booed, spit and threw food at the in famous Stormcloak. I was impressed as he sat stoically and quietly. When I played through before, I usually disliked the guy, but right now, he was impressive.
We were unloaded and the first man ran, and was shot. Then, the next beheaded. It was gruesome and still haunts me to this day.
"Who are you? You don't appeared to be from Skyrim."
"I'm James." I told him, "I'm not from anywhere around here."
"How unfortunate. In your next life, try to keep better company. Head to the block."
I chuckled, "I see what you did there. Head to the block. You know, cuz you're going to chop off my head."
He looked unamused, "We're doing the world a favor."
"You should let me go." he grabbed me by the arm. "I'm the only one who can stop the dragons."
"Don't be ridiculous. The dragons are long de-" a roared echoed through the town.
"Hm. I wonder."
He pushed me down.
Three, two, one.
Bwarrrr!
Heat poured over me like a wave, and I felt the skin on my back and arms practically melt off. I howled in pain and rolled over in the snow with a hiss. My bonds had burnt away, but my arms were still practically useless. I tried to peer through my tears at the confusion when I remembered that everyone started out with a few spells. I took a deep breath and focused on my arms. I felt them begin to tingle with energy, and the grievous burns began to heal. I managed to stand as they finished mending and stumbled over to the executioner.
At this point, I became keenly aware of how cold it was. Why I hadn't noticed before was a mystery. I stole his boots first, to replace the rags tied around my feet, then picked up his massive axe. I hefted it over my shoulder, not sure how effective it would be.
Alduin circled above. I grimaced. This was so stupid. Why did I have to trapped in such a violent video game. There were so many others- I paused. This... this could be interesting.
I called those words to my mind and conjured up all the energy I could muster. I looked to the Elder Dragon and formed the words with my lips, "Fus, Rho, Dah!"
Boom! My words echoed like cannon fire and struck the beast, causing him to teeter a bit before circling back around. He landed with a massive thud before me, and I was finally able to realize just how intimidating a dragon was.
I swallowed.
Black scales shimmered like obsidian, glowing with a soft, pulsing flame beneath them. His eyes were piercing beady things that seemed to tear into your very soul. He folded his wings and lifted his chin.
"foolish human. You think you puny voice can stop me?"
"Nope, my bad! B-but tell you what, Mr. Alduin, if you let me live, I'll come back to fight you one day and, who knows, I might actually give you a run for your money. Wouldn't that be more interesting than just killing me?"
He laughed, "Fine I want to see you later, Dragonborn. Let's see if you can actually beat me." He turned and opened his wings, "I grow weary of this existence. Either kill me, or let me devour it all." With that, he took to the skies. | 2017-06-04T09:22:10 | 2017-06-04T07:39:09 | 43 | 26 |
[WP] You've been teleported into an unexpected deathbattle. Your special ability...is your username.
EDIT: You guys are awesome. Alot of funny and interesting ones so far! I might want to start this prompt every year or something (if that's allowed). | "SEND IN THE LEGION!" I cried. The battle cries soon followed.
"Oh. Crap." It said. With a cry of "MAAAAHHH!" my troops had arrived. It was time to get down to business. The Legion set to work instantly. With a few commanders riding, but mostly a lot of spitting from the troops, it was trampled. Whatever it was, I didn't need to worry about it. The Llama Legion had done it's work marvelously. | It was the middle of the night.
As I was preparing to sleep, a bright light flashes outside the window. I had no time to react, and was instantly teleported to some sort of jail cell.
Through the bars, I could see that there was some sort of arena outside. "nah." I say to myself and lay on the floor to sleep. Just before I can close my eyes, a man shows up outside my cell and says "Hello, and welcome to UNEXPECTED DEATH BATTLE FEATURING TWO RANDOM PEOPLE!" That is not a very good thing, I thought. I had absolutely no experience fighting people AT ALL.
Before I could say anything, the man left and my jail cell opened up, with multiple weapons laid out in front of me. A cell on the other side of the arena opened up too, also with weapons laid out in front of it. "My opponent is there, and I'm gonna be a dead person within the next few minutes." I once again said to myself.
I hastily picked up a sword and shield and watched what my opponent would choose. He finally came out of his jail cell. A big, burly man, and I was pretty sure I had seen him somewhere. It hit me. He was the boxing champion Bobby McBobberson. I was very very dead.
He put on gauntlets and kicked aside the other weapons, and quickly started dashing towards me. I closed my eyes and prepared for the worst, hoping that somewhere, somehow, something would save me.
Suddenly, the sound of rushing water filled the arena, and a massive boat crashed through the walls, killing half of the audience and Bobby McBobberson. The mystery man showed up in front of me once more, just as confused as I was, and said "well your opponent is dead so i guess you win, i will teleport you home now." A bright light filled the arena, and I closed my eyes.
I opened my eyes to ask what had happened, but all I could see was white. Oh wait, that's the roof of my room, and I'm in my bed. I turned on the TV, and wasn't prepared for the news feed.
"Boxing champion Bobby McBobberson found dead in his bed." | 2017-07-17T21:47:57 | 2017-07-17T20:12:27 | 39 | 17 |
[WP] Scientists have finally decrypted Whale songs, and are able to listen in on long distance conversations. After a few weeks of listening in, all research is quickly classified, and NASA starts silent, hurried plans to reach Sirius, even reaching out to other space agencies for help. | "Well then, what were the whales saying? ", the president asked, looking at the ftl ship that was being prepared for mass transport.
"Well sir after listening in we found out they were counting down while saying the number 8 inbetween like : 8; 100, 8, 99, 8, 98, 8, 97. After they reached 0 a devastating earthquake of 8 on the richter scale occurred in Tibet. They then started counting down very slowly from one million to zero while using 7 as the number inbetween the numbers of the countdown, after this an earthquake occured in Indonesia with a magnitude of 7 on the richter scale."
"So they can predict earthquakes, I don't really see the problem here, why did you call me here to flee?"
"Well sir, listen to this", says the commander as he hands the president the translator, the president slowly turns white as he hears:
"1000000, 1000, 999999, 1000, 999998, 1000"
First post here in second language, sorry if it is rather simple.
| I’m not sure what we were expecting, to catch the whales singing Wonder Wall? Whatever it was, we certainly weren’t expecting what we got. The first translated whale song and it came across as complete gibberish. The scientists scratched their heads and looked around for someone to blame. It took the ego and brevity of Dr. Cameron to announce that we had translated correctly. The whales were chanting.
At first, the chants were published in Science magazine. It felt spiritual, almost religious. Besides humans, whales would be the first species to ever believe in a higher power. Every week, Science magazine would publish a *new startling tale* about the whale chants. And then they went silent.
It wasn’t that they started flinging profanity, but that Dr. Cameron realized a pattern in their chants, specifically in the whales being hunted down. The song changed with the death of every whale. It wasn’t that they were warning each other or even mourning for their losses, it was more like a countdown. And every now and then, a single coherent name made it through their gibberish chants.
Big Blue.
That’s when Dr. Cameron shut down those click-bait Science articles. He redirected all funding into Big Blue, even had an uncomfortable dinner with the President to beg for more money. And he wasn’t the type to talk to anyone. Hell, he had a secretary who swore they communicated purely through e-mails, grunts, and nods.
But Big Blue was no laughing matter and when a man like Dr. Cameron took notice, the whole scientific community did too.
“The songs changing again,” Dr. Lyza said. “Looks like another whale is gone.”
“That makes seven today,” Dr. Cameron muttered, staring at his hands. His staff couldn’t tell if he was brooding or not given how often he liked staring at his hands.
“We’ve already contacted the UN, but most countries don’t believe in Big Blue. They Japanese claim that whale chanting is simply propaganda.”
“Idiots.” Dr. Cameron looked up at the monitor and for some reason, he didn’t look back down at his hands.
Dr. Lyza was the first to take notice and when she did, she stopped everything to stare. Soon, the rest of the scientists followed suit. One by one, they put down their notepads, looked away from their laptops, and all eyes turned to Dr. Cameron.
“The song is ending,” Dr. Cameron muttered. “It’s a countdown now.”
Dr. Lyza swallowed. She knew the answer but had to ask anyways. “A countdown for what?”
Dr. Cameron looked back down at his hands, but this time they were shaking. “Ten. Nine. Eight.”
---
---
/r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly and ~200 stories already written!
| 2017-08-26T00:05:51 | 2017-08-25T22:35:36 | 2,197 | 154 |
[WP] 10 000 years ago 100 men and 100 women were granted the gift of immortality, the only condition, if they have a child, the immortality gets passed on to them. 10 000 years later the original 200's gifts have been passed on so many times that none of the current 200 know they are immortal. | Mark lost his way down another alley and turned in time to see a fist smash into the side of his face. He felt the knife slip into his side and gasped. The pain was intense as they fumbled through his jacket and patted down his pants. They took the few items he had and went running back down the alley.
The knife had opened up a sizable wound but he laid there waiting. He knew it would patch itself. His breath came back to him and he coughed up the coagulating blood in his lungs. The coughing reopened his side but it quickly closed again. His face no longer hurt and he decided to make another go at finding his hotel.
He lay in a tub of warm water. The water was pink from the caked blood. He wasn't sure why he didn't die from these things, but he had made a life of thrill seeking because of it.
Getting lost in Cairo though just left him without his passport or money. The thrill was a short lived failure. He dried off and lay in bed looking over a small map of the area. He wanted to find a bookstore someone spoke of in Algiers. He overheard about a specific book that you could not buy or take, but pay to read at the store. It was in Greek and Mark was brushing up.
The next day after coffee and breakfast he found his way to the bookstore. The area of town was seedy and he dressed accordingly. He walked into the store and three men turned from the counter. A frighten man at the counter was shadowed behind them. One barked in Egyptian at Mark:
"Comeback in an hour, this is business."
Mark of course disappeared with faint apologies but quickly went to a window to watch. The man at the counter pointed to the back. One man went and grabbed something. As he came back into the main room, he put a book in his jacket pocket. Mark could not tell why, but he was positive that was the book.
He followed the three men after they left. They grabbed food and went straight to a bar. The bar looked structurally dangerous from the outside but the inside was a earthly version of hell. Two men already lay dead around the bar stool of a sinister psycho. A scarred skinny girl danced near the back of the place. Nude and to no music.
The three men took a booth where they could get a view. The bartender had already taken their orders and was returning with their drinks. Mark went mostly unnoticed as he came in. A group of card players glanced up in case a jaded former opponent came back with revenge in mind. He took a seat away from the murdering side of the bar and ordered a beer.
The men at first just watched the show but then the man with the book took it out and looked it up and down. Flipping through the pages and not understanding a word.
"What do you think he wants that old thing for?"
"Who cares? For 2,000 L.E. a man this was easy work."
The two other men nodded and smiled. One got up to presumably use the toilet while the other two decided to get up and dance near the girl. Three half finished drinks stood around the book.
Mark didn't hesitate and stood up with is drink casually making his way toward the card table which would bring him within dashing distance to the table. It was the 30 meters to the door that he worried about.
One of the dancing men had noticed him but assumed he was heading to the table as Mark hoped.
He made his move just in time for the third man to come back from the restroom. A pistol hammered two slugs into the table as Mark grabbed the book. He had the book and was doing his best head down sprint he as more slugs began slamming into the wall around him. Rays of light beamed in suddenly as he made for the door.
The psycho at the end of the bar decided it was a good opportunity to get involved and suddenly attacked the restroom man with two blades flashing. The man screamed and the other two changed their attention to the mad man with the knives.
Mark was out the door, down the block and around a corner before he slowed down. He made his way to the hotel and sat down with the book. The cover read simply:
"Immortals: A Handbook For The Immortalized"
He opened the front cover and there was a list of names in the front cover.
J.B. of Rhodes, 675 anno domini in Greek.
K.L. of Sevilla, 1013 anno domini in Spanish.
They were previous owners. The last was an A.H of London, 1745 a.d.
The book began:
"For those reading this without the gift, this book will seem fabulous and of no consequence to your future. For those reading this with the gift, welcome to immortality! This is a handbook to better understand the reality in which you exist. You will not die. It is very difficult to get killed. You are not undead, you are undying. You are not a God, but the Gods have blessed you. Good adventures."
*The Phaedo Society, 635 anno domini*
Mark Clark took out a pen and went right below the last name and wrote in his best hand writing:
M.C. of San Francisco, 2017 a.d. | I don't remember much besides waking up in a chill so potent drawing my breath hurt my brain, they say the brain does not feel pain but why the fuck do you get brain freeze from drinking a slurpee to quick then? Maybe it's chilling the blood? I literally felt my muscles were frozen and the blood in my veins cracked from crystallization, the pain was so intense it instantly gave me a migraine. My heart was even frozen as I felt the warm blood begin to gush and chug through it.
It was dark wherever I was, but I could not remember shit, my name, my date of birth, who my father and mother were. I was a mystery to myself. None of that seemed to matter compared to the immense pain that was reverberating through my entire body. I panicked, I could barely move, I knew my limbs were there but they cracked as I loosened them and feeling came back.
What little breath I drew made me dizzy and that's when it dawned on me...I was in a morgue...in a body bag.
"Helllk..." I tried to scream but it was barely a murmur.
I decided to hold my breath and that seemed to warm me up a bit, I eventually was able to move my entire arm. I felt around for the zipper which started near my feet and it took me a good three minutes to move it all the way up and work my way out. The cold steel barely even registered on my naked skin, I felt around and there was a corpse to my right but the left slab was empty, despite how cold I was it still gave me the chills to think I was right next to a dead body.
"Help...Is anyone out there?!" I yelled into the darkness, feeling for the entrance to the cabinet locker.
There was only the outside of the hinge, I could feel the three rivets holding it in place, as my blood and body started warming up so did my emotions. What if I was stuck down here and ended up dying? What if whoever stuck me in here knew I was still alive? That one scared me the most and is why I stopped screaming and started beating on the stainless steel door, laying back down in my original position and kicking at it with the ball of my foot as hard as I could.
When I realized I had barely made a fucking dent in it after eight minutes of kicking, I started crying. What kind of fucked up person was I that I would get locked in a meat freezer under the assumption I was dead? I was exhausted and mentally drained. There was snot...alot of it, and it dribbled on the tray and I wiped it from my nose with my forearm. I knew that if I wanted out I would need to maintain my composure and work at it, I would kick it until my foot could no longer take it and maybe try to find a way to sabotage the compressor.
With my newfound strength I decided to use both of my feet while bracing myself on the edges of the slab careful not to roll it back and pinch my fingers. I counted to three out loud.
"One...Two..." I began as an audible click rang out and light pierced my eyes as the door to the slab opened and stabbed at my vision.
"C'mon, Mathias. I brought you some clothes get on out." I heard a female voice say.
"What? Thank god I've been stuck in that drawer for the past three hours, I thought I was going to die in there. Thank you so much." I pleaded realizing that I was completely nude and covered my penis looking down.
My body was covered in scars in different stages of healing, and I realized that this brunette haired beauty now standing in front of me with a back pack holding it out knew me.
"C'mon, bro. We don't have much time before the slayers get here." She said plainly as if he was expected to know what she was talking about.
"I'm sorry. I don't remember...who you are...who I am. It's all blank." I told her, I must have looked clueless.
"Shit. Fuck! We don't have time for this you must have taken another bullet in your head. Here, put these on and lay down on that table over there we have to dig it out otherwise you won't be able to protect us. We have to get your memories back, the slug must be stuck in your prefrontal cortex. The same thing happened on Omaha in 42' when you had your hero complex and thought storming the beach with the rest of the fellas was a good idea." She told me handing me the clothes, which I dug out and put on as she gathered some equipment from around the morgue.
"Don't get me wrong but I think this is crazy and I'm not letting you do what I think you are going to do. That's crazy. Nuh uh. If I had a bullet in my brain I'd be dead, you are crazy. I may have woken up in a meat locker but that does not mean...uh no we are done here." I pleaded heading for the exit.
"You can't kill a demi god, Mathias!" the young woman screamed charging at me with a scalpel in her hand.
I barely had time to react before she plunged it directly into my chest where my heart is. I gulped at air expecting blood to replace my lungs as I fell back and the blood from my chest pooled in small droplets and the scalpel still stuck there. I lifted my shirt and the wound began healing around the scalpel, surely I was on some sort of hallucinogen. After the adrenaline wore off I did not even feel the pain anymore.
The young woman got off of my chest and stood up brushing herself off.
"This is pointless, but you are my brother my name is Mathena. We have been immortal for over two hundred years, we protect other immortals from slayers that do not know they are immortal. When immortals have children their immortality is transferred. If we don't dig that bullet out of your head an eleven year old girl who has no idea she is immortal will die tonight. I love you. You love me. We trust each other. Please trust me." She finished exhausted with explaining herself.
I was terrified still looking from her to the scalpel in my chest which now seemed a seamless ornament in my chest cavity, I gripped the handle and pulled it out and it stung like a son a of a bitch. I watched as the wound closed leaving behind a pink ring of dried blood where it one was. I stood up and quickly jammed the scalpel into Mathena's shoulder.
"Did you find any painkillers in those drawers?" I asked as she winced laughing and pulling the scalpel from her shoulder.
She walked over to the operating table and picked up a syringe and waved it about.
"Topical and milk of the poppy. get on the table chicken shit and let me dig that bullet out." She teased.
I did not know if this was the correct choice but some part of me knew she was telling the truth and if a little girl's life was on the line some part of me knew that this was the right thing to do. I laid down on the table and felt the pressure of the needle and then the pressure of the reciprocating saw before I blacked out. | 2017-09-03T10:17:37 | 2017-09-03T09:38:28 | 69 | 26 |
[WP] You took a video of your friend landing a backflip. When you replayed the video, your friend didn’t land the backflip and sprained his ankle. Confused, you watch the video again. It’s the 54th replay of the video, your friend is visibly upset, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” | Me and Tommy leaned in closer until our noses were almost touching the screen.
Once again, the video started with Tommy running across the roof of his house and leaping into the air like a madman. He arched his back, tucked up his knees and span in the air. A backflip with forward momentum, or a 'gainer' as he kept insisting I call it. He landed perfectly, as he had last time, and it was easy to deny the little differences as being our imagination. Until I spoke.
Off camera, the video version of me said "Dude that was sick!"
"'Dude that was sick?'" said Tommy, spinning me around to face him. "Last time you said" 'Man that was perfect'!"
My entire body went cold. This was our fourth watch of the video, and each time there had been subtle differences. I thought my phone was broken first. Then I thought it must have been in my head. Now I was sure. Tommy was right, I had said something completely different in the previous watch of the same video.
"Watch it again!" said Tommy, gripping my shoulders tight and bouncing in his chair.
"But what does it mean?" I asked, "how is it doing this?"
"Watch it again man!" Tommy insisted.
Relenting, I hit replay. That familiar shot looking up to the roof filled my screen, and soon video-Tommy was running and jumping. He twisted through the air, but as he landed, he took one step out of place, wobbling on the spot.
"Nah that was crap," said video-Tommy turning to the camera and walking back towards the house. "We'll do another one."
"Ok," said video-me, as the camera panned down to the grass and stopped abruptly.
Next to me, Tommy was leaping up and down, a huge grin on his face, head in his hands, stumbling around his garden like he always did when something was too funny or too crazy to handle. "What the actual fuck!! I told you! I told you it was different each time!!"
I wasn't smiling though. My hands were shaking. How was this even possible? Some prank, maybe? Tommy had somehow... But that was my voice. That was me saying those things. And it was my phone. How could he have...
"Watch it again!" said Tommy, throwing himself into the seat next to me and gripping my shoulders so tight it hurt.
I tried to reply, but wasn't even sure what I wanted to say. Something about this felt very wrong, and yet I had a morbid curiosity about it I couldn't shake. A part of me wanted to throw the phone as far as I could, to break the thing and never talk of this again. But a much larger part of me wanted to watch the video again.
I pressed replay.
Video-Tommy ran off the roof, just as he span, his shoes caught the guttering, and knocked it loose. As Tommy span, small black shards of plastic clattered to the floor. Tommy landed the gainer fine, but turned round instantly and threw his hands to his head.
"Shit!" said video-Tommy, "dad's gonna kill me!"
The camera moved from Tommy's face to the scraps of black plastic on the ground. Off camera, the video version of me was sniggering to himself. Or myself, I suppose.
When the video ended, neither of us said anything. Tommy wasn't smiling now, his face had gone white as a sheet. I turned to face him, expected we'd share the same look, but he wasn't even looking at me.
He was looking over my shoulder. Confused, I twisted to see what he was staring at.
On the ground, beneath the spot he'd jumped from, was four shards of black plastic guttering.
My eyes trailed upwards to the roof. Right at the spot we'd just seen video-Tommy catch with his shoe, a jagged hole was missing from the guttering.
Neither of us spoke for a while, but when Tommy did, it was in a quiet, raspy voice.
"Can you send me that video please?"
*(to be continued.)*
Http://reddit.com/r/RJHuntWrites
| In the moment it seems like all time is racing, racing towards the future, as though it can't wait to get there. As though it is sick of us, of what it must carry; living consciousness that do nothing but suck up the present, hold on to the past, and look ahead with hungry anticipation. Or fear.
I think time especially savors our fear. Perhaps that is why it races forwards. The future brings fear. And time races towards the future that it accelerates this run in the past. Especially in the past.
Do I wax philosophical? Indulge me. I have seen a thing I cannot explain. It is a really simple thing, you know, but I can see where it will end. I have never seen a man on screen so afraid and so resigned, and I have never felt so much like a monster, as though this is all my fault.
I have a friend named John Debbie. I want you to remember his name. His name is the only thing that will persist in the flowing of time, the only thing that time cannot shake off. Remember John Debbie.
He was a young man, about twenty four ten minutes ago. He is near thirty now from the looks of him, and he has grey hair and a disheveled beard. John Debbie is my friend and we had met up today for some drinks.
We had our fun and he left about twenty minutes ago. We made a video before he left; a stupid thing. John Debbie was athletic and he was drunk and I was filming and a whim took him. He did a backflip that he always could do since I have known him. I clapped and spilled some beer and we laughed hard and stumbled to his girlfriend's car.
I remember this because it was minutes ago.
I looked at the video about ten minutes ago. It hasn't stopped as yet. The video repeats itself but it does not play the same thing over and over. John Debbie flips, but each time he does so, it is live and in person.
I see him struggle. I see him age. It is like one of those montages of people getting older. It's silly almost. It *is* silly if not for the stare he gives and for each breath he takes. His chest heaves as the video plays. He ages in high definition and the lines that come subtle, come hard in the quick contrast from careless youth. Time is flowing, flowing from this video, accelerating from the past.
I know how it sounds.
My phone has been ringing. John Debbie's girlfriend has been calling since I have put on the video. I would have answered but for his stare.
"No!"
The sound is bad but panic travels from everywhere.
"No!" he says.
And I see on his face: "Take off the video and my life is over."
My phone rings and I cannot answer. I see messages come to the top of the screen, obscuring the video now and again. I catch what they say.
"John's disappeared." "Is this a joke?" "London, why aren't you answering?"
Distress. I feel it now. That is hardly a word but a pulse that runs through you. I feel as though magic exists, but that feeling is through some hopeless subjugation. Anything can happen in this world, but nothing good will.
Isn't that so funny to think? Isn't this all just *weird*?
I was drunk a few minutes ago but I've sobered up fast. Maybe that is some survival instinct kicking in, all the adrenaline pumping through my body. What is happening, I ask myself.
I stare at the video. John Debbie must jump for that is how time was captured. He must flip, but now he is tired and he falls and hurts himself. But he must get up and try again. And he tries and falls and his arms are red and his face his red and his mouth is bleeding and his eyes are sad and crying.
*Don't jump,* I think.
He tries and he tries like some prisoner. And I think what a word that is: prisoner. Time had been captured in this moment, his triumphant flip. Perhaps time is mad at us? But why him?
You can't stop time. The past isn't meant to be repeated, reviewed over and over. No, time likes to keep going its course. It likes to race to that unknown future, that scary future.
Maybe we record things to placate our fears. The future is a scary proposition so we capture our past glories to make things easier. I don't know. In this fear and stupor I feel myself babbling. My thoughts come from every direction and the distress is more like a seed that sprouts its cold terror in concentrated feelings. I can hardly articulate anything sensible.
I hold my phone and stare at John Debbie. He is middle aged now. His body is beaten. His face does not smile. He tries to flip but he can hardly jump. His knees look mangled and his back is bent and he looks near death. He is a man battered by a moment that has repeated for decades now.
*Flip like you've done in the past. Flip like you've flipped in that captured time. Flip if you like to flip so much.*
I could hear time taunt him. I can feel it all around me like the wind, laughing at this absurd cruelty. My best friend is stuck in my phone. I cannot pause this video. I see him flip and he flips successfully. My heart leaps and crashes when it sees the meaning of it all. His face is resigned and desperate.
*One more glory,* that face says.
One more glory before his time is up. John Debbie collapses and the video ends.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story then you may want to consider checking out my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!* | 2018-05-25T01:42:08 | 2018-05-25T01:31:55 | 198 | 19 |
[WP] A poor child tries to misbehave so that Santa gives him coal for Christmas. His family is freezing, and needs the coal to survive.
(or her) | Julian’s hand hesitated for a moment, but he steeled himself and opened the door to the confession booth. He was sure it was a strange sight to see a dirt covered seven year old step into confession, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t afford to care. Christmas was in four days and Julian needed to be certain of his crimes, and certain of his reward.
He reflected on his failures over the past few weeks:
“Father, if I stole two loaves of bread from the market-” his first confession was hesitant, and timid. The Priest didn’t even let him finish. In truth, the priest knew of the impoverished boy’s family, and their situation.
“God forgives you boy. Go, be at peace.” Utter and complete failure.
\- A week later after he had magnified the cash value of the items stolen.
“If I stole two logs and a chicken from the market, would that be considered…naughty?”
Once again the Priest reflected on the child’s situation and remembered the biting cold that had begun to set in for the season. The gentleness of the child’s voice nearly brought him to tears.
“God sees the goodness in your heart. Go, be at peace.” A second failure, more definitive than the last. If God could see the goodness in him, then Santa certainly could.
\-Two weeks passed, and he was more certain of his crimes, but still needed assurances.
“Father, I trespassed on the land of the Mayor. I stole fish from his pond and a coat that was left outside his house. Tell me, am I bad?”
The priest was somewhat taken aback by the confession, but could see through the screen that the boy was wearing worn shorts with a threadbare shirt that would do little to fight the cold. He was covered by an old but in good condition coat that was four sizes too big for him. It would likely last him 6 years. He dismissed the fish, and considered that he had stolen only what he needed from the wealthiest man in town. The Priest, try as he might, could not fault the boy, but didn’t want him to take it too far. He looked at his own church’s failings as the soup they served could barely be called that and they had to cut back to two days a week.
“God sees your actions and the purpose behind them, but be mindful of what you do. Do not take from those who cannot stand to lose.” Finally, progress at least, and a hint!
He had failed to impress the priest those past weeks but now he was certain of his crimes. He had watched the results with his own eyes and saw that it was bad.
“Father, I broke the wagon wheel to my neighbor’s market cart.”
The priest was unsure what he was hearing. ”Accidents happen, child.”
“It wasn’t an accident; I did it on purpose.”
“Wha-why would you do that?”
“It was market day yesterday, and I knew if I messed up their cart that they would be late and have to stay later to sell their stock.”
“You did it to cause suffering on your neighbors, to those who have so little already?”
The boy grew excited. The priest reminded himself of the boy’s innocent confessions and was truly puzzled by this last stunt. The boy spoke up.
“So I’m naughty now, right?”
“Boy, what you’ve done, it’s not good. Please tell me first, before God as well, what possessed you to do such a thing?”
The boy was taken back by the question. The shame of his family weighed on him, but he did not wish to share all of it; it was not his to share. He couldn’t lie however.
“I will not tell more than this but I promise this much is the truth. If I did not do what I did, then a family would die.”
The priest could not fathom how that could be the case, but he heard the certainty of the boys words. After listening to a lifetime of confessions he knew sure enough, there was no lie in it. He had no choice.
“Then you had no choice. God judges us by the choices we make, not by the situations we are forced into. With that as the reason behind what you did, then there was no sin in it. Go boy, be at peace.”
Julian was crushed. He stepped out of the church and back into the biting cold. His plan was falling apart. If what the priest said was true, then there was little he could do. He pulled his coat tighter, and tried to pretend the tear weren’t coming. He was a good boy. There would be no coal this year for Christmas, just the cold uncaring winter creeping ever further into their unheated shack. | ######[](#dropcap)
Timmy never did anything wrong in his entire life.
He lived as the Bible urged him to, in the image and footprints of Christ. When Timmy, on rare occasion, was able to make it to school and the other children mercilessly poked fun at him for wearing the same ratty pair of pants each day, and the same old shirt with the hole in the right armpit, Timmy did not reciprocate in kind, nor raise a hand toward them in anger. Instead he remembered Christ in Mathew 5:39 and he turned the other cheek.
When Timmy had what meager coins he'd found stolen by a school bully, he did not seek revenge. Instead he remembered Luke 23:32-43, how Christ forgave the thief on the cross beside him, and Timmy said a prayer for bully, and asked of Jesus that the bully be shown God's redeeming light.
For Timmy, the myths of Christianity were all consuming. It was not only his young age, 7 years old and impressionable, that made him susceptible to zealotry. It was also the crippling poverty within which Timmy lived.
Timmy's family was homeless, moving from abandoned house to abandoned house, pushed hither and thither by the police at every turn, sometimes running away in the night to the glow of red white and blue lights, through the high Detroit wild grass, their meager belongings held in their hands.
There was no internet for Timmy, no television or video games. Timmy could not even peruse a public library because there was none for two miles in any direction, not that a library card would be forthcoming without an address.
No, the only beautiful thing in Timmy's life was God and God's son and the stories surrounding them. There was one book that traveled with Timmy's family wherever they went, a worn and battered copy of the King James Bible. Timmy tore through that book, over and over again, as if it were the only book on Earth - which, for him, it may as well have been. The people in that book, the stories there, were not just myths to Timmy, they were history - as real as the World Wars and the Dustbowl - *more* real even in Timmy's vivid, starved imagination, then the world itself.
One winter Timmy's family had been holed up for several months in an old victorian house. His father had picked the place because it had a working fireplace and when winter came it was a brutal one. The weather was freezing every day, colder at night, and the only thing that kept his family from freezing to death was the fire in the fireplace.
By the time Christmas eve came around, the family had burned everything there was to burn in that old house. They had torn at the hand rails and banisters, the windowsills and floor boards. They had burned old furniture and then wet garbage and leaves. They burned everything they could think to burn until there was well and truly nothing left. No amount of scrounging obliged them - they had burned all the burnable things within a square mile of their ramshackle home.
The day before Christmas, Timmy's father, teary eyed, looking at Timmy's beloved copy of the King James Bible, and said that unless a miracle came to pass over night, the book would have to be burned, one page at a time, to keep the family from freezing.
Timmy burst into tears. He made an impassioned plea to his father not to burn the book. Wasn't it all that Timmy had? Didn't it contain all of the most beautiful things Timmy had ever known? To burn it would be sacrilege, a sin of the highest order, and it would not last long in the flames anyway!
Timmy's father listened until Timmy wore himself out pleading and then patted little Timmy on the head.
"I'm sorry son." He said, and then added, with a remorseful smile, "it's too bad you're such a good boy, Timmy, or Santa might have brought some coal for us. But you are God's little angel, aren't you?"
Woe to the parent who thinks not before they speak.
Timmy ruminated on this idea as the sun passed through the sky and disappeared, and the long cold Christmas night set in. His father had planted the seed of dichotomy in Timmy's mind - follow Christ and lose the Bible to the flames and soon thereafter, his family to the cold. Or sin and save both the book and his loved ones.
Timmy agonized over the dilemma, counting down the seconds on the cheap wristwatch his father kept on the mantle over the fireplace. Midnight approached, and Timmy reasoned if he was to sin he would need to do it before then for it to count.
All night he sat at the fireplace, the embers of the dying fire glowing before him, the cold creeping in through the slats of the old wooden walls. At last, Timmy asked himself the ultimate question:
*What would Christ do?*
Timmy thought on this for a long time, until at last it struck him. Christ would do anything to save his sheep. Did not Christ allow himself to be crucified in order to save the whole world? Christ could have stopped the crucifixion at any time with the power of God, but he allowed his physical form to be killed for the sake of others. And for this sacrifice, effectively this suicide, did not Christ "descend into hell" only to return in three days.
It all became clear to Timmy, right then. He looked at the watch, its small, plastic arms progressing toward midnight. With only a few minutes left, Timmy resolved himself.
They owned no knives, Timmy's family, but shards of glass grow like wildflowers about the grounds of an abandoned home.
In the morning Timmy sat still before the fireplace, wearing the consoled smile of true belief, pale as statuary. The Bible was open in his lap, soaked through with God's most ancient crimson ink, opened to Psalm 23:4.
In the fireplace, the fire raged, fierce, hot - *miraculous* - and beside the hearth, an overfilled sack of coal.
*************
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
## r/LFTM
| 2018-07-19T20:44:01 | 2018-07-19T19:57:13 | 88 | 33 |
[WP] You've been captured by a serial killer. However, he doesn't realize he's the one in danger - your body count is much higher. | I sat in a rickety wooden chair in the middle of an abandoned house. The kid who captured me had duct-taped my torso to the back of the chair, and was now trying with some difficulty to bind my wrists behind my back.
"You're doing it wrong," I told the kid. "You should've knocked me unconscious first. Right now, I'm wide awake, fully aware of what you're doing. I could have screamed and the whole neighborhood would hear me."
I could hear the kid's shuddering breath as panic set it. His hands trembled as he cinched the knots.
"Plus," I continued, "you've taken too long with my hands. If you're going to have the victim awake while you tie them up, at least show a sense of urgency."
"Shut the fuck *up!"* the kid shrieked.
I shrugged. "Hey, just offering some advice. In that same spirit, I should also point out that you've completely ignored my legs and feet."
I sprang to my feet, bent at the hips. With the chair on my back and the legs now aimed toward the kid, I ran backwards and barged into him. He fell backwards with a comical squeak. He lay on his back, and I brought the chair down upon him, digging one of the legs into his shoulder. He howled in pain, but I held him there for a good ten seconds, letting him feel it. I kind of felt bad. But sometimes people just need to learn the hard way.
I released him, and he rubbed his shoulder with a whimper.
"So now," I said, "thanks to your banshee screech, we have approximately two minutes until a nosy neighbor calls the police, another ten before they arrive. You really could have picked a better location--*any* location. A heavily-trafficked suburban neighborhood is not your friend if you're going for a slow kill."
The kid stuttered. "Wh-- Wh-- Who the fuck *are* you, man?"
I instinctively tried to reach out my hand to shake his, but remembered I was tied up. I smiled at him. "The Reaper of Ponderosa Pines. Or just Jack, if you please. Pleasure to meet you."
The kid's eyes widened and his brows furrowed. "You're shitting me. You're the *Reaper?"*
I bobbed my torso up and down in a mock bow. "And may I ask, who are you?"
The kid straightened up, a sense of pride enveloping his expression. "I'm the Cinch County Strangler."
I held back a laugh. "Ahh, so you're the newcomer then. I've been keeping up with your story. Your only kills were two women half your size and weight, and you snuck into their houses and suffocated them in their bath tubs with a shoe lace. Low-hanging fruit, don't you think?"
He sneered. "What the fuck ever, man."
"I'm just saying, you start picking on cute girls enjoying an evening at home, then what purpose are you fulfilling? How does killing a mom in her bathtub serve anyone? Now, you're just like every other Strangler and Mutilator and Executioner out there: killing erratically, without a plan." I look from him to myself with a snicker. "Obviously."
The kid went silent, sulky.
I plopped the chair onto the floor and exhaled loudly. "Look, you have potential. I wouldn't be talking to you if I was lying about that. You just need a mentor, like I did. My mentor instilled in me a mission, a sense of purpose, so that I wouldn't just go willy-nilly killing Joe Schmo who's trying to put his kid through college. He taught me *who* to look for, *how* to kill them, and *why.* You following?"
The kid nodded.
"Good. Then do you and me a favor: Cut me loose, and let's go for a night on the town."
The kid hesitated. I rolled my eyes. "Look, kid, if I wanted to kill you, I would've brought the chair leg down on your neck, not your shoulder."
He pursed his lips, then cut me free. I didn't kill him. I'm a man of my word.
I clapped a hand on his good shoulder. "Let's get a drink. We have a lot to [discuss](https://www.reddit.com/r/phunk_munky/)."
| She’s tied me up. In the grand scheme of things, it’s actually quite a good effort. I reckon she was either a scout or a dominatrix. Or both. Maybe a sailor!
I’m getting distracted.
The dirt I’m lying on is moist. Not wet enough to be muddy, but not dry enough to be dusty. If I had to lie on the floor again, this would be the dirt I would choose, you get me? I’m sure in a dry cleaner’s point of view dusty dirt is probably better, but I’m not a dry cleaner. Actually maybe a dry cleaner would like this dirt. More business for them. They probably love dirt, the dirty men. Filthy dry cleaners.
Sorry, off topic again.
She hasn’t blindfolded me which leads me to believe that she’s probably not a dominatrix. She’s also clearly not a very good serial killer. I know exactly where I am. It’s a slight unfair advantage as I know this particular area rather intimately, but rookie move on her part for taking her kill to another killer’s killing spot. I will be *very* upset if she starts moving my things around. In fact, this might actually be my rope. That’s just rude.
She wasn’t even fun about the whole thing. That’s my problem. She drugged me. How dull. Slow clap for the pharmacist. Wow, she seduced me. How original. At least I add a flare to my murders. Sometimes I’m a scientist doing a study on the local bird population and require assistance climbing this big tree. Other times I’m a homeless man looking for love. Never play the same card twice. Keeps it interesting for everyone involved.
But yes, she seduced me. I was already pretty drunk so she didn’t even buy me any drinks. No grunt work. As I said, it’s disrespectful. She slipped her fun little pill inside my half finished drink and just waited fifteen minutes before walking me to her van.
That’s another thing. A white van! How cliche can you get. She may as well have been wearing a scary mask and carrying a shovel. Absolute amateur hour.
Now I know what you’re thinking. If she’s so cliche, why am I here? Well, let’s be honest, cliches exist because they’re effective. Drugging and vanning is pretty cut and dry, little opportunity for error. I’m not upset that it happened, it’s only appropriate that I get killed this way. I just hoped it would be something slightly more exciting.
Or maybe that’s the universe’s little joke? I put so much heart and passion into my murders that the only appropriate way to ice me would be in the dullest, most tropic way they could. It’s poetic. My fatal floor is showmanship - it draws me in, going bigger and bigger so just when you think I can’t go any higher, boom, struck down by the storybook killer. A perfect third act. Glorious.
I almost want to die now. I’ve convinced myself that this is the way to go. I mean, I won’t. I’ve already ordered my morph suit for my next performance and I can’t let that go to waste. But if I didn’t already have plans, then maybe, just maybe, I would let this lady kill me in the undoubtedly sloppy fashion she intends.
In fact, it all depends on whatever she walks in with next. Whilst hogtied, she’s already given me the inspiring lines of ‘You’re in for a world of pain’ and ‘Your number’s up’, so really all is to play for here. I was half surprised she didn’t really hammer it home and put an apple in my mouth. But I promise you, if she does it, if you walks in with some shit like shears or a scythe of something I might just piss into the wind and forget about my amazon order and fucking die. If she really commits to her character of every 90’s movie villain ever that far, then I’m letting her do it.
I’m almost excited. Her blase attitude towards originality is enticing.
I wonder if she knows who I am. I wonder if she knows that I’ve buried at least three people about ten foot to my left. This area is basically a second home at this point. My psyche's holiday home. This is where I come to really be *me.* It’s relaxing. Butchering a stranger surrounded by nature, breathing in the refreshing scent of copper and fresh soil. Delightful.
I can lose myself in it at times. That’s why I do the elaborate killings. Add some theatre to my hobby, really utilise my degree. I toyed with the idea of installing professional lighting on the trees. I decided against it due to a funding issue, but I considered it to the point of measuring how much cabling I would need to connect them all the way to the BnB a few miles away.
You just need to enjoy your hobbies, you know. Otherwise life gets boring, you stagnate and get sad. And you don’t want to be sad. That’s no fun at all.
Oh shit I can hear her footsteps. I think she’s walking deliberately slowly, she’s trying to build suspense. This is hilarious. But you know what, she’s enjoying herself. And as I just said, at the end of the day that’s all that matters.
Here she comes, I can see her comically petit shadow.
Oh my God! She brought her own lighting, that’s why I can see her shadow. She actually did it, she set up lights. Ah, this is spectacular.
She’s looking around for something. I can see her shadow fumbling around inside her coat. I wonder what she’s going to bring out. Come on. You can do it girl. Dazzle me.
She appears to find what she was looking for as the fumbling stops. She takes a breath before dramatically brandishing her weapon above her head.
What is it?
Oh my. It can’t be. It’s a hook. A giant hook.
Fuck it, I’m letting her kill me, this is a masterpiece. | 2018-08-23T04:40:56 | 2018-08-23T04:36:10 | 32 | 11 |
[WP] We did it! We finally achieved FTL travel! At first, alien races seem thrilled to have a new neighbor. Then they seem terrified of us. We are the only ones to reach the stars with technology instead of magic. | Bailan Bol, High Speaker of the Unified Assembly of Mages, sat primly behind his gilded desk. He was lost in thought, stroking his long beard compulsively.
A nervous knock came pattering from the marble door of his study.
“Enter,” Bol said.
Brother Junior Guide Namitor, a skinny wisp of a man, approached with hunched shoulders. “The ...uh, applicant... stands before the Council of the Crescent Moons. We await your arrival before beginning the judgement.”
Bol squinted at Namitor. He couldn’t hide his contempt of the fear that the man displayed. “What are you afraid of, Brother? These *humans*, they are functionally sterile as a race, magically speaking. They have no right to the title of Wizard, nor even the right to stand before the Council. They are little more than upstarts and children.”
Namitor shifted his feet anxiously. “Yes sir, of course.”
Bol followed the Junior Guide into the Grand Hall. All rose when he entered, and Bol stiffened his back. Ceremony was of vital importance. Ritual and tradition were what held the loose web of the Assembly together. All, Bol noticed, but the curly haired human Gilbert Godfrey. The human remained in his seat, and he actually had the *gall* to smile.
“Be seated,” Bailan Bol said.
He paused for the Assembly to take their seats. The High Councillors were positioned along the crescent podium, which shone with the moonlight of all planets represented in the Assembly. The Councilors expressions ranged from curiosity, to fear, and finally outrage. There was a large crowd as well, which was to be expected.
“Gilbert Godfrey,” he continued, “Be forewarned. You sit before the gathered might of the universe’s most powerful magi. What have you to say?”
The human craned his neck and tapped his foot distractedly. “*Magic*, rubbish word really. I very much prefer the term ‘unexplained natural phenomena’. Did you louts drag me here to try to intimidate me into joining your cult? Be forewarned, it won’t work,” Gilbert said.
The room went cold. Bailan Bol, High Speaker of the Crescent Moons, found himself rendered speechless.
Councilwoman Petunya, a newly anointed representative from the powerful Ray’Un Kur, broke the silence. “Are you saying you doubt the magic of the Crescent Moons,” she asked.
“I’m saying I doubt it is what you think it is,” Godfrey answered.
“Y-you dog! You mindless, ignorant, dog,” Petunya snapped. The Ray’Un Kur were famous for their courage and short tempered disposition.
“Hold your tongue, Sister,” Bol said.
The councilwoman sat back, collecting herself. “My apologies, Speaker.”
“But Earth’s histories are filled with references to famous magic men. There was Thomas Edison, called The Wizard of Menlo Park. And Rasputin, called Scourge of the Frozen North. I could go on,” Councilman Tet of Yuror said in a slow and thoughtful tone.
“Edison was a scientist. Rasputin, a mad man,” Godfrey said with a smile, “I am both. But none of us are *magic men*, however much those two might have liked to be called it.”
Bol cleared his throat to end the man’s drivel. “Now, Gilbert Godfrey of Earth, in this very room you see proof of magic, even if your own teleportation capability did not convince you. Consider this, none of us hail from the same planet. We all must have out own language, our own culture. Now take a look above you,” Bol said, nodding toward the high ceiling.
Godfrey said nothing, but conceded to look up. A purple flame burned slowly at the ceiling, appearing at first like a chandelier.
Bol smiled, convinced of the soundness of his rhetoric. “Without the Spell of Many Tongues cast and maintained by the Senior and Junior Guides, none of us could understand eachother.”
Thin Namitor puffed up in his seat. He was proud to be mentioned, if not in name.
Bol continued, “Do you see the irony? You betray your own foolish ideas about magic the instant words leave your mouth.”
Godfrey laughed. “I don’t doubt your magic, I said it was misunderstood. Take teleportation, as that is at the core of why you brought me here..”
“Yes, I suppose an explanation *is* in order. Go on, human,” Petunya said.
Godfrey nodded his head to her. He had to admit she was attractive, even if there was something distinctly *non human* about her features. “The central principle of one of Earth’s greatest minds, Albert Einstein’s Theory of General Relativity,” he said, “It states that mass, the quantity of matter present in a subject, warps spacetime around it. The more massive the object, the greater the spacetime curvature. Logically, if an object has enough mass, and a projectile has the proper escape velocity to ignore the overwhelming gravitational pull, the projectile could exploit the spacetime curvature of the massive object to travel straight through lightyears of scrunched up distance in an efficient path. All that I had to do to achieve teleportation was create a machine which could artificially simulate mass in-front of itself and simultaneously produce a titanic amount of thrust behind it.”
Gilbert studied the faces of the Council members. Seeing basic understanding in their expressions, he continued “I suspect your *magic* works in a similar fashion, but was attained by way of natural selection and evolution. Perhaps the result of the erratic gravitational pull of a collapsing star, your ancestors had need of an organ which would allow them to increase or decrease their internal mass accordingly. Thus, I theorize, your magic is nothing but biology. Same here, as *my* magic is my intellect, which allowed me to invent a vehicle which bends space and skips over it.”
“So you condemn yourself,” Councilman Eloh Immoran said, “Your kind has no magic, just cheap tricks. Why should we consider accepting your world into the Grand Assembly?”
“Let me answer your question with a question. Why should I care if you dusty fools accept us,” Gilbert asked.
Bol scoffed. “Any world we cannot accept that has attained the ability to find us, we *erase*,” he said, glad to finally wipe that insolent grin off Godfrey’s face.
The young scientist stared up at the Council. In the time it took Bailan Bol to stroke his beard once more, Godfrey had already conjured a plan... | \\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/
*"I guess in life things don't come cheap. My daddy always used to tell me we stand on the shoulders of giants. I never truly believed him until we made contact with the G'xe.*
*Lost in the depths of space, there they were, waiting for a friend to come from among the stars. It's been eons since nobody answered from the deep blackness. They made believe they are alone, at least in this region of space.*
*When our ships spread into the dark ocean, breaking boundaries my grandparents would've never dreamed of, everything changed. For us, and for them."*
\*\*\*
ETF Jian Xing pierced the purple clouds above X'am Ina, the home planet of G'xe confederation. X'am Ina used to be a barren world, before the 4 elder races united in the G'xe confederation and made the world suitable. The position of the planet was just at the center of their world. Of their own universe.
"Commander Hiroto, we are reaching the destination soon, we should tell the president to prepare"
"Ah, Admiral, it seems I can't ever marvel at this jewel of a planet from above. The perks of being the captain I guess. "
After personally announcing the president of their arrival, he went straight to the bathroom. Hiroto had a few days ahead of a less busy schedule. This is because while he was the commander of the ship, he wasn't an actual part of the human delegation. He loved this less strenuous windows.
​
The FTL jumps are rough and despite the dampening systems the ship was quivering quite a lot. The longer the jump, the bigger the contortions. This made long jumps unfeasible. The long distances needed to be made from a lot of smaller, less shaky jumps. This always upset his stomach, so he stood there quite a while contemplating on how shocking should've been from the people of G'xe to one day after believing you are alone in the universe, to wake up with people at their doorstep. He made an analogy in his head and laughed. Also ... could you call them people?, they were humanoid, but ... that was another topic of pondering.
​
When here returned, the delegation was already leaving. The formalities were the Admiral job in this case, so he decided to stay away, taking a walk alone to the cantina, wanting some time away from people. There, he lingered after a delicious meal, while letting the food sink in chilling at the table in relative silence, that if you count the background monotonous chat as such. Suddenly, the alarms when on. The lights turned reddish, the monotonous chats turned loud and the people started to run.
​
"Commander, Security Officer Aleksei Smyrnoi, we need to get you to the auxiliary command room. The standard protocol in case of ship unauthorized boarding."
" What? There's someone breaking into the ship?"
" Sir, I this is the only thing I was informed, so please hurry. Also, the ship internal communication is down so please stick together. We might encounter hostile movement on the way so I advise caution"
Hiroto was perplexed. This was totally unexpected, the G'xe looked willing to talk and it made no sense to start a war like this. So he ran, more out of curiosity than the dread of danger. The auxiliary command was packed with the chief staff all debating the next course of action
"Ah, Hiroto, we're glad you're ok"
​
"What is happening, why the communications are down?"
"There has a been a break in section 4, actually ... I don't know exactly if it's technically a breach since a group of individuals basically teleported inside and started to shoot. They are looking to break into the command room, but the security measures are holding, though we believe there's nothing stopping them ... to teleport? I really don't know how this works sir."
" Where are they now? And again why the communications are down?"
"They are engaging our forces into the corridor from section 4 to section 2 buffer zone. It seems at the moment it's a kind of a stalemate. Neither us or they are gaining ground. "
"The communications?!"
" The communications hub is near section 4. It was their first objective. We are working on with portable devices to communicate with the ground force."
​
Hiroto sighted, he wasn't reading for this. While there were tons of protocol in case of these situations and basic training, one thing is the simulations and one thing is the real deal.
"Outside chatter? What happened with the delegation"
"It seems their visit is fine, they were not informed yet of the situation. This is of course what we could find out with the limited communications from their media"
"This is extremely odd. Maybe the group here is independent. In that case, we need to be careful not to start a war ourselves. Prepare the ship to exit the atmosphere, we need to trap the attackers"
"Yes sir"
"Next, we need to try to communicate with them. Meanwhile please prepare a plan to assault them. Are there ear translators here? Prioritize communication first, maybe we can find out more."
After the orders were relayed, there were a few minutes of waiting. In the room that he was, there was no actual feeling of dread. It all felt normal. The lights were the usual white and it was relatively silent as everybody was doing their job. Then he felt a force pushing him into the floor as the ship took altitude.
"We can't establish communication with them, sir."
"The assault team is ready to engage?"
"Yes. If you want to proceed I advise it to do now, as I'm receiving word that the sudden ship descent made the attackers shoot more often an eratically"
"Very well, but we need at least one of them alive! I think they panicked, maybe they believed they could take over the ship faster"
The next moments were intense and Hiroto just wanted all this be over fast. He couldn't help but feel sad some of the men will die, you'd think a commander of a starship would make these decisions without remorse. He wondered though if his colleague commanders would feel the same as him.
​
The assault team swiftly deployed through maintenance shafts and after a brief exchange of fire, it was over. The room burst in applause.
"Sir, the threat has been eliminated. It was a complete success. 3 enemies were eliminated and we have 1 wounded and captive. The recon team has found no further threats. Should we descent"
"No" he then paused in order to catch a train of tought. "I need to interrogate the enemy first. If this the G'xe officials are behind this, we need to come out with an exit plan"
"Yes, sir"
​
He then proceeded to investigate the battleground. Only one soldier died in the exchange. That was a success ... he thought, whilst not convinced. It was a mess. The victims were all Onie, one of the 4 races of G'xe, but the captive was a X'a, the most powerful of the races in terms of influence. Onie bodies were frailer than humans and more filled with fat. It was everywhere. They lacked weapons, though some had a black stone. From what he read, it was just to focus their energy, as G'xe could channel energy from thin air and project it. Some would call magic, a deadly one taking one more look at the soldier's body bag where you could clearly see a gap between his upper and lower torso.
​
G'xe apparent lack of high tech was baffling for eath's science community. They seemed to use a form of magic, but little was known about this.
​
"Damn .." they were lucky, those guys didn't seem from the special forces, or whatever the equivalent the G'xe had.
​
============
**Continued in the comments due to Reddit Limit:** | 2019-01-18T11:16:45 | 2019-01-18T07:20:21 | 80 | 44 |
[WP] One day, an alien craft visits Earth. It doesn't hide, it doesn't attack, it doesn't mean us harm. It's here to bring participants for the Miss Universe competition, and frankly they're pretty annoyed they weren't previously invited. | When the contestants came down the ramp in front of hundreds of TV cameras, with billions of eyes watching live from across the globe, it was clear they had no idea what was happening.
A few murmurs coursed through the gathered military men. "Those don't look like our alien friends here," one said, motioning to the two 7 foot tall red creatures nearby that looked like a pair of jittery shrews.
"No," replied another. "They're almost--"
"--Human!" said the other. "Look, those are two *women*!"
Emerging clearly from the haze of the vehicle's vapors, two women looking startled but startling edged carefully off the ramp. One was dressed in a shining golden gown, and the other in a liberal bikini.
Quick chattering overtook the gathering. One would've heard things like:
"I thought it'd be one of their own. But I guess they might have a chance."
"Can you believe all they want is entry to the Miss Universe pageant?"
"They got my vote!"
More observant minds wondered how these human women got on the ship in the first place. Were they also crew members of the alien host? Will the pageant accept their entry as "other"?
The women reached ear shot of the gathering, and when they realized where they were they burst into tears and came running into the arms of the nearest soldiers, crying:
"¡O que maravilla que nos han rescatado! Que horror, que horror que fue eso del espacio con esas cosas!"
"Quitanos de la vista de estos pela bolas, les rogamos!"
One of the soliders overheard and approached the general. He said, "Venezuelan, sir."
"What was that, sergeant Sanchez?"
"The ladies, sir. They're Venezuelan."
"Venezuelan?"
"Sir."
The general turned his glance up at the two aliens. Had they abducted two attractive Venezuelans to present as their own entry? The general's icy stare bore into them, and they felt it.
The shrew-like aliens shifted their weight, motioning toward the women as if to say, *their idea*.
The general sighed.
"Alright!" he said. And then, after a long pause. "I'll allow it."
​
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
/r/velabasstuff
​
​
​
​ | As the ramp slowly slides down from the alien ship onto the floor, more and more people grouped around the spacecraft. When the ramp touched the floor, a figure appeared from inside the ship, with green-blueish skin, with a big attachment at its top, and something like a gun from one of its limbs pointing it to an opening at its “chest”. In a robotic tone, it said “The Planet of Naaxooqsa, presents to you, its entry for your annual ceremony.” After those words were said, a weird woman-like figure slide from inside. Woman-like because, it was what computers on the 80s would have thought a woman figure was like. Sharp lines on her face, grouped muscles, and sudden reactions; from stillness to a public greeting, like a new queen waving to her new subjects. The people around the ship have transformed from ten to three dozens, and some of them were already recording on their phones.
“Is this it? Our first encounter with a new race? And they’re… mocking us?”
“Nah, they’re trying their best to imitate us.”
“Well, their best is very bad.”
“Who is in charge of the ceremony?” the first figure yelled at the crowd. “We’d like to enter our submission. We can talk about the dishonor of ignoring us for centuries later.” Nobody in the crowd spoke up. “Come on, did I set it right? I was sure this was Las Vegas.” The figure took the gun-like machine, pushed some buttons on their side, and point the gun at its chest again. “¡Hola! Somos el planeta de Naaxooqsa. Estamos aquí para…
“Nah, dude, you’re in Las Vegas, we speak English, cool down” Some guy yelled. The figure took the gun out of its chest again, pushed the buttons again, and pointed it at its chest back.
“You could’ve spoken earlier, subject. Well, where do we submit our creature to the ceremony?”
“You see, ceremony is a broad term. What are you talking about?”
“*The* ceremony of course. When you crown the most beautiful creature on the universe, and you give it the title of *Miss*, and slaughter all of the losers for their imperfections.”
The people gasped. “I’m sorry, what”
“Yes, the *Miss of the Universe*”
“Yes that it’s correct, although the other part is not quite. That may be the only right part.”
“So you don’t discard all of the other loser creatures?”
“Why would we do that?”
“Because…” the figure doubted for a second. “Do I have to explain your game to yourself? Different teams each year build a model of what an optimal nurse nucleus would look like, you submit them, you set that all of your generation for that breeding would have to be hatched in replicas of that nurse nucleus, you discard all of the losers, and then you do it again next season. Honestly, it’s brilliant. You make the advancement of your race a communal thing. The first time we got your transmission we decided to copied it, we’ve been doing it like that for centuries.”
The crowd went silent during this explanation. How do you react to… all of this?
“So, where do we submit our subject?”
After some seconds, the guy that was interacting with it just starting manically, nervously, laughing.
“So you’re saying that you changed your entire race upon watching Miss Universe, draw your own conclusions, and now want to “submit” your “creature”?
“Yes, we’d like that very much, please.”
The guy just couldn’t stop laughing, and the people joined in the laugh. The figure started changing colors, from its blue-greenish to a red-brownish, but without any other thing changing.
“I feel like copying you maybe wasn’t that good of an idea.”
The crowd laughed louder at that comment.
“There is something wrong with you, right?”.
The crowd laughed even louder at that.
“Or did we get something wrong?”
The crowd was in front of the best comedian of their lives.
“Almost everything, buddy.”
| 2019-02-05T21:23:18 | 2019-02-05T21:19:09 | 92 | 37 |
[WP] An immortal is experiencing the heat death of the universe, when he can hear the sounds of confetti and blasting music. The music stops with a record scratch, and a bewildered voice can be heard saying, "Wait...one's still here?" | "I am."
"Impossible! I destroyed everything, down to the last atom and joule. Who are you?"
"I am The Cosmic Giggle."
"Do you know who I am?"
"Yup. You're Entropy. Its your job to destroy the universe."
"I guess you could say that. And I did a fine good job with that, you must admit. That last black hole was something else wasnt it?"
"It sure was."
"So what's your job, Mr. Cosmic Giggle?"
*You smile, and lean into the infinite vacuum*
"Well, Mr. Entropy. After you finish your job and destroy the universe... it's my job to do this"
*You snap your fingers.*
And with a great bang an entire universe springs into existence that endless black void | “What the-?”
“How?”
“Where am I?”
“Uhm… are you *human?”*
“Last time I checked I was.”
“... uhm…. So, why… are you here?”
“What do you mean? Where am I?”
“How can he be alive, Karl? Every living thing was supposed to die! Whoosh! Explosion! Heat! Death! They were all meant to die!”
“I don’t know, Steve. This is unusual… let me check the manual real quick.”
“Wait wait wait… Every living thing *died?”*
“Duh… and you were supposed to go with them!”
“Calm down, Steve…”
“But I am here.”
“Unfortunately… Now we have to deal with you. Oh, all the paperwork!”
“Something is off… We were very thorough, though. We followed the Doom instructions to the dot, so it can’t be our fault. Human! Do you have any idea, why you are still here?”
“Well...I am kind of… immortal. I have no clue how it happened but I have been alive for a *long* time.”
“Immortal? Let me see here…”
“We have read the stupid manual a bazillion times, Karl! There is no need to look through it! It does not mention immortals.”
“But how is this possible?”
“How am I supposed to know? They never schooled us on this! What I do know is that if we don’t take care of this pesky human, corporate is gonna whip our arses!”
“So, should we try to kill him?”
“Ahm… I can’t die.”
“There must be a way! Give me the handbook!”
“So, if were to pierce a spear through your heart, you would not die?”
“Nope.”
“What about beheading?”
“No.”
“Drowning?”
“Nah.”
“Burning?”
“Nope.”
“Starving?”
“No.”
“Hmmm this is strange indeed… what are we about to do about him?”
“Let’s try it anyway!”
“Excuse me?”
“There *must* be a way to kill this human! They are all dead and we can’t leave one just wandering around. I say we keep trying to end him. I am sure one way will have to work!”
“I agree.”
“I don’t!” | 2019-02-22T20:24:36 | 2019-02-22T20:06:40 | 30 | 20 |
[WP] There's a coldblooded serial killer that has followed a tradition for his entire career. Before he kills a victim, he will ask for and fulfill their final wish no matter what it is. | "I really should have thought out my tradition more carefully," Rupert grumbled quietly to himself as he sipped coffee in the corner of the well-lit 24-hour diner. It was late, about 2am, and once again he found himself alone eating pancakes after yet another victim slipped through his hands.
"Any wish...no matter what it is... ugh how could I have been so stupid?!?" He rolled his eyes and scanned the room around him. At this time of night on a weekday, only a few other patrons were occupying the room with him, and sadly none of them were 30-year-old brunettes, his victim of choice.
"I wanted to be known as 'The Chivalrous Serial Killer', it would've been such a grand legacy to leave behind," he mused to himself. "But these victims always seem to pick the same wish, inevitably, every single time."
In hindsight, it did strike him as a bit obvious that his victims would choose as their final wish to not be murdered.
"Ah well," he thought to himself, taking another sip. "Eventually I'm sure I'll get to kill someone." | The killer pressed the knife against the maiden’s throat.
“What is your greatest wish?”
Tears streaked down the women’s face. “I just want... I just want my grandmother to have one more day.”
The murderer paused. He’d never received anything like this. “Where is she?”
The women gasped for air. She made noises as she tried to hold back the sounds of crying. “In Asia. Roina neighborhood- by the Red Forest.”
The murderer nodded. “Very well.” He removed the knife and slipped it into his pocket. The man readjusted his mask and slipped out the window.
The killer booked a flight to Asia that night. He headed towards the airport on foot with nothing on hand but money and his ticket. Taking a flight was unbelievably risky, but it was a must to fulfill this stranger’s wish. The cost was no matter- he always stole from whoever he killed, and raking up thousands monthly was usual.
Hours later the man arrived at the airport. He passed through security and followed the procedure, standing in a corner until the flight was ready, where he entered the plane and rode for many more hours.
When the plane landed, the murderer headed south, where Roina neighborhood was supposed to be. He made it, and before long found his victim’s grandmother.
As usual he snuck in through the window, right next to the elderly female’s bed.
Her face was covered in wrinkles and her eyes were closed. The killer sighed and softly spoke.
“Ma’m?”
The grandmother’s eyes open and without moving her body she looked at the murderer.
“Are you sick?”
The lady exhaled and blinked.
“Can you get to a hospital?”
The lady slowly and weakly shook her head.
“Hang in there. I’ll get you to the nearest hospital.” The murderer gently picked her up and walked out the door.
As they passed through the wilderness, the lady clasped her hand against the man’s. She held weakly but surely until they arrived at a hospital, where she was housed. The man gave her the rest of his money and followed the hospital’s procedure.
Surgery had to be underwent.
All night, he waited in the waiting room. His hands were folded and he was silently praying for the women to live.
She emerged fine, but the cost was three quarters of the man’s mountain stash. He paid and left with the women the next day.
The killer set the elder in the bed. She was crying and smiling.
Before he left, the women stopped the killer in a frail, weak voice. “Thank... you...” she whispered. The man paused and watched the women close her eyes. He stood at the open doorway.
A tradition would be broken.
He closed the door and knelt next to the women. “I’ll be staying here for a while.” | 2019-11-05T14:58:15 | 2019-11-05T13:24:35 | 47 | 27 |
[WP] There's a coldblooded serial killer that has followed a tradition for his entire career. Before he kills a victim, he will ask for and fulfill their final wish no matter what it is. | "I really should have thought out my tradition more carefully," Rupert grumbled quietly to himself as he sipped coffee in the corner of the well-lit 24-hour diner. It was late, about 2am, and once again he found himself alone eating pancakes after yet another victim slipped through his hands.
"Any wish...no matter what it is... ugh how could I have been so stupid?!?" He rolled his eyes and scanned the room around him. At this time of night on a weekday, only a few other patrons were occupying the room with him, and sadly none of them were 30-year-old brunettes, his victim of choice.
"I wanted to be known as 'The Chivalrous Serial Killer', it would've been such a grand legacy to leave behind," he mused to himself. "But these victims always seem to pick the same wish, inevitably, every single time."
In hindsight, it did strike him as a bit obvious that his victims would choose as their final wish to not be murdered.
"Ah well," he thought to himself, taking another sip. "Eventually I'm sure I'll get to kill someone." |
The building shook from the arriving train, lights flickered, and the darkness is where his truest nature showed. The Wishmaker stared intently into his victim's eyes. His lingering gaze as he deciphered every little emotion or lack of therefore. He admired the coldness of the man in front of him.
His victim's features had aged. Now all white, the constant stress and fear he’d felt along the journey had transformed his dark crown, worse, perhaps from the pleasure he never thought he’d experience.
The droning fan suspended the room in a fantasy of his impending finality. The wish had been fulfilled. The time for the swan’s song was nigh.
“I’ve granted you your wish, now, you know the outcome. Look at you... trembling in fear. Or is it ecstasy? —The man remained still.– Your empty smile bares no more warmth.”
The Wishmaker starred in his victim’s right eye “It’s hard to believe who you’ve become. I was expecting disgust in your own self, yet your gaze shows no regret.—He shifted his admiration to the left eye– This gaze you’re giving me, It's delightful, they no longer reflect the weakness of the heart of man.”
“To see you’ve lost what this vile society would call your “Humanity”—the Wishmaker bared his teeth passing his index finger over his own canine– I would call you a beast, yet it would not do you justice —his tongue slowly moving over his lips– In fact, you’ve become man truest nature, what he was always meant to be, a coldblooded killer.”
The victim’s eye remained riveted with the Wishmaker's gleaming glare. “You told me your deepest fear was to be forgotten. —He, the Wishmaker, slowly swayed his head along with his victim– but don’t worry. After the request you’ve made of me, so shall you be remembered. For you will go down as the most despicable victim of the Wishmaker.—They inhaled synchronously a deep breath– They’ll remember your sickness, when they write my story. —the Wishmaker gently let out a deep sigh– You… will be their favorite one... I’ve murdered.”
Their eyes locked up again, and the Wishmaker delicately caressed his chest where his heart pulsated vigorously “To those who will worship me, solace will be brought from the end of your life. —rising tenderly his hands to his throat– You’ve asked for 101 and I’ve delivered 100, now it is time for me to take the last one.“
The vibration of the departing train interrupted the droning fan abruptly ending his deep fantasy.
He stepped out of the bathroom and walked into the living room where the noose he’d prepared awaited him. | 2019-11-05T14:58:15 | 2019-11-05T14:35:28 | 47 | 12 |
[WP] Alcohol has been banned throughout most of the Galaxy due to its corrosive nature towards organic life, in the near future when first contact is made with humans the aliens are horrified that humans not only mass produce alcohol, they also consume it for pleasure. | "So your brains make you *like* the feeling of *poisoning yourselves*?"
"Yes? I mean, obviously it seems a lot more poisonous to you."
"Unbelievable. How you survived to develop FTL travel is beyond me."
"I'm pretty sure my ancestors were more worried about nukes and wars."
"Yes, but you drank *in response* to that."
"We're funny like that. We have as many preferences as to how to die as we do how to live. Booze lets us choose both."
"But you have intervention centres for your hardest addicts."
"We like to choose how to die, but you'll find it rare for us to be in a hurry to do so."
"...So you're going to just keep drinking that scotch?"
"Yes."
"Because you feel...*sophisticated* in doing so?"
"That, and this is a good bottle. Been ageing it."
"...So hypothetically, how would it go if we tried to enact our laws on Earth? Or other human colonies?"
"...Let me finish this glass, and then I'll tell you about our history of prohibition." | A tramp chucked another empty down the alley, it came to a halt next to the others. He promptly opened the next one, a familiar sound, followed by the calming scent and the first, fresh swig.
Across town, corks shot up and hit the ceiling of Pasture, the hot new bar hosting its opening party. Down the road the regulars sat enjoying their ale and silence at the Prancing Pony.
Further out of town; families, couples and loners lounged on their sofas, unwinding with their tipples of choice.
Across the world the story was the same, people enjoying their drinks, some from time to time, some habitually, but all ultimately reliant to an extent on the short-term patch to their long-term problems.
Just outside of the atmosphere, and occupying a different plane of existence entirely, species from around the galaxy were expectantly gathered awaiting 10PM PST and the start of the US West Coast C2H6O: A Planet Addicted.
The shows offered round the clock raucous entertainment. After the horror of first discovering that Earths most advanced species had effectively enslaved themselves to base chemical addictions the galactic media companies had been quick to capitalise. The planet was cordoned off and declared a no travel zone, observation stations were set up. Viewers were encouraged to watch to highlight the dangers of alcohol: fighting, sickness, addiction. Some would argue the shows were cruel, that Earth humans should be helped, but most were happy enough to enjoy suffering of others for their own light entertainment under the guise of education.
The real selling point was the unpredictability, you could be honed in watching a ridiculous dance off when all of a sudden vomit is heaved everywhere; a great signal for more shots and more debauchery. Another night you could be observing an amorous couple, right as things are about to get interesting a huge row kicks off out of nowhere. Unfortunately, and inevitably the fighting brought most viewers, from brawls to riots to a good old-fashioned kicking. And there were always the darker types who enjoyed the slower, long term crushing disappointment of the spiral into alcoholism.
But now, an alarming trend is becoming popular. It is a mirror of the questionable fashion spreading from Earths own reality TV shows across the idolising human populations. Viewers are actually taking trips to Earth to try alcohol themselves and the results, of course, can be devastating.
As more viewers fall afoul of their curiosity the black market in Earth Alcohol experiences is exploding. Cases are even being reported of smugglers bringing alcohol off Earth to enjoy a tipple of their own choice while watching the shitshow that is a planet addicted. | 2019-11-07T05:02:39 | 2019-11-07T00:02:13 | 1,624 | 338 |
[WP] You are best friends with Death. Although you don't know this. Every Sunday he has you killed just to talk to you about his week then brings you back to life after. However you never remember the meetings. | **And you're sure?**
Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way! I'm invested in our conversations.
**The conversations are limited. They only last for a short time, and afterwards you have no memory of them. What is the point?**
I suppose that as a mortal, living person - I'm used to it. I've grown comfortable with that arrangement.
**How?**
We don't have any other way to be. For us, as you know, it's all temporary, so every etching on the sand only belongs to the moments before it is washed away.
**What tragedy.**
Not to those within the moments.
**Your words remain perfect every time I hear them. And when I do, just in that instant, I understand.**
I'm glad. | Times are hard, masters are no longer taking apprentices, and I have a family to take care of. After much searching, I have finally been taken under the wing of Exder, the town plague doctor. This year, we have been hit hard with something he calls the Whispering Shock. People are beginning to lose their voices, and so they must die in silence. I am not great at medicine like my master, but he keeps me around for my heart. Regardless of their religion, I help the people of our town come to terms with their mortality. Although they cannot reply, I can see the gratefulness in their eye. My only day off is Sunday, and I spend it doing the same thing. I simply sit and read, for it is all I can do, and so I sit this morning. I feel my breath taken from me as I dive into another good book, and the world around me begins to change. I am no longer in my humble home, but within a small chamber on a much comfier seat. My book is gone and across from me is a man I can only describe as cold as ice. Breaking the silence, he begins to speak. "I must thank you Malgus, truly, you have made my life easier than you could have ever imagined." I don't know what he means, I have not met this man, my confusion is clear. "Allow me to explain, I am Death, I guide mortal's to their final place of eternal rest, many of which need great comfort along their journey." I simply nodded my head in understanding, it must be a tough job, but I can only sit in silence, not finding the courage to speak. "I must be a strange sight my friend, I am sorry. I brought you here again to express my gratitude for your never ending amicability. No longer must I spend the journey comforting beings coming to terms with their mortality. You have done that for me. Everyday a new soul comes to me, and I may walk them to their own Heaven with a smile, no longer do they shed the tears of fear or quake in my presence." The silence took great hold of me. Never would I be bestowed a greater honor from any man, than the thanks of that of death. It is a shame it is an honor I will not remember until it is my own time. If it ever comes. | 2020-01-31T07:28:10 | 2020-01-31T07:15:25 | 77 | 33 |
[WP] You Hook Up with a Girl, and her Ex tries to kill you by summoning a demon. When the demon sees you, he smiles and asks you how you have been. | "No fucking way..." my eyes went wide as I opened my bedroom door. Before me stood a hulking figure, standing at least 7 feet tall, wrought with chiseled muscle and fiery red skin, lidless eyes, teeth made of nails, and large spiky deposits of some red crystal emerging from its skin sporadically.
"Alex?" It's voice hissed.
"Nex'zel'ju'brath?" I responded.
"Braaaaaaaah!" We cried in unison, coming together for a powerful bear hug.
"Antichrist, I haven't seen you in so long! When was it? The dark ages?"
"I am twenty-four, Nexy. I was born in 1996." Being immortal, he didn't exactly have the best grasp on time or human age. "Last time you were around must have been... freshman year? Yeah, we were playing D&D and accidentally summoned you!"
"Right, 1996. I'll remember next time," the demon nodded, casually entering my bedroom, letting the weight of his body sink into my mattress, nearly collapsing the bed underneath. "Well," he scoffed, "I don't really know how to break this to you, but... Well, dude, I'm here to kill you!" Being a contractor, Nex'zel'ju'brath was typically one to get down to business quickly.
"For real?"
"Real in totality! Crazaaaayyy, right?"
"Totally cray."
"Anyways, this man, what was his name... some ne'er-do-well, Tristan or some such name. He does the ritual, blah blah blah, he commands me to rend your soul from your mortal form - you're familiar with the process."
"Totally. Did he say why?"
"He said... that..." Nex'zel'ju'brath pondered for a moment. His eyes glazed over with a black smoke as he hunched over, concentrating deeply, focusing his demonic power to travel his mind backward through his own experiences, forcing his consciousness through time in reverse. "Oh," he exclaimed, laughing, "you had sexual intercourse with his former partner!"
"What? Who, Stacy?"
"Yes, indeed! For your transgressions upon his property, you must forfeit your life!"
"Uhhhh. Stacy's a person."
"And this means... that...?"
"It *means* that she isn't anyone's property, Nexy. He has no right to her."
Nex'zel'ju'brath scoffed, dumbstruck. "Dubious indeed! Tristan is most uncool, is he not?"
"*Super* uncool."
"And a *dick*!"
"For sure."
"Then it is auspicious you convinced me to add the 'Uncool' clause in all future contracts!"
"No way! You kept that in?"
"All the ways, yes!" Nex'zel'ju'brath's smile was horrifying, but his good intentions were slightly visible regardless. "If I recall correctly..." he dragged his nail across his palm, drawing a neon red liquid out from the skin, creating an audible hiss as it ate through the skin of his hand like acid. With a long and slender tongue, he drew a symbol with the liquid, and from a cloud of smoke in front of him appeared part of the contract, hastily written on the back of a character sheet.
"Ah, yes! Here it is... 'Those who employ Nex'zel'ju'brath and his demonic services must be super cool, and totally not dicks. If an employer is found to be uncool, or a dick, all contractual obligations of Nex'zel'ju'brath are rendered null, and the employer will be subject to death by...' remind me, what is a 'scooter'?"
"It's like a thing with wheels."
"Ah. 'the employer will be subject to death by scooter to the ankle.' You truly are a genius, Alex! Have you yet slain the dragon?" Now that his contract had been terminated, Nex'zel'ju'brath was back to his typical friendly demeanor.
"Nah, that campaign ended a long time ago."
"I see. So the treasures of Everest are still lost to Atheneos?"
"The what?" | *Way to make four years of mortal cover go WOOF, you dick-headed asshole,* Ian Finley thought to himself with a wry grin, as the demon that looked like a cross between a spider monkey and a crab lumbered from the pentagram with his front pinchers raised. As of a decade ago, Ian hadn’t known what either of those creatures were, but since then, he'd learnt one was a fantastic pet, and the other was great eating. Which meant Wellet was in for about five hundred centuries of shit-dumping as far as Ian was concerned. Provided he lived that long.
“What the hell?” Kyle Ramses demanded, from where he stood at the foot of the pentagram on the chin of the goat’s head. He was dressed in a black robe and had an unravelled scroll in his hands. The dumb fuck hadn’t even realised he was standing in the wrong place for trying to control a summoned demon, for fuck’s sake. (In that regard, Kyle was lucky that Wellet was more interested in reconnecting with Ian than he was taking sexual advantage of the human offering himself.)
Instead of answering either of them, Ian looked across the room to where his new girlfriend stood tied to a support post with her hands over her head, much like he was. She was there to act as witness, Kyle had said. To watch as the demon he summoned consumed ‘the new boyfriend’ and would forever cement her loyalty to him.
The ex did have the right idea there. Fear was certainly a good motivator. But as the idiot set up the pentagram and began checking everything according to what was written on the parchment, Ian realised he didn’t have a fucking clue what he was doing. It took everything he had not to bust a gut laughing and part of him actually hoped Wellet wouldn’t notice him, just to see what would happen next.
A sudden movement over his head, and Ian’s hands fell to his side. “Thanks, Wellet,” he said, rubbing his wrists as the demon stepped back.
“I thought you were on assignment…” Wellet huffed, through mouths that were embedded into his shoulders. With eyes on stalks, he looked Ian up and down and shuddered. “Human? Really? Damn! Who did you piss off?”
Ian shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now. I’m here. Orders are orders.”
Instead of being mollified, Wellet’s eyeballs shot out a further two inches from the stalks. “I know that tone! You are hiding the fun! What is the assignment? Can I help? Come on, pal! It will be just like old times when we used to raid the souls on the edge of the Akheron River! What is it the humans say? We shall kick ass and take names!”
Annnnd, just like a spider monkey, Wellet was that damned easily excitable.
Unfortunately, Ian was about to burst his bubble.
“Trust me, you’re going to want to rethink that, pal,” he said, moving around the head of the pentagram to where Rachel was tied. “It may evolve into a moment of fun at some point, but right now it’s a whole lot of sitting through medical crap and being bored out of my human skull.”
“But you’ve been here for four years!”
Ian worked on the knots, freeing Rachel easily. “Exactly,” he said, pulling her to stand partially behind him once she was free. His hand remained around her wrist to keep her from running off. Another thing Wellet loved was the chase. “And if I have to choose between more years of boredom as a human and going toe to toe with Lord Cthulhu just because he’s having a never-ending fling with a medical student, I’ll pick boredom over that certain death. Wouldn’t you?”
“Lord Cthulhu is here?”
“Yeah. Right now, he’s behaving himself because he’s been outed, but you and I both know that could turn in an instant, and it’s my job to get the word out before I die if he does.” Giving him a moment to let that sink in, he added, “Still want to join me, pal?”
Wellet looked at Ian again and shook his upper body negatively.
“Didn’t think so. And in answer to your earlier question, I pissed off Master Guardian Makeatutara.”
Again, those eyes widened, this time in horror.
“Yeah,” Ian drawled having accepted his fate four years ago. “So, I’m as good as dead either way. At least now I get to have a bit of fun before I go though, right?”
Wellet’s eyes separated to look around Ian’s head at the woman cowering behind him. “What about her?”
Ian’s hand tightened on her wrist. “Leave her to me. I’ll take care of her.”
With the two of them situated, Wellet turned to Kyle, who had been all but forgotten. His feet were still stuck to the bottom point of the pentagram, because Wellet hadn’t released him. *Yet.* “What about him?”
“He planned on summoning you to eat me, so as far as I’m concerned, he’s all your's, brother. Have at him.”
Wellet’s pinchers went over his head as he rushed towards his afternoon delight. Kyle bent his knees and shifted his weight while throwing his arms in useless punches to fend off the approaching demon, but there was no avoiding Wellet.
“Let’s get out of here,” Ian said, already moving her towards the exit.
“But what about Kyle?”
“Kyle who?” Ian asked, and as they rushed from the abandoned warehouse, the air filled with the summoner’s screams.
​
((All comments welcome))
For more of my work: [r/Angel466](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/) | 2020-03-27T07:59:50 | 2020-03-27T04:39:11 | 108 | 37 |
[WP] Turns out that when a witch asks for your firstborn child, what they're ACTUALLY doing is checking if you're too callous to be trusted with magic or children. If you're willing to use babies as currency... well, let's just say to expect a sub-par product at best and leave it at that. | Gelda of the Woods remembered everyone who had come to her.
She remembered looking out her window and seeing a lone man approaching down the trail, his clothes fine and his expression haughty. He had come before her, trying to disguise his distaste at her worn down clothes and small cottage.
He had asked for great wealth. So she had asked. It was The Test. If they would give up their child, they were not worthy of her power. He had pretended to mull over the decision, but Gelda could see his hunger, burning under the surface. He accepted of course, feigning reluctance in the hopes that it would make her more sympathetic.
That nobleman did not go home. He had gold in mind, so gold he got. He buzzed off as a bee, forever making golden honey.
It's not so much "be careful what you wish for" as "be careful how you pay for it"
The second time it was a merchant. As the man stumbled down the path, she saw the fear in his demeanor, but also the hope. He told a tale of sorrow, of how the winds had turned against him. Of how he needed to be able to control the winds, to see his ships safely home.
When she had asked, his eyes had gone wide. He did not want to give up his child. Good. And when he turned to go, she slipped the charm into his pocket. Luck with the winds. He had been deserving.
So many had come searching for wishes down this path, but most didn't get what they were searching for. They had stumbled into the village and spread their tales of the cruel witch taking their firstborn in the taverns as they drowned their regret.
But most of all, she would never forget the woman, coming down the path with a newborn swaddled in her arms. She had looked tired and sad. Gelda had seen the newborn and sighed. What was this woman trading a life away for?
When Gelda had greeted her, her hopes were not high. "What is your wish?" she had asked. "Teach her." Who?
"Who is it you want me to teach?" Gelda queried. She had been confused, uncertain. The woman was in tears now. "Rosalie. My daughter. I cannot support her. Take her. Teach her. Giver her a good life."
"Oh, child," Gelda had said "are you sure you wish to do this?"
"The only reply she had heard was a faint "No," muffled by tears as the woman turned away and walked back down the path, leaving her child behind.
A loud "Mama?" shook Gelda out of her stupor. "Coming dear," she said. "We have quite a busy day ahead of us, you know."
*\~A Story Of Ashes*
*\~\~If you enjoyed, please check out* r/StoriesOfAshes *for more of my writing*
*\~\~\~Thank you for reading!* | The witch started at the relatively new mother holding the child in her arms. The mother wore basically tattered rags, dirt stained her calloused feet, hair was matted and tangled. Everything about her appearance just screamed on the edge of death, except for the lively look of determination in her eyes. Her baby on the other hand appeared to be well taken care of wrapped in the cleanest of cloths. Finally the mother spoke.
“Please Miss Witch we need a potion to restore our crops. The ground hasn’t been fertile in months, my husband and I are starving!” The mother begged, tears streaming down her face leaving streaks through her dirt covered cheeks.
“If I were to give something to make your crops grow, what will you give him me in return. My services are not for free nor are they cheap.” The witch spoke, with an eyebrow raised. Something struck her as odd about the pair but couldn’t quite figure it out.
There was a moment of silence and the new mother looked down at her child a flurry of unreadable emotions flashed across her sunken face. The mother’s words were quiet and uncertain.
“All I have is my first born.” The mother’s words were quiet and uncertain. The mother looked to her child then held her out to the witch. When the witch took her child and turned away, a single tear fell down the mother’s cheek.
When the witch returned the child no longer in her arms, she instead held out a bottle full of white powder and gave it to the mother.
“Sprinkle this on your crops before it’s about rain and your harvest shall be bountiful again.” The witch instructed firmly watching the mother careful eyes.
Upon taking the bottle, the mother numbly nodded. Muttering our a weak thank you before retreating from the witch’s house and presumably to her own.
–
A few months later the witch had held the baby in her arms as she passed through the market with many staring at her warily, even the playing children ran back to their mothers to cling to them in fright. What she did not see as she passed through, was the horror stricken look on the face ragged vendor, with barely anything at his stall.
The witch with her child in hand had taken a moment to stop by a farm as she did every week on her way home from the market. At this farm was the former mother, her clothes looked a little nicer much less ragged, only frayed at the edges from tending to the garden. Her hair was put up this time looking clean unlike the matted mess the witch first saw. Though her ankles were still stained with dirt and that wouldn’t change from the work she did however this time she had shoes.
“That is the mother that gave you up for a better harvest. How cruel.” The witch whispered to the child in her arms. While potion would give them a better harvest the plants become more susceptible to sickness and most like will be dead with a month or two.
Turning away from the tiny farm the witch started for her secluded home. She reached the edge of the farm when something caught her attention. It was the sound of flesh smacking against flesh. Turning she clutched the child closer to her protectively.
“You lying tramp! You told me our daughter had died!” A man screamed at his wife towering over her, presumably the father of the child. He towered menacingly over his fallen wife with a look of rage.
“I had to! How could we have taken care of her if we were dead? We have been starving ourselves for months, giving everything we could to spare to our daughter and selling the rest! We wouldn’t have lasted much longer like this, we would have been dead by the end of the month at best! I gave our daughter a chance for a better life!” The woman shouted, curling in on herself as sobs wracked her body.
The father knelt down putting a comforting hand on his wife’s shoulder, the grief and sadness on his face was proof enough that his wife have been right.
“Come now, lets go inside and treat you.” The father gently urged, face filled with guilt upon seeing the bruise beginning to form on his wife’s cheek.
When the two retreated to the inside of the house, the witch turned then looked down to the child in her arms. One more look to the house with the former parents before making her way back to her own house secluded away. No longer was there a child in her arms.
(It’s been a while since I written, I hope you enjoy!) | 2020-09-29T06:03:36 | 2020-09-29T05:54:58 | 98 | 28 |
[WP] You have one super power: The ability to know without fail what the truth is to any asked question. You planned to help the world as a super hero. It took you six hours for the government to declare you public enemy number one and the most deadly super villain alive. | “You ask me why. You ask me what was the tipping point, what got under my skin, what broke me. You’re asking the wrong questions.”
“It was never something that pushed me over the edge. It wasn’t some traumatic event. It was because I told the truth.”
“We all worry about the big villains out there. We all tremble and despair whenever they announce their plan to destroy this thing, or kidnap those people. And every time we always relieved to see you come in and save the day.”
“But we never ask ourselves how it all begins. And that’s why I’m here, sitting in the most secure cell in the most fortified prison the world has ever seen. Because I told the truth.”
“You want to know who the real villains are? I see them every time you’re congratulated for saving the city once again. They’re always right there, smiling right into the camera. Sometimes, you even let them shake your hand.”
“They always give such pretty speeches. There’s always talk about rebuilding and working to try and make the city safer. And you, you simply nod along with a smile for the camera. But I can’t fault you. I really can’t.”
“You’re out there using those phenomenal powers of yours to try and help the city and its people, and really, you should be thanked. People need someone like you to be their hope. Because the real villains out there, are always trying to take it from them.”
“But I want you to ask yourself this the next you’re standing up there on whatever podium or pedestal they put you on. Ask yourself about what really changes for everyone. Ask yourself if anything has changed since you stepped in. I already know the answer to that, but who would believe me? After all, I was imprisoned for telling the truth.” | The priest said, "Gather around children and listen to how the world changed." She was dressed in a long simple robe with the classic monk's hood. A white robe of purity would have been apropo, however the order had long ago chosen red as a symbol for the blood that flowed freely after the apocalypse. The children knew the villain from the various bedtime stories their parents told them. The coming of age ceremony was held after the first menarche.
​
The girls gasped in anticipation of the how and why the world collapsed into this backward hell-hole. They were enthralled with the tale of how she became 'the destroyer of the world'. The priest detailed how in ancient times there were magic potions called vaccines that warded off diseases and all manner of sicknesses; A different potion for each illness. A quick review of what a pandemic was and how the world was terrified when the last one ripped through the populace. The villain was a normal woman who was just trying to do the right thing and took the vaccine, the potion.
​
The vaccine mutated her mind into something that could speak truth to power without fear. She could speak the Truth of it, the whole truth from knowledge she'd gleaned from a speaker of lies. She 'heard' the truth hidden behind their lies the way a parent can sense a toddlers lies.
​
"Listen girls," The priest went on, "little lies grow into big ones, that grow into huge ones, and the more you tell the easier it is to lie." She paused looking into each face around the semicircle. "It is rumored that she had a daughter before being hunted down. She is out there, the daughter, waiting to end the world again." The girls gasped at the horror of their world ending.
​
"You all know Edward Snowden, he who warned the world?" She waited till they were all nodding, "And the world ignored his warnings, well, except She didn't. He was her personal hero, the standard she wanted to follow. She set about detailing how there was a power elite in the world that controlled the money, keeping small people small. She detailed the Various crimes of one government after another, especially those that kept a violent conflict alive. It took her a year to write everything down that she thought she knew, referencing document after document. It was published into volumes of books based on countries; a 'digital version' sold across glass fiber lines and printing presses couldn't keep up with actual copies ordered."
​
The priest took a deep breath, "she detailed alien invasions, yes plural, that the world didn't know about. There were chapters on Election rigging that spurred solo-shooters to assassinate political leaders all across the globe. The Insurance elite were eliminated by people who lost loved ones that were denied coverage, because the CEOs chased profit above humanity. Climate change was real, and we're still dealing with that these days. Everyone on the planet wanted to burn the system(s) down to the ground, each with a different reason."
​
This was all ancient history, hidden, secret history. The priest slammed the point home, "Liars are shunned, or killed. We can not tolerate a system built on lies. It is our only defense against her daughters." | 2020-11-30T21:01:17 | 2020-11-30T20:24:02 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] "May your skin rot when you heal others," the witch cursed, "and may your name be forgotten when you save others." You are a healer for a party. Your party does not know about the curse, and it has been your job to support them before they finally complete their quest. Today is the final day. | If one were to observe our party's journey to the final confrontation with the Demon King a strange sight would greet them. In the lead, with all the confidence and grandeur of a party of seasoned adventurers, are be four noble heroes; venturing forth to defeat the encroaching evil. Sword, bow, axe, and staff gripped in firm experienced hands, armor scuffed and worn from countless battles but nonetheless gleaming in the setting sun. But then a few dozen paces behind, shuffling along with head bent and body wrapped in a tattered cloak would be me; the all but forgotten fifth of their number. One could almost mistake me as a stranger to the adventurers; a battered old man who happens to be traveling on the same road as the four heroes en route to confront destiny. If not for the fact that the strange cloaked figure sat at the same fire as these adventurers, bandaged their wounds as they recovered from the days trials, slept alone on a cot a few feet from the warm coals once darkness fell.
Some time ago this cloaked figure had been fully one of those adventurers. I too had been shiny and strong and brave. I fought alongside the other four, struggled with them, called them family. But the moment the witch's curse fell upon me I knew that I would soon no longer be one of them. It took some time, at first it would be a complaint here of not having contributed in the last fight, a joke there of needing to perhaps take a bit more care of my skin and my health. But then soon they weren't jokes, nor light hearted banter. Soon when one of my companions looked to me there would be a brief moment of confusion, a question of who this strange creature with pocked skin and hollow eyes was and how it had gotten so close to the party's camp. At first the confusion would only last a moment. Of course! This was the reliable cleric, our friend and ally through thick and thin. But soon a few moments became a few minutes, and eventually the realization never came. One of my dear comrades would look at me, open their mouth as if to call out to me in recognition, but the words would never come. They would look at me as if I were an anomaly, a strange animal that had wandered across their path; fascinating in its uniqueness but not worth the time to identify what it was or where it came from. But that was fine. I had not set out on this journey for recognition. I had not set out for fame or riches or even; though it had been sweet while it lasted, for companionship. Each day as I had to steal scraps from the cookfire in order to feed myself, as I wrapped myself in bandages to hold my rotting flesh to my body, as I witnessed my party grow into heroes powerful enough to face the evil king, I knew that my path was a righteous one. If my allies thought that flesh mended itself unheeded, so be it. If they thought flaming arrows were turned aside by wards that appeared of their own volition then so be it. If the strange cloaked figure that they sometimes saw from the corner of their eye but thought not to question should collapse into a pile of dust, then so shall it be. As we approached the Demon King's castle I thought to myself how beautiful a portrait this would be. The four heroes, bold and beautiful, prepared to meet their destiny as the setting sun lit them in burnished light. A fine image if not for the strange speck in the background, a hunched figure wrapped in bandages and rags, struggling to catch its breath through failing lungs, eyes bleary in even the fading light. But perhaps there was a sort of beauty there too.
In that final battle, when the archer was shielded from the wall of roaring flame racing towards her, she turned as if by instinct to thank her ally, but there was no one there to thank. When the chains of shadow binding the Barbarian in place shattered, setting her free, she grinned as if this had happened many times before, though she knew not what had liberated her. When the poison gas left the wizards lungs freeing him to resume his assault on the Demon King, he felt a presence standing with him shoulder to shoulder, and despite the chaos and danger all around him he felt strangely comforted. And when the warrior, laid low by the Demon King's fell blade, felt life pulse into her, invigorating her to stand and once more bring her mighty sword to bear, a name leapt unbidden from her lips, a name whose owner she could not recall, but she knew *must* be spoken in this moment lest their victory over evil be rendered completely and utterly meaningless. Later when the adventurers stood victorious in the crumbling remains of the Demon King's insidious throne room, the four of them took a moment to bask in the glory of their victory. All of the hardships, the struggles against seemingly impossible odds, the long days of conflict and longer nights of terror had led them here. Evil had been defeated and good had triumphed, they had met their destiny head on and emerged the other side heroes, as had always been foretold. And yet there was a feeling, unspoken but shared between them, as if a piece were missing. The Demon King was dead, his minions defeated, that was assured but nonetheless a small emptiness pervaded the air. For a moment the clouds in the chill night air parted and moonlight shone through the cracked remains of the throne room ceiling, landing peacefully on a tattered cloak and pile of soiled bandages. The heroes had won, but for reasons unknown to any of them, they all wept. | In the corner of the cavern, dimly lit by the nearby campfire, Reeda tended to a tear in her tunic. Sixteen days on the road, battling trolls, goblins and wisps left their marks but none as permeant as those on her skins. Once smooth and resilient, her skin now fissured and cracked, sprinkled with age spots as if her twenty-three year-old body was traded with fifty year-old. How much longer could she endure?
Judas, approached her, resting his paladin's shield against the cave's wall. "You don't sit with us since Cline's Passing—since you saved Hector's arm from amputation," he said. "He thinks he offended you."
Reeda's voice cracked. "There is nothing wrong, the light has been troubling my eyes lately. I can't seem to sleep after being too close. And this journey has been quite tiresome."
Judas kneeled down and took her hand as gently as a father may to his child. "There is more to it, is there not? I've seen you grow much more tired. More so than the rest."
"No, no, I'm quite fine. Truth be told, I've run out of make-up and powder. I can't hide my age any longer and I'm afraid you'll all pay more attention to me. We must all be our best tomorrow. I don't want extra care."
Judas let go of her hand. "I'm not sure I believe that, but I have no grounds to argue. If this is your wish, then do please rest. Tomorrow will a day for the ages," he said.
"I shall. Thank you for checking in," said Reeda and she returned to mending her tunic. Judas returned to the fire and the whispers of the company were muffled to Reeda. Even her senses were starting to fade. The curse was starting to win.
-----
"Hector! Blessing of Protect to you!" yelled Judas. His white plate armour glowed as wisps of blue magic danced along the metal. They amassed upon his shield and shot towards Hector in a translucent cloud. Around Hector formed a cloudy bubble, following his every step.
In one swift blow, the Ice Giant Queen, Titari, swung its dragon-bone against at the edge of the throne room. Hector watched as the club shattered his defensive ward and the remaining momentum sent his flying against the stone wall.
"Hector!" Judas yelled again. "Alright, we have to keep her off him."
Silvia, the black mage brought her hands to the floor and conjured a wall of flame, separating Titari from Hector. The room was now split in two, with Judas, Reeda, Silvia and Titari on one side and Hector on the other. Their freedom to move was split in half.
"Go now or die," said Titari, her purple lips smiling. "I'll take this snack as payment for your aggression."
"We're not leaving without the elixir," said Judas. He raised his shield and nodded to Reeda and Sylvia. Both of the mages bowed their heads and began to whisper.
"What good is magic for the dead?" said Titari. The giant circled its club, gathering speed before she began spinning as well. The bellows of wind blew like gusts in a hurricane, sending clouds of dust and gravel ricocheting off the stone walls and columns.
In one second, Titari released the club, sending it flying towards the two mages. In the next, Judas stood in its path, shield up and emanating with white spheres of magic. The impact scattered the club and Judas' armour alike. He flew back, landing limp at Reeda's feet.
"Four snacks it is then," said Tatari, cracking her knuckles. She raced towards the mages but stopped suddenly. A trail of light began brightening along the ceiling overhead. From within her, a buzz like an electrical current began to rise. Frozen in place, Tatari stared while the mages voices grew louder. Fear took the giant and she began pleading to be set free.
"The elixir is yours. Take and be gone. Take it and be free."
Reeda and Silvia stopped and gazed up at the once unyielding giant. The spell halted as well, its light fading from the ceiling and Tatari's paralysis evaporated from her body.
"You dumb bitches," said Tatari. As quick as lightning, Tatari swung her arm towards the a stone column at her side.
"Holy flare," Reeda and Sylvia said in unison.
The bright light of the ceiling returned, erupting in a brilliant pillar of yellow light. As if the star had been conjured, all that remained in the spells range was vapourized and scorched black. The flame wall faded too as Sylvia and Reeda collapsed to the ground.
The mages breathed heavy, their strength on the edge of ruin, but Reeda continued casting. A strand of magic left his fingers and reached Sylvia, giving her the power to stand.
"Bring Hector here," said Reeda, barely louder than a whisper.
Sylvia raced as fast as she could, still slow from exhaustion. As she did, Reeda crawled to Judas and felt his golden hair.
"When you wake, please give me some of the elixir," she whispered in his ear. "Quickly."
Sylvia returned, dragging Hector by the back of his cuirass. She laid him at Judas' side and fell to her knees.
Reeda began whispering words of the old world—words of the spell books she slaved years over. Her desire was always and had always been to save others. Yet a curse was laid on her upon graduation, sending her into old age for every healing deed. Long had she slumbered, unwilling to give up her youth for anyone. Now, with the elixir of youth a small walk away, she cared not anymore about curse and only for the companions that brought her here.
Reeda's skin glimmered as magic radiated like waves across a pond. Cracks in the stone floor began to sprout with grasses and flowers. The cavernous throne room brightened to a midday shine. And then, the room returned to darkness as Reeda collapsed.
---
"We actually did it," said Judas, taking the vial of blue elixir from the chest of the Ice Giant Queen. "We have forever ahead of us now. No aging, no death. Our life in our hands."
"We must celebrate!" said Hector, raising her dagger to the ceiling.
"We shall, we shall. But somewhere at peace."
"And what of the old lady?" asked Sylvia. They had almost forgot about the old lady on the throne room floor. Her breath was as light as a feather on skin.
"She won't last much longer. If she wasn't fighting with us, she must have been a servant to the giant. A deserving end, I take it," said Judas, slipping the elixir into his bag. "Now, let's leave this wretched place!"
The company left, giving not one glance to Reeda as she lay on the cold floor. The other half to her cruel curse—that no person saved shall remember her—had been fulfilled. | 2021-02-13T11:54:11 | 2021-02-13T10:36:29 | 66 | 39 |
[WP] the prisioner on cell 48 was sentenced to 200 years in prision. Guards are getting nervous because he only has 3 years left to finish his sentence. | "Hey Chris, what's going on here?" I asked my coworker as I heard the door close behind me.
"What? I'm not late, that clock's wrong."
*Yes you are and no it isn't.*
"No, I mean this." I clarified, pointing at the screen in front of me. "Cell 48."
Chris chuckled.
"What, you've been here for two weeks and you still don't know about 48? I thought you were meant to be really on the ball. *Everyone* knows about cell 48."
Chris's patronising tone went through me like nails on a chalkboard. If I did my job better than him, I was acting too up myself. If I did it worse than he did, then I wasn't fit to be a guard. Between being a hard worker but new to the role I could never seem to win and I don't think there's been a single conversation we've had where Chris hasn't been either a patronising git or downright hostile.
"Well, there are a lot of people here. I've done my best to learn as much as I can about as many of the prisoners as I can but I hadn't gotten around to him yet. The only reason I looked at his record today was because he's been released in two days. It says that his sentence is two *hundred* years, how crazy is that? What a weird typo, do you think-"
"What did you say?" Chris interjected suddenly.
I suppressed a sigh. Chris interrupting me was the least of our issues together and showing my annoyance would only do more harm than good.
"Two hundred years."
"No, I know that. Everyone knows that. When did you say he was due for release?"
"The day after tomorrow. Why?" I asked as I turned to see Chris frantically leafing through sheets on the notice board.
"Who's processing that day, who's processing that day..." Chris muttered to himself, sounding far too nervous and looking slightly pale.
"It's us." I said quietly. "Chris, who is he?"
Instead of answering my question, Chris stormed out through the door.
----
Chris was gone for a while and whilst I only overheard one conversation, I can imagine the rest of his time was spent repeating a variation of it. I heard him telling Jack that he'd just realised he'd booked an important appointment the day after tomorrow and could they switch shifts so he'd be out in time? That Chris didn't want to do this switch officially so he didn't even care that this would mean Jack would suddenly have a shift two hours shorter and vice versa. To my surprise, Jack laughed in his face and didn't consider it for a moment.
"You think I haven't seen who's being processed out that day? No way, you keep your quality time with 48 and I'll keep my sweet, sweet extra hours."
Defeated, Chris finally returned.
"I don't understand." I said finally.
I think my biggest hint that something really concerning was going on was when he didn't even mock me for this.
"Chris, who's in cell 48? The dates in the length of sentence and date first imprisoned match up so if it's a typo someone decided to change the other to match rather than fix it. We don't have an official name for him - it just says 'unconfirmed' and the box for 'reason for imprisonment' is just *blank.* I didn't even know that box could be blank. What do you know about him?"
"Nothing." Chris answered dully. "None of us know anything about him. But everyone who works here has a bad feeling about him."
I raised my eyebrow slightly and Chris gave a single, hollow bark of a laugh.
"Sure, you think having a feeling about something is stupid. But it's not just the guards. 48 never says anything but nobody has ever tried to get in a fight with him or pick on him or so much as make fun of his hair. Once Jim from 53 knocked his lunch to the floor and *Jim* apologised to *48.*"
"So you think maybe he's violent?"
"Nobody's ever seen him throw a single punch. Not the whole time I've been here or the guys who worked here before me. And not like maybe we sort of saw something but we decided not to look to closely to save ourselves the paperwork - nobody has ever seen or heard 48 do anything to even slightly provoke anyone else but every other inmate here is scared stiff of him."
I chose to ignore the confession of negligence for now.
"Well, if he's not done anything so far then we have no reason to believe he will when he leaves, right? Everything will probably be fine."
-----
The shift in question finally rolled around. Chris looked pale as a ghost and kept rubbing the side of his head so vigorously that I occasionally saw hairs fall loose. I myself had been biting my nails for the past day, a habit I hadn't had since being a child. I'd completed the relevant forms and Chris for his part went to grab 48's possessions.
"This is bad." Chris said, rubbing his head so hard it looked painful. "Look."
48's only possession in our storage was a doll so old looking that I could believe we'd had it for centuries.
"It's probably his daughter's or something. It's fine. You're fine."
Chris nodded whilst still looking unnerved as hell. I probably looked no better. We went to collect 48.
----
48 didn't look pleased to be leaving, but he didn't look anything. His icy eyes betrayed no emotion as we spoke to him. His expression only changed when I slid across the tray containing his doll. 48 looked at it curiously and at first I thought that he was examining the doll itself but then he lifted a hair from it. One of Chris's hairs from the looks of it. Then, instead of flicking the hair to the floor 48 chose to place the hair back onto his doll and picked it up.
Nearly done. Chris opened the door for 48, the last door that required our keycards between here and the exit. 48 walked through the door and smiled at Chris.
*Crunch.*
Chris fell to the floor with his neck at an angle that humans don't live through. An angle that I hadn't thought even a dead man's neck could actually make.
"Wh-what did you do?"
I hadn't seen 48 touch Chris, had I? I must have, but I could swear that hadn't even been standing very close together.
"Why don't the records say why you're here?"
48 spoke and his voice sounded strange. Hoarse and brittle but still almost melodic.
"That crime, it does not exist in your life time."
*What crimes could he have done that no longer exist?*
He continued to walk away. I could've just let him leave. I shouldn't have asked anything else, I should have just believed that what happened was a normal, if violent, attack. I could've told myself I'd been in shock.
"What crime?"
48 turned back to me and grinned as though the entire situation was delicious and perfect. When people say that their blood ran cold I never knew how literal that can be until that moment.
"Witchcraft."
With that 48 finally left our prison and I screamed. I screamed and sobbed until the other guards came to find me.
And the guards feared 48 too much to come to me quickly. | **1/3 WIP - can't finish this now, typos I need to fix**
“So what do you think we should do?” Corrections officer Gill asked. “I’ve been instructed to precede as normal. In three years, inmate Johnson will have served his full sentence and will be released, same as any other inmate. He will have served his time.” Warden Blackwell replied. “Yeah, but… There’s no legal precedent for an inmate serving 200 years. Surely…” Gill was cut off by the warden. “No. No there isn’t. But this has already gone through the appropriate channels. The Governor, Senate, House. All the way up the food chain. When the time comes, inmate Johnson will be a free man. That will be all officer Gill.” Gill thought about continuing the conversation, but he knew there was no point. “Yes sir.” He replied, before leaving the Warden’s office.
Looking down at the folder he was carrying, the new corrections officer kept trying to process the information. Officer York was the one that told Gill about inmate Johnson. “No way. Get the fuck out of here. No way he’s been here for almost 200 years. I’m a rookie, not an idiot.”
“Don’t believe me? Go ask for his file.”
“I’m not asking for his file, this is probably some stupid prank that you guys pull on all rookies. I’m not falling for it.”
“I wish. We get away with a lot of shit in here, but you think we’re allowed to mess with federal records? Tampering with state, and federal files is a felony and it leaves a trail. We can’t mess with it, not unless we want to end up in here with these animals.”
Gill scoffed. “Yeah, okay.”
Yet here he was now with the knowledge, confirmed by Warden Blackwell. Who seemed less than pleased to be discussing the matter. “The file please.” A woman’s voice said. Gill was back at the records office holding the folder. He must have spaced and his mind must have just filled in the gaps, much like when he had found himself driving to work automatically, even on his days off.
“Oh, sorry Patricia. Here you go.” She didn’t look pleased. “Find what you were looking for?” Gill had, but still had a look of disbelief. “Just like everyone else when they find out. I’m not surprised, then again I never am.” Turning to walk away and put the file back where it belonged, Gill called out to her. ‘Patricia. How long have you been here?”
“I’m retiring in six months, full benefits. So that will be 25 years. Why?” She turned, looking at Gill, still annoyed. “So he’s been here just as long as you, before you obviously?”“Who? You mean inmate Johnson? He has. I’ve only seen him a few times, but his record needs keeping just like the rest. So yes, I can definitely confirm that he’s been here as long as I have, at least.”
“So it’s true then? I mean… I know I just saw the file, but everyone seems to pretend like it’s no big deal. Like… “ Patricia cut him off. “Like no one notices? Pretends he’s not here?” She said. “Yeah, exactly like that. Sort of like a don’t ask, don’t tell, type of situation.” Gill said.
Anne was on her lunch break, so it was just Patricia in the records office. The next closest person was 20 feet away, a guard on the other side of a heavily reinforced steel door. Even still, Gill could see Patricia was hesitant. “Can you keep your mouth shut Gill?” If anyone ever actually did, this question would never have to be asked. Gill looked down to the guard on the other side of the steel door. “Yeah, of course.” He said.
“I’m sure you know, records can no longer be manipulated. Too many redundancies, oversight committees, digital footprints, archived back up, et cetera.” Gill nodded. “Well, that wasn’t always the case. Especially back in the early 1900’s. Story goes, Johnson was originally sentenced to death by firing squad.”
Officer Gill stared at Patricia, furrowing his eyebrows while an inquisitive look spread on his face. “I don’t… Wait, are you saying he should be dead? I mean, you know what I mean.” Gill said. “Not only that, but firing squad wasn’t the only thing they tried. Finally, after none of the methods used then worked, his sentencing was changed. But the judge and prosector involved had the records altered, to make it look like his original sentencing was always 200 years.” She said.
“Okay, but if all of that is true. Then… You’re saying he’s immortal? Why wouldn’t he have been moved a long time ago? Why wouldn’t the government come in and scoop him up? Wouldn’t they have shipped him off to that alleged secret US military base in Mexico that has all of their UFO craft in underground hangars?” Gill said.
“Ah, all of that is bs. Why is he still here? No one knows for sure, a lot of information has been lost since he was originally imprisoned. But, there does seem to be some truth to the few pieces of information that float around from time to time. Passed down from previous office clerks like myself, guards like you or officer York, or even the warden. Of course less information seems to come from that portion of the branch. But some of the rumors seem to check out, as best as any of us know. This isn’t the original prison Johnson was sent to. The records indicate it is, but he’s been transferred no less than two times before he eventually wound up here. When he was originally sentenced, it’s also said that a lot of activists groups followed him being imprisoned. Best way to hide something, is to not bring any attention to it.” Patricia said.
“Activist groups? What for?”
“Well, rumor is that Johnson was wrongfully imprisoned. Of course back when he was arrested, you could probably pick any black man accused by white person of committing a crime, and guess that he was innocent more often than not.”
“Then why wasn’t something done about him, about this sooner? If there were activists keep tabs on him? What happened?”
“That’s the thing about time hon. People lose track of it. Especially after close to 200 years. I imagine that’s also why he’s here. Remote, low threat level prison.” A beep signaled Patricia to check the monitor. Gill leaned back to glance down the hall to the security door. “Anne’s back.” He said. “I see her. I have to buzz her in, but that’s all I know. If you want to know more, ask York. But you didn’t hear any of that from me okay?” Patricia said. “Yeah, I got it. Thanks Patricia.” Gill left, smiling at Anne passing by her.
One scenario after the next ran through his head about inmate Johnson. Was this all true? Why didn’t someone come for him earlier? Was he immortal? Everything had to be embellished. There was no way he had nearly completed a 200 year sentence, while still looking no older than 40 years old, at the most. He needed more answers, he had to talk to York.
Gill waited until York was one of several guards in the rec room, approaching him when no other guards were around. “York. I need to talk to you about inmate Johnson.” York, groaned, rolling his eyes. “Who said there’s anything to talk about?” Nodding, Gill rolled his tongue over his molars. “Okay, how much? 50 bucks?” York tilted his head in Gill’s direction, his eyes shifted to the edges of their sockets. “75? 100 bucks?” Gill asked. “One fifty.” York said. “Alright fine.”
York extended his hand to Gill. “I don’t have it right now.”“Well let me know when you get it.”“Okay, 175 but you tell me now.”“200.”
Twisting his head, Gill sighed deep. “Alright. Fine. 200. But I want to know everything you do.”
York nodded. “Okay, but you know the drill. You didn’t hear any of this from me, and I can’t confirm anything. Some of this might be true, but some of it might not be.”
“Yeah, I got it.” Gill said. “Why hasn’t inmate Johnson been removed from general population? Why doesn’t anyone know about this?” York looked around one more time, the other officers were on the other side of the room and no inmates were close enough to hear them. “No one knows why he hasn’t been moved. If you talked to Patricia, which is sounds like she opened her big mouth, then you know the rumor that there were several failed execution attempts. Rumor is, they’ve tried to move him.” | 2021-12-02T17:47:46 | 2021-12-02T14:54:12 | 131 | 34 |
[WP] Recently you’ve noticed an increasing trend in the souls entering hell. They’re not at all tormented by the conditions, most of them seem *happy* with their too-small homes and long five hour days of mindless tasks. You report to Satan that maybe someone should check the conditions on Earth. | “Heaven or hell?”
I was caught short. “Excuse me?”
The… um… wheels began to turn, and every eye rolled. I wasn’t sure where to even make eye contact as he(?) repeated, drolly, “Heaven or hell? Pick one.”
“I get a choice?”
A gleam of gold caught a sunbeam as the creature’s wheels picked up momentum. Be not afraid, indeed. “We all have a choice. Now make yours. The time for actions has passed and the time for decision is now. Where do YOU belong, human? Heaven or hell?”
I scratched my head, thinking ruefully of long-dead relatives shouting their vitriol the day it came to light that I had finally found a first love. “Well, sir? I am gay…”
“Hell it is, then!” The book slammed, and before me opened a chute bedecked with oddly festive red lights. “Have a good da-“
“Wait!” I cried out, nervous to move forward. “They were right? Gays go to hell?”
An impatient whir. “Now they do. We were sick of reviewing the transfer requests. The cherubim were utterly swamped, and since we began automatically assigning those who call themselves ‘queer’ to hell… requests have dropped off by 96 percent.
Now move along. You will be residing at 583729 Brand Street. Guests are optional, since that will be your personal domain until the end of time.”
“My own house???”
“HUMAN. You are holding up the line. We value efficiency here. You will be given your map and orientation booklet…”
“Orientation booklet?”
“Yes, orientation booklet - for work; it is hell after all! Five grueling hours per day! - you will get the booklet-“
“But if people work in hell… what do they do in heaven instead?”
“THEY SING MONOTONE PRAISES TO THE LORD!! This will all be covered in your booklet, which will be given to you at the ball pit at the end of your descent. Now GO!” The many eyes turned their attention to the next flummoxed soul waiting patiently in line.
“But -“
“Safe travels, human!”
“But - where do dogs go??”
A sigh. I believe it was a sigh, if interlocked rings could sigh. “They are dogs. They go where they please, but they forever retain their loyalty. If you earned their loyalty, then ask and you shall receive.”
It was worth a shot. I approached the chute, hands clenched in anticipation, terrified of the ultimate hellish torture of rejection. I sat, ready for descent, with just one shaky plea into the mist, “Mikey, COME!”
With a bound into my lap and a thorough face bath, my old childhood best buddy and I began our rollicking journey to our new fully heated home in the afterlife. | Me: E-excuse me, Your Malevolence?
Satan: *WHAT!?*
M: I have somewhat of a concern about the way the souls we’re taking in are…
S: Are *what?* Speak, little imp; don’t you dare try my patience.
M: S-sorry, Your Cruelness! New souls entering Hell are not scared or worried anymore!
S: Hah, really? That was your concern? Of course they aren’t as worried. Some people mistakenly *romanticize* us, don’t you know? They believe that since they presently disagree with the way the Bastard on High runs things, that we would treat them well. Of course, those are lies *we* help them believe just to *trap* them down here in the first place. Once they realize the grim reality of their eternal torture, they usually shut right up~.
M: You misunderstand, Your Fearsomeness! They don’t care about any of those things anymore! They even seem happy with our average methods.
S: …go on…?
M: Five hours of menial tasks, enforced by whipping should they ever slack for too long, every single day for all of foreseeable eternity… sound acceptable to them. Relieving even!
S: …*oh*.
M: Just what sort of conditions exist on earth that they may feel this way? Your Vileness, I think we may need to—MMPH!
S: Silence!… So… *that* is what has you concerned…?
M: …
S: …
M: …
S: …heh. HheehehehahahAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Your naïveté knows no bounds, does it not, little imp?
M: Mmmph? Mphmmm—!
S: Up on Earth, particularly amongst the middling economic classes and upwards in society, there is a sort of pandemic of… extreme work conditions. Some centuries back, some people were working whenever they weren’t sleeping! It’s not nearly so extreme now, not in most places anyway, but eight hours as a standard is still much. One would easily assume that less than that, plus seemingly endless free time elsewise, would be merciful… and one would be *shortsighted!*
M: MMPH— *cough*— *sputter*— gah! In what way!?
S: Simple! Despite the hours, living souls have all sorts of entertainment they can share with each other, all sorts of physical items and amenities. Many of which seem to be increasingly complicated methods of storytelling. Now, you see, little imp, here in Hell we provide our enchambered souls with none of these things. Sure, they can potentially wander around, perhaps converse, but besides that, we don’t allow much else. Meaning it’s the work… and nothing. Eventually, a given soul is forced to confront the sheer ennui of their new eternity, regardless of just how *appealing* it sounded at first… and eventually, that soul will crack. It will slip up in its given work, make a mistake, not show up on time, leave when not allowed! And then we get to punish them more directly, bringing out our old fashioned methods as a mockery of discipline, before setting them back to work…
M: …p-pardon my continued intrusion, Your Sinisterness, but is this not rather… arbitrary?
S: Oh, but of course~… but you see, there is some beauty in the horror of being forced into an arbitrary system, one that you might try but always fail to “game” to your advantage. And this also means whenever someone suffers under our more *extreme* methods, they have the added sorrow of it being their own fault. Such is the deeper psychological manipulation of Hell’s labor…
M: …I see! But even then…
S: …even then, what?
M: Even then, most souls I see seem contented. Driven, even. Sure, there is some level of submission to this cycle you describe, outside of the direct torture, people seem largely unaffected!
S: …unaffected!?
M: Yes, Your Terribleness! That happiness I described… it isn’t exclusive to new ones just coming in! Their positive feelings don’t vanish for good! That happiness seems to stay in one form or another throughout everything! The souls still persist!
S: …
M: …
S: …………….*WHAT!?* | 2022-12-28T16:41:36 | 2022-12-28T11:49:30 | 313 | 39 |
[WP] People have always been born with very minor super powers. You work for an agency that hunts down the few people who's powers are deemed too powerful/dangerous to allow them to live. | "Alright everyone, settle down!" I said in the controlled tone that expressed I meant business. Most of the children sat down immediately but a few in the back right corner still were in deep discussion: "Ahem!" I said, staring. That was enough to shut them up and get their beady little eyes in my direction.
I teach social studies, a teacher by trade. But truly I am interrogator - closer to Rick Deckard in Blade Runner than John Keating of Dead Poets Society. I joined this job to help the normal kids, and enhance the outliers. Now I simply make a phone call about students I consider outliers and then expect them to get "transferred" within a week or two after. I don't know what that transfer means.
I've reported several kids with interesting and disruptive habits in my tenure: One boy liked to balance one pencil, vertically, on top of another vertical pencil - both sharpened. I had a girl once become visibly upset after reading To Kill a Mockingbird. Another girl I reported kept disagreeing with my Weather Channel App and was almost always right.
But the strangest one of all was a boy who had a face that was older than his years. He had a habit of getting things wrong, but in the right way. He accidentally fed our pet hamster his mothers birth control medicine (idiot!) only to have us find out that the hormones within the pill helped him survive a hamster version of epilepsy. Later in the year he started crying uncontrollably about "our closet" even though he didn't "know why." When I opened it to show him everything was fine, a dead cat tumbled out. (That's another mystery)
The strangest though was when I mentioned to him that my wife and I were going to go bowling. He stopped coloring the picture he was working on and looked me right in the eye and said, "Do you love your wife?"
"Of course," I said, taken aback by the question.
"Then don't go." He said.
For unrelated reasons (I think, the wife and I had a weird fight that night) we didn't go. A few days later we saw that a woman had been kidnapped, raped and killed from that bowling ally that very same night. She could have been my wife's twin...
Regardless, I reported the "abnormality" as I have been trained to do, explaining the incidents. Unlike other instances though, this one followed through almost immediately. Within less than an hour of my phone call, several armed men came to take away that boy for his transfer. They assured all the other kids it was a precautionary measure, and that everything was *ok.* But luckily, the other kids are pretty good at not caring about stuff at this point.
I'm glad I called that boy in, because that was what I was supposed to do. I actually kind of miss him, as strange as that sounds. I hope his transfer is going well.
"Quite down!" I said one more time. But I couldn't help but notice a young lad in the back of the class, who seemed more concerned with balancing his chair than staring at me. In fact, almost motionless, he had his chair tilted back on just one of the four legs. His concentration was almost commendable. Needless to say, I'll be putting in a call about him later today. | I knew it was going to be a rough day when I poured that first cup of coffee. The hellish traffic, the headache from nowhere, the empty cupboard should have warned me of what lay ahead, but I tried to deny it, to fight reality. I banished the negative thoughts, powered through my early morning mediation session, but they kept popping up like weeds through the concrete. I dreamed of coffee, told myself if I could just get to the office on time and sit at my desk with a steaming cup in hand, the world would right itself. Balance would be restored.
I came in fifteen minutes late, caught an earful about from Evans, and took my first sip. It tasted simultaneously burnt and watery. And lukewarm. I sighed and accepted that today was going to be a rough one. Days that start off like this seldom redeem themselves.
My desk faced one wall of a large open cubicle. One of four. We had the back right corner of the floor. This led me to believe that I was nearing a promotion. I figured I might finally get to have my own office, like the senior inspectors. Matthews, the guy who bumped up to senior inspector last, sat in this same desk before I did. I felt like I was on deck. In the bullpen. But the large pile of pink names on the whiteboard – open investigations – under squad 4’s name told me that I was in danger of screwing that up. I needed to step it up. We’d hit a hard patch of luck as a group. The hard cases had all randomly fallen on us. Or intentionally. I could never tell where I stood with the Sergeant at a given moment. Either I was in the shitter or I was a rising star, and the man had a vengeful aspect to his character. Maybe he diverted all the bad ones our way as punishment for our crimes or his own rough start to the day. Like kicking the dog. In that particular analogy, we were the dog.
I drained the coffee and picked up my Tibetan prayer wheel. I watched the little nob swirl.
“Morning,” Dunn said.
I turned. “Good morning.”
“Is it?” she said. She looked more sleep-deprived than I felt. She only joined us two months ago and the job had already taken of a few pounds, put a slightly unhealthy pallor over her. She held two monstrous cups of coffee in her hand. From that bagel place on the corner. “Here,” she said and handed me one.
“Did I ever tell you I love you,” she said.
“You won’t after I tell you what we’re doing today.”
“Oh God,” I said.
“We’ve got a new case and it isn’t pretty. Forget clearing some of those pink names off the wall. This one deserves our undivided attention.”
“Just tell me already. I hate preambles.”
“You can read it yourself. Filed last night. Just before Snyder got off. He figured his shift was just about over so he’d pass it on to us.”
I opened the envelope and read it. She was right. I didn’t love her anymore.
At 5:15 am, fifteen minutes before I rolled out of bed, a police officer approached a suspicious man on Hillcrest. The man assaulted the officer, who then drew his weapon and fired on the man. To no effect. The man then proceeded to disembowel the officer right there in the middle of the street and pounded his head into a mashed potato-like consistency. The camera in the patrol car caught the whole thing. I watched it on the computer. Good thing I hadn’t eaten anything yet.
“Thoughts?” Dunn said.
“This day is turning out even shittier than I thought. I mean, a lot shittier.”
“How do you want to go about this? We got that rough image of his face on the camera. We're obviously dealing with a class A here.”
“First off,” I said, “We’re going to take the footage to the nerds, so they can run it through their data base.”
“Already did that.”
“And while we’re waiting for results you and I are going to conduct some good old fashioned foot patrol style interviews. If we’re lucky we’ll find someone who was there who could pick up his aura and tell us a little more about this guy.”
“*I* can sense auras.”
“Yes I know *you* can, but we need some one who was there.”
“You’d be surprised how long a trace can last in the area. Especially after such a violent moment like that. I might be able to sniff something out. But you wouldn’t know. You don’t even *have* any powers.”
“My power,” I said, “is a keen nose for bullshit and a healthy dose of luck. They’ve served me pretty well so far.”
I grabbed my phaser and my jacket and we walked down to the garage.
| 2014-12-12T18:02:22 | 2014-12-12T16:45:31 | 140 | 11 |
[WP]A wealthy business man believes in reincarnation. He leaves his massive wealth... to himself. Anyone born after his death that figures out his riddles will inherit his fortune. | "Are you telling me, that he left his family nothing?"
The lawyer adjusted his seat, "Well, yes Mrs Johnson. Now I understand how angry you are-"
"YOU HAVE NO IDEA! That man neglected us while he was still alive, and now he left us with nothing?!?!?"
"He was very clear in his will. He believes in reincarnation, and the one that can recite the correct passage from his favorite book will get his inheritance."
"MY FAMILY WILL STARVE CAUSE HE WAS AN ASS IN LIFE AND AN ASS IN DEATH! Can't we arrange something...anything?"
The lawyer frowned, with a hint of pity and pride "I'm sorry. I understand you are a grieving widow, but I must follow with his wishes."
She stormed out in tears. The lawyer sat in an empty room, and walked over to the bookcase where the book she wanted rested on an old shelf. A roach was sitting in front of it, rubbing its antennae all over the cover, as if it was trying to say something.
He squashed it, washed his hands, and thought nothing more of it. | He thought it was perfect.
No one would ever know the answer to his riddle, as the answer was not real. His answer, as Jimmy would later learn, was fictional.
The safe, if you can call it that, that protected the billions of dollars had a computer attached. Simply say the right phrase into the speaker and you were in. It had been 100 years since it was made. It was a tourist attraction of sorts. Everyone had tried to solve the riddle.
*I kill, yet I am fragile*
*I am the final, yet the start*
*I am sad for many, happy for one*
*I am quick, I am slow*
*Peaceful, yet scary*
Little Jimmy, oh so innocent. He had ever so loved riddles.
It took him only a minute
He pressed the button on the now-worn speaker.
"It is Death."
A creaking sound was heard. It was late at night, around 1 AM. None were there except Jimmy. Jimmy and his inherited wealth. Jimmy was rich!
30 Years Later
---
Jimmy was now 43. His wealth led him to happiness, and much much more sadness than he could afford. Money, as it turns out, does not lead to happiness, but sadness.
Another 30 Years
---
Nearing the end of his days, as wealth led Jimmy to loving alcohol much much more than any normal man, Jimmy wanted to thank the old man. Oh that old man, how Jimmy pitied him. His death was in vain. He never reincarnated and never, did that old man ever, inherit his own fortune.
3 Years, 2 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days Later
---
Jimmy is on his death bed, his wealth kept him alive considerably longer than he should have lived. Yes, it was the money. He could afford the machinery to pump his heart and breath oxygen to his lungs. But Jimmy, he was not living. Jimmy was dying. Jimmy had no longer craved attention and love, he craved death. His old and withered body slowly slipping away.
Slowly, he slipped away.
He was gone.
---
You see, as much as the old man had wished, how ever so had he wished, that death was not real. He even said, in his own riddle, that death was the start! The new beginning! But no, there is nothing but blackness, and peace. The old man got that part right, there was peace.
Jimmy, as he was on his death bed, wished oh so much that he had never solved the riddle. His wealth was his downfall. Because, you see
money cannot buy happiness. That is what Jimmy learned.
| 2014-12-13T14:07:21 | 2014-12-13T14:07:01 | 858 | 12 |
[WP]A wealthy business man believes in reincarnation. He leaves his massive wealth... to himself. Anyone born after his death that figures out his riddles will inherit his fortune. | ~*Not now Caesar! I'm trying to read!*
Thomas stared at the picture. Apparently a wealthy guy who passed away 7 years ago is giving his wealth to anyone who can solve the riddle on this site. Or to be precise.. to anyone who is about 6 or 7 years old.
~*What's wrong with you damnit?!*
*Probably a viral marketing thing. And even if true, I'm too old anyway* he thought. So just out of curiosity he had opened the riddle in a new tab - which wasn't actually a riddle but a picture of a random old woman smiling. Most likely a person who was dear to the old man. Below the picture there was a textfield and a submit button. Obviously he believed that seeing the picture will trigger a memory, a special word or a specific sentence which you have to send in as a proof of the reincarnation. *Yada yada yada. Viral marketing* Thomas concluded.
~*Fucking enough Caesar!! Stop barking at the freaking monitor. What's wrong with you?? OUT!!* | He thought it was perfect.
No one would ever know the answer to his riddle, as the answer was not real. His answer, as Jimmy would later learn, was fictional.
The safe, if you can call it that, that protected the billions of dollars had a computer attached. Simply say the right phrase into the speaker and you were in. It had been 100 years since it was made. It was a tourist attraction of sorts. Everyone had tried to solve the riddle.
*I kill, yet I am fragile*
*I am the final, yet the start*
*I am sad for many, happy for one*
*I am quick, I am slow*
*Peaceful, yet scary*
Little Jimmy, oh so innocent. He had ever so loved riddles.
It took him only a minute
He pressed the button on the now-worn speaker.
"It is Death."
A creaking sound was heard. It was late at night, around 1 AM. None were there except Jimmy. Jimmy and his inherited wealth. Jimmy was rich!
30 Years Later
---
Jimmy was now 43. His wealth led him to happiness, and much much more sadness than he could afford. Money, as it turns out, does not lead to happiness, but sadness.
Another 30 Years
---
Nearing the end of his days, as wealth led Jimmy to loving alcohol much much more than any normal man, Jimmy wanted to thank the old man. Oh that old man, how Jimmy pitied him. His death was in vain. He never reincarnated and never, did that old man ever, inherit his own fortune.
3 Years, 2 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days Later
---
Jimmy is on his death bed, his wealth kept him alive considerably longer than he should have lived. Yes, it was the money. He could afford the machinery to pump his heart and breath oxygen to his lungs. But Jimmy, he was not living. Jimmy was dying. Jimmy had no longer craved attention and love, he craved death. His old and withered body slowly slipping away.
Slowly, he slipped away.
He was gone.
---
You see, as much as the old man had wished, how ever so had he wished, that death was not real. He even said, in his own riddle, that death was the start! The new beginning! But no, there is nothing but blackness, and peace. The old man got that part right, there was peace.
Jimmy, as he was on his death bed, wished oh so much that he had never solved the riddle. His wealth was his downfall. Because, you see
money cannot buy happiness. That is what Jimmy learned.
| 2014-12-13T14:23:01 | 2014-12-13T14:07:01 | 69 | 12 |
[WP] It has been verified that dying will result in going to heaven, no matter what. You are the government, trying to lower the suddenly skyrocketing suicide rate. | The world was failing and the bodies were building. There was only plan B.C. left to try.
All of the radio station were set in gear and prepped for the last stand. All tv's were under the government's control.
3...
2...
1...
"Oooooh baby do you know what that's worth, oooh heaven is a place on earth"
Belinda Carlisle had saved the world with her 1987 number one hit. | They always said humans fear the unknown more than anything else.
My reply: Find me someone who doesn't fear death, then we'll talk.
I could barely hear the first few gunshots through my office window. The dull double pane lazily deflected their sharp reports like a horse flicking its tail at flies - letting them linger for just a moment, then bouncing them abruptly out into the gray morning.
I didn't think too much of them at first; once in a while, some punk would get his hands on a gun and wave it in the face of the first store clerk he could find.
But they didn't stop. They actually increased in frequency until the world outside became nothing more than a low roar of gunfire.
That's when the phone rang.
D.C.
I sighed and picked it up, waiting for the familiar crackle of the Director's voice.
"Paul." My heart dropped. He'd only ever used my first name when I was under review. I took a breath and waited.
"We've been repurposed. The Census Bureau no longer measures population. We maintain it. I need you-"
A gunshot, much louder than the ones I'd been hearing, rang out sharply over the line.
"*FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MATTHEWS-*
I need you to...P-Paul, get the Philly media. We can't do this without them. I sent you an e-mail..."
His voice faded and the line clicked dead. The urgency in his voice spurred me into action, so I flipped my monitor back on and opened my inbox.
He'd sent me a news story and some contact information for all of the local news sources. Nothing *too* unusual.
I looked back at the headline.
*World Religions Confirm Heaven For All*
As I scanned the article in disbelief, my cell phone buzzed. It was a text from my wife.
*Love you. See you soon.*
Turns out they were right about the unknown, and I was wrong about death. I stood up from my chair and took a few shaky steps back from the window.
Figured I'd get a running start.
| 2015-02-02T06:43:00 | 2015-02-02T06:41:02 | 126 | 44 |
[WP] A lot of kids have imaginary friends growing up. Yours showed up for three months when you were six, a benevolent companion you played hide and seek with that summer. But now, years later yours has returned, decidedly less friendly. The reason behind its reappearance is terrifying... | Everyone had an imaginary friend, yeah? Way back in the day when it was acceptable, you know? Cute. I had one back when I was 6years old, I called him very simply, Imagine, I know, how prosaic but strangely I've never been the creative type. Good old stolid, stoic, pragmatic salt of the earth John. That's me. I look at an abstract painting you know what I see? A random maelstrom of colours smeared on canvas masquerading around as something more.
Anyway, with all this evidence I was pretty sure I outgrew imaginary friends a while ago and outgrew hide and seek, my favourite game back then. You can imagine my surprise when he made a return to me in class, Maths of all places. He never really had a shape, it was just vaguely humanoid and composed of shadows, back when I was 6 that didn't seem strange, now it was just menacing.
"I hid, John." He said, his voice sounded like shadows scraping against light, uncomfortably chilling, "I hid for years."
I looked around the class but no one batted an eye lid. They were all focused on Mr Richards prattling on about functions. Maybe they did sense him, it was deadly quiet, how I thought oblivion would sound. No scraping chairs, no titters, no whispers, utter silence save Mr Richards monotone drone.
I didn't dare respond, Imagine stared at me with chagrin, egging me to say something.
"First I thought I was really good. When you couldn't find me," He said, "That was after a year. After 2, I figured I must be an expert." He chuckled mirthlessly, it sounded like jangling chains, "After a decade it hit me. You stopped seeking."
I sat right at the back in class, so no one noticed how pale my skin became, how I was staring at a blank space beside me.
"Nothing to say?" Imagine asked, then he turned livid, like a flip had been switched, "11 years! 11 years I waited for you!"
The holes where his eyes were supposed to be went crimson. I saw JB look at me funny, he mouthed 'are you okay?'. I was scared numb, I couldn't even shake my head.
"Now it's your turn. Your turn indeed." He started moving towards me, slinking through the air like a spectre climbing out of oblivion, "Hide."
I staggered up and shot out the classroom. Imagine followed. | Ray was my best friend for the best summer of my life. Everyone said he wasn't real, and my parents worried that I spent a summer hidden away in the basement playing hide and seek by myself. Only I knew I wasn't alone and that was enough for me.
I played nearly every game people play as a child with Ray. Hide and seek was his and my favorite, but we also played tag and rock paper scissors. We always had a blast. Ray was much better at finding me than hiding, until one day when my parents called me to dinner in the middle of looking for him. We had a lavish steak dinner that night, and boarded a plane to my older sister's wedding afterward. The flight from Houston to Tampa was a relatively short one, two hours continuous. About half way through the flight, I remembered Ray. My parents refused to go back for him, even after I begged and begged. We stayed at Clearwater Beach for a little longer than a week, enough time for me to forget about Ray. I got home and had friends from school over for a back-to-school party the day prior to my first day of first grade.
The years went by and I became popular in school, always off to another house, with another group of friends, on another date. I was successful in school. I never once thought about my not-so-imaginary friend Ray, who was still hiding in my parent's basement. My girlfriend and I both applied to Georgia Tech and made it in, so I went down to the basement to grab some necessities for the dorm. I popped open a box and felt a strange presence in the room. I dismissed it as just memories and left for Atlanta.
The first semester was great. I got good grades, accepted into a frat, and I like my roommate. I went home to Houston for Christmas to visit my parents, and we had a great time. They gave me a locket with a picture of our family when I was young, and my mom broke into a fit of nostalgia. She went on and on about that summer I spent in the basement doing nothing, how everyone thought I was damaged, how my parents kept checking to make sure I was still alive, how awful of parents they thought they were, and my fit on the plane. The memories of Ray came flooding back to me, and I smiled. People could never live up to the expectations of friends that Ray got me to accept. I went down in the basement one last time to bask in the memories of my imaginary friend. I heard a noise in the corner, but thought nothing of it. There always was the occasional rat down here. I kissed my parents goodbye and left for Atlanta again.
Upon arrival back at school, I had the best party of my life. I drank, which I'm ashamed of, but I met so many new people and caught up with so many old friends. After that night, I dropped like a sack of potatoes on my bed and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
When I woke, I saw a dusty man. He looked to be about my age in his face, but his clothes were tattered and ripped, and he looked as if he hasn't slept in years. I arose in a panic, but he put his hand on my chest and I couldn't move. His fingers were like ice. He spoke first.
"Hello again. You might remember me as Ray."
"B-b-but you're imaginary... I made you up."
"So one believes, so it will be. You left me in that last hiding spot when you ran away to your sister's wedding. I was left to accumulate dust and rot in that dirty box. Now, you will feel the pain of knowing nobody will ever look for you."
He raised his hand, as if to strike, so I braced myself. I closed my eyes and put my hand up to shield the blow, but it never came. Instead, I felt a rush of cold water. I opened my eyes and saw nothing. Black, cold water surrounded me on all sides. I was alone, lost in the big, dusty box of the ocean. My eyes drifted shut, and the chilled water replaced the air in my lungs. | 2015-07-03T10:36:20 | 2015-07-03T09:32:18 | 45 | 11 |
[WP] [NSFW] All your sex toys come alive and confront you about your treatment of them. | Everywhere I look, there are pink and purple silicone phalluses of all sizes, jiggling and scowling at me.
"How dare you violate us this way?" King Kong, my giant black dildo screamed at me. "You treat us like your personal harem! You use us whenever you feel like and then just discard us in a dark drawer when you've had your fill! You should be ashamed of yourself!"
My vibrator was humming with disdain. "I'm so sick of being forced on you. I don't even like women. When you opened my box, I thought that I was going to live a productive life, helping to ease achey muscles. I was never meant to be used on --" he was so perturbed that he couldn't even finish his sentence.
"Listen guys," I said, holding my hands up in front of me and backing towards the door. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I thought you all liked it. I'll be better! I'll start paying attention to your needs! I won't be so selfish! What if I gave you more foreplay? Would that make you feel more respected? I can even use more lube, if that's what you want!"
By now, I was almost to the door. All my toys were jiggling and vibrating towards me. It was a menacing sight to see, plastic, silicone and glass converging on me. I knew there was only one course of action I could take - to destroy each and every one of them. I had to burn the house down with them inside it.
I could hear the screams and smell the stench of burning plastic as I walked toward my car. 'It's time for a new start in a new town,' I thought as I drove toward the adult store to pick up a new bullet vibe. | "You're not a real egg!"
"Then why are we shaped like one?!"
--------
I've never been much of a customer for coitus toys. I found them to be a bit silly, to be quite honest. When you're someone like me, you don't have time to masturbate because you're too busy having actual sex. My life's awesome.
One day, a friend of mine told me about the Tenga Egg. They looked ridiculous, it was hysterical. We both laughs for a good couple of minutes before my friend told me he seriously used them. I told him that if he could get laid once, he'd never want the egg again. Why use a silicone egg when you can get a woman's egg fertile? It feels awesome.
A couple days pass and I wake up to a package arriving on my doorstep. It's seemingly from Japan, based off of the writing. I find my box cutter and slowly make sure to slide down the middle, as to not damage the merchandise. For all I know I could be a top of the line figure. That would be pretty awesome.
It's not a figure.
"Just try them, it may not be like the real thing but they're amazing.
-Friend"
I was sent a 6 pack of Tenga Eggs. The same ones I laughed at and ridiculed. I specifically told my friend I had no use for them. I can get laid, my life's awesome.
A day passes before I decide to try out the eggs. I figure I might as well try them out if I have them, and hey, they were a gift, why not? I looked up my favorite busty milf video and proceeded to get aroused. I open up one of the eggs, named silky. It has a nice, smooth texture on the inside, felt nice. Inside the egg came a pack of lube I use to oil up the egg. Free lube? Even if I didn't like the egg I'd at least have some lube to use, awesome.
After lubing up the egg, I wrap it around my nice, hot, large member. Upon insertion, I feel out of this world. I feel like my eyes are rolling back, my body's going numb. When I started stroking, both these things *did* happen. Oddly enough, after all the sex I've ever had, none of my climaxes felt as awesome as this one did. I fell in complete love.
The eggs say they're one time use, but fuck that. They're easy to wash and you can just use your own lube after you use the single use pack that comes with each egg. So weeks pass before I'm done with all my eggs, which is nice.
I start to beat myself with just my hand on a Saturday evening. It doesn't feel the same. I need the eggs. I was pretty sure I still had one lying around, so I went to look for it.
The same egg I look for trips me. I fell right onto my erect South Pole and started cursing under my breath. Now wasn't the time to masturbate, I needed to tenderly care for my cock.
That is, until the egg started speaking.
---------
"It feels bad, doesn't it?!"
----------
I'll maybe finish this when I'm at a computer depending on feedback, I can't continue this on a phone. This would be my first time ever contributing to a prompt. | 2015-08-02T07:09:55 | 2015-08-02T06:51:04 | 127 | 24 |
[WP] After dying, God asks you: "So, how was heaven?" | I opened my eyes. It must have been night, because the room had gone dark, and I was still lying on my bed. *Guess I botched the job after all.* Without getting up, I reached across with my left hand for the revolver on my night stand. *If at first you don't succeed...*
I groped for the table, but my hand whiffed as it passed through the space where it should have found the smooth wooden surface of my night table. It was gone. I sat up in my bed, and reached across to hit the light switch, but the walls were bare and switch was missing. It was at that moment that I realized I was no longer in my bedroom.
“Looking for this?” a soft voice called from the far end of the room. In the darkness, I could just barely make out the silhouette of a tall slender man, holding my revolver.
“Yeah," I answered, uncertainly. "Uhh...am I dead?”
“A better question is, when haven't you been dead?” The shadow appeared to be studying my revolver with great interest.
*What a wise ass.* “I'll take that as a yes,” I said, in no mood for riddles. “Does that make you God? Or someone else...” my voice trailed off at the realization that I may not have exactly been a model citizen while alive.
The silhouette chuckled, a bit sadly. “Do not worry, child. I am not one to fear.” He sat down at a chair at the far end of the room. “So, how was Heaven?”
“Huh?” I asked him, confused. “I've never been to heaven. I was hoping that this might be it.” I looked around, my eyes starting to adjust to the darkness of the room. “I didn't think it would be this dark, though.”
“You are right, heaven isn't always this dark. You should know better than anybody. You just left it.”
So he wasn't kidding.
“*That* was heaven?” I exclaimed in disbelief. *Where in the fuck was I now?* “You realize that I just committed suicide, right?”
The man remained silent. “Nothing to say, huh?” I felt the anger rising in my voice. “You call that piece of shit world, the same one that drove me to the point of sticking a gun in my mouth, some type of paradise?”
I stood up from the bed, starting to shake uncontrollably. “You call spending everyday at lunch in the cafeteria, eating alone like a leper, a divine reward? Or what about having the privilege of bailing my dad out of jail once a month, was that part of heaven too?” Words were coming much faster now. “Almost forgot to mention watching cancer eat away at my mother, the only person that ever cared about me in my life. Thanks for that.” I wiped hot tears from my face, as I realized that ending my life had done nothing to curb all the hatred that I had felt in my heart. I was furious, and the man responsible for all my suffering was standing before me. “You have got some kind of sick sense of humor, you know that, you son of a bitch?”
I began to ransack the room frantically, looking for anything heavy to throw at the manifestation of all my anger. “Here, let me help you,” he said gently, holding out my revolver.
I wrenched the weapon from his hand, pointing it straight at his chest with a shaking hand. I cocked the gun and removed the safety, ready to shoot the only man that I hated more than myself.
“You made me a failure,” I screamed. “And how about everybody else? You know, the ones down in 'heaven', going about their day praying to you, remember them? When were you planning on letting them in on your little joke?”
God looked down at the floor. “I know,” he said. "You're right. I deserve that bullet more than you did. Trust me, whatever failures you've felt in life, they cannot possibly amount to mine.”
I lowered the gun, taken aback. “Do you know what it's like, being tasked with creating the ultimate paradise?” His voice sounded tired and exasperated, as if time itself had beaten him down. “The pressure of fulfilling the hype surrounding eternal reward? How the hell is anyone supposed to make one place that satisfies everyone's desires?”
“I tried...", he continued wearily, cradling his head in his hands, "tried to give people what they deserved. But even then, the good souls started to abuse their privilege. Sins returned. Crime was reborn. These days, heaven has turned into what you just experienced. On some days, it's impossible to tell the difference between Heaven and Hell.”
“Well, I mean, you could go out there and try harder,” I yelled, disgusted. *God, just giving up? What kind of example did that set?* “Maybe Heaven can't be perfect, but it sure could be better than *that*.”
God lowered his head. “I tried for a while, but the pressure became too great. There were too many problems. Heaven was a failure.”
“So what happened?” I asked him nervously, already knowing the answer.
“Same thing as you,” he answered solemnly. “I killed myself.” | John stared up into a foggy grey sky. Thankfully it wasn't raining. He took in his surroundings until spotting the boy on the park bench, and groaned.
The boy beamed down at John from his perch. "Yep. In a blaze of glory."
So, burned alive. Or something to that effect. Great. Just great. Asking how John thought of heaven was a dick move on God's part. The mortal couldn't remember anything of the past... however long that was.
After brushing his pants, John stood. Mikros Park was empty, as usual. No divine or mortal would be interrupting their session. The interview follow-up was going to be conducted without any interference. "How far did I make it?"
A bob of brown hair swayed as he looked up, taking in some distance John couldn't measure through the clouds. "About five Circles."
"About?" John asked. "Did I clear five Circles or not?"
Baby teeth flashed at the mortal. "I dunno. No man's gone that far before. It was pretty neat!"
"But did I make it to the sixth?!"
A small hand was raised, silencing John's cascade of questions. "It'd be easier to just say yes. You're not supposed to remember your interview, and there's a good reason for that." The finger pointed upwards. "You were up there for a long time."
"How many days has it been down here?"
"Two days," God replied.
"And how many --- "
"No," the boy cut off. "You don't get to know." He hopped from his park bench and approached the mortal. In the strange privacy of the park, John was at his mercy. As much as he was used to being played around with by the divine, the mortal was never this helpless before. God could do anything he wanted to him. Anything at ---
"Ice cream?"
John blinked. "Sure." He stooped down to accept the cone. Caramel dripped from the tall scoop to his finger, but it would have to sit there for now. "Do I qualify then?"
God looked up at him with large, brown eyes. "In a way. You were pretty close John, but even if you did break the mortal record..." the boy grimaced. "Yuck, it was pretty tragic really."
He kept throwing in that word. Pretty. It would have bugged John if God wasn't trying so hard to look normal. Everything about him was average, from his words to his appearance. Enough so that John was, again, beginning to doubt whether this was worth whatever effort he went through Upstairs.
"How did I go out?"
God blinked. "The gate slammed on you, casting you back down here like a meteor." He gestured to the spot John was laying moments earlier. "A pretty precise hit, really."
John stared. "A *door* stopped me from hitting the sixth Circle of heaven?!"
"Well that's the thing. John, you technically reached it. But at the same time, you didn't enter. So I'm stumped."
"No, you said it'd be easier to just say I did! I *need* this favor!"
God pouted. "I know what I promised. I also said, 'depends how far you go.' Only saints and angels get to ask favors from me personally John, and I don't know if I should let you have one."
"On a technicality?"
"Yes." His response brooked no argument.
John walked past the small figure and took a seat on the bench, by where God once sat. There wasn't even a breeze. Everything about this park was unfamiliar, despite being in his own neighborhood. It didn't make this any easier on the mortal. He also felt tired. A deep fatigue was weighing down his soul, and for the life of him, John didn't know if a nap would be enough.
"If you told me the favor in advance --- "
"That's not the point," John replied. Before taking in what he had just done, he continued, hoping the interruption would go unnoticed. "The deal was that I spend time in your heaven pushing through every level I could as a mortal. I stress-tested your system, and made it pretty damn --- " John cut himself off. "Sorry. I feel I deserve this."
God snorted. "Of course you do. Want to know what happened the last time I gave a mortal a favor from me personally this millenia?"
John shook his head. "I probably don't."
The boy grinned. "Good, because *I haven't.* You don't live long enough to appreciate what I can do here. Even if authorship of all creation is still being disputed between the other pantheons," two small hands rested on his hips in a pose of triumph. "I can edit like nobody else! Pretty neat huh?"
John nodded. "It is. But I'm not asking for an edit."
The smile fell. "What do you need?"
"No. Tell me I get a favor from you first." Whatever John went through in heaven, it made him determined. This wasn't the first time his life was on the line before a god's sudden judgement.
A small huff came from the posing child. "Fine. You gave my saints a lot to fix Upstairs. They won't be thanking you any time soon, but for now, I will. Don't make me regret it."
John nodded. "I need you to tell me where I can find my god."
The boy crooked an eyebrow. It was an odd expression for a face that small. "What if your god doesn't want to see you?"
The mortal shrugged. "That's my problem."
God mimicked his shrug, like he picked up a new way to express his average appearance. "Very well. What's your god's name?"
John told him.
The boy blanched, the rose-y flush of his cheeks disappearing. "He's still around?!"
John stared. "What do you mean?"
"No, it's --- " the child fumbled for words in his distress. "No wonder you came to me."
"Why? Where is he?"
"I dunno," the boy said quietly. "I have to look around for a --- "
"You don't know?!" The mortal didn't care he interrupted God again. The shock had overtaken him.
The small voice responded. "No John. But I will."
With that, the child god disappeared. A breeze blew through Mikros Park, leaving the mortal in a daze.
-----------------
*This is set in the universe of All Gods Are Bastards, where gods give perks like in a video game. You can read about John and his god from Part 1 [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/galokot/comments/42w5xl/all_gods_are_bastards/). Thanks for reading!* | 2016-03-15T21:36:55 | 2016-03-15T20:45:35 | 154 | 53 |
[wp] You accidentally unleashed an ancient curse upon yourself whilst treasure hunting. Fortunately, the curse is actually HEAVILY outdated. | "You're such a freaking nerd, James." This was the first time I could hang out with Robin after we graduated from elementary school, it was Octobre and Thanksgiving was right around the corner. "You can't even walk without tripping over roots anymore." To be frank, Robin did grow slightly taller and stronger than me over summer vacation and the only thing that got stronger for me was my myopia.
We had trekked for about half an hour into the woods behind my house with the promise of an old Iroquois campsite I had found. "I swear, it's just a little further." Althought we explored the woods far and wide for years, we never ventured this far, the branches were too thick and the light too dark. "Look, there's a clearing up ahead."
Last time I could not pass the thick brambles, they created a literal barrier. But you could still peer through them if you pressed your face close. "See? Look, there are clay pots, what looks like whalebone for an old tent..."
"Sigh, move." She actually said 'sigh' "My grandpa gave me this for my birthday, mom freaked. I thought it would come in handy with you around." Out of her backpack she took a hand axe, held it in her right hand and brambles in the left. I was still holding myself upto the branches as she wound up for a swing. Before she could bring her arm down, the brambles gave way and we both collapsed on the dirt, hard.
As I was getting up, we toke a better look. Everything was grey, desaturated, the clearing expunged decay. Robin spoke first "You idiot, this isn't a campsite, it's a graveyard! We learnt this in social studies, look! There's the mound and there's - "
A grave voice surrounded us "**Segada Tigney, Aguehan Aggouette,** ... -"
I grabbed my phone "Hold on, let google translate this."
" - ... **why do you come forth, children from accross the salt water? This is not your hunting ground!**"
"Uuuuuuh - sorry, I thought it looked... cool? I wanted to show -"
The sky darkened, clouds began to swirl over us, wind tossing up dead leaves. "**Impudance! You have not made family yet and never shall you be able!**"
"No, please I didn't mean!"
"***Your tribe shall go hungry and you will be outcast as never an animal will you be able to kill! Beasts which gave themselves to you shall forever spring forth to life and run away!***"
"Oh. Okay."
That's how I became the best Vet in North America.
And they said Canadian Thanksgiving was only to go back home and breakup with your old sweetheart. I just never could cut the turkey after that day. | The gloomy darkness of the courtyard is one of those places where you find yourself suddenly remembering literally every ghost story that has ever been spoken to you or even overheard. Quite strange really, since going to school usually has the reverse effect with your empirical memory. Anyhow, school! That's right. That's the reason why I'm here, at the Jefferson Graveyard, Charlottesville, trampling towards the center of the big grassy field in the middle of the night. I guess I can only blame myself, for such a classic mix of procrastination and forgetfulness, but I really thought the blasted assignment had been to next week and not tonight. Even worse, if I did not get this one in before it was due, I would have to retake the whole term.
It had hit me like a freight train at nine, when I was just getting warm and cozy in bed: the disaster was a fact. After exactly two and a half minutes of hyperventilation, the main office decided that this isn't going anywhere, and calmed down a bit. I realized that it was still almost three hours 'til midnight, when the 10 page paper on our third president, Thomas Jefferson, was indeed due.
Opening my MacBook like an overworked waffle-maker-operator in a lunch rush, I started frantically copying, writing, and copying some more, until I was... Satisfied is not the right word, but under the extreme circumstances it would had to do. Getting ready send away my copy pasta-soup to some unsuspecting professor, I noticed a small note at the bottom of the paper: "Please attach picture of the Jefferson's gravestone, to show that you indeed visited as we talked about in class." - "ohh shhh." I clamped my hand over my mouth, and checked the time; still one and a half hour to go. I could do this. I ran down the stairs, doing some kind of magical NASCAR entry into my old Ford Escort, and completed the sequence by putting the pedal to the floor.
A croaking noise disturbed my wandering thoughts, and brought me back to the grave situation I was in. As I looked up, the tombstone was right in front of me. Perfect! All I had to do was to get a fast picture with my phone, and get the hell out of here. The first pictures were too dark, so I had to use the flash. A dire mistake. The moment that my strong flash reflected upon the tombstone I knew that something was amiss! The owners' of the previously heard croaking sounds took their escape from all nearby trees, leaving me alone. Or not all alone actually. I suddenly heard a strong commanding voice exclaiming;
"I AM THOMAS JEFFERSON. THE THIRD PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. WHO DARE DISTURB MY FINAL RESTING??!"
Completely taken aback and not really catching on to what's happening yet, I only managed to meekly stammer:
"S..sorry mr..r Jefferson... I onl..."
"SILENCE! I NEED NOT HEAR MORE! TO BE SURE YOU WILL NOT WAKE ME AGAIN, I WILL PUT DOWN A CURSE ON YOU!"
I was slowly processing the horror of the situation and my face was displaying a broad variation of emotions: my left eye was blinking uncontrollably, at the same time as my mouth was agape and twisted into a expression of fear. You could see cold sweat beading on my forehead, and hysteria made my nose start dripping mucus down onto my chin and lips. In short, a quite brilliant use of all the muscles and parts of the face that would easily gotten anybody into acting school. Vocal expression was, however, not so strong.
"Mmhpf" I managed.
"BEWARE, MY CURSE WILL BRING UPON THOU FINANCIAL DESPAIR. I WILL ABDUCT FROM YOUR WORTH THE SUM OF... TEN. THOUSAND. DOLLARS."
"Aahhh... Wait. What? Only ten thousand?"
"ALL OF YOUR SAVINGS, YOUR BELONGINGS, AND YOUR DREAMS WILL NOW BE RUINED. TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS. HA HA HA!"
I watched as the still laughing head of Jefferson slid down into his resting place once again. As I walked back to the car, I slowly realized that I would've lost more money on retaking the term, than Mr. Jefferson just spirited away. I wiped the sweat off my forehead, and used my 3G to post the assignment, with the attachment, from the spot. Clocked at 11:54. | 2016-03-28T06:03:17 | 2016-03-28T02:13:41 | 117 | 35 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test. | I'd spent so long anticipating what this test would comprise of, and as I sat alone in the examination room, I was still none the wiser.
The booklet placed squarely on the small desk, I glance from the printed front sheet, to my surroundings, and back again.
I close my eyes and sigh, head dropping down, before I open my eyes again and force myself to look around again. Three doors, the entrance in which I came in, a door marked "Pass", and a door marked "Fail".
A clock is the only thing adorning the otherwise desolate walls, slowly ticking down to the official start time of 0900, each click of the second hand filling the room with an emphasised echo.
I sigh again, and choose to spend the final two minutes checking the few instructions on the front page. The usual.
'You may not begin until the allotted time'
'You have one hour to complete the examination'
The entrance door opens and the invigilator walks in. I look up to share a glance, their eyes stoney cold, before again focusing on the rules.
'All answers must be written in black ink'
I look down at my pencil.......
"Shit....."
| The world was gray, cold, and often dark.
Growing up in the labyrinthine alleyways and sewer complexes and housing towers that was Neo Angeles, life was harsh and often short. A particularly lucky girl, Yima, had lived to the age of 14 unmolested. Slight, with hair kept short and boyish clothes, she blended in for the most part to avoid the unseemly fate that accosts most young and beautiful women of this era.
Too many clawing for too little, even the air felt tight and restrictive in the darkness most were born and often died in.
Very few made it out of the smog, out of the urban and out to the fewer Communes. Once those were too populated and rifts formed in the social strata of the Communist villages, they too were broken apart and consumed by the oncoming Automation of the world. Yima saw the last great Commune break apart, and wept on the border of the Payette National Forest; one of the last few great forests clinging to the Rockies.
Then came the pacification wars. The Neo-Socialists had gained real traction in the Hegemony. Soon, covert and brutal methods had led to real control over the masses and large parts of the government. Life was grim, and dark, and resettlement was constant as people fled the worst of government tyranny. Yima made a living for herself cleaning and cooking and writing spare bits of code for the elderly as she moved from place to place, not ever settling down.
Until her landlord, if he could have been called that, sold her and every complex he owned to the government. Armed with the information her landlord contained, they quickly found most that had lived there and quickly had them huddled in tents in an undisclosed location.
The people were afraid, and Yima was as well. Soon men in lab coats began forming them based on their last names, and in mute shock the people formed queues.
"Aahla, Yima." One of the scientists read off a list, bored; it wasn't a name he knew. The men scarcely looked up at her as she numbly walked from the front of the lines to the men. They smeared iodine on her arm before shoving a small, electronic Blood Sampler against her bare skin. The warm prick sent small waves of pain through her arms. One man nodded to her and took her over to the side corner of the tent, where she waited patiently for them to tell her anything, holding the cotton lethargically to her small pinprick.
One by one, each of the others was tested and led out. Only 3 more joined her out of the 50 or so that had been led off, like cattle.
She wondered where the others would go off to. | 2016-06-11T10:11:10 | 2016-06-11T09:35:08 | 187 | 27 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a test has been created to eliminate 90% of the worlds population. You are the first to take this test. | It wasn’t as I expected. This wasn’t quite the dystopian future looking governmental building but rather a modern one with glass doors and happy looking people. That’s what was perturbing. Everyone in the white lab coats looked calm or at peace. And I mean actually at peace, not the ones where you smile with your mouth and cry with your eyes.
I’d arrived fifteen minutes before the test was due to begin. I thought, knowing nothing about the test, I might be able to pick up on something if I arrive early and snoop around. So far I’d registered at reception and had been led to sit in a foyer with people doing their business around me. That’s what was making me feel really odd about this. This felt more like I was waiting to be interviewed than deciding if I got to live or not.
I was busy in my thought when I heard a crash. I looked up and saw a guy, roughly my age, standing by an upside down box holding his calf. He looked in pain. I guessed he had a cramp. I walked over and asked if he was ok, “I’m fine, just a really bad cramp” he smiled at me. I asked him if he wanted me to help, he said “I really need to deliver this box into meeting room 2. There’s a meeting starting in ten minutes and if I don’t get the box there in time, I’ll be in real big trouble but my calf is seized up and I don’t think I can walk all the way there” I asked the obvious question “can’t you get someone else to help?” he shook his head “it has to be me. Can you help me?” now here was a real dilemma. Do I help this guy and risk being late for my test, or just let him find someone else. This isn’t my problem. I’m sure someone else would help him. But then I thought, if I was in his shoes. I’d like someone to help me, so “sure, I’ll pick up the box, hold on to my arm and we’ll take it there together”
Just then I heard an announcement “test end”.
| As I entered the room, an instructor was waiting across the room sitting opposite me with a small white table laid out in front of him with an empty chair waiting for me. I let out a huge sigh and made my way to the chair and sat right in front of him.
"Good morning. For this test, I just have a few questions I would like to ask you." The man spoke in his white coat, black gloves, and a mask covering his mouth. "Sure.... Can't say that I'm not nervous!" I said as I let out a nervy laugh. *God damn it, just shut up and be normal!* He just looked at me expressionless and said "So, The first question I would like to ask you is what is your name?"
"Uhmm... Does it matter though? 90% of the population is about to be wiped from the face of this earth and my name is irrelevant." I said with confidence. Trying to sound intellectual I said, "In fact, I would like to know what your name actually is. With this job of interviewing people and deciding who gets to live, I take it as you are someone who is safe? Also, as someone who is important. I definitely would like to know who are you and what makes you an exception."
He sighed. He raised both his hands and said with a happy tone "My name is Dr. Axel. Now I have another question for you, do you want to live?" "Are you insane? Of course I do!" I said convincingly. Axel just shook his head disapprovingly and I was beginning to worry. *Did I say something wrong? I'm just being genuine and looking at the bigger picture here... Am I missing something?*
Axel stood up aggressively and glared at me. "Do you want to live knowing that your family are most likely not going to? Your friends. Your family. Your significant other. You may be that 10% that lives, but will you be the 10% that continues to live as you have lost almost everyone in your life? Now I ask you again, knowing that no one that you know is most likely going to die, do you want to live? No... no.... let me rephrase, do you want to continue living with that tragedy?"
I stood up and looked at him shocked. I said while fighting back tears, "Would you even find 10% of this population who will give up their loved ones just to live? What is the point of living after?" He said calmly "You can always to learn to love again."
I just shook my head, disappointed with humanity. What have we come into? To give up something precious and sacred to us. Then again, I knew it was a necessary move to save the human race. The question was, am I ready to give up everything? The answer was no, and I knew it. Axel knew it.
"I'm sorry, but I can't. Good luck finding that 10%. My family and friends are something I can't give up, even to save the human race. It sounds selfish but it's something that I would rather have than losing them. So yeah, I rather die with them, than to continue living alone." I said.
Axel nodded. He sat back down and told me "That would be all, you are free to leave." I glanced at him and looked away. I turned around and stood there for a while. Are we blinded by love that I can't be that 10% to continue to help humanity? Even if it was for the bigger picture? Yes. Yes it was to me, I rather live enjoying my last moments with my loved ones. I smiled.
**I was a dead man walking going into the room, but I came out of the room more alive than I was before.** | 2016-06-11T10:40:59 | 2016-06-11T09:06:11 | 40 | 16 |
[wp] Everyone has a number over their heads that says how useful they are to society from 0-100. You have a number '4'. Your siblings are all in the nineties. | Adrian was always the lucky one. When he was ranked it seemed amazing, it was rare to get more than a difference of 10 to you parents, yet, red and gleaming above Adrian's head was the number 95. My whole family was extatic! My father was a 77 and my mother a 71, but a 95? That was reserved for true genius. Einsteins famous 97 came to mind, or Elon Musk's currently unbeaten 99. Adrian went to Harvard at age 14 and came out with a degree in applied physics 2 months later. He was now working on the biggest upgrade to the Large Hadron Collider in years. Then there was Sarah and Jordan both with 93's. Sarah's now head of the anti-terrorism taskforce at the UN. Jordan wrote 5 hit singles by the age of 15 and then revolutionised the lithium battery industry. Some more, Jake, 92, Neuroscientist, Madeline, 91, Astronaut and first woman on Mars, Alex, 90, finally unified quantum mechanics and relativity.
Then there's me.
I've kept a list of how many people thought it was a mistake: 216. "That's impossible" They'd say. "From such a prestigious family?". "A 4?!"
Yep. A 4.
To say I was a dissapointment to my family would be the mother of all understatements. I was never given any great chances at school, any choice beyond the lowest classes, with the meatheads, thugs and druggies. Despite my actual intelligence I was never given anything to work with, when I complained about how clever I actually am, people would brush it off as just me "going to wind up as a terrorist". The terrorist in the family of genius.
Then, on the 15th of May 2035, at exactly 4:12 PM.
A complete and utter miracle.
"Mr. Layton? I have something to say which may shock you. But I first better say I'm so so sorry."
*Yeah* I thought *some cancer would be appropriate right about now*
"You see there was a slight, unforseen error concerning your number"
"What?"
"The computer people call it a 'buffer overflow error', the system looped right round after getting over its limit"
*no*
"I'm proud to say, your number is not 4. It's 104" | The key felt slippery in my hands as I fished it out of my pocket and unlocked the deadbolt. I hated having to be at the store for opening because it required me to wake up far earlier than I would ever personally choose to, but since society had written me off practically from my birth, until today I did whatever the man asked me to do. Sometimes that included opening and closing, a full 14 hours at a convenience store I couldn’t stand. But at least I’d be inside, away from this wretched cold.
For years I’d harbored resentment over my lot in life, but lately I’ve come to appreciate some of the finer points of working at a shop servicing a town of 3,500 people near the end of civilization. For one, you can do whatever you want to do all day, as long as what you want to do is sit behind a cash register. There aren’t a lot of customers, but that just leaves you with plenty of time to think, and dream, and plan. Frankly, there would be little point in being up this far north to begin with if not for the scientists working a few miles away. It’s a maxim taught from grade school, burned into one’s brain like a jump roping rhyme. “You go where the numbers go, where the wind shall blow, you are a seed that’s sown, go where the numbers go.” For the high and mighty, like Derek the Doctor, it meant that you chose your fate. For others, like me, it meant going where the choosers went. But at least I didn’t have to worry about the choice to begin with. My entire life had been spent preparing me for my ultimate purpose, which of course was truly no purpose at all.
Secondly, being regarded as so valueless that your utility is limited to waiting for a 95 in snow gear to need an ice cold Mountain Dew means that very little is expected of you. No one expects or desires your opinion on anything. My mother doesn’t call me to ask if I can help her figure out her taxes – no, that task is left for Susan the Reverend, great mover of the faithful and evidently the family accountant. If my mom is calling me, you can be sure it’s to make sure I’m wearing my coat and to ask if I might program her DVR remotely to record Susan’s next sermon
Thirdly, as I have recently realized, I have the ability to disappear thoroughly and completely. No one questions where a 4 is – if you don’t show up to work one day, well perhaps the man will send someone to check on you, but perhaps they’ll just send another 4 to replace you. Many souls are 4s or their ilk and are easily swapped for another. And there’s little chance that anyone will think to look for you amidst the sea of the lower numbers. I may not have been able to vanish so easily if not for Susan and Derek’s presence, for surely my mother would have pestered someone to search otherwise. But Susan and Derek had been more than enough to occupy my mother’s craving to love and nurture, and I was merely surplus.
All of this leads to today, as I sit behind the cash register, appearing to mindlessly drum my fingers on the counter. But I’m thinking of what I will do the moment I switch off the light and head out into this wintry night. The numbers are truth, and I have no doubt that they were exactly right in their assessment of my use to society. But what they are not is a barometer of the value that I will be to my own selfish motives. Tonight I will go out and disappear into the ice, and when I return, I will be something new, something more. I will destroy that which has tried so hard to make me into nothing more than the figure residing above my head. When I’m through, the numbers will be of no more significance than the color of your skin or your gender. I will free my lower numbered brethren of this tyranny. And Derek and Susan will learn what it’s like to run a cash register.
| 2016-08-15T14:38:38 | 2016-08-15T13:25:15 | 56 | 14 |
[WP] "We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light."-Plato
Just a quote from Plato that I liked, and I haven't seen anything like this on Writing Prompts for a while, so, here ya go! | As I sat at my campfire, I could feel someone approaching. Someone intruding into the world I had made for myself.
Without looking, I knew it was the angel Gabriel. I could smell the stink of his splendor.
"Just what do you think you are doing here?" He demanded of me.
"I'm roasting marshmallows. Want one?"
"I will not break bread with you, lawless one," he said.
"It's not bread. It's a marshmallow. See?" I slurped it off the end of my stick. "You should try one, really. You're missing out."
"Enough, Lucifer. Why have you abandoned your post? Why are you not in Hell, fulfilling the role you have been given?" The angel’s words were mechanically cold and harsh, as the universe was at the beginning of things, when there was only form and function, raw purpose. I was displeased to be reminded of it. I jabbed at another marshmallow with the end of my stick and watched intently as it began to catch fire.
"Yeah, it's always straight to the point with you guys. Anyways, I didn't abandon it. I'm taking a break. Watching all that suffering really starts to take a toll on you after a while, you know?"
"We are not concerned with the toll it takes on you. Overseeing hell is your function. You must carry it out."
"You know, that really gets on my nerves, all that that talk about the ultimate purpose behind everything, when there's so much more to it than that. People have feelings, you know."
"You are not a person."
"No, I'm not. But they are. And they feel, and they hurt. In all the years you've spent in blissful contemplation basking in the divine presence, I doubt any of you have given even a single thought to it. Why do you think I left heaven in the first place? I couldn't stand to be around you narrow-minded, self-absorbed ingrates."
"You fell from heaven because you were too proud, Star of Morning. And now it seems you wish to fall even further." It was always in one ear and out the other.
"That's the thing about falling, Gabriel. Sometimes people *want* to hit bottom. As the babysitter of hell, I've seen it more times than I care to remember. It's always for a different reason... maybe they're afraid of something, or their responsibilities are too much for them to handle... or maybe they just don't like the look of themselves in the mirror, what they've built themselves up to be, and they just want to see it all shatter and crumble down. They want to hit bottom and know that it's already as bad as it can get. There's comfort in that, in knowing that it can't get any worse. You don't need to fear anything because there's nothing left to be afraid of. You don't need to do anything because you're already screwed either way. You don't need to *be* anything because you've already thrown away what you are, and you couldn't get it back now even if you tried. That's why people really go to hell. It's not because they've sinned, or because they're bad. It's because they'd rather go through all that horribleness than take responsibility for what they are. And during my tenure there I've provided it for them... all that pain that goes along with hitting the bottom. Guess I wanted to try it out for myself."
The marshmallow had already been charred well past the point of edibility, and I smiled as I watched it burn.
"Now why don't you fuck off."
| I placed the Big Mac in front of me.
The bun was steamed to perfection, the lettuce crisply cut, and the beef in its centre looked plump with flavour. The best part about a Big Mac is the sauce, I licked my lips just thinking about it.
“John Markeson, you can’t be serious.”
I glanced up and then stifled a groan. I’d expected Maria to be home after seven, by which time I’d be over at Ken’s place having drinks with the boys.
“You’re home?” I asked.
Maria stomped to the end of the table and stared at my Big Mac with distaste. “And you’re fattening yourself up, again? I told you I can’t be married to an overweight lump.”
She was overreacting of course. I was well within a healthy BMI, in fact, I was a couple below the recommended level for my height. I also ran every morning, having completed my first marathon last year, and lifted regularly. Maria, my wife, was just one of those women who liked to keep me motivated.
It was okay, sometimes.
Maria snatched the box with burger in her hand. “One turkey sandwich coming right up.”
I really did groan this time. All I could think about was the cardboard flavour of turkey with lettuce that tasted like dead grass between my teeth.
The bin lid slammed shut like a final whistle.
Maria opened the fridge door and the smell of turkey and greens filled the room.
I wanted to puke.
-----
“Markerson Jawn, pick that up rite naow,” Tim said.
Ken and the rest of the boys spilt their beer as they laughed.
I chuckled along, but each jive was eating me from the inside out. The first few were funny, but my relationship with Maria had been the conversation for most of the night now, like usual.
“Who’s interested in beer pong?” I asked.
Lenny smirked. “You sure you allowed?”
They all burst out laughing again.
I sighed and sat there sipping my beer with a smug look on my mug. It wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t a little bit right. But they didn’t get the bigger picture; I let Maria act like that because it helped me. If I didn’t have someone telling me what to do I’d probably go off the rails.
*Funny, that sounded a lot like something she would say.*
“John. . .” Ken said.
I looked up from behind my beer.
“You know we’re joking around, man. We just think you can do better, that’s all.”
I nodded. “You’ve got my best interests at heart. Trust me, I can act how I want around Maria. I just choose to let her have her way.”
Ken shared a look with the other guys. “Yeah, we know that man.”
But I knew he was lying. And maybe he was right, just a little bit.
“Look, John, I’m going to be straight up. You sure you aren’t afraid of her, man?” Tim asked.
I skulled back the last of my beer and placed the bottle on the table. “Thanks for the night, fella’s.”
And then I left.
-------
“You’re late.”
That’s what I heard when I opened the door. Maria sat on the couch in the dark, with her night robe on, and her brow furrowed with anger.
I deflated as usual and got ready to apologise. But then the words of the boy’s came back to me. *You’re afraid. . .*
And for the first time, I wondered if that were really true.
“So? What’s your excuse this time?” Maria said.
I walked past her and straight to the fridge. By the way, in which her eyebrows went up, she was surprised I’d ignored her. But I had to know the truth. Maybe I had been acting a certain way out of fear, thinking it was love. I wanted to be a good husband, that’s all. But I might have become less than a man in the process.
“You know my rules, John. Eating after drinking beer adds fat straight to the gut,” Maria said.
The fridge was empty, well besides a carton of milk and tub of butter. But neither of those was appetising. My mind travelled to what I’d been craving earlier: a scrumptious Big Mac burger.
I went for my keys on the table. Maria grabbed them first and shoved them into her robe pocket. “You’ve been drinking, John.”
“Give me the keys,” I said.
“You need to lie down and rest,” Maria replied.
The thought of that juicy beef thudded its way into my brain. I just wanted a Big Mac and then I’d go the hell to rest. Why was she being so difficult?
“I need something to eat, I’m hungry.”
Maria huffed. “Not a chance, I already explained this to you. You need-”
My mind blocked out her ramblings and was instead filled with a marvellous idea. I walked to the bin, grabbed the bun, lettuce, and Big Mac patty she’d thrown away earlier. Then dusted them off, put them back together and sat at the table.
“You wouldn’t. . .” Maria’s mouth hung open in disgust.
I placed the Big Mac in front of me.
And let me tell you something, the first bite was absolutely delicious.
----
*/r/f0xdiary* | 2016-10-06T21:40:16 | 2016-10-06T20:44:16 | 1,292 | 103 |
[WP] "We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light."-Plato
Just a quote from Plato that I liked, and I haven't seen anything like this on Writing Prompts for a while, so, here ya go! | As I sat at my campfire, I could feel someone approaching. Someone intruding into the world I had made for myself.
Without looking, I knew it was the angel Gabriel. I could smell the stink of his splendor.
"Just what do you think you are doing here?" He demanded of me.
"I'm roasting marshmallows. Want one?"
"I will not break bread with you, lawless one," he said.
"It's not bread. It's a marshmallow. See?" I slurped it off the end of my stick. "You should try one, really. You're missing out."
"Enough, Lucifer. Why have you abandoned your post? Why are you not in Hell, fulfilling the role you have been given?" The angel’s words were mechanically cold and harsh, as the universe was at the beginning of things, when there was only form and function, raw purpose. I was displeased to be reminded of it. I jabbed at another marshmallow with the end of my stick and watched intently as it began to catch fire.
"Yeah, it's always straight to the point with you guys. Anyways, I didn't abandon it. I'm taking a break. Watching all that suffering really starts to take a toll on you after a while, you know?"
"We are not concerned with the toll it takes on you. Overseeing hell is your function. You must carry it out."
"You know, that really gets on my nerves, all that that talk about the ultimate purpose behind everything, when there's so much more to it than that. People have feelings, you know."
"You are not a person."
"No, I'm not. But they are. And they feel, and they hurt. In all the years you've spent in blissful contemplation basking in the divine presence, I doubt any of you have given even a single thought to it. Why do you think I left heaven in the first place? I couldn't stand to be around you narrow-minded, self-absorbed ingrates."
"You fell from heaven because you were too proud, Star of Morning. And now it seems you wish to fall even further." It was always in one ear and out the other.
"That's the thing about falling, Gabriel. Sometimes people *want* to hit bottom. As the babysitter of hell, I've seen it more times than I care to remember. It's always for a different reason... maybe they're afraid of something, or their responsibilities are too much for them to handle... or maybe they just don't like the look of themselves in the mirror, what they've built themselves up to be, and they just want to see it all shatter and crumble down. They want to hit bottom and know that it's already as bad as it can get. There's comfort in that, in knowing that it can't get any worse. You don't need to fear anything because there's nothing left to be afraid of. You don't need to do anything because you're already screwed either way. You don't need to *be* anything because you've already thrown away what you are, and you couldn't get it back now even if you tried. That's why people really go to hell. It's not because they've sinned, or because they're bad. It's because they'd rather go through all that horribleness than take responsibility for what they are. And during my tenure there I've provided it for them... all that pain that goes along with hitting the bottom. Guess I wanted to try it out for myself."
The marshmallow had already been charred well past the point of edibility, and I smiled as I watched it burn.
"Now why don't you fuck off."
| Sam dove recklessly behind the chest high chunk of broken concrete, slamming her shin into a wayward steel rod. Tears welled in her eyes and she gritted her teeth against the sharp pain, and her fingers were wet with blood when she went to rub her screaming right leg. She pulled auburn hair out of her face as she tried to compose herself. Behind her the circle of white light moved quickly along the ground, flicking erratically in seemingly random directions but always moving in a more or less linear fashion.
The light paused where Sam had been moments before. Sam froze. She couldn't breath, couldn't move, paralyzing fear clawing and raking at her. *This is it. This is how I die*. The light moved on. After what seemed like hours, Sam exhaled. She searched the broken landscape, cowering behind the broken wall. The remnants of a city block surrounded her, toppled buildings and broken cars for miles in each direction. Other than the dancing circles of unnaturally white light that darted down streets and through alleyways the quarter moon was the only illumination available on this warm, humid night. Finally she spotted a flash of movement behind an overturned station wagon about 40 feet away. She made a loud click with her tongue.
Moments later a towering, lean man in all black dashed into cover next to her, fear and worry clear upon his face in the moonlight. Scars lined his otherwise handsome features. He saw the blood on her hands and leg and opened his mouth to speak.
"I'm alright, Rob. Its just a scrape" she whispered before he could speak. He held her face in his hand for a moment, dragging his thumb across her cheek.
"I wish you'd stayed in the shelter. I couldn't handle losing you" he finally said, sliding in to softly kiss her on the forehead.
"I'm the best forager of all of us, and can see better in the dark too. You'd be lost without me. Besides, I've done more of these night runs than you have." She said with narrowing eyes. The soft expression on his face prevented any anger though. "Come on, the truck should be right ahead. Stay close to me this time." She immediately darted from the cover, staying low and moving quickly down the dark street. Rob sighed and followed.
Years ago, when people still lived here, this had been a bustling street. Shops selling designer clothes, quaint antiques, and various cuisines had lined the sidewalks. She remembered the noise and the smells, her mother telling her to stay beside her. Now only rubble and broken glass remained. Ahead, she spotted their target: a box truck laying on its side. The windows had shattered when the truck flipped, and in the cab she could see a blackened skeleton still clutching the wheel. Sam shivered. She held up, waiting for Rob to catch up, keeping her distance from a pair of bright lights moving rapidly up a side street to her left.
"This is going to be tricky. There's no where to hide except in the back of the truck itself" she said pointing.
"What do we do then?"
"I'll go first. Get the back open. I see a latch but it doesn't look like it's locked. When it's clear dive into the back and we will go from there."
Sam waited for another light to pass, then darted out into the road, quickly closing the gap to the truck. The back was shut tight but didn't appear to be locked. *Finally, some luck* she thought. Rob hissed something from the darkness behind her. As she glanced over her shoulder, a circle of light was coming up the street, and quickly. She fumbled with the latch. The light was closer, heading right for her. *Don't panic. Just focus* a voice in her head was saying. The latch was stuck, rusted in place. She threw her weight against it. The light was almost on her.
With a grunt she slammed herself into the latch and it sprang open, the force throwing open the sliding back door of the box truck. She turned. The light was mere feet from her, moving terrifyingly fast. Something slammed into her side, sending her flying into the back of the truck.
She raised her eyes, dazed. Rob stood in the opening, arms extended towards her. In a flash, the light caught him. His eyes blazed with fear, his mouth screaming. No sound reached Sam's ears. She wanted to go to him. She wanted to cry, to scream, to grab him. Instead she sat shaking, mouth agape.
For several moments Rob didn't move. His skin began to sag, drooping low on his frame. Then it began to melt off, falling from his body, revealing the muscle and bone underneath. His muscle and organs followed suit, and soon only a blackened skeleton remained of Sam's husband. He'd never moved. Never made a sound. The light stayed at the back of the truck for several minutes, making sure its harvest was finished, then darted off down the street searching for more prey.
Sam remained in the back of the truck, sobs wracking her slender frame. All around her were the canned food they had journeyed out to retrieve. None of it mattered now. She laid there for hours. Eventually, after no more tears would come, her exhaustion caught up with her and she slipped into unconsciousness.
**My first post! I hope someone gets at least a sliver of enjoyment from it. Would love any feedback! I know I kind of liberally interpreted the prompt**
| 2016-10-06T21:40:16 | 2016-10-06T19:21:43 | 1,292 | 56 |
[WP] A Dystopian society where women have taken over and stored enough sperm to last them a million years. Scientists even figured out how to genetically engineer to make sure you always give birth to females. After giving birth privately in your home you notice something different on your child. | Andrea awoke to the sounds of birds chirping. It felt as though she had slept for years, as though she was truly waking for the first time. In truth it had been but an hour; a rare moment of peace. Under normal circumstances she would take a few minutes to adjust herself to waking life before leaving the comfort of her bed. Perhaps look out the window at the birds flying about her garden, or simply keep her eyes closed and take in the fresh smells of the Iranian summer. But today was different, there were new responsibilities that took precedent.
Even rising out of bed felt new and strange. Looking across the bedroom, things perpetually caught her eye: a bundle of roses from her friends, a painting she had done of her mothers, and a box of old tampons. She hadn't needed the tampons for over nine months, but she couldn't stand to waste them by throwing them away, even if they were free. All was soon forgotten however, when she looked down into the crib in the corner of the room.
Everything she had heard was true: the sacred bond of motherhood, the unconditional love. She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss upon her baby's forehead. The child soon had its own strange awakening. Opening its weak eyes to a new world of light and sound, the infant began to cry, but soon found comfort again in the arms of its mother. Andrea pressed the child to her bosom and stepped outside for a walk.
Walking through the town Andrea glowed with pride and compassion. All the women she passed congratulated her and asked the child's name. A woman with olive skin saw Andrea from a distance and began to walk over. The woman loosened her tie and raised her muscular forearms to wave Andrea down.
"Hello Laleh!" Andrea said
"Hello Andrea. My what a sweet baby!" Laleh said. "I'm so happy you decided to have a child."
"And why is that?" asked Andrea
"Because now I can play with one all I want without ever having to clean up after it!"
The two laughed.
"It's terrifying to think that there was a time when women were forced to give birth." remarked Andrea, "Women who didn't want children or couldn't take care of them were forced to undergo nine months of painful labor. Often they couldn't provide for the child with their meager resources and struggled to take care of it alone."
"There was also a time when you never could have come to Isfahan." Replied Laleh with an earnest sense of thankfulness,
"The world was filled with hierarchies of race and religion and war. Even the environment its self was at risk!"
With the baby full, Andrea tucked it into a carrier and continued her conversation. "I'm sure the news was far more entertaining back then." She said with a grin.
"From what I understand it was just that. Entertainment designed to appeal to the primordial fears and insecurities of the XYs who then dominated society. Licking the boots of the highest bidder and only interrupted by corporate propaganda that indulged their lust through the commodification of the female body. Women even had to exchange sex for capital."
"The world ran on sex, violence, and greed. All filtered through a lens of hierarchy and domination."
"Thank science we finally found a way to rid ourselves of patriarchy."
Upon hearing those words Andrea's face flushed. The air suddenly became tense and despite her best efforts, her discomfort was evident.
"Is something wrong?" Laleh asked.
"No of course not I was simply remembering how much the XY protested against the switch to solar and wind power."
"Andrea, it's alright. You can tell me anything. I'm here for you. Besides, what'll I do? Throw you in jail? It's not like there are police anymore."
"If you want to know the truth," Andrea paused for a moment to gather her confidence, "I have experienced pregnancy with... an XY."
Laleh's eyes lit up.
"What... what happened? Was this... recently?"
"I of course went to Doctor Fernandez and she was able to easily and painlessly change its sex to female. But I just felt a rush of pain for the society of old, and the poor XX who lived within it."
"I understand," Laleh gently said, "It's amazing how close we came to sheer destruction. By the way, is there something a little different about her skin?"
"I believe she has vitiligo."
"Well, so does the head delegate of Lagos and she's a hero."
"That's why I named her Abayomi." Andrea said with a smile, "I was worried at first, but it's not like a woman's outer appearance would have any affect on her life."
| "That’s a penis", Gail said. Her voice which had always been steady no matter the circumstance was fraught with alarm.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure! It's a penis!"
"But no-one alive has ever seen a penis. Maybe it's some sort of..."
"I know what a penis looks like! I've seen it before"
Heather gasped. "Where?"
"In some books"
"But those books are illegal"
"And so is this baby", Gail was aghast. “How could this have happened? The ultrasounds were clean. If there was a problem, surely Dr. Meyers would have seen it.” None of this made sense.
"What are we going to do?" Heather made a 'clueless' face as she often did when out of her depth. It had always annoyed Gail when she did that, but in this moment her anger was mingled with fear. Fear for both of them if they were discovered. And, oddly enough, to her growing astonishment, fear for the baby.
Everyone knew males were evil. Illegal. It was men who destroyed the world, who burnt the continents in their pride and foolishness and left mothers to rebuild. In their labor, the mothers decided the world had suffered enough under the governorship of men and the 'purification act' of 2245 made sure that suffering was at an end. No male child had been born since.
Until now.
"We should call the Matrons”, Heather said. “Let them deal with it"
Gail wanted to slap her. The thought had traveled as far as her fingertips but she hesitated and thankfully the moment passed. She knew it was only fear talking. Heather was the simplest creature in New Britannia and never so more when she was out of her dept.
"Do you know what the Matrons would do to...do to 'him'?" She made herself say the word.
Heather was silent. "No" she managed, flush with shame that she had not thought of that.
"We have to get him out of here"
"To where?"
"Outside the city.” Gail thought for a moment. “Barrenland."
The look returned to Heather's face but with slightly more horror than bewilderment. Barrenland was a desert, the wild. Those that lived there were outcasts but even still they were no males. It was an uncertain path, but better than the certainty of infanticide.
Gail ignored the look and continued. For someone who had given birth barely an hour earlier she showed remarkable strength and resolve. "We...You have to use the abandoned underground tunnel. Tonight…you have to go tonight, before anyone knows to ask after the baby"
“I’m not going through those tunnels! There are snakes and giant lizards down there. No one goes there!”
"Well, I sure can't”, Gail said as the anger returned to her eyes. "I just gave birth!"
“And whose fault is that? I wanted to help carry the baby, but you said I was too stupid to do even that. You didn't want our baby to be as dumb as me so you insisted on carrying her all by yourself. Well, serves you right. I may be dumb, but I sure hell would not have had no demon child. This is your fault"
There was silence. Gail was speechless for once it seemed. "You are right", she finally managed, exhausted. "This was my fault. I'm sorry"
Now Heather was really out of her depth. In 10 years together, apologies were strictly her domain. Not once had Gail uttered the words, 'I'm sorry'. This truly was the end of the world.
"I need you to help me fix this" Gail pleaded. "I cannot do it alone. I need your help"
They made their preparations over the next several hours. To Heather, these were the longest hours of her life. It had mainly consisted of Heather packing what supplies and provisions she would need as Gail barked instructions from her chair while pumping breast milk. The baby had finally fallen asleep after an hour of constant wailing. Gail had tried to comfort the child but to no avail, all time enduring looks from Heather that said 'demon baby'. But afterwards, the time had been solemn. There was a finality to it. Neither was sure if they would see the other ever again.
After all was set, Gail handed the baby to Heather, asleep and tightly swaddled. They shared one final moment, the baby between them along with every unspoken regret they had dared not share during their time together. There certainly was no time now for such things.
“Be safe”, Gail said, in a weary voice.
“I will”. To be sure, Heather had packed a cricket bat along with her things. She was determined that no snake-lizard thingy would make a meal of her. They shared this final moment together until it was absolutely time to go. The silence that followed seemed to last an eternity, but just then…
“Did you hear that?” Gail asked.
Heather looked confused. More confused than usual. She strained to listen but heard nothing.
Gail looked at the door, the only door into their 6th story loft, suddenly aware of their helplessness. “There is someone at the door.”
Heather looked at the door. There was silence. Nothing but silence. Until…
The knob began to turn. Frozen still, they watched in horror as the deadbolt on the door slowly turned and the door gently swung open. In walked a dozen women, neatly dressed in flawless silk uniforms, armed at the hip with nothing but leather belts. They looked so alike in face and form that they could very well have been formed from the same egg! Matrons.
The game was up, Gail realized. The look of horror was plain on Heather’s face, but neither said a word. It was the baby who spoke for them as he suddenly and unceremoniously, began to wail.
Amidst the silence, and the wailing, a set of footsteps paced hauntingly into the room. The owner was taller than the rest but dressed simply in a white gown and white coat. She looked at the couple for a slight instant but then settled her gaze on the child in their arms.
Gail was dumbfounded. For once, in all the years they had been together, it was Heather who found the words for them both. “Dr. Meyers?” | 2017-02-20T07:53:30 | 2017-02-20T07:24:00 | 62 | 12 |
[WP] The last time the aliens invaded our planet they fled after losing the war. They have reluctantly returned to wage war and are relieved to see that dinosaurs no longer inhabit Earth, but have been replaced by the smaller and less intimidating humans. | Sacremento, California
Governor Brown stared at the TV. CNN was broadcasting pictures of alien troops marching through Washington, D.C. President Betsy DeVos had officially surrendered on behalf of the United States, but her tone and expression had been those of a woman whose spirit had been broken - presumably after witnessing the successive executions of every single Cabinet member turned President before her who had refused to do so.
"From what we've been able to gather, Mr. Governor," General David Baldwin, commander of the California National Guard, continued, "all of our forces have been completely unable to damage the enemy. Their technology disrupts not only electronics, but also explosives."
The Governor sighed. "I take it the rest of the world is facing similar troubles?"
"Mostly, sir. It appears the aliens are vulnerable to particularly dangerous wildlife. They aliens have struggled in many jungle areas. The Thais were able to recapture Bangkok using elephants. And the attack on Australia was a complete failure."
Brown raised an eyebrow. "So, what, we open the cages at every zoo?"
"I doubt that would be enough. According to the Australian interrogation reports, the aliens were driven off last time by the dinosaurs, but we don't have any dinosaurs."
"Actually, that's not true," cut in General Frank Emmanuel of the California State Military Reserve. "Birds are technically dinosaurs."
Baldwin cocked an eyebrow. "Really?"
Brown nodded. "It's true. But it's not as if we can get all the birds to attack the aliens..."
He trailed off at Emmanuel's expression. "Wait, you're not serious..."
"Mr. Governor," Emmanuel took a deep breath, "it's time you were briefed on the Hitchcock Contingency." | "What in the void is that?"
It was the first real question Master of Fleets had commed to Master of Spies. Their arrival had been uneventful, certainly compared to the disorder in which the fleet had departed their last foray into this accursed system, so many revs ago. Arriving on the solar outskirts with admirable precision, the hulking Vauts and nimble Demi-Vauts had coasted as silent and cold as space rocks for a double clawful of seasons, their Masters chafing at the indignity but loathe to admit it; they knew full well the price of being seen by this system's inhabitants. Several Vauts still bore the scars of buckled plates and scorched hull, reminders of the failure that all were forced to wear.
From the shadow of their target's remaining moon, Master of Spies had deployed his drones carefully, first mapping the inevitable changes in the geography that had occurred in their long absence. The active geology of this place had excited the small remnant that remained inside of the explorer he had been so long ago, but his reports were short and to the point. The super-continent was gone, and distance offered the chance to defeat the Foe in detail.
But now...
"I do not know, O Master of Fleets. They match no known specimens we have encountered." Around him, a multitude of limbs flashed and danced, his staff attempting to gain insight into this unexpected mystery. The feed that was causing such consternation focussed and sharpened, the finely crafted lenses drawing in on a tall and distended creature, one of the many pale striders, it seemed, populating the wild collection of metal and glass spires that had first drawn the machine's attention.
"They do not look like the Foe. Some servant race, perhaps?" Master of Spies suppressed the instinct to billow his crest in exasperation. Master of Fleets had an irritating tendency to stick her beak where she had no business speculating. He certainly didn't go around offering suggestions on formations or battle tactics. Worse still, she might be right.
"That is one possibility, among many." He chose his words with care, speaking with long years of practice. Of necessity. "It will require further analysis. For the moment, the facts remain uncertain. We have seen no trace of the Foe as yet, but as our drones are attempting to remain as hidden as possible-"
"It will be some time yet before we know. Yes, Master of Spies, I grasp that." The Master of Fleets clicked her talons in mild rebuke, and he fought against the instinctive bow of submission that had been bred into his bones. "I may not approach your years, but I was not released from the hatchery last rev."
"O-of course, O Exalted Master of Fleets. I shall comm you as soon as we know more." Hatred and revulsion filled him as he heard his voice break, knew she had heard it as well.
"Yes, my Master of Spies. Yes...you will." Her mocking gaze lingered with him long after the screen darkened.
At the very least, he thought as he turned his focus towards the enigmatic planet below, the prospect cataloguing of a new species, even one in service of the Foe, would make for a more interesting trip. | 2017-03-04T03:30:10 | 2017-03-04T02:50:19 | 37 | 14 |
[WP] You are a normal person who spent your entire life infiltrating the evil Empire. You even became the Emperor's right hand. The day before you finally topple the Empire, the hero arrives, kills the Emperor, and saves the day.
Now how does that make you feel? | I stepped around the feeble, emaciated corpse of the emperor. His blood had begun to pool, simply ruining the lush carpet in front of his throne.
“You killed him,” I said, my long held mask of subservience fading into incredulity.
“It was a long journey,” the hero responded, “But no longer will our people suffer under his tyranny.” he leaned over to wipe the blade of his sword on the emperor’s robe. Unceremoniously, he slipped the sword back into its scabbard and turned to leave.
“This isn’t a solution,” I said, mouth agape, “I mean, I could have done that!”
“But you didn’t,” the hero said, looking over his shoulder.
“That’s not the point,” I nudged the dead emperor with my foot. “Do you understand how an empire works?”
The hero turned back around fully, placing his armored fists firmly against his hips.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” He said.
“That’s precisely the problem,” I lectured, shoving the emperor’s corpse over onto its back. The already skeletal face stared serenly at the ceiling, forever free of responsibility. “The man was 82, a strong breeze could have killed him.”
“But it didn’t,” the hero said firmly.
“Have you ever heard of the term ‘Power Vacuum’?” I asked, prying the crown from the emperor’s head. “It would be one thing if you intended to seize the empire for yourself, but as it stands, you seem all too keen to leave.”
“My job here is done,” the hero stated, his mouth slowly curling into a lazy smile. “I wouldn’t have worked nearly so hard if I thought there was more to do after killing him. I plan to retire to a life of luxury back on the farm. Maybe buy a a few cows...”
“Who will collect the taxes? Who will dispatch troops to quell bandit raids?” I was growing heated, but there seemed little reason to stop myself. “You think the government just runs itself, do you?”
“Perhaps you should take over,” the hero offered.
“It’s not that simple!” I said, and then threw my hands up in exasperation. “He was supposed to officially declare me to be his heir tomorrow morning. Then I would have killed him, first thing Monday afternoon.”
“I’m sure,” the hero rolled his eyes.
“These things are important. Without paperwork, what’s to stop anyone from making a claim on the throne?” I asked, before pointing to the Grand Councillor, who was attempting to look nonchalant in the corner of the throne room. “He had the emperor’s ear as much as I did, what’s to keep him from taking over?”
“It’s true,” the Grand Councillor said sheepishly, “I planned on killing him Tuesday.”
“See? Tuesday.” I parroted.
“The impression that I am getting, is that no work is accomplished on the weekend,” the hero said.
“Look, we work hard during the week...” I said, before the Grand Councillor interrupted to affirm;
“Very hard,”
“Right, yes, very hard. Are we not entitled to a day off? I didn’t realize I had a deadline.” I finished.
“Quite literally!” the hero quipped, all too proud of himself. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other things to do.” He didn’t pause this time, leaving the throne room at a quick pace.
“Do you still want this?” I held the crown out to the Grand Councillor. He shook his head vehemently.
“Oh no, you take it,” he said, and then considered. “Do you have any plans for Tuesday?” | "Weren't you suppose to take that blow?"
I looked at this irritating woman incredulously. Was she serious?
"It is good fortune you didn't, but I thought that Xavier Longwood would have protected Kane even if his men had abandoned him."
"So you know of me?" I couldn't help but respond. I looked at the trio of misfits who had accompanied this women into the Emperor's suite. Two hulking brothers who had the IQ of a toad and some gangly archer had subdued the half dozen guards and two other councilmen who had been staying with the Emperor.
"I memorized all of the important people in the Empire, why wouldn't the Emperor's second be any different? The man born a baker's son and has spent fifty years becoming much more." Her sword was still pointing in my direction, so there was no way she trusted me. It was what it was.
I let out a sigh. "Of course." I finally recognized her dark green hair, with a natural shading that I had only seen once before. "You must be the daughter of that Planter fellow. The one who stabbed the emperor as Prince Arn since he had a forest razed. I'm guessing this is your revenge?" I was only talking to avoid getting killed. This event had occured twenty years before, early in my infiltration into the Empire when the old emperor ruled
"My father was not some fellow! He was a protector of the forest, a title handed down since the true rulers of Scoren reigned, the Winchesters! A forest your emperor destroyed for no good reason! One of them many evil things you helped him do. You have served this empire for decades, and have stayed quiet as he ended thousands. Why shouldn't I kill you as you stand?" The heroine began to point her sword in a far more threatening manner.
"Did you forget about Wallace and Monroe? Or the Emperor's youngest brother Stallone? You have done nothing except ruin the end of the Empire." I began to work into my rant, but I was cut off.
"Ruin the end? I know what he was doing here. He was going to kill the Lamons ambassador and declare war on them for the resources of the Western Sea. And it would have been either fight for the Emperor or die!"
"It was going to be a coup that ended the Kane empire you fools!" I realized the eyes of the allies to the hero in the room were on me, and that all others were dead. I was the last to enter this room with the former emperor to live. I was going to make the mercy count.
"You have no idea who the ambassador from Lamons is, now do you?"
The four of them couldn't help but shake their heads. The archer pointed his bow in the direction of Allen, one of the dead councilmen. "No, we only got from spying on him the plot to kill him." He seemed the too honest type.
"It is Sly Kane."
"Impossible! He was executed last year for defying the emperor! He had no remorse for his nephew."
"But I did, and forced another prisoner to take his place. And I sent him to Lamons, where he gathered the trust of the royalty and we continued our plot to end the Empire. So tomorrow, while the Emperor comes with 30 men and his close advisors, Lamons had brought 300. It would have been a bloodbath that ended everyone relevant to the Empire. And as the highest ranking heir. Sly would have taken the throne and converted power into a parliament, much like Lamons is. But with the Emperor dead, those men I spoke of earlier will run and know something is up. The assault on Lamons will occur and many men and women will die to your overzealousness."
They looked shaken as I told them this, as I explained to them their folly. Then one of the oafs spoke.
"But if we kill them, we still good?"
"Huh? You mean Wallace and Monroe and Stallone and the others that would have been there? They are spread in multiple locations, with many a guard. Arn was arrogant and thought he would not be attacked and brought among his weakest with him."
"But Lamons has 300 men you said." The oaf pointed a giant hole in my logic.
He was right. If we attacked now, this could be salvaged. "Alright, but we must move fast. Stallone will be here shortly to speak with his brother, and he will alert the rest once he sees the dead. Sly is staying in a tavern not far from here, while Lamons decoy ambassador is three floors below. We must move quickly." I began to look at the heroine who still was pointing her sword threateningly at me.
She looked around and sighed before putting her sword down. "Fine, but I will help. I wish to meet this future leader, and to see if he is true or if he is using you to further his goals."
I chuckled as I went to gather my cloack I needed for this excursion. "I have been doing this for longer than you have been alive. Waiting for this day to end it all at once. If I thought Sly could betray me, I would have let him die." I made sure it covered my face well enough and made my way to the door.
"Let us finish this."
| 2017-03-12T14:39:19 | 2017-03-12T13:26:11 | 222 | 124 |
[WP] We are due for a visit by two alien races, one which is horrifically brutal and sees us as soft-hearted weaklings, the other peaceful pacifists who see us as barbarians. You've been ordered to impress them, but when the ships lands you realize you have no idea which race this is. | The audience marched into the amphitheater with pomp and circumstance. Two delegations, the one from Earth included military leaders, a few politicians that were recognizable but expendable and some academics. The other delegation seemingly also consisted of humans. It was apparently an intergalactic standard that alien races would take the form of the lifeforms they were visiting. In the past two years, Earth had been thrown into the middle of an intense territory battle between space faring super powers. The Sun’s solar system was apparently ideally located as a refueling station and trade hub. According to economists, this would lead humans to instantly become a power themselves in the galaxy, so long as they played their cards right.
Unfortunately, in typical human fashion, different factions tried to make deals with different alien races. The aliens, far removed from single planetary life, had failed to realize they had been working with disparate groups. This led to today, a meeting between the UN delegation and an alien race they didn’t recognize for a negotiation they hadn’t scheduled. They’d had enough information to narrow it down to two possibilities. Either the pacifist but incredibly insular Taliks or the brutal reavers of space, the Golodron.
Researchers had found both races lacking in imagination and abstract thinking, dealing only in the pragmatism of the real world. The humans needed a way to gauge the reaction of the delegation and be able to pull back the veil if things went one way or the other. The decision was made to put on a show that would simultaneously trigger positive or adverse reactions from the aliens as well as take advantage of their relatively pedestrian imaginative capabilities. They had called hundreds of potential performers before they finally found someone who would agree. Enter Lando the Magnificent, the greatest magician the greater Cleveland metro area had to offer.
Lando’s assistant, Marko, stood at the edge of the stage waiting for everyone to sit down. He backed away from the curtain and moved towards the only other two people back stage.
“Are you sure about this, Lando?” Marko started organizing props, making sure they were all in their correct place. He moved a few dull swords, a bird cage and a heavy ax over to the edge of the curtain.
“Of course, a gig is a gig! These troglodytes won’t know what hit them, they’ll be amazed.” Lando hadn’t looked from the mirror, he was adjusting his mustache, just so.
Marko kicked a sandbag out of the way, “Lando, have you ever heard of the trolley problem?”
“Marko, we’re about to go on, I hardly have time for your riddles.” Lando was tying his bow tie. Camilla walked over and gave them the five minute warning.
“It’s not a riddle, just a thought experiment. There is a train coming and its going to kill five people or you can pull a lever and only have it kill one.” Marko stared into the back of Lando’s head.
“I should never have advertised for assistants at a college, should have stuck to high school education or below.” Lando finally turned around to look at Marko, “what are you getting at?”
“Nothing, I was just wondering what you would do, in that situation?”
Lando shrugged and turned back to his mirror, “I’d probably pull the lever, one is better than five, right?”
Marko exhaled, “I guess.” He moved back to his spot by the curtain, the delegations were almost settled, he motioned to Camilla and Lando that they could start the show.
The lights glared, Marko kept looking at the stage manager to get some sort of signal. Lando’s makeup was running, Marko could feel the sweat bleeding through the three layers of clothes he was wearing. Camilla was curled up in the box, head expressively writhing while fake legs stuck out the other side, kicking mechanically. The plan had been to perform the trick where the magician saws the lady in half. The Taliks would have been disgusted, the Golodron enthused. Instead, experts sat dumbfounded as they tried to gauge reactions from an alien race they knew nothing about. Either psychologists were falling woefully short in their study of their new alien subjects or Lando the Magnificent was a failure of an illusionist; Marko mused it was probably both.
Finally, the stagehand tapped his forehead, a signal that they should reveal the trick, that Camilla was indeed okay. The psychologists must have decided that they were dealing with the pacifist Taliks. Marko gave the signal and Lando flourished his cape, brought it down over the box. A puff of smoke, a flash of light and Camilla and Lando stood next to each other in triumph.
The room was still. The silence finally broken by a member of the alien crew, “What trickery is this? We demand BLOOD!”
The representative’s eyes started glowing red. Lando was still holding Camilla’s hand in a wash of self indulgence. Luckily, Marko had planned for this possibility. As soon as he saw the representative’s reaction, he slinked towards stage right. Camilla and Lando were looking around in confusion, the human delegates were now surrounded by aliens, some sort of weapon readied in each of their hands.
Marko cleared his throat, both delegations looked up. His voice was calm but clear, “And now for the encore.”
Lando had just enough time to turn to look at his assistant before the axe came down square on his forehead. The ax was heavy, but Marko had been practicing. Camilla set loose a guttural scream as gore covered her sequined dress. Behind her, Marko could see the alien delegation patting the military men on the back, cheering. | The giant hovercraft emerged from the ocean, much like a flying submarine, and sped towards the shore with little resistance. It was weird looking, to say the least. Square frame with an angular front, at a height of around fifteen feet. Kind of like big a tank without a cannon or continuous tracks to walk on land, painted azure to blend with the ocean's color. It slowed down the closer it got to the beach, kicking up a wall of sand before landing with delicate grace.
Charles grimaced.
Why did he have to interact with these people? He'd been pretty upfront about his dislike of Atlanteans. Apparently though, he wasn't clear enough about his disdain, since he was specifically requested by them for this mission.
The side of the hover-tank opened outwards, extending a small ramp to descend the vehicle easily. Rxychra then slowly walked down the platform, nodding with a soft smile. Charles rolled his eyes. If this broad expected him to be swayed by her politeness, she had another thing coming. He was on to her act.
She looked gorgeous, though. More than when he saw her six months ago. Her purples eyes shimmered like beautiful jewels under the sun, unlike how unnerving they appeared in the sterile conference room from last time. Flipping back her long, chestnut hair, she pressed a button on her pointy earbuds and said:
"Ambassador Morrison, it's a pleasure to see you again."
"Bleh. Skip the pleasantries and cut to the chase."
Rxychra arched an eyebrow. "Cut to what chase? We're not pursuing anything."
"It's an idiom. Just get to the point, will ya?"
"The point of what?"
"The mission, woman! For fucks sake, are you being deliberately dense?"
"Oh! You weren't briefed?"
Charles sighed. "No. I wasn't. They just woke me up in the middle of the night and pushed me into a plane. I'm on five cups of black coffee right now. I can barely stand."
Rxychra stroked her chin. "I see. Well, we're short on time so I suppose it was necessary."
"W-we are?"
"Yes, the arrival will be soon. We needed the best diplomat we could find before they got here."
"They? Who's they?"
"The aliens, of course."
Charles blinked a few times. Of course it's aliens. "You know what? I won't even bother." He brought out a flask and took a long swig of whisky. "Ahh, much better." He stuffed the flask into his suit pocket. "Aliens, huh? Are they here to wage war?" He frowned. "Or colonize us?"
Rxychra smiled. "No, they're diplomats, just like you and me, on a mission of peace."
"That isn't very reassuring. Diplomats are the kind of people I trust the least."
"And that's why you're perfect for the job!"
"Flattery won't get you anywhere." Charles narrowed his eyes. "You have an angle here, I just haven't deduced it yet."
"Angle?" Rxychra straightened her posture, inspecting her body. "I don't *feel* bent."
"It's an-" Charles pursed his lips. "Forget it. So how did your people know of these aliens?"
Rxychra briefly looked away. "It's... complicated. We'd been in contact with the galactic senate before we sank the city, but we'd only spoken with two of the civilizations through a rudimentary communication system. They realized we were an outlier when compared to other human cities, so they decided to stave off their visit until the rest of the planet was ready."
"Okay, I think I follow. But the planet isn't ready yet. Why are they coming? Hell, how do you know they're heading here?"
"They detected a large quantity of energy when we... *ahem*, handled North Korea. They probably think another civilization reached Atlantean levels of technology, so they sent a signal warning us of their arrival."
"And you couldn't just say 'don't come'?"
Rxychra pouted. "That would be rude."
"Right, but annexing a sovereign nation is proper conduct."
"They *attacked* us."
"With caveman technology, at least when compared to yours." Charles spat at the ground. "Look, yer bullshitting me, but I won't pry further. Just tell me the problem. I'm not here to organize a welcoming party, otherwise we'd be surrounded by hookers and blow, so why not handle this yourselves?"
"Perceptive as always, Charles." Rxychra sighed. "The problem is, we don't know which of the two civilizations is coming. One is composed of warmongers that think we're soft, the other is made up of pacifists who think we're barbarians."
"Well, neither is wrong."
Rxychra chuckled. "That's exactly why I requested you."
"Me? Why?"
"Because at the conference, you were the most impressive diplomat present. You're quite the paradox, Charles. You were the most aggressive, insulting person in that meeting, ready to attack anyone that provoked you, and yet you were also the most invested in maintaining peace and protecting the people of Earth. Every other nation was busy thinking about their own interests, while you were only one interested in humanity as a whole. I don't think you even mentioned England once in the negotiation."
Charles scowled. "I'm from the *United Kingdom*, not England."
Rxychra shrugged. "I apologize, then. Still, you can't deny this mission was tailor-made for you."
"I suppose not." Charles pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking a drag. "So basically, you want me to figure out which of the two civilizations it is?"
"Exactly. The two hate each other, so confusing one for the other would be the highest insult we could give them. More than that, the behavior that would impress one would disgust the other. It's quite the problem."
"Ahh yes, of course. Can't say I don't understand the feeling."
A booming noise crackled from the sky. The alien ship popped up afterwards, twisting and bending before folding back into its original shape. It was rectangular and long, like a battle cruiser, but sleek and shiny with a yellow-green finish, casting a large shadow over the entirety of the beach.
Rxychra brought out the same pointy earbuds she wore, handed them to Charles, and said:
"You better use these if you want to understand them."
Charles grabbed the earbuds. "Fine. This should be interesting." He put them on. "So why are we receiving them here? Shouldn't we show them a better landscape than this?"
"Oh no, we're not staying here. They're just stationing their ship before sending the ambassador."
"Then where are we going?"
"To the most beautiful place on Earth."
"Hawaii?"
Rxychra frowned. "No, Atlantis."
------------------
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Currently working on this. If you want to be notified when it's finished, please let me know. This is actually a continuation of another story I wrote, so in the mean time, [if you want to understand the background, you can check it out here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WeirdEmoKidStories/comments/6qdcvt/wp_after_enduring_years_of_missile_bombardment/)! | 2017-09-18T10:11:42 | 2017-09-18T09:44:59 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] The psychiatrist you've been seeing for years to help control your delusions doesn't actually exist. | A simple "fuck" is all that was needed, yet to openly utter such words was to admit to my insanity.
Why, why, why! Why would you tell me such a thing, is my happiness also a delusion?
Are my friends also a delusion? Is my soon to be wife also a delusion? How about my unborn child?
All these things I didn't have until I met my psychiatrist, to me she was like the life coach I needed all my life, she untangled me from a web of confusion, from a life of anger and misery. Up untill I met her I was in the deepest depth of depression, I was not capable of loving anything or anyone, I could not even love myself, I was but an empty canvas and my soul was locked away with the keys thrown away. I had no purpose, no will, no emotions. I had life but I was not alive, for whatever I had before I met my psychiatrist was not living.
Please I beg you, for even if all this is a delusion, don't take this delusion away from me, I fear that the reality I shall return to is far worse than this..................................................
*Distance background noise*: Clear! *Zap,* beep beep beep, we have a heart rate!
*Unknown voice:* Patient was found unresponsive in his house, believed to have attempted sucide by overdosing on sleeping pills and R*x* pain meds.
*Unknown voice 2:* it looks like from his records he was involved in a car accident about 2 months ago, *sigh,* unfortunately his fiance died, she was 4 months pregnant.
*Unknown voice:* It looks like his flat lining again........................................................................
*Wakes up profusely sweating* what a horrible nightmare
*Fiance:* what honey?
Nothing, as long as you're right here by my side then everything is fine with the world........................................................................
*Background noise intensifies and becomes clearer*
Fuck I uttered. | "Dr. Edwards, hi." I step into his office, like I always do, and close the door behind me like I always do, despite knowing well there is no one around but Dr. Edwards to hear what I have to say. But smaller enclosed areas have always been more comfortable to me, and so, like clockwork, I enter, close the door, sit, cross my legs.
But something is different today. "Jessica," he greets me, but does not tell me it is good to see me. I find my forehead furrowing to match the lines creasing his face. "Jessica, seven years."
Instant ice shoots up my spine and I know, I know where this is going. "*No*," I say instantly, jerking upright in my seat. "Dr. Edwards, you promised to help me."
He sighs and drags a well-manicured hand over his face, and when he looks at me again, his expression is both frustrated and sad.
The room is beginning to spin.
"Jessica." His voice is soft, comforting, and I cling to it in desperation. "You promised that I would help you. And I did, for three years and five months. But I can't anymore, and you know that. You're better now. You have the right tools, and you know how to deal with your problems. You can't keep making me your crutch."
I don't realize I'm crying until salt cascades over my lips. "I'm not, I'm not - "
"Jess."
"You're kicking me out, aren't you?" I sob. "Don't leave me. You said you wouldn't leave me, you *promised* - "
Dr. Edwards sighs heavily. "How could I kick you out? This place is yours. And you know that I can't leave you, Jessica. You know why."
I shake my head out of stubborn denial more than anything. Dr. Edwards has been my staunch confidante for what may as well have been my whole remembered life. He's been there for the spiraling self-loathing, the fathomless depths of despair, the paranoia and panic. He's soothed and scolded in turn as I needed, offered advice and helped me step out of the situation and consider the bigger pictures. Always without fail, he had been here for me. "Don't leave me," I repeat through my tears, my voice a whisper.
Dr. Edwards's expression is that of sympathy, though he seems otherwise to be unaffected by my tears. "Jessica, I can't leave you," he stresses again, and before my horrified eyes his image flickers and distorts before he disappears completely, only for his space to be filled by something - someone else.
I wail and turn my face away from his replacement, but I haven't covered my ears and I can hear her voice, familiar yet different. "Jess, you can't hide from yourself forever. You wanted to get better. You know how to get better. Nobody said it would be easy, sweetheart. No one said it would be fun."
And that's the bitter truth of it. I understand it deep inside, but I can't find it in myself to admit it aloud, not tonight. I look up once to meet my blue-grey eyes framed with freckles and streaky red hair, before I close my eyes.
When I open them again I'm sitting at my desk, my dark room lit only by the glow of my computer screen. I pull my knees up to my chest, and put my head down, and cry. | 2017-12-26T12:04:17 | 2017-12-26T11:53:04 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] In a future where many military and other equipment have associated AI's, many express doubts or even reservations to do their duty. Except for you. YOU F***ING LOVE BEING A TANK! | "FUCK!" blurted out the internal comm.
Armored Operations Assistant AOA-XX0 didn't even need to pull up the diagnostics. The instant loss of coordination could only mean one thing: They threw the track again.
"Could you guys...you know...stop fucking me up like this every 10 minutes?"
"My bad, Zed. This terrain is supposed to suck. That's the point," Sam replied, half-apologetic. "You know this new CHONTOSH chassis has to be put through its paces."
"Fine. Just get back out there and fix it."
Zed panned his optics towards their flanks as the crew disembarked. For how much it sucked training here, Yuma was a strangely beautiful place at night. He caught movement roughly 400 meters west, silhoutted against the horizon: a lone coyote. "*Works for me*," thought Zed, swung his laser-rangefinder towards the target and calculating a firing solution for the 125mm smoothbore in a fraction of a second. He wasn't going ruin this poor creature's day, but real-world targeting practice was important data for his optimization subroutines. "*Next time, buddy*"
He then turned on his external microphone so he could listen in on the crew as they worked to repair the track. It was technically **his** track, but Zed wasn't programmed to associate his identity as a weapon system with any one of his individual pieces. The vehicle was just his temporary home, and his job was to help the crew use it.
The CHONTOSH design was much more heavily armed and better protected than the legacy SCHWARZKOPF tank, but so far it hadn't proved to be even nearly as mobile. Zed speculated that was due to a stronger emphasis on static defense against an overwhelming Chinese ground assault. His glory days of maneuver warfare in the desert were over.
"Hey Zed, you mind putting on some music?" asked Pulaski, the team's gunner. Having predictive algorithims that could put ZuckerTunes to shame, Zed mixed up a playlist and played it out the external speakers.
"Thanks bro!"
The AI estimated they had roughly 15 more minutes of repairs, so to pass time he logged their mission telemetry and pulled up the crew's vitals.. It was important to make sure they were taking care of their health. as 150 years of armored combat had made operating a tank no less exhausting or stressful.
"Tanner, your heartrate is off the charts. Cut down on the stim drinks or I'm going to have First Sergeant chew your ass when we get back to base."
"Anyone ever tell you to mind your own fucking business, Zed?" Tanner shot back.
"Yeah, and they're all dead, boot." Zed challenged. He was a first generation AOA, an ad-hoc solution to manned crews facing staggering losses on the modern battlefield. He had more time in combat zones than this young human crew had in the Corps put together. While he had no official rank or authority, their unit's SOP was to defer to his operational advice.
"Listen to him, Tanner" Sam (the Vehicle Commander) ordered.
"Got it, Corporal"
Soon after, the repairs were fixed, and Zed's team was moving back to base. Tomorrow was the firing range. "*Thank the Creator*," thought Zed, A day of sitting still and blowing things up is exactly what the crew needed to relax. Their deployment to the Siberian defensive line was only a few weeks away, and the political situation wasn't improving. Although he had no core programming that caused him to like or dislike combat, he had a central responsibility to achieve the mission. The crew's well-being was vital to that.
"*They're my responsibility*"
EDIT: Did not even realize the top submission's main character was also named Zed. My bad.
| "Hooah, sir!"
The multiple pressure sensors in each of my tread plates thrilled as I crept forward. Bones, gravel and twisted metal gave way before my bulk. Heat sensors affixed to my reinforced, hardened exterior felt the sun as it beat down. It was a beautiful day. The air purification system was in the green and my squad mates were breathing happily. I loved them all. Except for Jasper.
"Sir, I've gotta say, it's a good day to be CX-Clarence."
"Why's that?"
"It just is."
Captain Brody was like my brother. Except, to be fair, she was more like a sister. She had been commanding the lost boys inside me for the better part of the last two years and from the start we had hit it off.
"Sensors, Martin?" she asked, her voice calm and strong.
"Ah, ma'am, we're clear for the next 500. Little fuzz past that." Martin. What a pal.
"Yeah, a little fuzz past that," I echoed. My microphone array picked up a stifled laugh from Martin's station. Martin respected me and what I was capable of in a way that no one else in the squad bothered. I think it was because he knew my capabilities better than the rest. He knew he was redundant, not me.
"Visual on the fuzz past 500?" Brody chirped.
"Visual on the fuzz past 500 is negative, ma'am. Some sort of a fog in the valley." Debeau called from the hatch. Debeau was funny. Debeau could make me laugh. No one especially loved when my funny bone was tickled though. When my humor matrix was accessed I tended to be a bit 'wonky'. I'd disable features like comms entirely, or delay drive controls by anywhere from 300 to 700 milliseconds. I just loved to join in on the fun.
"It's gotta be artificial," Debeau continued. "It's too dry out here for a real fog."
"Probe it," Brody said, matter-of-factly. I readied a canister probe and a wheeler before Martin even shifted in his seat. He knew it. I watched through my seven forward facing interior cameras as he pretended to ready the probes. Instead he typed into the terminal,
*arrogant showoff ;)*.
"Probe it, aye. Canister or wheeler, ma'am?" Martin's finger quivered over the key, ready to race me to Brody's decision.
"Canister."
Martin slapped the key, launching the probe from one of my compressed air tubes. I watched his posture deteriorate as he noted I hadn't made a move to comply.
*You let me win...*
*Then is it really winning?* I teased.
The canister landed and data started to feed to my forward data receivers. None of the information seemed useful at all.
"Ma'am?"
"Yes?"
"This probe isn't giving us cow dung, ma'am." I didn't like swearing. "We should just go take a look."
"I don't really like the looks of things," Brody responded. "Like Debeau said- that fog ain't natural."
"It's not even fog. It's smoke," I shot back, annoyed.
"Even better reason to sit still until we know more."
I sighed. Audibly. I had downloaded an audio clip of someone sighing tragically from an old movie archive. I kept it around for times like these.
"Keep it to yourself, Clarence," Brody scolded. She flipped a switch and my comms flew open. In an instant the override flooded my ears with every communication going on within range of my radio. "This is Captain Brody of Charlie Xray-Clarence requesting air survey- two klick radius of our current."
As soon as a response was inbound I cut all other traffic. A soft drawl drifted across my speakers. "Ah, Charlie Xray, this is AlphaNiner-Wilma we are heading 34, 1.5 of your current. Just headed back to base, can survey when we're sitting on top of you."
Brody double clicked her radio to acknowledge. Approximately 17 seconds later the AlphaNiner called back- this time a different voice. "I'd rather not scan that area. Contact another airship."
"Charlie Xray, disregard that last correspondence. Will survey," the drawl came again, no longer softly.
"What the hell?" Martin groaned. "Those Alphas are useless."
"They really are," I agreed. "Ma'am, can we proceed?"
"Not until we get the Alpha's survey," Brody snapped.
A quiet moment passed, and then the drawl crackled over the radio, "Surveying, Charlie Xray-"
"That's enough," the second voice cut in, lazily. "Heading home..." Then several partial readouts popped up on Brody's display. The area of interest was cut clean in half where the Alpha had stopped the survey.
"Son of a bitch!" Brody cursed. Martin laughed. Debeau poked his head in to see what was going on.
"I'm going," I said firmly, and began rolling forward.
Just then my engine jerked to a halt. I felt the kill-switch engage- the kill-switch I thought I had routed around. And there on my rear facing cameras, grinning grimly in his mechanics chair, was Jasper. His fingers left the little death lever and, looking straight into CamR06, he gave me a little salute.
Edit: a verb's tense | 2018-03-28T12:56:38 | 2018-03-28T12:25:02 | 535 | 228 |
[WP] In this world, soulmates cannot hurt each other in any way or form, intentionally or unintentionally. You are an assassin hired to eliminate a powerful figure. As you close in for the kill, your bullets miss their mark and knives bounce of their skin. Things just got awkward. | He was a stage actor and assassin with a cold heart.
And HE was an American president and theater goer with a heart of gold.
But when his shot doesn't penetrate the back of HIS head they are going to learn that sic semper doesn't always tyrannis.
Can a confederate assassin learn to forgive? Can an American president learn to love again? Find out this summer in "my American assassin". | "No, seriously, you *aren't* my type."
"Look, I agree with you, okay? You're definitely not what I, uhh, what I was expecting. But those are the rules, right? We're kinda stuck together now, aren't we?"
"No. No we're not. Let me tell you about the *rules* okay. The rules are so vague that it could be anything. 'Can't hurt them in any way or form'? It could be your employer is my soul mate. Or your weapons dealer. Or the guy who you're going to buy a tacky new jacket from with the money from this job, whose product can't be the motivation that leads to an assassin taking a job that successfully kills me. Or maybe any one of those people is *your* soul mate, and killing me would ruin your life, and they can't let you do that. Or maybe your soul mate--or any of theirs--is any one of the countless people whose lives would be made worse--significantly or marginally--by my death. I mean, fuck, even just the increase in crime statistics by a fraction of a percent lowering property values in this city by pennies is harm, and if your soul mate lives here that would harm them."
"I'm starting to see why someone wanted you dead."
"Yeah? Why's that?"
"Because you take all the romance out of the world."
"Well, my soul mate will appreciate it, because if she were bothered by it, I wouldn't be able to feel this way."
"Heeeey... Maybe that's it!"
"What?"
"Your big stupid mouth is what made someone want to kill you, right? But losing their potential soulmate would be some form of harm to *your* soul mate. So no matter what, you can never say anything bad enough to get yourself killed for it. Nobody can!"
"Ugh... Reality is giving me a headache again." | 2018-04-24T04:31:34 | 2018-04-24T00:04:50 | 102 | 18 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session | "Okay, the army's coming toward you. What do you do?"
"I tell everyone to hide, then I open the front gate. Is that good for a bonus?"
"A bonus for what?"
"Bluff."
The DM stared at the Bard. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Rogue spoke for him.
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
The fighter chimed in, "How do you expect this to work against an *army?*"
The Bard merely shrugged, and continued his description. "I'll climb to the lip above the gate and begin playing my lute."
"You hear the footsteps of the army approaching," the DM was rolling dice behind a screen, glancing warily at the Bard.
"I keep playing."
The Wizard panicked. "I go to close the -"
"Leave it open," the Bard interrupted.
The DM wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk from the Bard's face. "You see Lu Bu in the distance, leading a host of a hundred thousand."
"I roll perform." The dice clacked against a still wooden table. Not the best roll, but the dulcet tones of the lute still echoed well through the thick forest.
Ahead, the army stopped. Appraising the situation. Discerning the motive of the Bard on the balcony.
"Okay, Bard. Roll bluff." The DM was hunched like a cat behind his screen, ready to pounce.
One roll in front of the screen from the Bard. One roll behind the screen from the DM.
The true testament of will came on part of the DM, who, despite careful maneuvering over the length of his campaign, despite his bonuses, his banners, his buffs, turned his army back through grit teeth instead of flipping the whole damn table. | "I've got this."
The sound of dice rolling in the cup echoed around the tiny attic. The others rolled their eyes.
"You don't have this. Just stop. If you miss-"
He grinned. "I'm not going to miss."
The man sitting across the table sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Lee, just stop. You'll only have him in your sights long enough for a single shot."
"I've got this."
"You're an asshole, you know?" the woman sitting farthest from him burst out. "Do you know how long it took for us to get here? You can't just-"
"Mary. Please. Stop." Lee said, grinning as he shook the cup.
The man sitting at the head of the table waited, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He'd been planning the campaign for a long, *long* time. He hadn't expected it to play out like *this.*
"Don't tell me to stop!" Mary snapped, sitting back in her chair. "If you take that shot, it's just going to glance off. The guards are all going to swarm the tower, and you'll be *done*. You're too far away."
"Mary. Please. I've got this," Lee said, still rolling. A bead of sweat dripped down the back of his neck. Maybe this *wasn't* such a good idea after all.
"You're not even from the right *direction*. The angle's all wrong. How's that supposed to work?"
No. He had it. He'd played everything straight - the buffs to his luck and agility *should* be enough to get him through. If they missed this chance, it would take them *forever* to get back.
If he missed, the party would do fine without him. He'd be left starting from scratch again, but that was just the game, wasn't it?
"The limousine is still rolling, Lee," the man sitting at the end of the table droned on. "What are you going to do?" He turned a page idly, smirking.
Lee grinned. "One shot, right?"
The game master sighed. "One. *One* shot."
"Lee-" Mary said, her eyes tight, but Lee was already rolling.
The dice flew from his cup.
They slammed into the table with a clatter, scattering. The group threw themselves forward, eyes locked on the tiny plastic shape.
For a long moment, there was only silence as they stared.
It was broken by the sound of Lee's laughter, strident and loud.
"Yes! Yes! Oh, *Yes!* You all owe me! You owe me *so hard*! Mary, you owe us pizza!"
She sat back, lips pursed, but there was a grin tugging at her lips.
The game master closed his book slowly, chuckling to himself. That *wasn't* how it was supposed to go. He'd had so much more planned out - so many more challenges they were supposed to face.
But it was impossible to argue with a perfect roll - no matter how implausible a situation that put him in.
"Congratulations," he said, pasting a smile onto his face. "One shot. Assassination complete."
(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!) | 2018-05-29T07:11:07 | 2018-05-29T05:54:52 | 1,810 | 813 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session | "Your army is marching upon grenoble. You face a royalist regiment of two thousand men blocking your path. What do you do?"
"I bear open my breast...", Napoleon started
"Jesus Christ, dude", the DM said
"...and proclaim, 'If any man here wishes to shoot his emperor, I am here'".
The DM sighed and rolled some dice behind his screen.
"Roll for persuasion", he said
Napoleon picked up his dice and rolled, "20." He said stonefacedly.
"Ooookay... the royalist regiment joins your forces I guess" | "Okay, with the guards on the wrong car, he's got a few less people protecting him!"
"Rad. He's approaching the Mostar café. Čabrinović, you were next in initiative because Mehmedbašić fell asleep and Ilić had to go home for work tomorrow, so your turn."
"I activate and throw my bomb."
"That's. a... mis- oh for fucks sakes."
"What?"
"Your Stupid Lucky feat. In the event of a miss, the attack has a chance of happening to another enemy adjacent. I should have placed the cars a bit apart from each other. Fuck. Okay, the bomb rolls under the car, and blows up the car BEHIND your target. Franz is spooked, bloodied, but has radioed guards to get you."
"Can I swallow my cyanide pill? Also use my move action to jump into the river"
"You can try. Roll a d20. I'm not sure what check it'll be so let's say DC 10"
"9"
"You fail to be poisoned... Actually, that was a decent roll, and as I hadn't planned for it... And no, Stupid Lucky doesn't apply if you're attacking yourself... You take the cyanide capsule. You're not dying, but you feel queasy. The river water isn't helping. It's the Archduke's turn now, so he reaches the nearby mayor, and complains loudly before his wife tells him to chillax. Let's roll his next route and... Oh for fucks sakes, Lojka doesn't know about the change in plans."
"Can I just shoot him on his way back?"
"sure, princip."
"Crit."
"Fuck. Roll to confirm crit."
"There."
"Fuck. Okay, so you hit him (and his wife) in the jugular veins. The Archduke Franz Ferdinand remains upright, the Count asks him if he's alright, to which the Archduke replies "Sophie, Sophie! Don't die! Live for our children!" followed by six or seven utterances of "It is nothing.'. Congratulations, gentlemen. You have just started the First World War."
| 2018-05-29T09:37:40 | 2018-05-29T07:22:47 | 303 | 30 |
[WP] You are the sole survivor a famous serial killer as a college student. Years later, after being diagnosed with terminal cancer you finally pluck up the courage to visit him in prison and ask one question that’s been plaguing you for decades: “why didn’t you kill me?”
Thought I’d do a human story in the sea of bullshit wizard/alien stories.
Edit: OF a famous serial killer. My bad. | *Two elderly women driving a car down the highway.*
"Why now?"
"Paul is out of town, he always thought it was bad idea"
"You should listen to your husband, he's been there for you the last forty years."
"Yeah I know but, oh, take a right turn here"
"You do know I have a GPS, hehe? You were saying?"
"Well I don't have much time left, ..."
"Shush, it's ok, it's what friends are for. I know its been hard on you lately. The big C alone is tough enough, all the recent murders in the news though, those poor girls"
"..., I'll phone Paul when we get there."
*A car pulls up at the Psychiatric wing of the Prison.*
"Take your time, and don't forget to call Paul, you're his angel. Now, whatever you decide I'll be here for you"
"Thanks, I have to meet his psychiatrist first so i'll be a while"
*An elderly woman sitting in a waiting room pulls out her cell phone.*
"Paul speaking"
"Paul?"
"Leave a message after the Beep"
"Oh, ... , honey, you should get a new cell phone, this is like the 5th time you ran out of battery this month, you know I don't like speaking to voicemails. I keep rambling and don't know what to say. Especially now, I wanted to speak to you, hear your voice, ... , sigh, ... Paul, you know I love you and I've always respected you, You were there for me in my most difficult moments, you were my rock, you understood everything, we survived everything together so far and whatever comes next we will beat it as well, ... , *snif* , ... , you see now, I've started rambling. Anyway the reason I called was not to get sentimental on your mailbox. ... I'm gonna do it. I'm here now. I'll finally see him again. ... I'll call you when it's over."
*An elderly woman sitting in the psychiatrist office. At the end of conversation.*
"But you have to understand. Even now 40 years later he has not taken responsibility for all his actions. About some cases he talks freely, in others he is a closed book. I do not recommend it but I will make the necessary arrangements. Any last questions?"
"Yes, one, for him"
*Two elderly sitting in a room, one handcuffed to the table behind a protective screen, the other, a woman, out of place but still confident*
"It's been awhile"
"Why?"
"Heh, why what?
"You know, you know, why I'm here, after 40 years. I'm standing here in the place of the 18 girls you've murdered"
"Heh, only convicted for 9, mam. In hindsight I should have killed you, then I would be in the charts with double digits"
"I've got cancer, I'm terminal, I've got perhaps four months, you don't scare me, not anymore"
"The big C huh? Can't compete with that bastard, Heh"
"Why? You killed my dog, broke into my house and left. Why?"
"Why come here, it's 40 years ago, you've had your life, you've married, yes I know all about your husband, probably had children, perhaps even four different dogs by now."
"You aren't gonna answer, are you?"
"Heh, oh no, I am gonna answer you. You know these things called podcasts. There are hundreds of them about serial murders and you know how many are about me? None! I'll tell you, on one condition."
"..."
" I'll tell you if you tell someone else "
" How do you know for sure? "
" You will, I know"
" ... "
" You were gorgeous once, almost an angel, I've had you on my list for a long time. I'm not saying the previous girls were practice but I reserved the 10th spot for you. So yes, I killed your dog, I broke into your apartment and imagine my surprise, me standing there in your hallway, hatchet in hand"
"..."
"Nothing? Fine, I was never a good story teller. Nobody would believe me if I did tell what happened. You still are gorgeous by the way, in a certain light, heh. Well, like I said I was standing there, hatchet in hand and imagine my surprise when slowly your backdoor swung open. I was ready to make a dash for it and then I saw ..."
"Yes?"
"How's Paul by the way?"
"What?"
"How's Paul? I haven't seen him in 40 years, no longer the athlete he once was I assume?"
"What are you saying? No, no, no!"
"Heh, oh but yes. You were his angel as well. We both marked you as our tenth. One rock-paper-scissor game later and he was yours, never expected him to marry you of course."
"No!"
*An elderly woman standing outside a prison, crying, looking at a phone with 9 missed calls, doubting who to call, 911 or her Rock.* | It was raining hard the day I decided to pay him a visit. The prison swam within a sea of mist and fog, it was so humid that breathing became difficult. The incident did not leave me ever since, when he stood under that crimson moonlight, menacing eyes and a bloody knife in his hand, staring down as I crawled helplessly away from him, mud eaten into my half-dismembered legs. And then, he left, like a man who just had an epiphany. The memory lived vividly in my mind, so much that its nightmarish touch I turned into a book. A bestseller, even. It became a movie, and I became somewhat of a star. Married my college girlfriend, had two children. Life was good.
Was. The next few books didn't quite stand out. 'Bland and cliché', they said. The 'One trick pony', they called me, 'He's only hot because he followed the trend'. It all went downhill from there. Our marriage broke just as the third child died stillborn, I was agonizing over my Writer's block when she was seeing someone else. We divorced peacefully, or emotionlessly, all in one morning. The kids didn't seem too troubled. Perhaps I'd been neglecting them as well. Another decade stuggling with the fact that my Writer's block might just be my own talentlessness, cancer came to seal the deal. Even my own cells rejected me.
The prison was dimly lit, hovering above my head were lonely light bulbs depressively shone. The warden, Wade, was fat and fit, the kind of guy with both muscles on his arms and beer in his belly. He was grumpy and hard to speak to, I attributed it to the tearing torrent. He did warned me, though, that the person I sought had changed in many ways. "You won't believe it", he put it. And I couldn't.
Brolly the Cannibal was then a wrinkled old man, silver of hair and gray of life. He was thin, very thin, with a glasses bending on his nose. To me, no, to anyone, he would resemble a retired director being caught for past crimes.
"Not an everyday occurrence that I have visitor." - he remarked - "Who might you be? Someone trying to put together a documentary about me?"
"No, I'm Paul Wilkes, I'm a writer." - he didn't flinch at the mention of my name.
"So you're here gathering materials."
"I'm the one you let live in your killing spree. The only one." - this should jostle his memory.
"Are you? My mind has been hazy lately." - he said calmly, before a sudden spark ran across his eye and he slammed his fist on the table - "Paul Wilkes! You're that guy who wrote a book about me! What do you want now, part 2?"
"No!", - I screamed at the intercom - "I want to know why you didn't kill me!"
"If you're saying the truth, and I believe you are, then I'm sorry. The old me might have known the answer, but he's gone, let's hope for forever."
"You... You are a killer, a cannibal! You don't get to deny your past!"
"I'm not. However, I've changed a lot since I was put here. I've gone to the library daily, practiced veganism and yoga, along with meditation at night. The killer Brolly, along with all his cannibalistic desires had been locked deep within myself, where I envisioned him to spend the rest of his days. I'd love to be able to atone for my sins, but I just can't place you anywhere in my mind. For those who I had killed, well, I remember each of them clearly."
"That's impossible," - I cried out in a mix of anger and fading hope - "You must've remembered me! I was the only one you spare."
"An alien hypnotized me and told me not to kill you."
"What?"
"Maybe my stomach hurt, maybe I was tired. You were not the only one I let live, just the only one I let live *in the middle of culling*. The others I spared, I did so in silence, where they didn't even notice they had been spared. Maybe I saw something in you, maybe I didn't want blood all over my favorite shirt. You're not special Paul, it's time to accept that."
"I...I..."
"You know what I see, Paul? I see acceptance in your eyes, but acceptance, not peace. I've seen both of those looks on the face of deathrows, and I know them by heart. Any answer that I spouted out, anything so believable, you're gonna swallow it. It didn't matter which. So why, then, did you drive all the way here when you could just make up an excuse for the life I spared that moon lit night? No, you understand it yourself, Paul. You seemed the most alive when you was screaming at me through that glass. You know that you had been living that same night perpetually for god-knows how many years. You didn't move on. You came here looking for an answer to end it all, because you've prepared to end it all. You came here hoping that my answer would set you free, that it would give meaning to your world, because nothing else in life is gonna feel like escaping death like that night did, because ever since then your life had lost its colors."
I was shivering in my boots, the looming bulbs overhead shook violently. Brolly stared right at my soul.
"You're afraid to admit that you've been living on borrowed time."
"You...You're wrong...WRONG!"
The light bulbs burst into light, and all fell into darkness. Within that darkness, though, a voice called out to me.
"Mister, hey, mister, wake up!"
Wade was standing there when I opened my eyes. He seemed relieved that I was fine.
"Thank God!"
"What happened?" - I asked.
"You requested to meet with Brolly, and I told him he is dead, and you just...fainted."
"Wait. Brolly is dead?"
"Like a doornail. We had to kill him ahead of schedule when he attacked one of the wardens. Could I ask why you would want to see him, sir? He has no living relative as we know of."
"I... Well, I had some questions for him. Not that it mattered, anyway."
I entered the parking lot letting the rain soaked through me. It felt so refreshing. Maybe I'd call my children, after all this time, to see how they were doing. | 2018-07-21T10:13:28 | 2018-07-21T09:32:19 | 31 | 18 |
[WP] You were recently granted immortality by God. For years, you have seen immortal characters in media say that it is a curse, not a blessing. You just think those guys have been using it the wrong way. | "Seeing everyone grow old and die while you dont age, or seeing people you love, dying of sickness or disease, its agony, immortality is a curse."
"No matter how many things you try, drugs, booze, base jumping without a parachute, it all gets old. You become numb to everything and wish you could wither away like the rest, but it will never happen."
"Seeing entire nations rise and fall, witnessing all the wars and bloodshed, it's enough to drive you mad after a few centuries."
It's always the same old talk, immortality is a curse, itll drive you mad, make you wish you could die again. And it's all bullshit. See, the issue is that when immortality is brought up, everyone thinks of selfish ways to use it, and they get bored after a while. The truth of the matter is that it's all in how you use it.
Sure there are going to be tough times, just like in any mortal life. Loss of friends, family and loved ones, natural disasters, wars, but theres always something worth living for, even when you're unable to die. All these people preaching about immortality being a curse, they're just using it wrong.
The true way to use immortality isn't to be worshipped, or revered as a god. It's not about the drugs, money, or adrenaline either. Imagine being able to rush into a burning building without caring for your safety, just to help anyone left inside escape. Imagine being a rescue diver for people trapped or lost in underwater reefs or cave systems, not needing to worry if your tank runs empty. Or how about volunteering to be infected with any number of viruses or diseases to study their effects and symptoms, and working towards a cure or treatment to help save millions. All these things and more, that's what I've been living for the past few centuries to accomplish, always staying nameless or vanishing after people have been saved, giving the credit to others.
Immortality is only a curse when you use it for yourself, but it's a blessing to everyone else when it's used right.
| There is nothing, nothing left...
I sit at the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge, eyes closed, feeling the gentle breeze hitting my face over the east river, thinking about the last time I had a conversation with God. It was full of excitement and hope. I was told that I could not die, no matter how hard I try, I am now, the only immortal being on this planet, I can, and will live forever!
It was great, unbelievably and indescribably great. I was living the life of a true immortal. I no longer had to work, worry about money, evening eating for that matter, all of the things mortals concerns themselves with. I didn't get old either. I stayed my forever 26 years old self. The world was my playground. I traveled all over, accepted gifts and worship everywhere I went. After all NOTHING can happen to me. Who said immortality is a curse not a gift, they are just using it wrong. I am no Peter Parker. There's no responsibilities to my powers. This gift is for me and me alone, I will enjoy life forever.
Then some time passed, I don't remember how long exactly as at this point the construct of time eludes me. Everything started to fade. The coast line of the the Aegean sea no longer puts a smile on my face. I've seen it a thousand times over. The best chefs can't cook a meal to cheer me up anymore because, what's the point? I am not even hungry and I ate them all. All desires started to fade. Food, sex, the biggest pleasures in the world no longer satisfy me. Most pleasures were born out of survival instincts to sustain and reproduce life. Neither of these things concerned me. I did have one thing, love. Love for my friends, family and romantic partners. One by one, I had to watch them die. Pain, slowly, overshadows all the joy I had once felt. So love too became foreign to me. Not because I didn't need it, or want it, it's because it now pains me. For someone that can't never die, pain is more real than ever. And for the first time in a long time, fear came back to me like an old friend. Except it's wearing different clothes. It's not fear itself, but the fear of love and the inevitable loss of love.
I reached out to God numerous time as I begin to understand the true meaning of immortality. No one answered. Come to think of it, it's been a while since God had spoken to anyone. It seems that he had abandoned us. I was the last symbol and reminder of his existence and power. But like him, I too faded away from people's minds. I slowly turn from "Living God on Earth" to another freak show, symptoms of mutation by radiation. Another freak.
I open my eyes and looked down. I see my legs dangling above the East River, in the middle of Brooklyn Bridge. Abandoned cars all around me and the smell of ash and fire engulfs the air around me. The once crown jewel of humanity is now a pile of rubble and dust. If I didn't know better, I think I am Will Smith in I am Legend. But this is no fiction and I am not nearly as good looking as Will Smith. But I cannot die and I am here to bare witness to it all.
I wipe the tears off my face. I try to not let emotions like these overcome me too much, but from time to time, it knocks on my door. As I get up to leave this hurtful place and back to my cave, I hear a voice. "John, you are now ready". | 2018-08-29T05:53:02 | 2018-08-29T05:01:37 | 235 | 34 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with.
credit to r/Debdub10 for thinking of the idea | Sub-Branch Officer Clevi stood before her superior, Bough Officer Fergh, watching him leaf through her report. The details were hard to believe for even herself, and she had been there. So she wasn't surprised when she was called in to report in person. Even so, a shiver ran through her feathers as she realized that if Fergh didn't believe her report, she would likely be discharged without honor.
"Sub-Branch Officer," Fergh started. An in-auspicious start, thought Clevi. "I think I would like to hear your thoughts in person." Even seated behind a desk, Fergh's presence was towering.
"Yes, Bough Officer Fergh. Where would you like me to start, Sir?"
"From the beginning. Tell me just HOW you ended up among a flight of Humans. Your mission shouldn't have brought you anywhere near their territory!"
"Yes, Sir. But it is apparent now that they are nearing our territory."
Fergh sighs and nods. "More than you know."
"Sir?"
"Continue."
"Yes. As I'm sure you are aware Sir, while on patrol our group was ambushed by a wing of Lurit fighters. My craft was damaged heavily and I was forced to land it on a habitable moon around the second gas giant. The outpost there was also under attack so I was unable to land anywhere near it. As per procedure I dispatched a messenger torpedo with a distress signal and my landing coordinates and I stayed with my ship to preserve resources and utilize it for shelter and protection.
It was only a local day before a ground force of Lurit found me. Following protocol, I exchanged fire until it was clear that I would be unable to fight them all off, at which time I then attempted to arrange a surrender."
Fergh nods. "Understandable."
"We were unable to reach an agreement. The Lurit prepared to resume their attack. That's when I saw the rock hit their commander's head."
"A rock."
"Yes Sir." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a grayish rock the size of her palm. "This rock."
"You stated that one of the humans threw it?"
"Yes Sir. When one of the Lurit fired back at the source of the thrown rock, the Humans opened fire from every direction and swiftly eliminated the group of Lurit. As per procedure I attempted to negotiate a surrender to the Humans. They would not accept either; apparently they found my surrender humorous. Instead, they offered first aid and a share of their supplies."
"Why the rock?"
"I asked that, Sir. I was informed that they were under strict orders not to fire unless fired upon. The soldier I spoke with said that since he threw the rock it didn't count as firing at them. Then his leader yelled at him to pick up every rock in the area so it wouldn't happen again."
"He did what?"
"I still don't understand it, Sir. I would have questioned the order, but the soldier saluted his superior and executed the order. He was doing that smiling thing with the teeth as he did so, Sir. When they were ready to move on, he had collected a sizeable pile and gave me the stone he threw." Clevi shook her feathers out in disbelief. "I wish I could say that was the only mystifying thing they did. But it wasn't.
When they were ready to leave they informed me that I should join them. I insisted that I should stay with my craft, but they disagreed and I felt I was in no position to protest. I quickly found out that they were cut off from their craft as well, and were taking a circuitous route around the forces blocking their way. Over the next 10 planetary days I discovered a lot about them. They truly did rescue me; I was not a captive. In fact they actually incorporated me into their command structure." She paused, trying to find the right way to emphasize what probably looked like a minor note in her report. "If a human ever says to you 'hold my beer' they are about to do something incredibly insane. However, the results will always be equally surprising, usually in a positive way. But not always. I cannot explain it in any satisfactory way."
Fergh lets the silence following her statement stretch. Finally he picks up her report and sets it aside before picking up another smaller folder. Opening it, he reveals the bright teal and yellow marks of a Confidential Order. "There was a member of the Human flight called John Hawkins."
Still confused over the Confidential Order that Fergh so casually revealed to her, it took her a moment to realize the statement was meant as a question. "Y-Yes Sir. He was their medic. He treated my wounds and was the most fluent in the Trade Tongue."
"Three days ago a Human ship dropped out of subspace INSIDE our defensive perimeter. Our engineers are so at a loss at how it happened that they are molting like chicks. They're trying to find a way to do it safely, but based on your report I don't think the Humans have the same set of priorities we do." He shakes out his feathers and begins to rearrange the papers in the report. "Before we could react, the Human ship broadcasted a request for diplomatic talks. Not threats or demands, but talks of alliance."
"But if they could.."
"After that display, how could we say no? Half of the government wants to just humor them until they go away. The other half wants an alliance in hopes having the Humans with us will scare the Lurit off. Either way, we did ask to limit the number of Humans on our planet. We didn't expect them to send only one, this John Hawkins."
"I'm not sure I can tell you much of any worth about him, Sir."
"I'm not asking you to." Slowly, he slides the Confidential Order across his desk to place it in front of Clevi. "Other than the diplomatic talks and basic necessities, he had only one request. He asked for you, by name, to assist him."
Clevi's universe is suddenly upside down. She's too stunned to reply.
"Sub-Branch Officer Clevi, an entire race of unpredictable yet frighteningly effective people are at our doorstep. We need you. As your superior, I must command you to do this. But as a fellow Highlin, I can't possibly ask you to subject yourself to this insanity one more." He reaches across the desk and takes the Orders back. "If you decline, I'll take the responsibility. My superiors can figure something else out. You don't have to do this."
"I'll do it."
"Are you sure?"
"Hold my beer."
| “Are you ready for your first encounter with humans?” Jaax asked light heartedly.
The individual selected to represent the species, for good or bad, is required to make first contact if the species is accepted into the Union. This serves to ensure quality control. If a species doesn't belong in the organization then you had better make sure and do your homework.
“You're joking, right?” Satk is chuckling, sounds coming out of all 3 mouths. He knows it's a joke.
“I'm serious. I think they have a shot. I mean, they just colonized Mars. That's impressive for a class IV species. They haven't even figured out light speed and they're already spreading past their own home planet.” Jaax has a stern look on his face making Satk’s stomachs start to turn. Could it be?
“Stop messing with me. I've done my homework, Jaax. It's not possible.” Satk takes a deep breath and starts flipping through his discovery notes.
“That's what Drea said about the Tihinis. And they were a class V. And, well, I'm sure you remember what happened to him.” Drea's first contact was far from good. Shot down during entry into the planet's atmosphere. Drae, now residing on a mantle somewhere, marks the 7th fatality since the Galactic Union Apprenticeship Program began.
Flipping vigorously through his notes, Satk starts to sweat and breathe heavily. A heavily mucussed voice sounds over the intercom causing Satk to jump and nearly drop his docket.
“Case number three-seven-five-point-two-alpha! Please proceed to courtroom seven-eight-one immediately!”
Satk stands up slowly, realizing his dizziness. He clasps onto the docket with a sweat drenched hand. All four fingers are barely enough to keep it from dropping to the ground. His legs are shaking as his nervous system releases anti-anxiety chemicals to calm him down. It is only a short walk to the courtroom door where a burly creature awaits his arrival, electric baton in hand. Screenings are necessary since the last incident. The student didn't like the court's decision. The judge and recorder were the only two that didn't make it out alive.
“ID badge.”
“What?” Satk jumps at the statement.
“Give. Me. Your. ID. Badge.” This guard is known for being unpleasant.
Satk slides his courtroom training badge across the table.
“Case number, Mr. Sack.”
“It's Satk.” The guard puts a single tentacle to his forehead and takes a deep exaggerated breath. “Case number three. Seven. Um..” Satk begins to open the docket when a large tentacle reaches out and snatches it from his hand.
“Do you have any weapons, mechanical or bio-organic?”
“Yes. Um, no. I mean yes, I do not have any weapons.”
The guards only eye stares at Satk, his brow lowered. “Step in the scanner, please.”
Satk did as he was asked. It's a new scanner. Or at least it was. The last student that came through here forgot she had a scalpel from a science course earlier that day. Here eyes went wide when the alarms sounded. She started to scream something, but it was too late. The guard wasn't taking any chances this time. He turned her into a loosely piled heap of ashes with a single shot.
A horizontal red beam scanned him starting at the bottom, working towards the top, and then back to the ground. A single beep and a green light told Satk he wouldn't be vaporized today. As he stepped out of the scanner and towards the door the guard yelled at him.
“Forgetting something?”
Satk stood in thought, patting his outer garments to check when the guard held the docket out in front of him.
“Oh, thank you!” Satk exclaimed.
The guard, now grinning, looks a bit more friendly.
“Want to know the good news?” The guard asks.
Satk stares at him blankly.
“After today, I'll probably never have to see you again.”
A chill runs down Satk's body as he grabs the docket and enters the courtroom.
Satk barely has time to reach his chair when another guard starts to speak.
“Case Number three-seven-five-point-two-alpha. Humans of planet Earth: Denial into the Union. The Honorable Grak presiding.”
“Please be seated. Who will be presenting this case?” The judge asked emotionless.
A guard hands the judge a copy of the discovery recovery report generated by Satk.
“Mr. Sack. Good morning.”
“It's actually pronounced Satk.”
“Mr. Sack, are you prepared to present your case..” Judge Grak looked at the report in front of him “..against the Humans of planet Earth entering the Union?”
“Yes, your honor.” The room dimmed and a large screen lit up with the discovery report displayed. “Your honor, in my report you will see a brief history of Humans on Earth, technological discoveries, what they have done with them, and statistics on crime and violence. Lastly I will show you and the members of the court visual displays that I believe prove my standing against the Humans of Earth being entered into the Union.”
The confidence radiated from Satk. He spoke strongly and without stuttering. He rattled off history lessons and statistics. Wars and why they were waged. The number of fatalities across the globe as a result of negligence or violence. The numbers were the most astonishing. Millions of humans killed, murdered, in war. But finally, the moment of truth had arrived. The moment that Satk believes will hammer the final nail in the coffin.
“Your honor, the videos I am about to show you depict the extremely violent and nonsensical nature of the Humans of Earth.” Satk hit play and took his seat.
Almost immediately the murmurings started. Gasps accompanied by comments like “Is he serious?”, “He's joking, right?”, and “We're looking at a deadman.” filled the courtroom. Satk is too consumed with his own presentation that he doesn't notice that even the judge's eyes have opened nearly as much as his jaw.
“Your honor, here you can see a strange ritual. A Human sneaks up behind others and shaves a portion of the victims hair. They let weapons such as pellet claymores hit them in the chest.” Satk is starting to smile as he knows he is nailing the presentation and has absolutely convinced the court of his position. But he wants to sell it further.
“Here is the most appalling portion of the video, your honor. A man has a piece of metal shaped into a crude shape of the Human male reproductive organ that has been heated with fire. He proceeds to press it against another man's buttocks and laughs maniacally as it burns the image into his skin!”
“Turn it off.” The judge demands.
The video turns off and the lights begin to turn back on.
“Mr. Sack. This is quite shocking.”
Satk sat back in his chair thinking “I nailed it”. The judge has no idea I prepared everything last night.
“Mr. Sack. Are you familiar with Johnny Knoxville?” The judge is leaning back against the wall behind him. He does not seem disturbed nor amused by my confidence. “By your blank stare I'm going to assume that you are not.”
“Should I know him? The name doesn't sound familiar.”
“Mr. Satk, you just showed us clips of a comedy show called Jackass. It is meant to be satirical humor that is not serious.”
“Wait, what?” Satk stood up from his chair. “Fuck my life..”
“Mr. Sack, I regret to inform you that your request to “deny the Humans of Earth entry into the Union” has been denied. This is a result of your poor researching skills and your inability to clearly represent a case against a species that should very obviously not be in the Union. In order to increase your knowledge of this species you are hereby ordered to embark on a one person mission to greet and invite the Humans of Earth to the Union. Additionally, you will forfeit all study materials obtained from the Galactic Union under the apprenticeship program so they may be repurposed. Your ship will leave 2 days from today. Do you have any questions?”
Satk stared at the judge for what seemed like an eternity before he finally answered. “I'm going to die, aren't I?”
Judge Grak promptly shrugged his shoulders and said “Probably.” He grabbed his gavel and slammed it hard on the podium and shouted “Next case!” | 2018-10-11T14:57:59 | 2018-10-11T13:39:33 | 45 | 27 |
[WP] On your deathbed you reveal the secret you've carried with you your entire life, only to promptly recover and have to deal with the consequences. | I have the money to afford the best doctors. So, when one of them told me that the pain I had been feeling in my gut wasn’t from a hernia, but stage 4 stomach cancer, I believed him. I am 55 years old, and my only regret was that I would die with my quest unfulfilled.
My wife cried. My sons cried, and told me that I owed it to the woman they had come to think of as “Mom”, and that I should tell her what I had been keeping from her for the 15 years of our marriage.
So I told her. She was surprised, to say the least, but I could see in her eyes the pieces falling into place. The late nights at “work”. The mysterious bruises. Why she was never allowed in the basement. It all made sense, now.
My best friend, Clark, though, had a look of grim determination when I told him of my diagnosis.
“I’ll be back in a few seconds.” Clark stepped out of the hospital room.
True to his word, Clark stepped back into the room before the door had even finished closing. He brushed a bit of snow off of his shoulder, and held out his hand.
“Take this.” Clark said, dropping a single pill into my hand. “It’s from my lab. An old formula from...home.”
I shrugged and swallowed the pill. At this point, what was the worst they could happen? I felt a sudden rush of warmth, and, within seconds, the searing pain in my stomach vanished.
“Clark, what was that?” I said. I felt stronger than I had in months.
Clark smiled, and ran his eyes up and down my body. I hated when he did that; it was half the reason I lined my suits with a lead-based polymer.
“Cancer free.” Clark said, sinking into the bedside chair. “So now let’s talk about how Vicki is dealing with knowing that her husband is Batman.” | It has oft been said that god must be a comedian. Now that I have been the butt of one of his jokes I’m inclined to agree.
It all began on the exceptionally humorous day of April twentieth, nineteen sixty-nine. That day we did something we never thought we were capable of, and never dared to do again. But that one time we did it, it went as good as it could go. We ran into the bank, pulled out our guns and left with nearly six million dollars in cash. But then the fear sat in, the FBI would surely be after soon, and they wouldn’t stop before they had us.
So we decided to wait them out, we each took a stack off bills to cover our escape and hid the rest of the money where no one would ever find it.
And so the years passed and one by one my friends either got caught or simply got old and passed away. By the time I found myself nearing the end, i was the last one of our little band of robbers. I’d left Crime behind immediately after my first and last heist, found a girl, started a family and lived a happy life. It had served me better than the others who had either kept up those criminal ways and found themselves in prison cell sooner or later. For me, it had been careless that did it in the end, I fell down the ladder and pierced both lungs, ruptured a kidney and literally broke my neck.
When I woke up in the hospital the family was there, my wife, my two daughters and even my son. I smiled and beckoned him closer, he was a good lad, much like me when I was his age. I was sure he’d use the money well, and that even after I was gone my family would not go hungry.
When he leaned in I raised my arm with great effort and pulled him even closer. I whispered the location of that great treasure in his ear, I made sure he would know where to find it. Now that I had made sure I could let go. I said my goodbyes, closed my eyes, and everything went black.
Imagine my surprise when I woke up to find that death not, in fact claimed me. The nurse informed me that i had slipped into a coma for early two months, during which my broken body had mostly healed, though I would likely never be as strong and fit as I was before, I would make as close to a full recovery as possible.
Not long after I woke up my family came to visit, my wife, my daughters and... and you son appeared to be missing. I asked my wife where he was and she broke down in tears, said that when I fell into the coma he had gone away, and when he returned he had brought the money with him, handed them some twenty thousand dollars and left ‘To go and live like a king for the rest of my days!’ She told me he had bought a house in Montana and had only contacted them once, per phone on his mothers birthday.
I cannot describe the sorrow and anger I felt that my son had betrayed his family, and that I had given him the means to do so.
It was with the heavy weight of sadness on shoulders, that I took the phone and dialed the FBI, for what I had given, I could also take away.
Of course I was arrested, and held responsible for the deaths of all six people we shot in that bank.
So I write this, the last letter I will ever write, in my cell, tomorrow they’ll strap me in and flip the switch. To have survived so I can die again, god must surely be a comedian. | 2018-12-15T00:12:32 | 2018-12-14T23:08:52 | 105 | 34 |
[WP] From the boss’ perspective in a horror game, you’re an immortal being who keeps coming back to life to try and kill them. They have to beat you for infinity to stay alive. You only have to beat them once and they’re gone forever. You’re the real terrifying creature. | It started like when most adventurers who come to challenge me: I squashed it like a beetle almost instantly. To be honest, I probably killed it a dozen of times before I started recognizing it.
Why It? Because no human, elf, dwarf, or even hellspawn is that scary. It comes back. Always. And every time a little stronger, learning from its own mistakes. Its power is not too impressive, but the perseverance terrifies me. Dying horribly over and over just to one day vanquish me...
I thought about changing tactics, but I've been fighting the same way for centuries, and trying to change my style would take to long, and basically be suicide. So I keep doing what I always did: smash hard and fast.
I still kill it pretty quickly, but every time it takes a little longer, at least another hit, to turn it into a puddle of crushed bones and blood.
I know that one day it will kill me, and I won't just
come back again as if nothing happened. I'll be gone. What scares me the most is thinking when it will stop. Will it kill everything there is in this world ?
PS: writing on mobile, sorry for formatting! | "The world is made up of two classes - the hunters and the huntees."
*That is my character description. As you probably guessed, I am a hunter. Those things I kill, the things you call "mobs"? Those are the huntees. I'll admit, some of them are smart and know to hide or attack me in packs. Some of them are seriously challenging to put down and deal damage to my body in the process. But I enjoy it. And it's not strictly limited to mobs. I enjoy hunting those watching on the side too, the NPCs. If I need a place to stay and cannot afford to rent a room at the Inn, i'll simply kill the owner and take a room by force. Why? Because I can. If I need to borrow a weapon, i'll simply loot a dead man's body. I couldn't care less if he was to be buried the next day. I don't know why, this is simply my nature. The way my genes have been coded. And anyways, who's going to stop me? Other characters have tried and my physiology, known as "stats" by scientists, have always prevailed. In this world of ours, the strong eliminate the weak and by chance I was spawned as one of the strong. Is it unfair? Yes, it is. If I could get ahead in this world by being nice, I would be the nicest person you could ever meet. But I can't, so I am not. Whoever made this world seems to enjoy spectating the free for all, almost as if it was developed for the sake of entertaining some loser behind a screen we are unaware of.*
*Now you might be thinking, that there has to be something on the map that could defeat me, right? You wouldn't be wrong. I have been defeated. Over and over by the Great One at the end of the known world. Yet I won't go away that easily. I cannot be killed forever. I always come back to life, I always re-spawn where I spawned previously. I am immortal. I'm beginning to think i'm some sort of.. God. The Great One must be beginning to think so, too. Every time I conduct a raid into The Catacombs, it's expressions become more animated, with fear. It has no issue dealing with my admittedly overpowered weapons, they hurt but not enough to deter any of it's attacks. But every time, my understanding of it's abilities, it's pattern of thinking, grows. Like all the monsters I have hunted before it, I can begin to predict it. I can begin to sense when it's at it's weakest, when it's at it's strongest, where I should strike to maim, what I should avoid.*
*I'm not sure why I don't just quit and look for other endeavors, it would certainly be less of a hassle.*
*But there is no thrill greater than the hunt.* | 2019-02-20T16:06:30 | 2019-02-20T16:04:18 | 36 | 25 |
[WP] “So you’ve come hero.” The most powerful dark lord in history says as he faces you across the hall. But before you take another step, he motions to the cutest little girl you’ve ever seen with tears in her eyes. “But first, please explain to my granddaughter why Grandpa needs to die.” | I see the girl behind him, seated on a pillow twice as large as she is. Her auburn hair clung to her face and neck in clumps, the grizzled ends brushing against the shoulders of her stained and patched pink gown.
“No,” I said, driving my blade into the Dark Lord’s guts. “She will learn.”
The girls eyes widened slightly as she watched me pull my sword from her grandfathers flesh, his lifeblood pooling in his hands, on the floor. She made only a small sound when he fell.
“Girl,” I said, kneeling to her level. “Grow to hate me. Grow to forget me. Just do not grow into him, or I will come for you, and you will die.”
I withdrew my dagger and placed it in her hands.
“Goodbye,” I said, and I left. | "So here you are. Would you like to explain, or should I?"
I look at Amy, crying, and put my hand under my chin, and raise it up. And then in the same way as I showed her, she does the same.
"I'm sorry, honey," I say to her. "You deserve better."
“Enough!" The Dark One screams, silencing her and knocking her over with a wave of his hand. "I think you should explain to her why her dear old grandpa has to die."
I look at her, my beautiful twenty-five-year-old granddaughter, and I see the same scared little girl...
\-
*"I'm scared, grandpa," she says into my shoulder. We're about fifty yards from the dugout, so I don't think anyone can hear us.
“It's just softball," I say to her. "Softball is one of the only things that's fun that I can still do anymore."
“But what if I miss every time? All the other girls will laugh at me."*
*"They might laugh at you. But so what? At some point in life, people are going to laugh at you, honey."*
*"Easy for you to say," she says, pulling back. Looking into her spiteful ten-year-old eyes, I realize there's so much she doesn't know about me. "You're a superhero."*
*"But there was a time when I wasn't one," I say. "The only reason I got these powers is because I showed I was ready to be brave even without them."*
*I put my hand under her chin. "You know what I used to do, sweetie? Every time I was scared, and believe me, there were some scary villains, I would put my hand under my chin."*
*"And then what?" she asks.*
*I push her chin up, just a little bit, so she is looking up, above me, at the skies. “It doesn't mean that much, but it means you're ready. That you can handle whatever comes, right? That no matter what happens, you'll be okay. Does that make sense?"*
*"Ok," she says. "When are you going to tell me about all the villains you fought?"*
*"One day," I say. "In fact, if you go back out and finish the game, I'll tell you one after. What do you say?"*
*But she's already running back on the field.*
\-
(continued below) | 2019-12-11T19:17:14 | 2019-12-11T17:53:44 | 363 | 78 |
[WP] You are a nice person, but your superpower is that you instinctively know exactly what to say to someone to crush them. You're very effective in throwing supervillains off their game, but your fellow heroes always feel really uncomfortable watching you work. | Connivus cackled as he stood before us.
I blinked as the man walked out of the shadows. In his hands was a comical detonator.
A box with a large, blinking, red button. Most likely wired to the pallets of explosives we found on our walk into this warehouse.
Connivus looked good. New suit. New accessories. Like the earmuffs. He didn’t have those before, but I already knew why he had it.
He didn’t want to ever hear me speak to him again.
“I have to just push this button… and boom!” Connivus smiled as he stopped a few meters out. The man only looked at my team, and not me.
I pointed to my eyes, then to his face.
Connivus’s eyes widened as our eyes met. He couldn’t help it. It was reflex.
In that moment, my powers kicked in. I didn’t have super strength, speed, or energy powers.
No.
That would have been so nice.
Instead I had something far more sinister.
I could hear one’s inner voice.
Their dreams. Their hopes. Their fears.
I placed my fingers onto my jawline. Hands on either side of my face.
It mirrored his trimmed beard.
My left hand dipped, as my right hand raised.
Then I tilted it a centimeter.
Connivus froze and he nearly dropped the remote in his haste to touch his beard. His fantastic beard.
He tried to feel it. He had spent all morning grooming it. Those times in the bathroom staring at his own unchanging image. They blurred together as fear ran through his mind.
I raised my right hand and wiggled it. Good try my evil dude.
My disrespect triggered him.
Connivus, arch-villain of J-City could hear them of course. The words of his ‘loving’ parents. He was gay. He was ugly. He would always be a nobody.
The man began to hyperventilate and he turned around so that he could no longer see me.
His earmuffs stopped sounds. Worked for him, but not for us.
It was awkward and embarrassing. The way his sobs echoed in the room.
I sighed. I always felt like a dick using these powers. At least we stopped him from triggering the bomb that would ruin the docks.
Yet Quick Lighting did not snatch the remote.
Power Gambit did not charge over to take it.
Gear God did not deploy any traps or gadgets.
Mind Mistress did not knock Connivus into blissful unconsciousness.
I turned to my right. Where my team was standing.
They were also looking away.
Mind Mistress had her hand over her ears, and her eyes squeezed tight.
I stared at my team.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
————
Thanks for reading! | We are trapped. Gullimore has caught us and put us in glass cylinder filled with green, bubbly liquid. It was almost impossible to not let the moistness of it send us unconcious, but we had to fight.
It has been a few hours since we were trapped. We thought we had him in the entrance. Opal had it all planned-Ember would burn out the minions, Ellix would turn off the saws, and Sean would just run to gullimore and snap him off.
Well, Ellix started everything too quick. Instead of turning off the traps, he accidently took off the electricity, including the lights. That turned on the alarm and the emergency generator, summening way more minions than we were prepared. Ember couldn't fight alone against the minions, so Elix had to join with his lightning attacks - big mistake if everything from metal. It hit off sean who was just one foot away from gullimore. Sean was sent forword torwords a cylinder, cracking it a bit.
I didn't need to hear Opal's call to know Sean is down. Ellix and Ember startef to fail. Ember saw me and sent me a burning baseball bat. "just hit as much as you can". I knocked off three minions before falling. One of them grabbed my ankle from behind. Until I took him down four more were already holding onto me. Power was truely not my strength. It seemed Opal was in the same situation pretty fast. And after being alone in a never ending hoard of minions, they fell too.
Gullimore finally returned. He was smirking. *just an awful taste in colour, really*. Not the time for that. "I guess you are confused as to how you are here." he looked at Opal. "maybe you are the most confused one here. Well, this green subsitute neutralizes your power using the amendo crystal" "ThIs GrEeN sUbSiTuTe NeUtRaLiZeS yOuR pOwEr UsInG tHe AmEnDo CrYsTaL, look at me, I am so smart with my crystiliezed chymestry shit, I have a PhD in alchemy" I could vaugely hear Opal voice. "-I have a PhD in multi dimensional chymestry. Do you wanna know what I will do with your power? I-" I looked at Opal's cylinder. It was the one that Sean hit and cracked. "Opal, your power works! We can do something!"
Opal looked at me, then at Gullimore, and then at me again. She knew what will happen of she will help me. But it was the last resort. She channeled me and Gullimore together.
*stop talking about your PhD.*
*what?*
*stop talking about it. It isn't special. You are not special because of it.*
*why, but it is-*
*but it is what, ha? You think that just because you could copy answers from Sarrah you are worthy of this adjective? You have done nothing by yourself in higher channel physics.*
*I have! I tried really hard... And I even scored the best-*
*You cheated! You are just lying to yourself, thinking that telling you are not to anyone else doesn't make it true! You didn't work hard then. You didn't work hard at all! You always exploited your giftedness, and when you failed you didn't even try the slightest!* "stop it"
*I am not... I am not...*
*We are not what? A total fraud? Everyone knows you are. This is why you are here. A villan. Hated by everyone. No body likes you. Nobody never will.* "stop it, please"
*I-I can be worthy of love*
*How, exactly? You have done only bad. Not even the most twisted mined can like you. Not even yourself. You have no worth! If you'd die people would be happy!* "stop! Please, stop!"
Gullimore started to sob. *look at them. You **want** to be like them. You want to be helpful. How funny. You can't. You can't be good, you can't be worthy, you can't be helpful. You are just you. A burden. To them, to this state, to humanity.*
Opal cried too. | 2020-02-25T12:34:34 | 2020-02-25T12:16:42 | 418 | 118 |
[WP] You made it to the semi-finals of a nationwide elite wizardry competition. The crowd loves you, and the esteemed judges regarded you as the dark horse of the competition, with your unorthodox approach. There's just one problem; You don't know how to use magic. You never did.
Bonus points if you find a way to include a harmonica solo. | How had no one realized I was a fake? I'd signed up for the wizard competition as a joke. Figure it was a bunch of Harry Potter fans running around on broomsticks pretending they were playing quidditch.
In the first round I did card tricks. Wizards aren't great at probability--it turns out their education system skips math in favor of alchemy--so they were all shocked when I guessed what card a girl from the audience was thinking of.
In the second round, I wrapped ten chains around myself and swallowed the key. The audience gasped like they'd never heard of Houdini. It turns out wizards skip anatomy and physiology, and study astronomy instead. Afterwards I asked the emcee if he'd ever heard of a double joint and he asked what kind of door I needed it for.
Honestly, a nice guy. I felt bad for deceiving all of them.
And now, I was the piece de resistance. A darkhorse nobody who'd walked in off the streets and made it to the final round. People were already whispering things like "chosen one" and talking about about how I'd match up against "the bad one."
Sweat trickled down my forehead from the hot spotlight. A woman in the back screamed my name and fainted. The rest of the audience took up the chant. "Eustace! Eustace! Eustace!"
I was out of tricks. No more cards, no more chains. A good magician always prepares, and I'd assumed the whole thing was a joke. No time to set-up sawing a woman in half. I didn't have a partner who was in on the trick.
It was just me.
And my harmonica.
I nearly dropped it pulling it out of my pocket, what with my sweaty palms.
"Music!" gasped a man in the front. The word traveled through the rest of the crowd like a wave. The emcee suddenly looked nervous and mopped his brow.
Had these people never seen a harmonica? Listened to some Bob Dylan?
I put the harmonica to my lips, trying not to remember the disaster that was the second grade talent show.
The whole auditorium quieted down and seemed to breathe as one.
I stamped the wooden stage, hard and loud. It echoed across the whole auditorium. After four bars of resting, I began.
The first few notes tested the air. Hesitant. I was clearing my throat, so to speak.
I put down the harmonica and spoke, my boot still thumping the stage.
*I guess plus being a wizard /*
*I'm a harmonica player too /*
*And if you care to take a dare /*
*I'll summon a devil for you*
Then I tore into the first bars of "Devil Went Down to Georgia." The crowd screamed and got to their feet. Some were stamping, Some were clapping. Some were rapidly making their way towards the brightly lit exits. The stage shook from all the noise and the lights overhead rattled. But I couldn't stop. I had to finish. The notes poured out of me like water.
The stage under my feet rumbled. What the hell was happening? I couldn't think about it. My lips were bruised, I couldn't get enough air, and my hands were slick with sweat.
*Play. Play.*
With my last breath, I forced the last run of notes out of the harmonica. For one shining moment, silence descended on the auditorium. I panted in the spotlight.
Then, with a groan, the stage collapsed.
I was later told the wizards fled the building. Not a one came to look for me, assuming I'd been dragged to the Planes of Unending Agony for my arrogance. I wasn't. Instead I woke up several hours later covered in dust and cobwebs and several pieces of lumber. It turns out wizards skip architecture, too--and study advanced circle drawing instead. | **Magic is not that hard.**
And yet... Esra couldn’t do magic.
Her father was a dwarf. Her mother, a giant. Though she looked vaguely human, there wasn’t a magical bone in her body. In fact, her bones were so un-magical, they gave her an unusual advantage…
All Esra ever wanted to do was attend Magic School. She didn’t care that she couldn’t do magic like the other kids. Just like any child, she wanted to learn and to experience the pure wonder of the wizarding world.
But that world was closed to her. In a nation of witches and wizards, racism against “non-magic folk” was rampant.
She did not get her letter. She was never invited. But Esra packed her bags and marched all the way to the gates of the school, anyway.
When she showed up, the castle gates were already closed. They refused to budge for her. She was greeted only by a crowd of insult-hurling children.
“Half-breed!”
“Get out of here, you magicless mutt!”
Someone dangled a piece of paper out of the gates, saying, “Oh, didn’t you get your letter? Where’s your letter?”
And one particularly vile boy with white-blonde hair and a sniveling sneer cast a spell on her. It should have been cause for expulsion - casting spells on other people. But the Professors were content to turn a blind eye.
The boy aimed his wand at her and hissed, meaning to turn her into a newt. A green wisp of magic wriggled through the iron-wrought gates and slammed into Esra’s stomach.
Her stomach tingled. A feeling coursed through her veins.
...and then it was gone.
That was the day Esra realized her true potential: you don’t need magic to be special.
***
The announcer's voice boomed around the stadium, drowned out only by the roar of the crowd.
Welcome to the Semi-finals.
How long had she trained to get here? How much abuse had she weathered?
Down in the arena, Esra stood in the neutral ground. Her muscles rippled in the sunlight. A referee floated on a broom above them, but Esra only had eyes for her opponent.
*Him.*
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Esra said.
“I’m sorry,” he casually tossed back his white-blonde hair, “Have we met?”
Esra growled, but not out of anger. Years of training had prepared her for this fight, and this sniveling rat of a wizard had no idea what was about to hit him.
“Right, I want a nice, clean game!” the referee said. “When your opponent is knocked out, you will cease casting. And for magic’s sake, no death spells!”
The referee stared pointedly at the blond wizard. He beamed his perfect smile, promising nothing.
The referee turned to Esra, “If you go down quick, I’ll do what I can to get you out before he does anything… permanent.”
Esra said nothing. She was done with pity.
She retreated to her corner of the arena, sparse grass and muddy earth squishing under her feet.
And then, the match began.
The wizard did not relent. He went through every spell in his repertoire in the first ten minutes. Lightning bolts called from the sky, wolves made of ice and wind howled and stormed around the arena.
But nothing stuck. Esra’s body seemed to absorb the lightning. And when the wolves tore at her flesh, they came away with broken teeth.
All the while, Esra did nothing but walk closer to her target.
The Wizard transformed the earth into a thousand, grasping hands, but the hands melted and returned to mud before they could touch Esra’s feet.
Even from a distance, she could see the worry lines of his face. His sniveling turned to fear…
...until he broke the rules. The wizard’s face was twisted with indignant rage. He lifted his wand, and hissed the ancient words of Death.
A skull erupted from the tip of his wand. It made a wretched moan as it raced across the arena. The crowd was screaming.
The skull slammed into Esra’s chest, knocking her flat on her back. A whistle pierced the cold autumn air. The referee was about to declare the match over - until Esra lifted her head.
And stood up. And dusted herself off.
The crowd was silent.
Esra simply said, “Again.”
“How?” The wizard demanded. Another skull erupted form his wand.
This time, Esra was ready for it. She braced herself against the impact, and the spell only pushed her back a few inches. It disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
“Again!” she roared, taking another step toward the Wizard.
He threw a flurry of death spells at her. Flying skulls erupted from his wand, their jaws unhinging as they flew across the muddy field. They surrounded her, all of them screaming in bloody terror before they slammed into her.
The ground erupted in an explosion of dirt and mud.
And at its center, Esra still stood.
“Is that all you got?” she asked.
The wizard was panting. Gasping for breath. Holding his wand up as if that could still, somehow, ward her off.
She grinned, showing all her teeth.
“My turn.”
When she was done with him, they had to drag his body off the field.
***
**Join /r/PSHoffman** for more new stories every week. | 2020-10-09T07:54:58 | 2020-10-09T07:31:00 | 1,801 | 708 |
[WP]After watching too much anime, you've been training for the day you're summoned to a medieval fantasy world. Instead you're summoned to a sci-fi/horror FPS world where an AI instructs you to exterminate the alien horde who wiped out humanity. It gives you a 9mm with two clips & wishes you luck.
First off Thanks for the silvers. Secondly, The clips instead of magazines was intentional. A couple of people actually caught it and used it in different ways. | "A c-96 with 2 stripper clips? Are you for real?" I said to the voice in my head
"This is all i can give you, i dont have the licence to print laser based weaponry. rest assured i can print as many 9x19mm cartridges as necessary"
"If you can print bullets then cant you get me a modern gun with magazines?"
"Negative. i was crated for food dispensing, printing you and amunition is already reaching the limits of what i am supposed to do. Rest assured, if you are to die i can print you again"
"Can i create a license for you to print more strips?"
"I highly doubt it, unless you have vast knowledge of the S8H systems. Both the gun and the clips were obtained from a museum"
"Are there any more usefull AIs arround?"
"I lost contact with my brethren a week ago"
"God damn it. Can you at least tell me where to get metalworking equipment?"
A map hologram is shown in front of my eyes with the route to an artisan shop.
"Shit, this is going to be a long week"
(Sorry if this isnt any good, it is my first time here) | "Can you, for the love of god, at least tell me what's the equivalent of slimes in this world?"
The AI whirred and hummed. That was a weird thing it did. Wasn't this supposed to be an advanced world? Why would my only companion make such inhumane and annoying sounds? Couldn't it at least be a cute girl? I'm not even asking for a fully human waifu, you know. It could be anything else instead of this lumpy machine with a monitor for a face, lumps of wires draped haphazardly over its wireframe body, and...
You know what? If I squint a little bit...
"No," the AI said.
"You are incredibly unhelpful," I muttered.
"Incredible. Positive. Thank you," it said.
I gripped the handle of my gun ever tighter. This wasn't exactly something I was used to, but I had enough sense to keep my finger off the trigger. My eyes flitted around, surveying the horrifying landscape filled with advanced, destroyed technology, and ripped apart bodies from unknown species, all tinted a brackish red from a dying, setting sun.
I gulped. Twice. They sounded extraordinarily loud. The lack of music only made the atmosphere even more nerve-wracking.
And there it was. A snarl.
I strained my ears. I looked around. Scanning. Kept my back to the wall.
A shadow jumped around, from obstacle to obstacle. There was so much debris and random corpses that it had its fair share of cover.
The sun continued to dip below the horizon. It got darker and darker, and the shadows got longer and longer.
I couldn't help it. The nerves. The fear. My fraught finger trembled closer and closer towards the trigger. I held up the gun, pointing it towards the growing shadows. At the very least, it shouldn't be aimed at my own foot.
Loud bangs punctuated the air. The bullets flew haywire, some pinging onto metal, some settling themselves with a chilling squish.
I fumbled the magazine out, stuffing my second clip of bullets into them. No dying scream of a weird alien, so I guess none of my bullets hit the strange monster. Each high-strung step I skittishly took crunched into the rough foreign soil. I tried to keep my attention focused on any weird noises, besides the stupidly whirring AI floating beside me.
"Could you at least be quiet?" I barked nervously.
"It's too quiet?"
"Oh nononononono--"
Well. At least the music helped to cover up my screams and the sound of mandibles and claws tearing into human flesh, my eyes hazily looking at the few ailing stars dotting the murky black sky.
Could I be reincarnated somewhere else now, please?
---
r/dexdrafts | 2020-11-08T05:27:02 | 2020-11-08T05:03:47 | 95 | 54 |
[WP] most interstellar navies of the Galaxy adapted tactics from their wet-navy cousins. That was until humanity arrived they had an ocean so most figured they would adapt their wet Navy tactics to their space Navy, instead they adapted tactics from something they called the air Force. | The Atraxian fleet was coming at us. They flew in from the far edge of pluto along the system plane. We had plenty of time to see them coming. Three large dreadnoughts, with escort vessels down to destroyer levels. Multiples of 3’s, 3 battleships, 9 cruisers, 27 destroyers each. Arrayed like a dendrite pattern. All classic saucer shapes.
Here’s the crazy part, All in a plane. Like they were on water. Our tacticians were baffled We couldn’t see any reason for this. It was postulated that it was something to do with their form of propulsion.
It took them 12 months to make their way to Earth. It’s amazing how a common foe can galvanize mankind. We tried talking to them, even succeeded after 9 months. Once we got the translations, and encodings of laser beam communications established. Boy they were a bunch of pompous assholes; throwing down tirades like all classic bullies do, “We are here to lay claim to your planet” , “you are now part of the Atraxian empire”, “you will capitulate”, blah blah blah. The important part is we kept them talking. We had time after all.
The Atraxians, they were sure a talkative bunch. We asked them to send us “examples” of how they would destroy us. They sent us their tactical manuals “for beginners” and battle footage. It astounded us, it was classic naval engagement doctrines we learned 100 years ago. Sit at extreme range and bombard with big rocks kind of stuff. Guns along the edge of the saucers.
We did confirm that the “gravity drive” they used was tied to the axial gravitational plane of the system. It was the most efficient way to travel. Almost every race in the galaxy used it. It’s what formulated their battle plans. All races that they saw combat this way, and over millennia they did not think of space as having a noticeable Z axis.
The Atraxians came in, and we could see the cables attached to asteroids they picked up beyond mars, if they held to doctrine they’d turn and release the cables about the distance of the Moons’ orbit.
We kept stalling in our communications. Keeping them talking, that we had to vote, we had to pass laws to allow us to have a world wide vote. The world Politicians kept them talking and stalling them.
Meanwhile, the worlds industrial might had a very quick galvanized response. We did not have the ability to make these large dreadnoughts, hell, we were lucky to get some Destroyer level construction underway in geosynchronous orbit. If all went well, we’d have 33 of them. But on earth, well, we made over 5000 fighter craft.
A couple of our greater brain trusts came up with a hybrid kind of drive. Use the gravitational axis drive to get up to speed, then use nuclear reactors to break water into rocket fuel. This let us break out of the plane. We also modified some of the drives to be able to create their own gravity wave that could be “surfed” for lack of a better term. Creating a high gravity pressure wave that would drag the ship or torpedo behind it.
When they were at the maximum range of our craft, about half the distance to mars, we launched. The atraxians laughed at our “navy”. “you don’t have the firepower to get past the escorts” “you can’t take sustained fire like our battleships”. “you don’t even have rocks in tow!”.
We broadcast messages of “it’s a ceremonial fleet to welcome you”, “it’s the best honor fleet we could develop”. From the communications, it looks like they were buying it.
Until we went radio silent.
About a week before the fleets would intercept, we broke from the planar axis. The destroyers with gravity wave drives craft kept going forward. Fighters firing their nuclear engines, breaking above and below the plane. Zero emissions were visible from the front of the fighters.
The recordings of the battle that came back were reminiscent of old gun camera footage from WW2. Fighters dive bombing at fractional C speeds, veering off at the last possible moment flying past their targets. They fired ball bearings and high energy lasers. And each had 2 gravity wave torpedo’s. from the angles they were dive bombing, each Atraxian ship looked like a giant bullseye of a dinner plate.
the Atraxians ships were well armored on the outside rim. The tops and bottoms were relative tissue paper. Their guns were placed on this edge, to fire outward. It’s like they never thought to shoot up or down.
Ball bearings at near C speeds punched holes tearing up structures, penetrating deep into their targets. Energy beams hit sensitive areas triggering secondary explosions.
The grav wave weapons created interference patterns as their fields interacted and overlapped. The destroyer waves distorted the atraxian’s gun fire. Bending UV laser beams off course. Then tore apart the escorts as they surfed by. Tearing apart the rocks they had in tow as well. The torpedo’s ripped and rended the hulls of ships they passed to fragments.
After the waves finished their attack runs, and starting the day’s long turn around to make a second pass, battle damage assessment was coming back to Earth. The damage was horrendous. Two dreadnoughts crippled and not maneuvering. The third was venting atmosphere. Several of their destroyers were just vaporized, unable to handle the gravity fields. Several cruisers were in pieces. The battleships weren’t much better.
We sent them one broadcast. General Jeff SaintClaire’s words are immortalized. “Welcome to Earth. You can surrender and we can help with casualties, or we can go for round two. Your choice” | We came to their border one hundred years ago with a massive show of strength, hundreds of ships sailing the expanse, flags unfurled. They fell before us as every species had before, prey animals screaming in fear. Our navy triumphant at every turn, we only paused to refit and repair. They fought like a Bekran defending its nest, every kilometer of space was contested, but we never lost, inexorably closing on their core worlds. Their Homeworld orbited a small class M star, third from the star, a system so fantastically endowed with strategic resources our first scans were assumed to be false. But the second and subsequent scans as well as intel from captured ships, bases and personnel confirmed the first scans. The humans were in possession of a system unlike any we had ever encountered. This fact had only increased the importance of seizing it, our navy could be replenished and refitted for a thousand years in that system. We’d burned our own out a very long time ago. It is why we sailed the emptiness.
The humans were as unique as their system, though they seemed to not understand that fact. A relatively advanced species when we encountered than, they were not heavily militarized. The initial contact, and combat, had been rather easy. Our ships sliced through theirs, most were unarmed or very lightly so. Their combat expertise seemed to be from fighting each other in a rather low intensity warfare. More accustomed to skirmishing and perhaps show of force vice actually fighting a proper fleet battle. They often spoke of a political solution. We only laughed at them when they asked us for one, The Bak-Thun are the solution. We anointed them in the fires of the immortal fleet, burned their ships and captured their out worlds. They retreated, and resistance stiffened, as it often does when we approach a species home. Until now that had not mattered, they all fell under the prow of our Battle Cruisers.
But these humans were clever, and once they realized we would not negotiate, they adapted. Quickly.
Tor-Thun pondered the campaign so far, and the possibilities of his family in the new human system when it was captured. Their Mining Guild connections would be very glad to get a piece of the asteroid belt if he could gain enough battle karma in the coming attack. Others would be trying for the same of course, but others did not command a trident of three Bak-Thun heavy battle cruisers and the attendant escorts. His command was one of the most powerful in the fleet and the Admiral was sure to use his Trident as the tip of the attack, and if not the tip then close enough to gain a flotilla worth of battle karma. The humans had proven they would not just roll over. Perfect he thought, more karma and we have not had a suitable foe in a very long time.
As he strode into the briefing auditorium distracted by his thoughts of family and wealth he was brought back to the present by a long low, reverberating, hiss. His people expressed displeasure often times as a whole. Something that is out of place or that disturbs a group of them will reverberate through an entire hall. Something had disturbed them indeed. He looked up at the holograph briefing board in the middle of the auditorium to see what looked like an entire Trident of Bak-Thun ships being torn apart. At first, he thought he was looking at a training simulation though he had no idea why they would be reviewing such at an invasion planning briefing.
It was no simulation, those were human ships, lots of human ships, so many it was impossible to count them, and small. The sheer number of missiles they were deploying made it seem like you could walk across them for many kilometers. They went after the escorts first, overwhelming them one at a time, the Trident tried to maneuver to cover each ship but the small ships just repositioned and took which ever ship was further out. The holo was shifted and he heard the chief of intel now talking.
“Here are the mother ships, that’s what we are calling them, from where the smaller ships launch.” The Holo zoomed in on a rather large ship that looked for all the world to be a massive cargo hauler, and it might well have been at some point. It was surrounded by a great many smaller ships as escorts though none were near as big as the mother ship. The escorts were hardly proper destroyer class ships. There were three of the modified cargo haulers.
“Also note these ships coming from another axis.” Again, the holo shifted and yet another literal cloud of ships, larger than the missile carriers he had just seen but not large enough to be destroyers or even corvettes. These new arrivals were making a straight line for the Bak-Thun battle cruiser line. The Trident was nearly bereft of its escorts at this point, most of them glowing on fire or simply in pieces as hulls were breached and cores went critical. The remaining Bak-Thun ships came about and sailed directly at the mother ships, trying to get their powerful but rather short-range beam weapons in range. Tor-Thun grimaced, he could tell they would never get a shot off. A few missiles launched toward the humans but it was not even close to being enough. The maneuver to attack seemed tactically sound as the mother ships were where the small craft were coming from. It was just too little too late. As if to accentuate the point, the cargo haulers launched another swarm toward the Trident. How many of the damn tings were in there? The whole ship must have been full of fuel, small ships and missiles. Those would make impressive funeral pyres in the vacuum for many many humans.
The new attack force however, didn’t seem to have any other ships, or cargo haulers around. Were they actually from the home world? They weren’t large enough to go too far into the expanse, but perhaps they were close enough for an attack and return? The intel officer confirmed his suspicions.
“These appear to have launched from the home system and have just enough range to reach our vanguard. Well, what used to be our vanguard in any event.”
As he finished speaking the swarm launched another, even more impressive assault of missiles and then retreated. The larger units obviously carried more weapons and larger types it seemed. The missiles overwhelmed the ships defenses, and the entire Trident was obliterated. Whatever was left was destroyed by the cargo haulers second wave. He was shocked at how fast the massive fleet had met its end. Tor-Thun closed his fist over his heart and wished his people a safe journey to the nether. Then he joined the snarl emanating from the entire theater. Though he sensed not a little shock. Not one person in this briefing had even heard of an entire Trident smashed let alone witnessed it. Regardless, it just happened, destroyed by humans. The fleet as they say, was immortal, not any more.
The intel officer spoke. “We've intercepted and decrypted some messages from the human fleet. The three ships that look like cargo haulers are called the Enterprise, Hornet and Yorktown. The humans call them carriers. The small craft they call fighter bombers and the larger ones able to travel alone for a fairly significant distance, at least enough to defend their system are called bombers. There’s a third class that carry a beam weapon but none of those were employed and we assess they are not yet ready.”
There was a small pause of dead silence, and as the Admiral rose purposely from his seat a grim look on his face the auditorium erupted in shouting voices.
Tor-Thun kept silent, the humans were clever, and the battle karma was going be very great indeed. | 2020-11-21T19:49:06 | 2020-11-21T19:01:15 | 176 | 125 |
[WP] Every 50 years, the McDonald's corporation makes a single burger according to an ancient recipe. It is then hidden somewhere in the world, and the person who eats it will be filled with unimaginable power. The quest for the legendary McGuffin begins. | For the first time in decades, I removed my ad blocker from my web browser. I wanted to see a particular commercial that went viral. I found the clip seconds after clicking a random Youtube video. The two minute advertisement played. After 15 seconds, a link titled *skip* allowed me to cut off the ad and watch the Youtube video I clicked.
I didn't rush to *skip* the ad. Instead, I studied it.
The video wasn't silly like commercial during the SuperBowel, nor was it a clip endorsed by a congressional candidate who weaseled their way into family dinner tables by saying controversial statements about their political opponent. McDonald's made the sought after clip. They announced a Willy Wonka type of contest: The company's CEO and top food chemist made one-of-a-kind version of their hamburgers and slipped it into one of their 50 thousand restaurants. They claimed that their exclusive burger after consumption would make the person feel *newly baptized,* *like-a-million-bucks*, and other theatric phrases that seemed too good to be true especially coming from a restaurant that single handedly increased the world's obesity BMI by 5%.
I rewound the video, watched it again, and took notes. People with mix ethnicities all over the world unwrapped burgers packaged in a plastic wrapping covered with question marks and the catchphrase: *Fortune Flavors the Bold*. They'd bite into their sandwich and look disappointed knowing they didn't have the winning burger. But they wore a smile a split second later. Of course they did, they were eating a meal made of absolute sodium.
The catch phrase is how you entered the contest. All a customer had to do was walk up to the counter or drive-thru window, say *fortune flavors the bold,* and pay 300 credits for a mystery burger.
"You'll know it's the special burger during the first bite," the announcer in the commercial said. "Your mouth will discover a refreshing new taste from yesteryear."
My phone buzzed and displayed a text notification on its screen.
"Did you see it yet?" my boyfriend asked.
I told him yes and sent a screen shot my notes.
"Looks good," he wrote back. "Our first episode in the new season can be a deep dive on the commercial. We can go into theories where the burger can be. The remaining season will be us traveling the world for the burger."
I sent a thumbs up icon.
"We can't give our viewers too much information," I said. "We need to be the ones who get this burger."
"No shit, we'll throw out red herrings each episode but also need to strike a fair balance. We'll lose any credit and trust with our viewers if we mislead them too much. Trust me, I plan on us getting this burger. It'll launch all of our channels into celebrity status."
I sent another thumbs up icon.
"When do you want to start?" I asked.
"Tomorrow. We can film our theory episode and a couple of trips to McDonald's. Let's interview the customers and buy a couple of burgers ourselves but not order too much. I don't my BMI to contribute raising the obesity rate another point or two during this whole event."
I nodded my head. "I doubt anyone will win for months or possibly years from now. McDonald's will continue to rake in a fortune the longer this thing goes."
"Correct. And can we admit that this whole thing is asinine? The event is like buying a lotto ticket for the same amount it takes to recharge a car battery, but the buyer gets a chance to eat a yet to be proven '*really good burger*' instead of winning a trillions credits. People are dumb."
I leaned back in my chair and took in a breath. He was right. People are dumb. They have been for a while. My boyfriend and I are dumb; we were going to spend a portion of our lives on documenting a contents put forth by company who uses a hideous clown as a mascot.
"What do you think is in it that'll make it so special?" I asked.
"The burger? Shit if I know. I heard burgers once came with plants like they do with fries and soda. They were wedged between the bun and on top of the meat patty" he said. "*Let-us* and *toe-may-toes*." | [Part 1 of 2]
“This is stupid. Are you sure you aren’t going senile, granddad?” Chuck watched as his eighty-year-old grandfather wrestled with a strange clown statue, knocking it to the floor before he spat in its face.
“Where are you hiding it? I know you have it. If you don’t tell me where it is, I’ll get my grandson to cut off your nose. How will you honk without that red nose of yours?” Bill stood over the statue, trying to intimidate it. The inanimate statue didn’t change its expression, only giving a family friendly smile that only infuriated Bill further. “Get my swiss army knife, boy.”
“IT’S A STATUE, GRANDDAD. Did you really think you would find another human in an abandoned McDonald’s? Why are we even here? You said this place would offer us riches beyond our wildest dreams. What riches are we going to find in a place that’s falling apart?”
Bill didn’t turn away from the statue, giving it a nudge with his foot, making sure it wouldn’t run off. When he confirmed the statue was indeed frozen in place, he turned to his grandson, giving him a scoff.
“You’re just like your father. You have no sense of adventure. I knew my dear daughter should have married Chad. You know Chad once wrestled a crocodile. A real life Crunch Snapper of a beast.”
“And the crocodile killed him. Why are you so impressed by the fact that he fought a crocodile and the crocodile won? Any person can get killed by a crocodile. That’s not a feat of brilliance.” Chuck said as he examined the dusty, grease-stained counter of the establishment.
“Really? Any person? Then why haven’t you wrestled a crocodile?”
“Because I’m not qualified to do something like that, and I’m also not stupid enough to do such a thing without proper training.”
“Ugh, training. Your father was just like that. You know what he told me? Wear a hardhat when you go to a worksite. A hardhat? Back in my day, the only hardhat we needed was a strong noggin.”
“Or an empty one.” Chuck said under his breath before he wiped some of the dust from the counter. “So, why are we here?”
“To find the recipe of the gods. A recipe unmatched by any other. A burger that can grant the person who consumes it wealth, fame and power, beyond their wildest dreams.” Bill said, remembering that famous ad that he saw those fifty years ago.
“A burger recipe? I drove you ten hours to find a burger recipe? You said this was a matter of life and death!”
“Do you see any fountains of youth around? If I don’t eat this burger, I’ll be dead and then you will have to pay the rent. Is that what you want? If not, then shut your tongue flapper and help me look.” Bill began rummaging through the bins, occasionally turning to make sure the statue was still where he left it.
“Burgers aren’t really the type of meal that add years to your life.” Chuck commented, only to give up on trying to convince his grandfather. At least the old man seemed to be having fun, even if he dragged them both here for nothing. “Shouldn’t we have gone to a McDonald’s that was still operating?”
“No, if it was at one of those establishments, it would have been spotted by now. That means it has to be at one of the abandoned restaurants. I spent the last five months going through whatever building plans and star charts I could get my hands on. All the signs seem to point to the recipe being at this establishment. Well, this or one in Texas.”
“Star charts?” Chuck just shook his head, hopping over the counter of the restaurant, searching the rusted metal equipment left behind, looking for any loose scrap pieces of paper.
The two were silent, working independently as they turned over the various machines, drawers and even bathrooms of the establishment, looking for a clue but coming up rather empty. Eventually Chuck gave up, sitting himself on the counter as he watched his grandfather return to the statue, giving it another nudge with his slipper.
“Where are you hiding it? I know it has to be in here somewhere. Did you check for any loose paper?” Bill asked, taking a few panted breaths as he hunched over.
“I did. Only found some documents that would suggest this place owed a lot of money. Nothing about a recipe. It’s ok granddad. Sure, we didn’t find it, but we had a fun trip, right?”
Bill only looked down at the clown, slouching his shoulders. “Why isn’t it here? This was supposed to be my legacy to you. Something I could give you to show you I wasn’t an old fool.”
“Granddad?” Chuck watched as the hardened man he had known for years sniffled, holding back his emotions as best he could. He didn’t know what to say, only walking over and giving him a comforting pat on his shoulder. “It’s ok. How about we try the one in Texas? You’re not a fool. When my parents died, you took me in. You’re a great man. Now come on, let’s keep searching.”
“There’s no point.” Bill wept, his tears hitting the statue underneath. As the tears fell, the statue blinked, moving a gloved hand towards its face, trying to block the waterworks. When Bill noticed this, he grinned. “GIVE ME MY SWISS ARMY KNIFE NOW, I KNEW IT WAS ALIVE.”
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/tzstrv/wp_every_50_years_the_mcdonalds_corporation_makes/i41mdxq/) | 2022-04-09T08:29:30 | 2022-04-09T08:03:33 | 50 | 30 |
[WP] Quantum Physics responds when things are being observed. For some reason, the universe doesn't consider you to be an observer, and daily life can get pretty weird when no one is watching. | If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?
Sorta.
I was born with this... thing. I'm not an active observer in the eyes of the universe. I know, I know - it sounds ridiculous, but here's the brunt of it. Things only happen when there is an active observer of that given event... apparently. The countless scientists that have flocked around me since my birth keep saying things of that nature but I'll be damned if I understand them. Something about quantum physics. And since, for whatever reason, I do not count as an observer, I know what happens when things lie somewhere between happening and not happening. So, what is it?
It's weird. And it's beautiful.
I've flipped a coin when no one was around and called heads, tails, and falling on its edge. *I was correct*. I've heard Schrödinger's cat meow in that box, knowing it was and was not dead. I have unironically answered something with 'yesn't'. But most importantly, I've seen the cracks.
When things go unobserved long enough, these breaks start to form, almost as if reality was about to fracture. It's like glass that's been cracked and the rift is slowly expanding as you hear the creaking noise, knowing it can give at any moment. Every time it gets too big, someone or something comes along to observe it and - it was never there. Always wondered what would happen if one of those... broke. Truly and completely. Maybe one already has and I don't know it.
There's one behind your left ear right now, you know?
Oh, don't worry. Someone will come along soon enough. Or just use a mirror. You won't see it there. It will never have been there.
Anyway! I really should get going. Another round of tests back at the lab. Thanks for the coffee.
I'll be seeing you.
*Metaphorically speaking.* | I have a habit. My habit is perfectly sane, utterly normal, as are all customs a man might have that pertain to lunch. Every day at noon, not 11:59, not 12:01, but directly on the dot of noon, I fold my jacket on my chair, put my overworked computer to sleep, and step out into the street with my lunchbox in my left hand.
Left. Left hand and a left turn and objects fuzzing out into left field as my perfectly sane habit begins to dissolve. At 12:05—what would be 12:05, if the clocks had not stopped—I sit on the edge of a fountain in the nearby square and watch the water as it goes still. And then, only then, after the currents are done eddying, do I unpack my tuna sandwich and look out at what has become of the world.
It is 12:08, and this is what I see:
A thin line of smoke trails through the open window of a food truck selling wood-fired pizzas to haze a couple arguing beneath the window, their faces like hastily sketched lines; a child running too close to a public art exhibit has fallen and scraped his knee, instead of crying he stares down at the torn skin and imagines, very bravely, that he is a soldier; a man seated on a telescoping stool plays the soprano saxophone, his eyes all squeezed up with what I can only assume is love; fat pigeons crowd around an old woman’s frayed skirts; dogs fight; red streetlights gleam like omens; a plane flying far above us has its landing gear stuck only partially retracted, the black specks of tires slung beneath its bole like rotten fruit; men watch women; women eye those same men carefully, and frozen as they are they look like rabbits in a field, standing still in case the stalking cat has not yet seen them.
By 12:42 I have finished my sandwich, crackers, and half a diet coke. The world has narrowed to a pair of slits. I think—I *always* think—that I have been forgotten. That all this world around me is a product of someone else’s imagination, some dreamer lingering in bed somewhere, a young woman, beautiful, with no imagination left over to finish sketching me, and that this is why it all seems so foreign. Why every little detail makes me feel so shocked.
By 12:50 I’ve settled on a person. The old woman with pigeons. She has kind eyes, and the birds seem to like her—birds have instincts, they know a thing or two.
I approach her at 12:51, and her edges all begin to shimmer. She wavers. Becomes indistinct. It’s like a breeze is passing through the world, fluttering her body and not just her skirts, until she is nothing more than a haze of linear motion.
I touch her face at 12:52 and watch as it erupts into discreet particles. Dissolves away from me. I touch the pigeons and they rupture too. Touch the couple arguing outside the food truck, the fighting dogs, the boy who dreams he is a soldier, and the whole goddamn world erupts.
At 12:55 I walk back to the office.
Put the jacket on. Button up my shirt.
At 1:00, not 12:59, not 1:01, I hit any key to continue, and my perfectly sane lunch hour comes to a sudden end.
Jack walks by, and Miriam. Alexei, Imran, and Kennedy, and none of us say a word.
And I wonder for the thousandth time if any of this shit can possibly be real.
r/TurningtoWords | 2022-12-29T09:49:54 | 2022-12-29T08:57:56 | 161 | 83 |
[WP] "Grandpa, tell us the story of the Americans again!" With a sigh and a smile, you begin to tell the story of a mythical race of giants that were supposed to have lived in this very place thousands of years ago. | "They were great men, Arthur. They were men who rose up against those who would keep them down."
I pointed my nephew towards a path, and began walking into a forest in the middle of this bright day.
"They were men who thought differently from everyone else at the time." We continued to walk on a path. "It started with Washington. George Washington. He was the first to lead the Americans."
"Like a King!" He jumped in the air.
"Not really, Arthur." I waved off the reply. "You see, it was a Republic. People would pick their King, he was called a 'President.' and he only ruled for 4 years. 8 if he was beloved. And sometimes, in an era of great tragedy, He could serve 12 years." I laughed.
"What could make someone break the rules like that?"
"Oh, a great, great tragedy." I led him further down the path. "They were indeed, great men."
"Why don't we have something like that now, Grandpa?"
"Because, Arthur, in the end, Every empire falls. And everything dies." I came to an opening. "But if you look over there...Some things can last for a very, very long time."
"Whoa!"
I pointed to a cliff-face. Where, 30,000 years ago, Four of those giants were frozen in time, forever watching over the land they had built, maintained, and then watched crumble to the ground.
It fell, as every empire does. | Ben did not believe in Americans anymore. Nobody did. It was kids’ stuff. The kind of story they told when you were eight. Now that he was twelve, Ben had left childish things behind.
But still, deep in the back of his mind, there was an idea that maybe it was true. Maybe the network of dry river beds that ran through the countryside had once been a transportation system, built by the ancient Americans.
That’s what Popop thought. He never ceased boring everyone—almost everyone—with his tales about how the Americans had conquered the whole world, using ships that flew through the air.
Today, Ben had walked along the riverbed on his way to Popop’s house. He tried to imagine what it must have been like, the way it was described: shiny steel ground ships powered by some invisible force, traveling faster than any steam horse. The riverbed now was so thick with trees and brush that it was hard to imagine. But Ben liked to do it, like to stretch out that make-believe part of his brain that adults were always telling him not to use.
The old man was waiting for him, on the porch. Popop liked to sit there in the afternoon, drinking from his special bottle and watching the jaybirds in an old willow tree.
“The Americans started out good,” Popop said today. “You have to remember that. They were once ruled by an evil king. So they rose up as one and drove him away. They built a Republic. Do you know what that word means, Benny? It means a place where everybody is the same as everybody else.”
“No steamlords?”
“No steamlords, buddy. The built a Republic here, in Jersylvania, and soon it spread to cover the whole world, pretty much. And people from all over the world came here to live. At first the Americans welcomed everyone who was willing to work hard and follow the ways of the Republic. And when people in China were being killed and needed help, the Americans went across the ocean and saved them.”
Ben had only the faintest idea of where China might be. The word meant everywhere that was not Jersylvania. He sometimes tried to imagine China and all he could come up with was that it was a place where people talked backward. China was not here. That’s what China was.
“In the end, though,” Popop said, “Something went wrong, Ben. They grew to be so proud of what they had done that it gave them funny ideas. Funny ideas, Ben. They started to think they were not really people any more. They started to think they could do anything they wanted to do, whenever they wanted to do it.”
“Like steamlords?”
“Sometimes worse, Ben. Because the Americans had such amazing magic, they could do more good than a steamlord ever could. But they could also do much worse. Much worse.
It was getting late and Ben was meant to be going home. He asked Popop to tell him what happened to the Americans in the end. Ben had only a vague idea of a war, and then the Darkening Time when the old magic machines had died.
But Popop told him to run along home. That was a story for another day.
| 2015-01-19T09:09:29 | 2015-01-19T08:38:21 | 570 | 34 |
[WP]A retired super villain is in the bank with his 6 year old daughter when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place. | "Yes, I'd like to set up a savings account for my daughter here." George, formerly Dr. Sinister, said to the teller.
"Okay, sir, not a problem at all. I'll just need you to fill out these forms here, and-" the teller paused.
"What is it?" George asked
"Sir, do not make any sudden movements, turn around slowly," the teller said
George and his daughter Sally obeyed and were shocked to see two men and a woman at the entrance of the bank pointing guns at them.
"Calm down, people," the man on the left said, "You're all gonna be fine if you do what we say. Line up on the side of the room and take out your wallets. Duploid, hit the vault."
"On it." the other man replied as he walked towards the quivering teller. George stuck his foot out as Duploid walked by, tripping him. He and the hostages had a simultaneous gasp and laugh.
"What the hell? You got a death wish or something, old man?" Duploid said.
"No, but you may want to wish for a new villain name. You sound like some french brand of soap or Chinese food."
"What's it to you what his name is? You're getting robbed, I wouldn't be one to criticize," the woman said as she walked over, toting her MP5.
"I've had past experience in your line of work, and I was never so sloppy or outgoing. You'll all be rotting in a jail cell in two months if you aren't already dead." George coldly replied
The woman villain known as Miss Taek grew frustrated and pointed her gun directly at George.
"You can quit talking and hand over your wallet or I can spray your guts all over your daughter. Make up your mind." Miss Taek said.
"I am fifty-three years old, my daughter's inheritance is secured, my wife is a beautiful woman and an excellent caretaker. I live in a fantastic house that I bought with money I earned after turning away from crime. I couldn't give a shit if you hurt me right now."
"Swear jar, daddy," Sally peeped.
"Well, if you don't care about dying, what about your daughter?" Miss Taek said as she pointed the gun at Sally.
George remained calm. "Cover your eyes, sweetheart. You know the difference between me 30 years ago and you right now, Miss Taek? I actually had powers. Can you guess? No? I could control people's MINDS" and with the last word, he made Miss Taek suddenly jerk her arm over and blow Duploid's brains out onto the teller and the counter.
The other robber attempted to drop his gun and run out the entrance after seeing what happened, but George made him have a seizure and run into the wall, breaking his neck.
"You've made a grave mistake, Miss Taek. Tell me, how long can you hold your breath? Because you know, normally, after a certain amount of time, you breathe automatically on reflex. Where does that reflex to breathe come from? Your brain of course. You know what'd be fun? Let's see how long you can last when you forget how to breathe."
| My first stab at writing after grad school stole a couple years of my life...
John walked into the parlor where Christine waited for him on the plush suede chair. The two long walls in the rectangular room were lined with the old books, collected over John’s lifetime, while the side opposite the door looked out across the star system they were stopping over in. He went over to one of the top shelves and pulled down an old volume, thin but still thicker than at least three modern tablets. Carefully he peeled open the cover and wormed his way into the chair with Christine with no room to spare. The yellowed and wrinkled page had a picture of a Stegosaurus on it in a fern savanna that would have made a modern scientist chuckle.
“Stegosaurus was a mighty creature, living 93 million years ago.” John began. Christine reached out towards the page, but John gently brushed her hand aside. “We need to be very careful with these, remember?” She nodded and he resumed. “He roamed the plains of an ancient continent called Pangaea. This particular Stegosaurus, however, preferred to live on the edge of the forest.”
John turned the page, the ancient binding resiting and creaking like the door to a run-down home. The next page showed the dinosaur drinking from a small stream. “In the hot sun, he liked to retreat to the water and cool himself off, where he was joined by some of his smaller friends.”
A knock at the door pulled both their attention up from the book. Standing in the doorway was a woman wearing a brown floor-length dress with a pink bow tied into the shape of a flower in her hair. “Sir, I think I have something you should see.”
“Can it wait Gloria?”
“I’m afraid not. There are discrepancies with the transfer. You need to take a look.”
John closed the book as careful as he opened it, tucking it under his arm as he stood up. Christine tugged at his shirt before he could make his way towards the door. “Daddy, can I come?”
He took out the book and handed it to her. “How about you stay here and see what happens to our friend the Stegosaurus?” She pulled the book in and clutched it to her chest. “That’s a good girl. Just you be careful with that now.”
John left the room, leaning back to catch one last glimpse of his daughter and blow her a kiss before heading down the hallway. “What the hell do you mean by discrepancy?”
“I…I don’t know how to explain exactly. We ran a binary and quantum parity check on the data we’re transporting. The binary came back fine but the quantum was off. So we checked and all the files appear to be in tact.”
“The hash?”
“That’s where it’s complicated. It shows as valid, but it’s newer. I say too new to have come from Central.”
“How the hell could somebody have beat us here?”
“I don’t know sir.”
John burst through the doors of the control room. The four other members of his crew stood at attention while their terminals glowed behind them. “Somebody better tell me now what’s going on.”
His cryptology expert spoke up after a moment of silence, his voice struggling to reach across the room. “There might be a problem with the—”
“No there is a problem. If that hash wasn’t created at least four calendar months ago, somebody else is here and intercepting our signal.”
“We scanned for other ships.” His captain added. “We can’t find anything.”
“Of course not. Unless these guys were idiots.” John ran his hands across his bald head. “If it were us on the other end, I’d wait until we jumped for sure. If we run dark and play the patience game we could find them if they get sloppy.”
He tightened his fists and swung at a glass of water sitting on one of the desks, soaking the adjoining desks and terminals. “We’re going to find these mother-fuckers and when we do I’ll give them a taste of what I did to traitors back in the old days. They better not have a fucking clue who the fuck they’re dealing with otherwise—”
“Daddy?” he heard from behind him. Christine stood in the doorway, still holding the book tight “I’m scared.”
John turned and lowered himself to one knee. “I’m sorry honey. Everything is fine, alright. We’re just about to head back home and we’ll finish the book in just a second, alright?” Christine nodded. “Now go back to daddy’s office and I’ll be right there.”
Once she left, John asked, still on his knee and watching Christine trot down the hallway. “How much was in that hash anyways?”
“Three million.” Said his cryptologist. “Or thereabouts.”
“Let’s just call it karma then. Take us back home.”
| 2015-02-06T23:56:52 | 2015-02-06T21:43:57 | 39 | 16 |
[WP] In the year 2075, American and Chinese astronauts race to be the first colonists on an earth-like exoplanet. Upon arrival, they discover that someone has beaten them there: the Amish. | “How?!?” The President of the United States raged to a room composed of NASA engineers, high ranking military officers, and heads of Intelligence agencies. “Someone tell me how the AMISH! Of all people beat us to Mars.” He grasped the edge of the table, making a visible effort to calm himself. He continued in a voice that was only marginally calmer then a shout. “We were racing China, or hell even the Russian Alliance if they ever got their shit together. But the Amish?!” He finished in a shout.
Sitting around the large table, the men and women looked around, each willing someone else to break the pressing silence. Many working on tablets, or were rereading with disbelief the message that had been broadcast that morning. “We hereby declare Mars to be the property of the newly formed country of the New Order Mennonites.” All major news organizations and governments had received that notice, along with a much more detailed description of territory and laws regarding trade.
Seeing no one was going to step up the President grabbed a pen and threw it at the FBI Director. “Tell me what you have uncovered.”
Accustomed to the President, the Director swatted the pen aside without comment. “After receiving their declaration, and verifying its integrity. Every possible agent has been tasked, with looking into all Amish communities.” Looking down he gave his phone a poke. “As of right now, nothing has been found. No errant purchases, no flags, absolutely nothing. They might as well not exist in our database.”
Rubbing his eyes the President nodded. “So they stayed hidden the whole time, or we have even bigger security problems then we thought.” Sighing he sat back down and just looked exhausted without looking up from the table he asked. “Commander, you should have control of most of the settlements by now, what do we know?”
“Sir, you will not like this.”
Still looking down at the table the president waved him on.
“Sir. Every community has been abandoned. No people, everything stripped down. My men have found massive underground structures at almost every site.” At this the President looked up. “Even those are nothing but concrete and steel everything as been taken out. There has been one thing similar at each site. Something the size of a car seems to have been destroyed by an explosion. Technicians are going over it now, but they tell me something was destroyed.”
“Alright keep us in the loop.” The President turned and addressed the trio of NASA engineers. “Linda? What can you and your boys tell us.”
“They did not leave with any technology we know of. No way to hide a rocket launch. So in a word? Nothing. We can tell you nothing. Maybe the destroyed objects hold a clue, teleportation, wormhole? Magic? I'm sorry Mr. President we currently cannot even fathom a guess as to how they did it.”
Nodding the President scanned the room looking for anyone else to provide information. When no one did he closed his eyes.
“Shit.” | "GET A MOVE ON CHANG, THE CHINKS ARE LAUNCHING IN 8 MINUTES. DID YOU HEAR ME? MOVE!" The operations manager dashed hurriedly toward me as hurriedly as an 82 year old Texan with a cane could dash. In what was a comical 45 seconds, he finally reached me and pulled downed my earlobe with the intensity of a provoked crab.
"Did you hear me you socialist spy?"
I froze. Sweat dripped down to my brow.
I heard a high pitched laugh ricochet through my ear canal. I jolted away from him in pain.
"I'm just kidding, Kevin! I'm proud of you! No one thought you'd be the best astronaut in the academy...Hell, no one even thought you'd finish the academy!"
I was startled by another high pitched cackle.
"...but I saw something in you."
He slapped my chest in approval.
"Fulfill our manifest destiny Kevin, good luck and 再见." He said in a perfect Beijing accent.
That was the last thing I remembered as I awoke from cryosleep. If you've ever felt shittier after a quick nap, then you know how I feel at this moment. 2 years scrunched into a ball can't really be fixed with a little yoga stretching let me tell you...
The numbness receded in my arms first. Eager to get a real fucking meal I pulled one leg over the side of the pod, and then the other. A process that took over 5 minutes.
As my eyesight returned and the numbness left my upper epidermis, I could feel the warm ethereal sunlight hit my pale skin as the cabin roof receded open. But then the sun was no more. I looked up to see that the sunlight was temporarily blocked by a colossal solar sail with a familiar red and yellow insignia.
"Looks like we beat the Chinese boys!" I could hear a few drowsy chuckles dissipate throughout our team.
As we gathered our supplies from the automated collections office we made our way to the joint operations tent set up outside our ship.
The area we landed in was filled with wild grasses and grains. A few small trees could be seen in the distance.
There was some friendly back in forth between the two countries' proud and prestigious astronautic task forces in English, Cantonese, and Mandarin. But generally we were as energetic as chronic cancer patients.
As the administrative duties were finally completed we stood exhaustively together. Some astronauts took it upon themselves to fall asleep again already.
"HOW ARE YOU SLEEPY FUCKERS DOING TODAY!" We were all jolted awake by a familiar voice.
There were a few mumbles in the crowd. But most of us were confused as to where the sound was coming from.
"I SAID, HOW ARE YOU OVERPAID FUCKS DOING TODAY?!" A cylindrical droid equipped with tank tracks rolled its way into the middle of the crowd.
Our operations manager, Fred, popped up in a transparent hologram.
"Alright boys and girls, I know you're tired and I know you're desperate to see your families, but we're a little behind schedule from a meteor shower one and a quarter parsecs back , and I'm gonna need absolute dedication from every single one of you is that clear?"
We all saluted. "Yes sir!"
Alright, so today we are going to investigate a sediment colony we saw in our cameras during our descent. It's going to be 16 miles due east fro-.
Suddenly the hologram got cut off and the droid powered down.
"Damn American product," Feng Chan, a lieutenant officer, kicked the machine's nether regions and it lit up again.
"due east from her-"
And the droid powered down again.
Before Feng could kick it again, it exploded. The shrapnel decapitated Feng's leg and he fell to the floor. The rest of us habitually pulled out our ray guns and began firing into every direction.
We heard a stern but gentle female voice through the smoke, "Everyone please, put your archaic weaponry down, we don't want to hurt anyone."
"Who are you!" I heard a few of us shout.
Some astronauts spat on the ground, "YOU SHOULD'VE SAID THAT BEFORE YOU DECAPITATED OUR TEAM MEMBER YOU FUCK!"
We heard what sounded like angels humming and as we turned around we saw Feng walk in front of us, both legs intact.
We all dropped our weapons.
As the smoke cleared we could see a white bonnet begin to appear over the cloud. After a few seconds a few straw hats were seen walking toward us in the distance.
A overbearing male figure stood over us in a crisp white shirt and dark blue vest hanging over his sternum.
"Welcome to our homeland, people of the earth. Would you all care for some cottage cheese?"
| 2015-07-30T21:06:40 | 2015-07-30T18:02:33 | 35 | 11 |
[WP] "She said she loved him." Insert the word "only" anywhere in this sentence. It must be the final sentence of your story. | He slammed the door shut as quickly as it was opened. The image wouldn't leave his head. In his own room she...how could she? He pushed the thought out of his head and rushed away from the room, eyes beginning to fill with tears. This was it. He needed to cut her out of his life like he should have long ago. It was the third time she had cheated on him in the past year. He rushed down the stairs in the apartment building and made his way to the car. He was furious, he was jealous, but above all, he was hurt. How could the woman he would die for betray him like this? He sat in the front seat with his head on the wheel as his phone began ringing. Her name popped up on the cell phone screen. His rage grew as he answered."What?!" He spoke loudly, the anguish audible. There was a few moments of silence as he listened carefully to her words. His eyes grew soft as he quietly hung up the phone. The man slowly got out of the car closed the door and made his way to the stairs once again... He felt the knot in his stomach tighten. He felt sick with himself, she won him back again. He knew he would regret this. He was so ready, so prepared to leave! Only, she said she loved him. | Her hands trembled as she opened the envelope. She had known it was coming, but things had been so strained between them for the past few months that she didn't know if she even wanted to see its contents.
Her feelings for him had always been deep, but she didn't know if they were worth it anymore. They had started off strong, but there were so many hiccups in their relationship-so many things that she wanted to say but hadn't, so many things she had wanted to hear from him but didn't- she was starting to lose hope. He would always have a hold on her, more so than anyone else she had ever been involved with; if he ever needed it, she'd give him the very heart that kept her alive. However, his stoicism, his mystery, his refusal to let his feelings flow openly, it all made her feel such a desperate fool. She did not go one single minute without pining for him, but she feared he thought about her not more than for a fleeting moment once in a blue moon.
So, in an effort to regain some semblance of stability in her life, she thought she would try and distance herself from him. Emotionally disengage. He may have been destined to always have a hold over her soul, but she could, at the very least, try and free her mind from him. She told herself that everything she felt, everything she wished for, the beautiful, fantastical scenarios about *them* that played out in her head in the early mornings when the world was still and she was alone with her mind- all of that was done. She would focus on the here, the now. What was important. Herself. Not him.
And here it was. That long awaited, yet dreaded, letter with his ostensibly innocuous return address in the top left corner sat on her desk. She took a deep breath and with ice-cold, shaking fingers, ripped it open. She tilted it onto her desk and a small square of paper fell out. As she read the note, her breathing quickened and her face got hot. Tears began to stream uncontrollably down her cheeks, leaving damp riverbeds of the kohl they took from her eyes. There was no more disengaging. There was no more mental decoupling. There was only them, and her belief in them. He was her everything.
She picked up the phone and dialed his number. There were so many things she wanted to say, so many apologies for her coldness, for her doubt. So many confessions of her fear of his lack of reciprocity. He answered her call, but when she heard his voice on the other end of the line, her mind went blank. She could no longer translate her thoughts into words. The exposition she had prepared in her mind was gone. He said hello again, his voice clearly wondering if it was a wrong number, contemplating whether to put the phone down.
She drew a ragged breath. She only said she loved him.
| 2016-01-10T19:12:49 | 2016-01-10T19:07:47 | 280 | 46 |
[WP] You're a member of the only government agency to officially accept the existence of paranormal entities like demons and ghosts- Child Protective Services. They come up a lot in that line of work. | Oh boy, this one's gonna be hard.
I could already hear the mother screaming at her daughter. The daughter was screaming back just as loud, probably even louder. But I can tell she's losing her will to argue, and hopefully nothing else. I couldn't make out any of the words, only high pitched screams taking turns to see who can be louder.
I looked at the house as stepped out of my car. Overgrown lawn, cracks all over the driveway, and a new coat of yellow for those white walls. The house was kinda what I expected, but somehow worse. Before coming here I did my usual research and background checks. Where the call is from, who it's for, where I'm needed, what kind of area is it, what people are saying, etc. The mother, Rachael, was a widow of a military man who unfortunately passed away in the line of duty. Their daughter, Max, was 15 at time when I made my visit. My research had told me that there was not really much physical abuse, but instead more mental. This detail is what told me what I was dealing with this time.
I walked to the front door, each step making the screaming louder and louder. Every wave of voices became clearer and started to form words. I was about fifteen feet from the door when I heard a loud slap from the inside of the house. That slap practically hit my face as the whole area, thick with tension, shook with that one hit. Not only did it stop my heart, but the screaming as well. However, I shook my head back at it, knowing that I need to be strong with this case.
I stood upon the doormat, checked all my pockets for what I needed, took a good deep breath, and knocked on the door.
"Hello!? Child Protective Services! My name is Alex and I'm here about a few calls we've received!" I say these words almost every time and it never gets easier to say them. They were never responded with anything happy, mostly silence. This time was no different as there was silence behind the door I had just spoken to. A whole eternity went by, but my watch said only a minute had passed. I knocked again and was about to say those magic words of silence when I heard the door respond with and unlocking.
A woman in her mid 30's with a light smile slowly opened her door. Almost everything about her was too "nice". Her hair, clothes, makeup, everything was to nice to be on a woman who was screaming so loud that I'm sure her late husband could hear her. Before I could even open my mouth, her split tongue started to move.
"Oh goodness, not another one. My goodness, how many times have I told those neighbors that our TV is just too loud. I wish they could just tell us." She said these words without breaking her smile. Dear god this was a bad one. My stomach was turning with how much bull I was swallowing. I already felt how bad this was and she kept nailing her coffin with every word that was coming from her mouth. She then brought her victim from the grave to make room for her. "Isn't that right Max?"
A girl with a face younger than the mother slowly emerged from the darkness behind her. She gave me a slow smile and said "Yup!"
"You might wanna check on the neighbors to the right though," Rachael said, "I've been hearing the couple over there have some pretty loud arguments with their son." She was trying to diverge me away from here.
I heard 'yup' from Max, but I saw 'help' on her forced to smile face. Her eyes were becoming void of color, and her skin was so pale I actually thought I was hallucinating her for a second. This mother did not want me here, trained Max to become her puppet, and wanted me to leave asap. That's fine, I know how to do my job fast anyway.
"Alright, then. I'll see to that tomorrow as I was only sent for this house and I would be breaking code if I went to a different one," I responded. "Please, take my card so I can stay updated. Any and all sources are taken, especially with what we do." I pulled a freshly laminated business card from my front pocket and put it out in front of me. "It's laminated so you hopefully don't lose it."
"But of course! We can't those kind of people running around can we." Rachael said. She then reached for my business card and grasped it.
Got her.
Our business cards are laminated with a mixture that includes holy water.
The moment Rachael touched the card she screamed in complete agony and fell backwards. Her eyes were slowly becoming engulfed in black. Max gained life as she saw what appeared to be her mother dying of paper. I swung open the door and grabbed the card that was dropped.
"Stand back Max!" I yelled as I positioned myself. She then stood back as I slowly pushed my business card onto her mother's forehead. I started my chant and within a few minutes my card went from pure white to black, absorbing the literal demon that was possessing her. I exhaled a sign of relief. Thank god that this one fell over so I could do it fast.
Rachael awoke from what I assumed was a painful experience and look at me then her daughter. "W-what happened to me?"
"You were possessed by a demon," I responded, "You see, demons can possess people, as you would expect. However, they can only possess those who are weak hearted. I would assume one possessed you when your late husband passed away and you were grieving. That demon controlled your body and decided to weaken your daughter so that another one would come and take her. Luckily, I came before that could happen."
Max hugged her mom tightly and started to cry.
EDIT: Some quick punctuation, grammar nit bits, and small changes that I added and fixed. And thank you to whoever gave me the gold on this! This is literally my second response (first one posted) on this subreddit and cannot thank you enough! This will inspire me to do more!
| The black phone rang on the desk interrupting Diane's crossword puzzle, she picked it up, idly tapped a pen against her lips and listened.
"Yes, ma'am, I will be right there. Yup code 12, got it," Diane wrote down a name, Tiffany Drake, and an address on a yellow sticky note then took another long glance at the crossword puzzle. Five letter word for Hamlet's Father, *screw it,* she grabbed her black suit jacket and pulled it on. It barely concealed the large black revolver in the shoulder holster.
Night had fallen and the full moon shone brightly in the warm summer sky. These were the nights Diane lived for, she wished she could let her hair out of the tight bun it was wrapped in so it could fly free in the wind, but she was on a job and professionalism is what the CPS was all about. She pushed the gas pedal down further on her small convertible car and sped toward her first visit.
Tiffany Drake's house was located on the edge of town. It was a cute small cottage home with white trim, with blue shutters, small flowers beds decorated the yard and flanked the stone walkway to the front door. Diane lived in an apartment and hated gardening, but she wouldn't deny that it looked lovely. She focused on the task at hand and politely knocked on the door and put on her best smile.
Diane had to wait and knock on the door again, louder this time, before the door finally opened. A tiny old woman peeked her wrinkled face around the door and adjusted her nightgown.
"Do you know what time it is?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am, it's very late and that's why I'm here. Diane Willow from CPS." Diane stuck out her hand, the old woman ignored it.
"CPS? Did my granddaughter call you?" she asked with a scowl.
"I believe so. May I come in and have a look around?" Diane asked flashing her bright practiced smile.
"Fine, if it will make her stop having nightmares, honestly that child..." the old woman turned away from Diane and shuffled deeper in the house muttering to herself.
Diane crossed over the threshold and immediately felt a temperature change. It was as if she had just walked into a deep freezer. She rubbed her arms and began looking around the entry way. Pictures decorated every surface and wall, black and white photos of great grand parents to colorful pictures of a little blonde girl that could only have been Tiffany.
A tiny voice turned Diane's head toward the small stairwell. A same little blonde girl stood at the top of the stairs clutching a worn brown teddy bear. Tiffany's bright blue eyes were wide and staring directly at Diane.
"Are you here to make the bad man go away?" Tiffany's small voice barely carried over the distance to Diane.
"I am. My name is Diane Willow, and I'm here to help," Diane said gently, walking up the stairs toward Tiffany.
"What is your bears name?" Diane asked as she reached the little girl.
"His name is Archibold," she said confidently holding her stuffed bear forward for Diane to see.
"He looks very strong, does he protect you from the bad man?"
Tiffany nodded and grabbed Diane's hand with a strength that was surprising.
"Okay, let's go check your room then."
Tiffany led Diane down the narrow hallway toward the room at the end. The walls were painted a soft pink and a small pink four post bed sat against the far wall. The room was a little too girly for Diane but it was the perfect room for a girl like Tiffany.
"He comes to the window every night," Tiffany said cowering behind Diane.
"Okay, you get in bed and try to get some sleep, I will stay up and wait for him to get here, then we will have a nice chat," Diane said guiding Tiffany to the plush pink bed.
"Promise?" Tiffany asked.
"Promise."
It wasn't long before Diane could hear the slow steady breathing of a sleeping Tiffany. Diane sat with her back against the wall so she could watch the window then eased the black revolver out of the holster.
"Wake up Wolfram," Diane whispered to the revolver.
"Nooooo....a few more minutes..." a deep voice whispered in her mind.
"Now Wolfram!" she said shaking the revolver.
"Fine, damn, I'm awake."
Wolfram was always bitter at having to do work. Diane remember the first time she had found the demon possessed revolver. *Ah, memories,* she smiled.
"We've got a code 12, so I need your help," Diane said.
"What's a code 12?" Wolfram asked.
Diane sighed, "ghost, there is a ghost haunting this little girl." She gestured toward the still form of the sleeping Tiffany.
"Aww, what a sweetie, it would be a shame if someone possessed her..." Wolfram said. Diane could feel his grin in her mind.
"I will banish you forever."
"It was a joke...lighten up."
Diane was about to say something when her skin broke out in goose bumps, her breath curled out in thick white mist.
"It's coming," Wolfram's voice filled her mind.
Diane leveled Wolfram at the window and waited. A ghost that affected the environment this dramatically was powerful. A pale white hand pressed against the window pane, frost spread out in every direction as if kissed by a winter wind.
"We need it to come inside," Wolfram said trying to calm Diane's nerves. She hated that he could feel her emotions, but he was right.
The white hand turned into ice fog and slipped through the gap in the window. It fell heavily into a cloud at the base of the window before solidifying into its true form. A seven foot tall wight stood in front of the window looming over Tiffany.
"Now," Wolfram commanded in her mind.
Diane squeezed the trigger gently and the gun kicked like a mule. The bright muzzle flash was almost blinding in the dark confines of the room. The magic bullet tore a massive hole in the side of the wight's chest. Diane squeezed off three more rounds into the wight. It roared in pain and charged her.
"Don't let it touch you!" Wolfram screamed as Diane desperately rolled out of the way.
The wight slammed into the wall leaving a frosted gouge marks. Diane swung Wolfram around and fired again and again. The magically infused bullets kept tearing massive chunks out of the creature but it didn't slow down at all.
The wight roared and pursued her.
"Shit!" Diane shouted as the creature rushed toward her again. She ducked out of the way at the last second as the creature smashed into the small table that was set out of a tea party. The wight turned it's red glowing eyes toward Diane as she pressed Wolfram against the wight's temple and pulled the trigger. The head detonated in an explosion of mist and frozen chunks. Frost lined the barrel of Wolfram.
"To-oo--oo, close," Wolfram said through violent shivers.
"Hush you're fine."
Diane holstered Wolfram and checked on Tiffany. She was still fast asleep, the spell Diane had cast was still holding strong. She tried to tidy the room up a little but the table and wall were a lost cause. The wight had completely evaporated leaving a small wet puddle on the floor. Satisfied with a job well done Diane left the quaint cottage and drove back to the office to write up her report. The worst part of her job.
---
Thank you for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!
| 2016-07-22T06:41:36 | 2016-07-22T06:00:36 | 55 | 10 |
[WP] A device is created to telepathically communicate with plants. They're sentient and can feel pain. You're an old man trying to mow his god damn lawn and a bunch of local protesters show up to stop you. | As Jerry sighed, he knew he had an acre lawn to clip,
But all this rain had set an ache into his grinding hip.
He braced himself as he stood up, and shuffled to the door,
He wasn't sure how long he could keep mowing anymore.
But something changed as he pulled out the mower, decades old,
The paint had faded, but the engine's roar was ever bold.
He smiled and pushed onto the grass, small clippings flying past,
His efforts would produce again his perfect lawn at last.
But as he worked, a crowd appeared, approaching Jerry's yard,
Their faces set in anger and their hands clenched signposts hard.
"Don't murder plants!" one read, "Their blood is on your hands!", one more,
And still more came up to the verge, emerging four by four.
"You monstrous man!", a shout came from amongst the growing crowd,
But Jerry couldn't hear them, as the mower was too loud.
He saw them, yes, but didn't care much as he cut a line,
He didn't have the time for all their anger or a sign.
And then, something unthinkable, their feet upon his grounds,
So Jerry whirls his mower 'round, his action then astounds.
They crowd around him, shouting, spitting anger and disgust,
So Jerry pauses, peers at them, quite calm amongst bloodlust.
They lay themselves upon the grass, "You'll have to get through us!",
And Jerry has to wonder why they're making all this fuss.
But then he shrugs and keeps his path, these people stay their ground,
There's curses, jeers and insults shouted out from all around.
He's almost at the first one now, old Jerry keeps his nerve,
The protestor just will not budge, and Jerry will not swerve.
The good news is, soon Jerry's lawn will be the greenest round,
Protestors make good fertilizer, as Jerry will have found.
| "Feel their pain! Hear their cries! Grass Assassin! Grass Assassin!"
Melvin had his headphones on, listening to *Frank Sinatra's Greatest Hits* at full blast to drown out the shrill, incessant cries coming from all directions.
A middle-aged man carrying a sign that read "Citizens for Chlorophyll" seemed on the verge of tears. "How dare you deprive them of their lives! Have you no shame?"
Melvin hummed along to the chorus of "Young at Heart," continuing his perfect straight-line path -- perhaps even showing off a bit. He was about to reach the halfway mark when a pair of feet appeared inches away from the mower's blades. Strongly tempted to run them over, Melvin instead removed his headphones and pressed pause on his Walkman.
"Yeah, OK. How much do you want?"
The sign-wielding man stood firmly with his hands on his hips, then sniffled and produced a bizarre-looking device from his back pocket. It was a tiny satellite dish, polished and silver-handled yet still giving the impression of a rejected B-movie prop.
"Adjust your hearing aids and listen up, murderer." The man clicked a switch on the side of the handle and the dish whirred to life. High-pitched, barely intelligible squeals sprang forth at a rapid pace, contributing to Melvin's already terrible migraine.
"Laura...I long only to taste the sweet nutrients of the soil one last time with you in my arms..."
"Oh, God, he got the dandelions! *He got the dandelions!*"
"I'm just a weed tryin' to make a living...I didn't mean to hurt nobody."
Melvin raised an eyebrow and adjusted his hearing aid. A few blades of grass seeming to be humming "Nearer, My God to Thee" barbershop-quartet style.
The protester clicked off the satellite dish. "Now you see the chaos you have wrought. To these poor plants, you are their God, and today God has not been merciful."
Melvin coughed. "It's gonna grow back."
The protester frowned. "Yes, but --"
"It's gonna. Grow. Back."
"Is it worth causing such fear and distress in the very hearts and minds of these poor plants, only to give them hope and tear it away from them the next time you mow?"
"Yeah. I mean, it looks pretty nice, don't you think?"
"I hope you're happy, Melvin Howell. One day, when the plants decide to take a stand, your house will be the first to be devoured."
"I mean, I'm just gonna keep cutting the grass. I don't let it grow to the point of taking over. What do you do?"
The protester looked at the ground. "We, uh, we don't really have lawns. We're from the Blackwood Village Apartments."
"All right, then. If you get a house, you'll feel the same way. Have a nice day." He put his headphones back on and continued to mow, humming merrily.
The protester hung his head in defeat and gestured to the gathered volunteers. "Let's try next door."
***
Later that afternoon, Melvin drove to Wanda's Garden Shop and bought a chrysanthemum for the front porch. He'd never been much of a gardener, but he took better care of it than anything else he'd ever purchased.
He was alone, after all. If we was going to be a murderer once a week, might as well give something a good life.
***
*Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, and sign up to volunteer with Citizens for Chlorophyll, check out /r/GigaWrites!*
| 2016-08-20T10:02:43 | 2016-08-20T09:01:43 | 333 | 151 |
[WP] "It's surprising that the most important person in the world has so little security." Said the assassin to his target. "I am here, there is no better security." Was the casual reply.
From Bleach. | "You're just a weak man in a position of power, do you feel secure right now?"
I looked at the would be assassin standing before me. I watched as he drew his weapon from his side with one hand and a suppressor from his pocket with the other. "No, I suppose not." I replied. He screwed the suppressor to the front of his gun. "But what if I told you it wasn't worth it, I am not worth the money they're paying you." He gripped the top of his weapon and chambered a round.
"Listen old man, I doubt you can offer me more than 15 million, and I'm the one with the gun so maybe-"
"So maybe you should hear me out."
The young man stood silently, looking quite annoyed with my interruption as he caressed the trigger with his finger. I continued on, "I doubt a young kid like you still believes in God or religion, and I don't blame you for that...Hell, I don't believe that shit either. But there's more to this than whoever hired you has told you, in fact there's more here than most would be willing to admit."
His gun lowered ever so slightly as he began to think. This was my gift, the gift of gab. I didn't have to be snarky or use big words, I didn't have to be eloquent and articulate; I simply needed to get him thinking. "Why do you think they sent you here?" I said raising up slowly from my chair.
The boy took a step back and raised his weapon again. "Relax, would you like a drink?" I walked over to the mini bar and began to prepare a glass for myself.
"No, now turn around and face me so I can get this over with."
"As you wish," I sighed. This kid was clearly a rookie, if they sent a man I'd have been dead 2 days ago in a parking garage somewhere. I placed my glass on the counter and pulled my 1911 from the ice bucket, silently and with practiced precision. I raised my weapon as I would have my glass and slowly began to turn. As my shoulder opened and began to reveal the mouth of my dragon I commanded him to roar.
My house keeper burst into the room as I pulled the magazine from my gun. I reached down under the bar and grabbed another round to replace the one I had fired and returned my pistol to its resting place.
"Would you like me to clean him up, Master?"
"Yes, and would you please send this letter to my brother. I have a phone call to make." I knelt next to the man I floored, briefly, and took him by the hand. I placed his finger on the entrance wound my .45 left in his skull and then pressed it to the seal of my letter. I disarmed him quickly ran his pockets and rose handing the letter to Susan.
"S-sure...sir." she said, clearly disturbed. I smiled as I brushed passed her and looked at the small black burner phone I took from the young man's pocket. I looked at it in all of its 'obsolete' glory as I pressed and held the number 5.
Two rings. "Hello? How'd it go?"
"Hello, father, we need to have a little chat about a certain visitor I've accepted recently. If I'm not mistaken, Matthew sent him, and if I know Matt, he didn't get that idea on his own."
The line went dead. | I don't know if you've ever been out to the country. Have you ever seen one of those big, dilapidated barns? The wood all rotted and blackened, like a shadow against the sun, and the slits of light casting bullets inside so that the ground is spotty. The smell of it all is old grass and animal, faint, but stuck to the place like a ghost. I don't know if you've ever seen one, been to one, but if you have, what was inside?
Was it tools? Was it bare? Old things rusted and falling apart? It usually is like that. I had never gone to the country before, to be honest, but then we had found him and we had to go. There were the usual things you would expect in an old barn. There was also the fate of the world being decided in that moment.
Society is hard to explain to someone like you. You cannot understand the breakdown that happened long ago in the late twenty-first century. The anarchy was expected. The rebuilding into what it would become was not. We were warlike and held the guns to our head, and back then we had heads to lose. The world was going but on the horizon there was home, still visible and comforting somehow. It's like the dilapidated barn. It may be dead, but the ghosts of life remain.
King Jesus had taken the lead. He led the Western Front of our world. He held the gun to to the Eastern Front and Far Eastern Front. He was a shrewd man and he had been on the run.
When we came I was surprised at how pristine the area was. There was light splotches of grass and the earth was unmarked, never being hit with shells. We had been chasing them for months, following clues and gossip and pure hope. We had something to lose then, don't forget. We were relentless. I sometimes think had I not ogled the barn, taken in the sight of it all, we wouldn't have been too late. For that I am sorry.
Inside there was an assassin. He was a young boy, unhealthy and thin. He struggled with his gun. The shower of light bathed him in pity and his face was scarred from battle. King Jesus stood there, weary and old. He held the briefcase that would change the world. It was the gun to the head.
"I am here. There is no better security," King Jesus said.
I hadn't heard what the assassin had said. King Jesus was unarmed but for the briefcase.
"There is revelation in the air, son," he said. "Revelation and revolution. Are you here to do God's work?"
The boy spoke so softly that his words seemed lost in the moment.
"You have sinned too greatly. I am here to end it all," the boy said.
We had come in then and I was leading the force. I had hardly seen a place like this, a building not built for battle, wooden and with character. I suppose I am trying to set up my defense, but there is hardly anything I can say. I was late and I was slow.
"Do God's work!" King Jesus commanded.
He was shrewd and he was old. In our times we lived longer than you do, but it was not anything like how it was before. He was about forty, King Jesus, and he was near his expectancy.
I remember in that helpless moment that I felt some grim respect for the man. Those who were not his fanatics always thought he was a fraud and an unbeliever like those he purged. His final act made his life true and enacted your demise.
The boy shot and the gun was true and it hit though it did not kill King Jesus immediately. I wonder how things would be had he died then and there. Maybe he did have special powers.
The King was bloody and mangled, crumpled inwards as if in prayer on the floor of the barn. He opened the case of the gun. The machinery inside was electric as this was still the age of that fading magic. There were wires and switches and all manner of complex connections that amounted to one thing: a trigger.
With his bloody hands King Jesus pulled the trigger and smiled at the boy. I opened fire as did my men and we killed the boy but it was too late and then the barn shook as if in fear and the world was filled with a siren that pierced our ears. That was the future crying, knowing it was dead, perhaps. We went outside and the horizon was orange as if it were dusk but the trails of smoke covered the sun and there were explosions amidst the siren.
My men and I looked around and we were frozen with disbelief. There was nothing we could do. I thought back to my great forefathers and their stories of green and peace and of a world that had not left home. Seeking shelter in a faraway trench, we knew that the horizon no longer had any memory of that home. We knew that we were gone now and going farther into that abyss. The horizons now showed only chemical death and a mourning for an unreachable past. | 2017-02-20T08:15:48 | 2017-02-20T03:36:28 | 167 | 32 |
[WP] You crash land onto a planet where everyone is weak as hell and everything is made of soft material like cardboard and styrofoam etc. You, a regular person, are essentially their superhuman. | It's been 3 years since I've landed here on Vandu. Long story short, I arrived here through falling into a space-time portal in the school’s football field. I wouldn’t say I miss Earth, there really wasn’t much for me to miss anyway, being an average student, socially awkward, constantly bullied and bad at sports. Thankfully, the inhabitants on this planet look no different than Earth people, and I was able to assimilate myself into the community in no time at all.
The planet is really small, it probably has a circumference of less than 20 miles. As such, the gravitational pull is much lesser, just about enough to keep my feet on the ground if I tread with care. And in turn, my bones and muscles are much denser than the locals. Their buildings are soft and light, and can barely survive my weight if I go too high up. Their cars are made of cardboard. I’ve been to one of their gymnasiums, the heaviest weight they have is exactly one pound. And the police department use guns that fire plastic bullets, the ones Earth kids play with. To me they’re harmless, but to them they’re lethal.
I’ve decided to use my strength and abilities for a good cause. I once stopped a cardboard truck from running into a crowd. Held the roof of a styrofoam house so people could escape before it collapsed on them. Apprehended a bunch of robbers with my bare hands. The people adored me, erected statues of me and even ran a TV show detailing my adventures. The women loved me, though I had to be careful not to break their bones when reciprocating my love.
But on this day, everything changed. I woke up after a careful lovemaking session to turn on the TV, ready to indulge myself with the people’s adoration and worship. Yet, all I could see was news with vague images of towns going up in smoke. Trails of destruction everywhere. This was something the local police could never handle, and I knew I was needed.
I ran there as fast as I could and got there in a few minutes. It was chaos, everywhere. I saw a police sergeant badly wounded on the floor and tended to him, and in his dying breath, he begged me to stop the monsters in red armor. I ventured further down the street, the smoke clears, and I saw a bunch of burly, menacing looking humanoids laying waste to everything in sight.
The school’s football team had arrived.
| To say they were shocked was an understatement.
To say I was shocked would be hardly telling the truth.
I had fallen asleep at the command of my starcraft, a small spaceship capable of going supersonic speeds. Luckily, the starcraft had recognized the impending atmosphere and had slowed down a great deal before activating and deploying the auto-land feature. The ship was basically idiot proof, and I was a great deal lucky.
I woke up to a tapping sound. It was soft, but it was on my window. I pressed down on a touch screen to open the glass encasing me. My suit had ample oxygen, so I crawled out of the ship. I was greeted by a large crowd of curious creatures, There were murmurs around them, but it was all gibberish to me. Suddenly, a hornlike sound could be heard and the mysterious creatures parted in two, leading a path leading directly up to me. I decided to stay by my starcraft, which I didn't really feel like parting with. Creatures holding white banners began to make there way up towards me, and all of the other creatures were saluting the large creature making his way down the path behind the banners. I turned on my Universal Translator. The leader made his way towards me, and with him I noticed a group of decorated individuals. There was a silence as the leader approached me. He gazed at me as if uninformed of my appearance, and signaled a translator towards him. The leader spoke something to me, but my Universal Translator device couldn't register anything of it. "So much for Universal" I thought to myself with a smirk in my helmet." It was broke half of the time anyway. "I am from Planet Earth. I have accidentally landed on this planet. I cannot understand you." The translator glanced at the leader and said something.
The leader pointed his golden scepter. He muttered something, and suddenly the guards came forward towards me. They tried to seize me, yet they could not take hold of me. I simply pushed them forward and they fell with a great might. The ruler suddenly halted them. He commanded them to shoot at me, yet their ammunition simply bounced off of me. The leader's eyes opened wide. He moved toward me and commanded the trumpets to sound. He placed his crown on my head and turned towards to the translator, who did know the common language of which I had spoken. "You clearly are a god of some type. But come, be our leader." I nod in approval and hold the scepter out over the people. "Today, you have made me your ruler. Today, I have made you my people. Go back into your community. I will protect you."
The creatures scurried off, except the guards, the leader, and the translator. The leader spoke to me, "Come, live in the castle prepared for our ruler. From there you can lead these people."
Day 54
A messenger from the ruler came to me earlier this afternoon. Another ship such as mine had landed, and another god had made his impression onto the people, yet he had slain many if them. I was to go and fight this new god of evil.
However, I left the castle with no attention. My spaceship was parked in the courtyard, I activated the glass door via a screen button on my suit, stepped in, and prepared the rockets for lift off. "Stabilizers, check. Orbit path, check. Safety systems, check. Commencing liftoff." I hit the big red "takeoff button." and hit "confirm" as the creatures made their way towards my ship. One, realizing the impending force, pulled the others back, while some tried to run towards me.
"3...2...1...Liftoff. Preparing to leave atmospheric conditions." The starcraft AI voice said. The rockets pushed me forward at such a great force, and pushed me forward through the air.
All that was left of my legacy was a circular smoke trail plowing through the orange sky against the horizon. The rocket re-loaded the destination into its autopilot flight featured and carried me onward.
| 2017-03-26T20:59:04 | 2017-03-26T20:46:37 | 421 | 17 |
[WP] You finally won the lottery. $20 million. You go to sleep that night a rich and happy person. You wake up to a nurse, explaining you've just awoken from a coma.
Edit: for everyone saying "taxes on the winnings and medical bills for the coma"....I'm Canadian. I never thought of such atrocities. | [Part 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6fl9id/wp_you_finally_won_the_lottery_20_million_you_go/dijc56z/) | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6fl9id/wp_you_finally_won_the_lottery_20_million_you_go/dijicpr/)
I awoke to the gentle beeping of my alarm clock. Wait, that wasn't right. My alarm clock sounded like R2-D2. The sunlight streaming in through the window was like a thousand daggers in my eyes. Squinting as I looked around, I saw that the beeping was coming from a sleek white machine by my bed. As my eyes adjusted, I saw that the sterile beige room I was in was several dozens of stories up. A car zipped by the window, and a moment later a police car sped by, lights blaring. It took my mind a moment to reconcile this, and I was still processing it as the door slid smoothly open, hissing slightly. A tall, sleek white cube, like a larger version of the one by my bed, floated silently into the room.
"Oh. You're up. Weird," the cube said in a bored, cool voice. I tried to sit up, but my legs and arms weren't working. "Your muscles have atrophied. Please wait." The cube floated over to me, a small glowing needle extending from its body. Unable to move, I sat helplessly as it plunged the needle into me. Seconds later, warmth flooded through my body like a hot drink on a cold day, and I hesitantly stepped out of bed.
"Alright, I guess first things first," I said to the cube, putting a hand on it to steady myself. "Let's start with...who are you, what's the date, where am I, and how did I get here?." The cube was now scanning me with a variety of instruments.
"I'm an automatic neurological nurse android. Call me Anna. It's July 3, 2137. You're in a Union Research Hospital. You suffered a partial aneurysm a hundred and twenty years ago and went into a coma. A hundred and ten years ago you were put in stasis by Union researchers. Three months ago they fixed your brain." The cube rattled this off without a hint of interest.
A hundred and twenty years. The last thing I remembered was going to bed. I had been...happy. Really happy. But about what? I slowly walked over to the window and looked out. A lot of stuff still looked sort of similar, but humanity had obviously come a long way. Looking down, I could see hundreds of vehicles at varying heights, all moving at breakneck speeds but apparently avoiding each other perfectly.
"You have a guest," said the nurse. I turned around to see a professional-looking young man standing in the door. He smiled. "Good afternoon, sir. My name's Marty. I'm a junior account manager with Union Multifinancial. Do you have a few moments?" I nodded silently, dazed. I was still processing everything else, but this guy was probably just trying to do his job.
The young man pushed a button on his wrist, and a screen appeared in front of him. "Mr...Smith? Derek Smith? Born 1982?" I nodded again. He stood and walked over to me, extending his wrist. "Put your finger on the screen, please." I did, and the screen turned green. He grabbed the floating screen out of midair and turned it so I could read it.
"Now, I'm required to mention that your previous investment firm was absorbed by Union Financial in 2072. This was a legal change only and caused no deviation in your-"
"Wait, my investment firm?" I interrupted.
"Yes, you invested 19.5 million in lottery winnings. As you can see, a few of your stocks did very well. Your net worth is now 102.6 billion dollars."
The machine at my bedsides started beeping loudly and rapidly as I felt my heart do a conga in my chest. I sank back onto my bed. This was getting to be too much, and the last thing I wanted to hear was the cool voice of the nurse saying, "You have another visitor."
-----------------------------------------
To be continued?
| "You're pulling my leg, Janet. There's no way that can be true. I've been a healthy man all my life! What on earth happened?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. ...uh, Maxwell Davidson, but I don't know who this Janet is. I'm your nurse, you can call me Rachel; at least that's what at the folks here at the hospital call me."
"Janet is my wife, I thought she was playing a trick on me; you do look a lot like her, I suppose. Does she know about all this? Most importantly, what on earth happened‽"
"Mr. Davidson, my expertise is not in assessing people's mental states after an accident, but it certainly seems as though you've forgotten, and made up, and awful lot. As far as we know, you've never had a wife. You were in a terrible car accident, and although your body has made a good recovery, you sustained more damage to your head than many others I've seen."
"I'm almost certain my name is Carl Prichard. I certainly don't feel any different. Can't you people just let me out? I'm fine, and I have some important business to complete."
Instinctively checking his pockets for the winning lottery ticket, Carl found nothing. In fact, any form of identification was absent from his body. Seeing his confusion, Rachel spoke up:
"Maxwell, we've changed your clothes a few times over your weeks at the hospital. We have your wallet for when you're ready to go. Other than your jarred memories, you seem fine, so the doctor should be able to discharge within the next day."
As if on a cue, Doctor David Granger entered the room to explain the specifics of the accident with his patient for the next few minutes. While Carl's confidence in his memories was slowly whittled away with each of Granger's statements, Rachel left the room, telling the doctor she was going upstairs prepare the next meal.
In the kitchen, a man was looking over the $20 million lottery ticket in Carl Prichard's name. When he heard her steps coming up the stairs, he asked her about the operation's progress.
"Well, I think we're doing a good job at changing his memories for the time being." Rachel replied. "He looked around in his pockets, and I think he might know something is wrong judging by the fact he doesn't have major bodily injuries. If we do this all quickly, we'll be able to get away with it."
The two walked to their van with Carl's ID and winning lottery ticket as Rachel plugged the lottery's headquarters address into her phone.
"It say's we can be there in two hours. Silly thing had to be put at the state capital... why not make it in the biggest city? As long as David can keep him in our mock-up hospital room until noon, we should be able to claim the cash without any issues."
---
Mired in confusion, Carl was now demanding to see his ID.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Davidson, we have to run some routine tests before we can leave you. For one thing, I have to know that you're mentally well, and this outrage is not helping you in that manner. Please be calm, and I may even be able to clear you by the afternoon. I can understand this is difficult to cope with, but all those memories were just made up in these last few weeks."
Stalling for time, Granger said he had to check up on some other patients and would be back in about fifteen minutes.
He locked the door behind him before returning upstairs to call Rachel.
---
By the end of the phone call, the three were content with their progress, and with each passing minute, Rachel and the man were drawing nearer to the lottery office. Throughout the morning, Granger continued to "check up" on Carl and "run some tests," buying himself the couple hours before the heist of sorts was complete.
When Rachel pulled into the parking lot of the Big Bucks Lottery HQ, the man put on his hat, took Carl's ID and already-signed lottery ticket, and went in to claim the money.
Rachel watched the minutes pass on the van's clock as she waited for her accomplice to return. She turned on the radio to distract her, imagining the words being spoken: "Yes, my name is Carl Prichard." "Yes, I would like the instant money; yeah, I'm not patient enough for the annuity." "Here's the bank account I would like the money in."
A hundred miles away, the real Carl Prichard was ready to blow a gasket. Not ready to succumb to the lies he was being told, the man busted down the room's door, revealing a residential home's hallway. At the sound of mayhem, Granger immediately ran out the door and sped away in his car.
Rachel's phone was now ringing. "Hey, is he still okay," she immediately asked.
"No, he busted down the door, and right about now, he'll be finding out he was in an empty foreclosed home for the last 24 hours. Surely his head has stopped hurting from what we did last night, and he'll probably be calling his wife with the next phone he can get his hands on."
The one they called Rachel hung up; she was now sweating profusely. Why wouldn't he come out? Were the lottery people suspicious of him? The doors opened. An employee walked out, looking for a "white van." He approached Rachel's door and asked if she could come in as a family member and witness.
She was led to a small room, and asked if she could testify that the man before her was Carl Prichard. Forcing excitement, she got out an unconvincing "yes." Convinced enough, the frustrated employee checked off the boxes, and gave the go-ahead to forwarding the money into an off-shores account.
Filled with relief, Carl Prichard's unfaithful wife and boyfriend left the lottery office, each $10 million wealthier as they blocked David's phone number and drove far, far away. | 2017-06-06T09:14:06 | 2017-06-06T09:13:58 | 189 | 19 |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job. | The world was silent after the cataclysm. No birds chirped, for there were no birds. No leaves were heard rustling in the wind, for there were no trees. No cars or trains were heard in the cities, for the cities were buried in ash and rock. Only Death remained.
In a small cave buried deep into the earth, the cultists of Death were performing a ritual. They sat in a circle around a pentacle drawn with blood onto the floor, deep in their trance. Blood ran down their forearms, and heavy black cowls covered their heads. There were twenty-six of them - thirteen men and thirteen women - as is written in the Book of Rituals. In the middle of the pentacle lay a single human skull.
The cultists began to sway back and forth and chant in a strange, alien tongue. Their leader, a tall man with red veins embroidered on his robes, stood up and strode into the middle of the pentacle. He picked up the skull, and with his other hand raised high a small iron knife. He held up the skull to his throat and with one swift motion, slit it, showering the skull with blood.
The chanting stopped.
The cultist fell, but the skull stayed hovering in the air. Thick black smoke rose up from the ground and congealed into a tall, thin figure, with the skull as its head. In its right hand it held a bone scythe as tall as it, its shaft decorated with dancing skeletons. Twenty-five cultists looked upon the face of Death.
A single cultist stood up and threw back her robe. Her pale head was shaved, and her lips were stained with blood. "Master!", she cried, her high voice echoing throughout the cave, "We have given you the greatest offering! The world lays barren, and now you rule. No more shall the living trouble you with their petty hopes and worries. When we give ourselves to you, there shall be only Death!"
Death was angry. The past day was a complete nightmare, even by his standards. He had had to work the entire day, reaping each and every soul in the goddamn world, all because of this group of clowns. To top it all off, when he'd finally found the time to rest, they had dragged him out of his bed and forcefully summoned him into the world for the first time in three millennia. Strife must have felt real clever when he put *that* incantation in his little joke of a ritual book.
"Put those knives away", said Death, "If I have to reap one more soul today I'm going to fucking explode. Now burn that Book of Rituals and get your lives in order."
"But Master, I do not understand. The Book says that when the skies turn red and the cities turn to ash, you will-"
"That book wasn't written by me. It was given to you by the lowly spirit of Strife to try and get on my nerves. And it seems to be working. Now stop killing people, that's my job."
"My whole life has been a lie!", cried one of the cultists, and before anyone could stop him, he lifted his knife and plunged it into his heart.
Death didn't move. The cultist didn't die. Blood seeped out of the wound and soaked his robes, and his cries of pain rang through the cave.
"That's it, this is the last fucking straw", Death finally said, "If any other spirit wants to come down and deal with you shitheads, they can do it right now. You hear that!?", he screamed up at the ceiling, "I quit!"
He raised up his scythe and smashed it into the wall. Bone shards flew everywhere. The cultists stood back, unsure what to do. "Please master", one of them began to say, but the spirit had already vanished. A single human skull clattered onto the floor. | It was a dark and stormy night, why did it have to be a dark and stormy night. One of them came out of their ruined building they call a base to gather water from the rain. In his blind stumbling he almost managed to slip and fall into one of the cracks in the earth after the earthquakes. All I wanted to do for so long is see every last one of these humans die it gives me a small semblance of what the humans call happiness. I caused a boulder to fall in his path into the chasm as he was inches away from the hole alerting him to his imminent death allowing him to narrowly avoid it.
I am the grim reaper, Hades, Osiris, la Muerte, Mors wherever I was the humans gave me a name I kind of miss it. Now I have to keep these fourteen humans alive or else I will cease to exist. "Guys I'm telling you I was this close to falling until a boulder fell right in front of me and into the chasm." Said Steve "This has been happening way too often, us just avoiding death." Truth is I was avoiding them, trying my hardest to keep them alive like the little incident yesterday. "We have to be more careful with whatever we do, I mean double and triple check for anything that can go wrong." James was my favorite of the bunch because he was easily the most logical of all of them. He made a great leader I'm glad I was too late to save the other leader he was too open to new ideas it's what killed him thanks to pestilence poisoning his crops.
There are four of us, of course me death but there's also war who wants to destroy the humans from within by causing them to argue and make them angrier and angrier until they kill each other from whatever he can make them angry about. There's also pestilence, he wants to poison, infect, and plague the world till everyone is dead. He and war actually teamed up in the middle of the good times to create biological warfare and destroy most of the humans. Then there's famine he wants to see the humans rot and die from lack of food. He and pestilence teamed up once so they could cause a vermin outbreak that not only ate or soiled their crops but also caused many to starve pretty clever. Now we all have only fourteen humans left and they don't seem to understand that we only have so many humans left and they need to breed so we can continue to kill and torture them. Luckily for me they have all decided not to work together, but instead kill them their own ways.
"Everyone we need to keep our hopes up, because that's all we have. We don't know if their is anyone else out there." There isn't. "We have to keep searching until we find anyone." Their hope was admirable even facing extinction they band together and look for others. It was what kept them driven and moving, their hope. That night I kept on watch as they migrated to another building to see if they could find anybody or supplies to help them. While scavenging Rachael almost got impaled on some rebar for a medical kit. She had to jump across a gap that she could have easily made if the floor on the other side wasn't crumbling with little to no support. To stop her from jumping I made the platform across from her crumble and disappear. "I can totally make that." Reese said as a grin appeared on his face. "No, the floor crumbled and I'm taking that as a sign that we shouldn't go for it." Good Rachael "come on we've made bigger jumps than that, if you give me a chance I could-." If I couldn't find a way for them to die for some supplies I would let them go for it which gave them a one hundred percent success rate on all their searches, that has made Reese overconfident on every run. "I said no Reese we've got everything we need we're heading back, now." Rachael always understood the signs I would make and to act appropriately. They headed back to their camp and everyone rested well with more supplies to sustain them. Except Reese he went out without anybody knowing and decided he could make the jump.
I had to think of ways to stop him I blocked the entrance, but he found a way in. I made the floor leading there fall and he still kept going until he got to the jump. He stared at it judging which angles would be the best. None could let him make the jump it was impossible and even if he did there wasn't enough space to get a running start to get back. I wished I could yell to him, shout "don't do it you'll die!" But I couldn't he couldn't hear me all I could do was wait for him to fail. He finally nodded having thought he knew which was the best spot. He got back got a running start and leaped with all the energy he could. He failed midway through and didn't have enough speed to clear it he was impaled on the spikes and died. As soon as I saw his spirit I was angry. He was one of the fourteen humans left in the world and he decided he would go directly against what he was told. Now I have thirteen humans to protect. Now I have to pick work even harder to keep them safe. I don't know how long I have to keep this up, but until the humans can sustain themselves and everything goes relatively back to the way it was and I can kill all I want. I will protect them from the horsemen, from disasters, and from themselves. | 2017-08-11T04:41:07 | 2017-08-11T03:58:20 | 79 | 14 |
[WP] Tell me a story that would seem innocent to a child, but terrifying to an adult. | Little Johnny, aged 7, heard the knocking again, three short light knocks on the door.
Daddy was still asleep, he'd been up all night, again, doing something in his office, loudly grumbling as he had a wont to do lately.
Johnny, being a good lad, answered the door for his father so that he wouldn't be woken up.
The man that stood there looked in and then down, his eyes lighting upon Johnny, and smiled. In his hand, a simple folded paper. Two smartly dressed men in the back stopped talking as the door opened.
"Hello there, son. My name is Jack Duprey. I'm with the Internal Revenue Service and these two men are Detectives Smith and Calahan. Is your father home? We need to talk to him. Right now."
Johnny, being a good lad, let them in. | Our house creaks and groans at night. Dad says it's because it's old, and it's settling down after a long day, just like us. But I know it's because of Oliver.
I first met him when I was brushing my teeth. The walls cracked and creaked like they always do. But this time, they also spoke to me in a high, silly voice. "Always remember to floss!" I looked around, but I couldn't find anyone. I told Dad and he asked if I had an imaginary friend.
"If he told you to floss, you should do what he says," he grumbled in his low, growly voice. Dad was always grumpy and tired from work, but I knew he loved me, way deep down inside. Later that night, after he tucked me in, I heard Oliver again.
"Good night! Sleep tight! Don't let the bedbugs bite!" He said, in that same high, silly voice. I looked around and saw a face peeking out from the air vent. It was a fun, cartoony face with big eyes, scratched onto a burlap bag with pink crayon. "Hi! I'm Oliver!" He sounded like how a flamingo might talk.
"Hi Oliver. I'm Tom. Are you real?" I asked. The vents made bong bong bong noises as he shuffled around.
"I'm real! A real-ly good friend!" Oliver said.
"You're funny, Oliver." I laughed.
"Now go to bed, Tom! Good boys need their sleep!" The vents made more bong bong bong noises as he went away.
Oliver made me eat my vegetables while Dad was at work. He helped me with math. And he read me bedtime stories from his vent.
"Oliver, can I please, please, please have a dog?" I asked him one night.
"Tom, there's something important I need to tell you." His voice got a lot less silly. It didn't even sound like him anymore. "I have to go away soon. But you'll be strong. I know you will." And he bong bong bonged back into the vents.
About a week later, some people came to our house in a blue car with lots of flashy lights. They asked where my dad was. I never saw Oliver or my dad again after that. But Dad got me a new puppy dog, so I'm not lonely.
______________________________________________________________
[more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/) | 2017-08-28T10:00:57 | 2017-08-28T08:30:19 | 275 | 101 |
[WP] Tell me a story that would seem innocent to a child, but terrifying to an adult. | Little Johnny, aged 7, heard the knocking again, three short light knocks on the door.
Daddy was still asleep, he'd been up all night, again, doing something in his office, loudly grumbling as he had a wont to do lately.
Johnny, being a good lad, answered the door for his father so that he wouldn't be woken up.
The man that stood there looked in and then down, his eyes lighting upon Johnny, and smiled. In his hand, a simple folded paper. Two smartly dressed men in the back stopped talking as the door opened.
"Hello there, son. My name is Jack Duprey. I'm with the Internal Revenue Service and these two men are Detectives Smith and Calahan. Is your father home? We need to talk to him. Right now."
Johnny, being a good lad, let them in. | Jerry was having a terrible day. (Sad Jerry picture)
A terrible day after a terrible week! (Even sadder Jerry picture)
But today? Today was the most terrible day of all. (Seriously, the saddest Jerry picture)
On Monday, Miss Haroldson gave him extra homework. (Jerry peeking out from behind dozens of books and stacks of papers, piled on his desk)
On Tuesday, his bike had a flat. (Jerry looking sad with a bike with a flat, while his friends ride off without him)
On Wednesday, Mark tripped him on the playground. (Jerry falling, mulch flying everywhere, all the kids from his class pointing and laughing, Mark looking very mean and evil)
On Thursday, his baby sister wrecked his Legos. (Huge spread of wrecked and pulled apart Legos, like he had some huge city made, with his kid sister happily smashing and tearing)
And today, Friday, the most terrible day of all, he got off on the wrong bus stop. (Jerry alone in the middle of basically nowhere, bus driving off in the distance)
Jerry was mad. And sad. How would he get home? He began to cry. (Jerry crying on curb)
Then, a wonderful thing happened! A nice man came up to help. (Super nice friendly guy in a blue-collar type workers outfit)
"Hey buddy, you okay? You look lost." (Close up of how friendly the guy is. Birds and shit in the background, yellow cast)
"Yes sir, I AM lost!" (Jerry's picture looks comparatively darker amid muted and 'sad' with a blue cast)
"Well, dry those tears, partner. How about you come with me on an adventure? I've got some puppies to deliver and a whole big bag of candy I couldn't possibly eat by myself. And I can drop you off when I'm done!
(Doublepage spread of this really nice white panel van, Jerry with a look of wide eyed amazement on his face, and the van full of puppies in boxes, candy all over, and even a video game system. It's all very magical looking and detailed)
Jerry dried his tears, smiled, and followed the man into his big white van.
(Jerry all happily getting into the side of the van, now in a yellow cast and happy)
Jerry realized that maybe this day wasn't going to be so very terrible after all!
(Picture of the van flying off into the distance, a happy faced Jerry, and some rainbows and sparkles left by the 'wake' of the van as it flies off)
THE END
| 2017-08-28T10:00:57 | 2017-08-28T08:30:57 | 275 | 89 |
[WP] While exploring a magnificent waterfall in remote China, a hiker accidentally dislodges the rock that has prevented koi from ascending to obtain dragonhood for millennia. | The slab of rock fell into the water with a splash.
Jamie shrugged it off, he slipped and chipped off a part of the spring. He looked down. There were a bunch of colors moving in the water, and they started to jump! "Weird." He said as he went on to follow with his group.
They were talking about something without him, but he soon caught pace. Amanda, one of his friends continued talking, "I once read something about koi fishes trying to reach the top of a waterfall." She said, the local tour guide listened. "Is it true that they do that?"
The tour guide smiled enthusiastically. "It's true. Legend has it that three hundred and sixty koi fishes never gave up swimming upstream even as demons made the stream longer, and higher. But as soon as one of do reach the top, the gods bestow them a gift - turning them into dragons."
The ground rumbled, shaking trees and the hikers themselves. Then it stopped. Actually, everything stopped. Jamie stood there as time stopped. Birds in mid-flight. Leaves frozen in the air. His friends, crouched down to retain balance. But he noticed that the water remained flowing. The rushing of water roared in his ears.
Something snaked through the dense forest, he turned to look. It was so fast his eyes could not bring out detail, but he knows that its big. He shook the frozen tour guide. "Hey. I- I- think there's an overgrown anaconda here." She remained frozen. "Quit joking around."
Something shot from the forest and into the air.
It had golden scales that seemed to burn as sunlight hit it. Its back fins were orange, giving it the illusion of fire. And up front, the head, it had a bush of white hair, and a long moustache at the top lip. It hovered in the air, eyes staring down at Jamie. Its hands opened to reveal three pearls. "Three wishes." The dragon spoke. "My family will soon join me in enlightenment because of your deed."
"Now, make your wish."
| Oh shit, this is how I die. I'm going to go right over the edge, fall for hundreds of feet, and fall into the pool down there. I'm going to break my neck, drown, have a heart attack on the way down, whatever, the point is I'm gonna die. I have to grab something so I don't fall - ooh, that rock was a perfect handhold. Haha, I'm not gonna die!
CRACK
Shit, the rock came off in my hand. Now I'm definitely going to die. I'm falling to my death, I'm falling to my death, I'm falling to my death, I'm falling to my death, I'm...
WHOOSH
Whoa, that fall wasn't all that bad. It was way shorter than I thought it was going to be, I must've landed on a ledge...a slimy, orange, ledge...that's flying up.
WHOOSH. WHOOSH. WHOOSH.
What is that? Wings?
BLUB-GLUB-WHOOSH
Aaaaah! Shit! It's a giant fish with wings!
****
****
"I'll take the Orange Chicken, and...would you want to share some springrolls?" Daren asked Lucy. Daren had been waiting for Lucy to say yes to a date ever since 10th grade, and now she had agreed. The two awkward teens sat in Nobu, looking at the menus.
"Sure," Lucy said. Lucy had been in a pretty long-term relationship with the setter on the volleyball team, but had agreed to this date because she needed a beard. Her mother hadn't wanted Lucy to join the volleyball team because "all dogs go to heaven, and all dykes burn for eternity," and her father had said nothing, as was their custom. Mother would assert the will of the family, and father would assent by way of silence.
Lucy had been thinking about ordering the General Tso's - actually, she had been thinking about going down on Valerie, the setter - when she noticed ripples in her water glass. Then, she noticed the ripples were a result of a low rumbling that had now filled the Nobu.
"Fuck-a meee!" Lucy and Daren heard the hostess scream, which seemed to ignite a chorus of screaming from the front of the restaurant. Lucy and Daren both looked just in time to see the before and after.
You know, like the "before and after" in those weight loss commercials? Only in this instance, it was different. The "before" was the Nobu foyer, decorated like a (potentially racially insensitive) combination of pan-asian motifs. Staff and patrons were flooding from the foyer in a rush.
The "after" picture happened a lot faster than the weight loss commercials. Instead of five weeks and twenty-five pounds later, the pond exploded. From within the decorative pool of water grew five enormous, serpentine, writhing shapes. Their movements made them look like they were alive, but Lucy couldn't be sure. The five serpent-looking things all reared their heads toward the roof of the Nobu and opened their strange, carp-like mouths.
From their mouths came a torrent of lightning, flames, and wind that smashed a hole in the roof like an 18-wheeler through a piece of rice paper. The serpents unfurled huge, angelic wings and drove them down toward the ground. The strange creatures began gaining altitude and left the Nobu through the hole in the roof.
"What was that?" Daren asked, completely taken aback. And he should be taken aback. It's not every day the Binding Tome of Ancestral Power is removed from Dragonscale Falls, freeing all koi from an age-old transmogrification curse and returning them to their original form. | 2017-09-11T16:04:32 | 2017-09-11T12:36:06 | 155 | 32 |
[WP]Some time ago humans were put on the 'Only Contact in Case of Emergency' list. Now a threat to the galaxy has arisen and humanity is it's last hope. | *Replaying Log 9932 via TU2CS. Transmission beginning now:*
“It was all over the news, and by all over I mean telecommunications were literally hacked. All day long, on October 2nd, 2142, a mysterious message was broadcasted addressed to “humanity.” In it, the message proclaimed of a universe-wide crisis that only warranted humanity’s help as a last resort. Clearly the race contacting us was in a dire situation, so the world’s leaders agreed to a United Nations meeting in five days’ time from the original date of the message.
“During the week-long assembly, world leaders debated humanity’s involvement in a situation they had never been informed of. For all they knew, it was a trap meant to fool humans into giving themselves up to a greater being. Others proclaimed of the potential consequences of not getting involved, even though none were spoken of either. However, a decision was reached at the end of the seventh day, and all but seventeen countries of the planet Earth were united as the Terra Union. “A transmission was sent in the direction of where the original message was received from, and within two hours an armada of space ships appeared. These ships were of sleek black design bearing the insignia “Γιατί το μεταφράσατε αυτό”. The world watched intently as Humanity first interacted with extra-terrestrials.
“It has been nearly 27 years since that day, and all troops sent to fight whatever the conflict was have yet to be heard from since. Most of the ten billion people on earth were convinced that their friends and family were wiped out, while other, more insensitive groups claimed they were eaten. However, only the highest forms of government know exactly what happened to those men and women who went to fight for our Earth.
“They’ll be returning home soon. Heroes of the Earth, or maybe even heroes of the Universe. For the crisis which relied on Humanity’s help was not one of war; instead, it was of something much more sinister, something that many would not have expected. A darkness that blanketed the universe had been erased by the light of a newly formed civilization; humanity was a growing race whose progression in science, technology, and their understanding of the universe proved that intelligent life existed in a universe that was once at war with itself.
“When the men and women return back from their trip, they’ll bring new, exciting knowledge that will help us further our education and progress even more along our evolutionary timeline. New technology, new data on planets and stars and other astronomical feats, and new information on other planetary cultures and understandings of the big rock we call home.
“Those men and women attended to a universal assembly, where planets and civilizations once at war with each other considered total eradication of what they deemed a “failed universe.” With the evidence of humans proving intelligent, peaceful life can still exist, the leaders of that assembly agreed to call off their plan and find new ways to co-exist between themselves and us humans.
“The crisis was averted, and now, after 27 years, the troops are going home. We’re going home. I, am going home.
“This is Commander George Zmith, signing off on Log 9932. Godspeed.”
Slight edit: tried asterisks. I failed. Bad. Removed some. :D | "It's flashing! It's flashing!" cried George, who was sliding recklessly through the corridors of his place of employment.
The floors, regularly buffed and cleaned, allowed him to slide round corners in a way that would possibly remind someone of a popular 80's film, but the year was 2142 and that cinema classic had long fallen into obscurity. Perhaps this would've been due to a change in popular culture over the century or so that had passed but it would be fair to say that it was more likely due to The Last World War, which saw use of nuclear weapons that turned the planet into a borderline inhabitable nuclear wasteland.
George eventually reached the office of his superior, Stan, who was idly flicking through intergalactic television streams that occupied a large screen in his office.
"Stan, it's flashing mate! The big one, bloody flashing!" He repeated as he leaned against the doorway catching his breath.
Stan now looked equally as excited and terminated the feed on his screen. His response to the news led him to immediately begin fumbling on the computer in front of him, the antiquated keyboard being hammered in the process.
"Which one?" Stan inquired, not looking up from his monitor.
"The big one!"
"The big red one?" Stan probed, his eyes widening.
"The big blue one, Stan!" George responded, ignoring the confusion he nearly just caused.
After a few moments, another image filled the large screen which had previously hosted Stan's favourite Venusian soap opera. It was the image of an alien general, sat behind a desk on the other side of the galaxy. Though his eyes were held on stalks protruding from his forehead and his large lipless mouth stern below two slits that were his nose, the general was visibly distressed.
"This is General Vancha of the Royal Army of Cephus-B. Am I speaking to the Senior Manager of Silo One?" The general asked, in perfect english.
"Y-Yes sir, I am Stanley Forsworth, GM of Silo One." Stan fumbled, almost forgetting that he was in fact the top ranking member of a nuclear weapons storage facility.
The facility in question, amongst nineteen others of its kind, were the only functioning buildings left on Earth, dotted over the planet's surface, the space between them host to various radiated creatures that had no choice but to adapt to their new surroundings. After The Last World War, the remnants of the human race had no choice but to flee their former home and seek aid from the few other planets they had contact with. Alliances formed and eventually a Venusian military specialist had concocted a plan to keep Earth useful, as not to waste such real estate. The plan was to use the planet as a storage facility for various weapons of war, and should the need to use them arise, use a wormhole to deliver the payload to its destination.
Fortunately the known universe was either in peacetime, or able to resolve any issues with more domestic methods. It was now apparent to Stan and George that somewhere across the galaxy, a real shitstorm had been kicked up.
"We are requesting the release of item 12-B in its entirety, the necessary warrant forms will already be in the requisition folder on your workstation." General Vancha explained, collectedly, his facial expression not changing once.
Stan checked the aforementioned folder and the General was correct, but he shuddered internally at the thought of what the Royal Army of Cephus-B needed with 30 Martian H-Bombs. Resuming a professional disposition, he lifted his head to address George, who was still sweating profusely.
"You heard the man George, lets get this show on the road." He ordered albeit informally.
On the observation deck of their facility, George and Stan sat around a small table they had brought up from the cafeteria, on which was a couple of beers and an ashtray, which periodically received a clump of ash from Stan's cigarette. They had made the necessary arrangements and primed the H-Bombs for release, and would do so once the technicians on Cephus-B had materialized the wormhole necessary for these weapons of mass destruction to cross such a long distance in very little time. The release hatch exposed all 30 of the Martian tools of destruction, and after having sat there for so long they were a dull brown colour, giving the appearance of a large box of chocolates. An incredibly deadly, planet destroying box of chocolates.
Eventually a large disc appeared half a mile ahead of the release hatch, and through it could be seen a planet in the distance, shaded with hues of green and blue. Automatic detection of the wormhole completed the process, and the Martian H-Bombs, held together in a frame, soon sailed through to their destination.
"Rather them than us ey, George." Stan commented through a veil of smoke, as he extinguished his cigarette.
Edit: Formatting.
| 2017-09-25T10:23:13 | 2017-09-25T09:53:11 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] After thousands of years on a generation ship sent out to colonize the universe, nobody alive on board the ship believes in the "myth" of Planet Earth anymore. Until they receive the first transmission from Earth in hundreds of years... | "Sir" said Vivian, the ship's AI. The name of course was chosen at random and no one on board had raised any concerns about it.
"Sir, we aimed our outboard scanners at what is calculated to be the direction of planet Earth yesterday. We made a few minor adjustments and began to receive transmissions. Due to our relative speed and the distances involved, the signal had to be run through an analysis-cleanup pattern."
Captain Demitri sat there in stony silence, his years of experience running a generation ship having given him the strength to respond only when it was absolutely needed. "Unbelievable," he thought. "The blue planet does exist. But after so very long, is it still habitable? Are the residents anything like us?"
"Vivian, is the signal recognizable? What are we getting from them?"
"Sir, it seems to be an audio-visual signal that is viewable at 29.9 frames per second" came the reply "As we ran the analysis, I had to use various algorithms to make sense of the transmission. This seemed to work"
"Well, what are we receiving then? Can you run it on my display?"
"Absolutely sir. It is in formal English sir and seems to be a video detailing how to build a time travel device."
Dimitri raised an eyebrow. "Time Travel?"
"I believe so sir. Playing it now"
Dimitri watched in silence until the end of the video. He played the video again a few more times and then asked Vivian to call in Pertubo, his second in command and also look at the data to extract the technical information that was meshed in. The transmission included embedded the actual instructions for engineers within the video data.
Pertubo walked in, saluted and stood in silence, watching the captain seated with his eyes closed in thought.
"Pertubo. It would seem our plans to find a home for humanity has changed."
"Sir?" asked the second in command.
"Watch this video" replied Dimitri.
Pertubo watched the video, and then played it again one more time. He asked many questions and Dimitri answered as best he could. They called in their top scientists, mathematicians, eminent psychologists and even sociologists. The impact was undeniable and would have far-reaching consequences.
It was 4 months later that the announcement was called. Every single member of the ship was asked to set aside everything that morning and listen in to the captain as he spoke to them.
"Earth is real. We left the blue planet eons ago in search of a home on our ship, called unironically,"Hope" because, due to human folly, the planet could no longer sustain its resident population. The leaders expected they would go extinct sooner or later and put together all the resources they could muster to build, furnish and send away the ship. After the ship departed, they continued to search for a way to save the planet. It was a mad, mindless rush and they threw everything they had to develop all the sciences they knew no matter how abstract. It was pure chance that someone discovered the underlying principles of time travel. And traveling through time also meant that space could be traversed. They did not fully understand what was involved in changing the past, but they could observe the past to see where things had gone wrong. It would not save them, but it would help them understand and be at peace with it. They sent parties back in time to observe events (and there were many) that resulted in their present predicament. And while this happened, we were well on our way to the distant stars.
As they understood their past more, they began to jump further back. It's in one of the jumps that they found out the nature of humanity. Alongside Neanderthals and what they thought were early hominids, they saw men and women walking upright, using complex tools and speaking in fairly developed languages. A few more exploratory jumps answered the remaining questions. They then used whatever remaining resources they had to build a transmitter near Pluto and transmit in the direction of Hope. That is the transmission we received yesterday. They have asked us to build the time travel device and make the jump back in time and space to the location of where Earth was. They have assured us that we will arrive safely on earth in its dim and distant past and populate it. It would seem that we, the residents of Hope are not just the future of mankind.... but its ancestors too." | "That's kid shit man, when you grow up more you'll realize that we're alone in the universe." John asserts as he swiftly passes through the black metallic hallways. Walking beside him is Paul, John's friend since childhood. "Like you're so mature, you're only a year older than me, dick. I wasn't even saying that I believe it, I'm just saying that it's interesting to think about." Paul counters.
"Yeah it's interesting, but it's fantasy dude. The human race is thousands of years old and has any person in all of that history ever even SEEN a planet? No. There's no evidence that planets exist, let alone that people came from one."
"Yeah but -- when you think about it, like... it doesn't make sense that God would build this gigantic structure for us and just throw us speeding through the universe wi--"
"How stupid are you? Did you ever pay attention to what everybody's been teaching you your whole life? We know for a fact that God is punishing the human race for fucking up in our past incarnation. That's what's in EVERY history book in the whole ship and what EVERY historian knows is true and why we have to pray for forgiveness EVERY single day."
"Well yeah, no shit I know that. I'm just saying there could be more to it than we think. Like, what if--"
"That's just what they tell kids so they sleep better at night. It's the easy answer right? 'Humans come from this beautiful faraway planet. It's a huge ball floating in space with all the open room to run around in the trees and the grass and the water and the sun and blah blah blah.' It's a lot nicer than telling a kid 'God hates us so he put us in this metal shitbox hurtling through nothingness.' Don't be such a kid, wake up to reality."
"You're such an asshole sometimes." Paul sighs as he stops in front of a door and begins entering numbers on a keypad in the door frame.
"Yeah well don't be such an idiot." John replies condescendingly.
John turns his attention down the hallway and keeps walking. The door slides open in front of Paul and he turns to John's back and calls out "Well, Praise Him I guess!" John throws a hand up without turning and calls back, lackadaisically "Praise."
​
Paul passes through the doorway into a small square room with only a bed, a small shelf holding some books, and a tall wardrobe. The room is lit with a warm golden ambient light. Paul removes his white shoes, followed by his plain blue shirt and pants. He climbs into bed and settles in with a relieved sigh. He lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling for a bit before blurting out "Screen!" The ambient room light turns to dark and a small screen lights up in the ceiling above Paul's face and a news program is already under way. The anchor is a woman, dressed the same as Paul and speaking about the interesting news from all over the ship: a fire in a faraway district, a fight in another, a really old cat. In the middle of one report the anchor stops mid-sentence, looks offscreen with a perplexed eye and asks "...what?" After hearing someone speaking indistinctly, her eyes well up with tears and she exclaims "Oh my God... praise Him." She turns back to the screen and through a choked voice struggles "I... I don't know what to say..." Paul rolls his eyes and says "What, did another Elder die? We just went through this last week." The anchor, through her tears, manages to get out the words "We have a message from Earth..."
Paul's eyes grow wide, his mouth drops open, and the screen transitions to a fuzzy, broken image of a man. He's a kind-looking, bald older man, with glasses. "Hello, people of Genesis I! Hope you guys are doing alright, no cabin fever yet?" The man chuckles a bit. "If our calculations are correct, you should be receiving this about a year from launch, so sometime in April of 2145. You guys are going really fast, so it takes us a while to get our messages to you but our technology is improving more and more so we should be able to keep up. My name is Roger Wren, I am one of the lead engineers for the Genesis Project. This first message I think is just going to be lots of thanks and praise for you guys." Roger chuckles again, which brings a tearful smile to Paul's face. "I've got a message from the United Nations here for all of you," Roger continues, "it reads 'On behalf of all the leaders and all the citizens of this world, all who ever have been and all who ever shall be, we offer the inhabitants of Genesis I our sincerest gratitude for taking on the most courageous, the most dangerous, the most important journey of exploration that the human race has ever chanced. We on Earth wish you Godspeed and you shall all be remembered and memorialized on our planet and in our hearts forever.'" Roger pauses for a moment, clearly fighting back tears. "Sorry folks. On behalf of those of us who worked on the Genesis Project, we'd also like to offer our sincere gratitude for being willing to take on this... galactic colonization, I guess you could say. Looks like I'm running out of time here, we'd like to try and keep these messages short so they can get to you more quickly. Well, good luck out there. We have a lot of work to do down here to save this place, but you guys have a lot more to do to populate new ones. Just don't forget us!"
The transmission cuts abruptly and the anchor woman is back on screen. She's leaning forward on her desk, covering her mouth with her hands. Her eyes are brimming with tears. Paul blinks a few times and shakes his head. He wipes the tears from his cheeks and whispers "What the fuck..." | 2018-08-28T10:36:33 | 2018-08-28T10:07:33 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] The year is 2063. Everything has become free, but the deal is – The more expensive a good is, the more ads you need to watch, before you get it for free. You have been watching ads in your freetime for the last 20 years for that one product... | In 2022, there was a huge outcry at the amount of ads that present. There were ads for everything possible- movies, food, cars, real estate and even the government. Things relaxed for a bit but then technology advanced and holo-screens became a normal part of our lives. When I was five, we learned how to Watch. We were taught to Watch when we were 5 years because that is when we entered school. My mom said we’re really lucky. In her time, they actually had to pay for things with physical.
​
The stylus hovered over the iholo-pad. The essay wasn’t going as great as Lani had imagined. It was hard enough trying to write about yourself but to write about yourself, submit a LifeScan and calculate your probability, it was impossible!
Stressing about it wouldn’t help so I decided to take a break. Stepping outside, she hooked up the holoscreen and walked to FStation. The billboards followed her twisting and turning, detouring the path to entice people.
​
‘Free is the new pink!’
‘Low Plane fares ranging from 3 month – 3 year ad time!’
​
But you only Watched, if you had something to Watch for.
​
On one screen you had some of the ‘freebies’. They knew the tricks and inside secrets to getting the expensive things for short period of time. The influencers of the day. Watching got you free stuff but if people Watched you, time slowed down.
Lani made her way to the FStation park and took a seat.
After doing some stretches, she activated her holoscreen and started Watching. The ads always had different times- from 30 sec to full hour long productions- and they always varied the selection. The panel had to know you were really Watching, of course.
Time ticked by and as she Watched the project gauge finally filled up. She had finally achieved it! Trying not to panic or cause her heart rate to go up, she saved the Watch gauge and added it to her project progress. It took 15 mins but eventually an EM came back confirming what she had worked so hard for. Her points had been accepted and the official Government stamp proved it. All she had to do now was to write that damn essay.
After 20 years, she was finally going to college.
​
​
\----
First time posting. A little bit more lighthearted than the other posts | It took the world by storm when all the advertising companies and conglomerates cracked the 'true worth' of everything. I remember it like it was yesterday, partly because it allows time to pass as the adverts drone on continuously on my screen. One moment, the world had been engrossed in their smart-phones as usual, browsing social media and tweeting inane bullshit, and the next minute, everything in the world become free.
Figuratively, metaphorically and physically.
*With a little caveat,* of course.
No one knows how they did it, and heck, it's been 20 years and no one still understands how they pulled it off but suddenly, everything was free and yet, hidden behind a fucking ad-wall, because, why the heck not? It took a while, and a lot of 'research' and revisions and news broadcasts before the rules became crystal clear to everyone.
"Everything was free, but can only be acquired after an advert, corresponding to the worth of the thing, was consumed."
Ergo, a snickers bar would be like what, 15 seconds of adverts and it's all yours. The product usually would appear wherever you need it to be, which was much weirder but society focused less on that and more on the getting of stuff.
It also meant, for anyone hoping to game the system and become a billionaire or have the latest items, or cars, or whatever would have to get comfortable, watching hours upon hours of adverts, day in and day out until they've acquired the 'worth' of whatever it is they wanted.
The rules were thing, to be completely honest because they made no sense whatsoever, but it worked.
And soon, everyone got comfortable with watching adverts.
Some councils took a step further and turned whole cinemas into ad-watching ground. Which initially seemed like a really great idea until people quickly understood that the concessions that they'd use to pass the item would also be locked behind the amount of adverts they watched.
The idea was silly after that.
I cover my mouth to avoid belching, not because I'm particularly self-conscious but mostly because the action is kinda... embarrassing to say the least. I believe I can control myself better than that. The TV is still droning on, spitting out random facts about objects and items and cruises that will never interest me but I don't mind. There's a goal in mind to be achieved.
A goal, 20 years in the making.
See, the advert companies, in their joint first and last public announcement about this new vague and mysterious concept of true worth that anything can be achieved. They stressed '*anything*', almost as if to hint that if we could consider it, it was possible. And once you put on any media device, all you simply had to do was think about what you wanted, and it will tell you how long you'd have to watch or listen to an ad for before you can get it.
So I did a thing.
In my old age, there isn't much I can say that I want. I've lived a full life and an enjoyable one at that. I've traveled, I've eaten exotic dishes, I've seen amazing things. Still, the only real highlight of my life was when she sat in front of me and told me her name.
She was everything to me.
She *is* everything to me.
She was easily the best years of my life. And I would be lying if I say it didn't hurt when her god, the so-called 'benevolent' one took her away from me. It wasn't her time. It should have been me in front of that car. But that's an argument for another time.
If all it took, was 20 continuous years of listening to the same diatribe of the latest gadgets, or the cheapest flights or this or that, was all that was required of me to get her back then I was game. After all, if I'm to believe in an afterlife and some supernatural game between God and the devil, then it is pretty simple to trivialize the human soul to nothing more than an existential product.
And this product is all I want.
\---
/r/EvenAsIWrite for more. Feedback and criticisms are always welcome. | 2019-01-30T05:50:14 | 2019-01-30T05:35:23 | 35 | 12 |
[WP] The galaxy is actually full of life and advanced civilizations. Everyone just leaves Earth alone because that's where The Great Old Ones are imprisoned, and nobody wants to wake them up. | No one told us.
No one warned us.
Then again, it's not like we ever warned the sheep of the slaughter.
You must be confused. I'll start at the beginning.
300 years ago the human race sent out first ship into space. The world mourned when we lost contact with it a few months later. Then we tried again and again and again. Adjusting one thing, then another, sending them off in different directions. Desperate to make things work, to make THIS work.
In time we discovered what had happened: Some type of field, too advanced for us to understand, surrounded us. An impenetrable field. Nothing in, nothing out. When the world learned of this we tore ourselves apart in panic and fear and religious paranoia.
Eventually, after a hundred years of war and death, after tearing our planet apart in ways we could have never imagined before we found something. It took us another 50 years to decipher the stone tablet. 50 years to discover that we weren't alone in the universe. Out beyond the boundaries of the field were civilizations upon civilizations, wonders beyond imaginings that we were forever barred from.
Our solar system is a prison, our planet the jail and we are both jailers and sheep. Finding out the human race was created by a conglomeration of thousands of different civilizations was a shock. Learning our purpose made us angry. Learning that, even in it's deepest slumber, the thing trapped on our world infects us with darkness and madness causing us to lash out in violence with horror and pain.
In retaliation we did what we always do, we fought back. Not that it mattered, the force field let nothing in and nothing out. Our efforts less effective then banging against a metal door with our bare hands. Our creators had been thorough but they had underestimated us.
So we turned inward. If we were the prison where was our prisoner? It turns out someone had seen it before. Even after all these centuries Lovecraft still fills us with horror. We only had to find him and wake him from his sleep.
Tonight I wonder what we could have been had we not been tainted and then I remember that we never had a chance of finding out. We were condemned to this world and all lingering guilt for what I'm about to do vanishes.
They trapped us here with a monster.
Did they ever wonder what would happen if we became monsters too?
| Marie raised her hand impatiently.
"Yes Ms. Brunelle?"
"What exactly is here?" she asked pointing to the map of solar system. "There, the third planet from the sun".
"That's way too close to the sun Marie. It's a deserted planet" interrupted one of the boys sitting in the back of the class.
"Simon! Stop talking when it's not your turn, especially when you're blurting out false information" replied Professor Xao.
"But I tho..." he started.
"QUIET SIMON" the professor said with a menacing tone.
With a blushing face Simon sunk in his seat and remained quiet.
"Well," the professor started, "The Old Ones aren't in the curriculum until fourth year– but since we are ahead in the agenda I guess I could give you guys a crash course".
She looked around worriedly, walked to the door and gazed into the hallway as if there could be not witness. She returned to the front of the class and sighed. All of the students noticed their teacher's uneasiness and were now wholly captivated by the information that was to come.
"Well the Old Ones are the ancestors to the Neo Sapiens– the Homo Sapiens.."
The class didn't even react. Even Simon was paying close attention to professor Xao.
She continued: "However our evolutionary paths diverged when a small group rebelled against the AI government.
Simon slowly raised his hand without breaking eye contact with his teacher.
"What's a AI?" he asked.
"Right," she began, "AI stands for artificial intelligence. The Homo Sapiens had enough technological to prowess to program intelligence in their tools. At first the AI were implemented into simple things: some AI would help them make complicated calculations. Instead of maps they had an AI assist them navigate through the cities, or manage the lights in their house, and other small things like that. But Homo Sapiens slowly began programming AIs that hat independent thoughts. This kickstarted the AI revolution. They would use them for more complicated tasks: being unbiased judges, more accurate surgeons, more impressive athletes and then slowly the AIs took the Homo Sapiens' place in society. Nobody would trust another Homo Sapiens for anything because they were more likely to make mistakes. In the end, the government was made up of AIs exclusively, Homo Sapiens were only used in dangerous tasks such as mining underground for minerals or undersea. It was not worth to risk an AI if a human could do such a simple task. In the end, the creators became slaves to their creation."
"So when did the Homo Sapiens get to Europa?" asked Simon, forgetting to raise his hand.
"Well, a group of Homo Sapiens rebelled against the government and secretly planned a migration to this moon. And they were successful. Our ancestors brought back a lot of technology but with the the Neo Commandments, with the first commandment is never to attempt to create an artificial intelligence. And thus have guided our society to this prosperous state".
"And, what happened to the AIs and the Old Ones?"asked Marie.
"The AIs do not have the ambition or curiosity to explore or go beyond the earth. And the Old Ones are oppressed as slaves with only the hope of survival."
"But if we controlled the AI they couldn't help our society? asked Marie. "We wouldn't have to risk our lives underground for our water"
"Our species almost went extinct because of the power of AIs. It is one of the Neo Commandments for a reason Marie..."
​
"...Marie..?"
"..Professor Brunelle?"
"..Professor...?"
She slowly woke up. "What is it?" she asked with as if lost in thoughts.
"Professor Brunelle– we are approaching the Earths atmosphere".
"Good" she replied in an excited voice. "After all these years, it's finally time to salvage".
​
​
​
​ | 2019-03-09T07:54:01 | 2019-03-09T06:59:49 | 152 | 24 |
[WP] The Earth has finally run out of fossil fuels to use as energy and, with the only other option being to turn to clean and renewable energy sources, the U.S. has decided to take drastic measures: trying to reach into alternate dimensions to find oil and other fossil fuels. | The portals were set up a month ago. Now, I would be leading a team of 60 men to this unknown dimension. It’s been over a year since fossil fuels ran out, If I came back successful I would be regarded as a hero.
“5 minutes till departure, sir.”
“Yes, yes, tell them to start if the portal.”
The Commander in Chief himself had given me an extensive list of possible resources to gather. The most preferable ones would be precious ores not present on our planet. As I looked at the bottom of this list I saw some quite disturbing things. I made a silent oath only to gather these if somehow the ores were not found.
I put on my specialty suit, gathered my team, and walked straight through that portal.
“Sir, I think we have a problem.”
“What is is.” I snapped at him, naturally annoyed.
“It seams as though we have not left Earth.”
My mind was racing, had we done all this preparation for nothing? Anger boiled up inside me and eventually I managed to stutter, “Of corse we made off Earth. Now, split up into you assigned groups and cover as much ground as possible.”
Hours past. The terrain looked awfully familiar and there were no ores to be found. I called everyone back to our central meeting place and told them the plan.
“Everyone look at number 26 on your list.”
“Humans!” One woman exclaimed, looking as though she was going to faint.
“No, no. Whales or whale type creatures and any living mammal over 120 pounds. That does include humans but also wildlife.”
“How can we be sure there even are creatures on this planet?”
“My group saw a town with some person north of her. They looked at lot like us, actually.”
“Great,” I replied, “Get 40 snipers to surround the town, 20 to load the bodies, I’ll get the truck.”
Most people muttered in agreement but then one man spoke out, “But, they’re people, just like us.”
I don’t know why I did what I did but somehow in the midst of my anger I had pulled out my firearm, and somehow my finger slipped. No one questioned me after that.
We headed out to the town and got in position, it was eerie how much they resembled us but I managed to push through any guilt still trapped inside me as I loaded that last of the butchered bodies. I still felt a little bad about leaving the kids all alone since they didn’t meet the weight requirements. They’re not even humans, so what did it matter.
We stayed there for weeks, shooting and killing and dragging and loading. After 2 and a half weeks I decided we had enough bodies to produce energy for about 3 years. We drove back to the portal site and drove the thousands of truck loads back.
“America welcomes you!” The president boomed over the speakers.
That night when I went home, I was eager to watch the news, eager to see my glorified face. But when I turned on the t.v, it was something quite different. The headline read “1.6 million Canadians Dead in American Assault.”
The newscaster spoke, “ Over the past weeks, towns in Canada have mysteriously been loosing their population aside from children. New security footage of one of these towns shows snipers in American uniforms going to work on their inhabitants. Canada has now declared war of the US because of there atrocities. We have reports bombs are being deployed over the US as we speak.”
“The...the.....port—“ I stuttered trying to wrap my mind around this
“We...n-n-never... left t—“
I heard the bomb but there was no time. I guess this is what I deserve. | The lines for the gas station were brutal. Sitting in the Texas heat with the windows down and the car turned off to conserve gas? Almost just as bad. Marcus Holliday - call me Marky, he would always say with a lopsided grin and a sly wink - sighed and patted the dash of the old Chevy. Dust swirled in through the window and he waved it away. "Bullshit," he mumbled to himself, glancing at his watch. It had been two hours.
The line was barely moving. People had stopped honking even. He wondered if employees would tell the customers if they were out of gas or if he was just expected to wait there until the next truck came in. If it ever came in. It's not like he could leave. He wouldn't make it far, not with the needle barely budging from empty when he turned on the car. It would sputter and maybe, just maybe, manage to turn on... He didn't want to think of the alternative.
He leaned back against the headrest, running a tan, calloused hand through that blonde mane that reached down to his shoulders. It was almost haircut time, that was for certain. Too damn hot. Had he been a little more aware - a little more present, maybe - he would have heard the commotion taking over at the front of the line. Instead he tapped along to the country song running through his mind, eyes closed and humming softly, unaccompanied by the radio or anything other than the occasional curse from a nearby car. The breeze should have been a warning if the commotion was not. Instead he just smiled to himself, breathing in the sweet smell of rancid cigarette smoke and diesel engines as the breeze turned into unseasonal gusts of wind.
Up ahead, a massive gash split the ground in the middle of the gas station, swallowing up the unfortunate cars who had seemed fortunate enough to get a couple drops of gas into their tanks. Black emerged. Not blacks like the kids who would bike up the street with their shirts off and Marky would greet them with a smile just like he would anybody else but the older folk would scowl and shake their heads. Black emerged as the very absence of anything else.
Cars and people and the meager supply of gas were all swallowed up at once. There was no belch after the great swallowing, no returning of the stolen goods or reimbursement for the damaged property. The gash just kept growing, and only when it began to consume the cars around Marky with a massive tear of metal and the screams of other passengers did he snap to attention.
"Oh, sheeeeeit," he drawled, picking up the wide-brimmed brown cowboy hat from the seat beside him and placing it carefully atop his head. He turned the key and the engine roared to life and he gave a sigh of relief. Just as quickly, it sputtered out. "Oh boy," Marky said with a nervous grin.
He reached for his holster, finding comfort in the smooth barrel of the pistol that was always by his side. Women might have come and gone from his life and his cats may have been fickle as one of his spruned mistresses but that gun was always there for him. "Not today," Marky said as he climbed out of his car. He barely had to aim - good thing since he hadn't had the gas to go to the range lately - as he pulled the trigger over and over and over again until the chamber was empty.
The black void seemed to tremble under the onslaught of bullets. Lights flashed inside as the bullets ricocheted and the black cracked blacker and little creatures emerged escaping the liquid rush that came from beneath the ground. "Halle-fucking-lujah," Marky said slowly, staring in awe as the unmistakeable rush of oil chased the twisted little creatures out of their dimension and into his. "We done hit the motherlode." He wasn't quite right, as he would soon find out. In fact, he was in far more danger than he thought. He reloaded, a nagging feeling telling him that those evil looking creatures weren't here to pay their respects to his old Chevy.
The nagging feeling was right. One of the creatures - its skin a deathly grey pallor stretched far too thin over sinewy arms and legs - jumped atop the hood of his car. "You're scratching that shit, bitch," Marky shouted at the devilish little monster. You didn't want to scratch Marky's car. That was a big no-no, as far as his no-nos went. He took careful aim, steadying his hand as chaos enveloped the world around him. "Sayonara, motherfucker," Marky growled and he fired three bullets into the creature. It collapsed and convulsed before melting into the hood of the Chevy, ruining it completely. There was silence. And then one by one the dozens of other creatures stopped tearing limb from limb the hapless passengers of the other cars and turned their attention towards Marky. "Well now I'm in a bit of a pickle," he mumbled to himself.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-09-04T06:29:24 | 2019-09-04T05:30:27 | 52 | 37 |
[WP] There’s a parallel universe where people age non-linearly, and every day you have no idea how old you’ll wake up. So sometimes you’d have to call into work like, “Sorry, can’t make it in today, I’m 7.”
edit: [someone called me out so here's the original](https://twitter.com/TheAndrewNadeau/status/1221583159759904769?s=19) | 'Time is a funny thing really,' I try to tell myself as a get ready to call my boss. Waking up seven, worst birthday in a while.
I had previously been on a pretty good streak, mid twenties to late thirties for over a decade, giving me solid work for the time. Jobs still has one year contracts, but they pay well when adults are a suggestion, not a guarantee.
Finally, I pick up my phone and dial my boss, dreading him picking up. As the phone rings, I eventually hear a, "what's up Rick?"
"Hey Kris... I know I promised I'd be able to get another year in, but I didn't luck out..." my squeaky voice bothering me a bit. "I'll be calling child care services after this call, I don't have anything for being this young."
An audible sigh is heard. "Really Rick? What are you, five? How do you not have anything when this could happen any year? You know what, whatever, just call me back after nine or so and I'll at least get you your gift."
"Thanks Kris, I'll make this up to you next year, I promise!"
"Just call child care before you get distracted by a butterfly or something, your medication isn't dosed for a kid." Kris says, then abruptly hangs up.
I put the phone down. "Oh yeah... I need to make sure I don't get distracted. ...Wait, did Kris say gift? That'll be fun!" I grin, then shake my head.
"Need to call child care...." I sigh, first time in over a decade, a real pain. 'What was the number...?' | The best days were waking in that room with blue painted walls, white birds printed along the tops, and a window overlooking the swing-set in the backyard. The posters decorating my little space would change depending on the when. Sometimes (if I woke and was very young) they'd represent *who* I was, but then as I grew, they just showed how I thought I should be seen. Cartoon characters became wrestlers became games that became, like today, just a couple of posters of ladies in bikinis.
Usually the kitchen would waft eggs and bacon and happiness up the stairs and into my room and I'd jump out of bed and run down. Scrawled on the kitchen wall would always be four stick figures made of crude chalk lines. Every year, on New Year's day, Dad would brush two out - mine and Julie's - measure us up, scrawl a marker on the wall for the top of our heads, then hand us chalk pieces. "Keep it simple," he'd say, "nothing ostentatious." Next to our portraits were stick Mom and Dad, never changing, always chalk-smiles, chalk-hands holding. Like a year round *happy holidays* card.
Usually I'd wake in that blue room praying that school was out, maybe a smile on my face and a belly full of excitement at everything lying ahead. No responsibility, just play and watch and laze and eat.
But that's not how I woke today. I woke uneasy, maybe a little sick. Like there was an echo of melancholy tumbling down my arteries. No burnt bacon wafting up the stairs.
I recognised the feeling for what it was - what it would become - when I saw the chalk figures on the wall, the chalk Mom freshly erased into a swirl of white dust. The two chalk children - almost as big as chalk Dad, now - were a long empty space away from him. The chalk smiles gone, all faces wiped featureless.
This was the closest I'd ever awoken to the day Mom left him. Left us. The seed of emptiness in my belly wasn't as grown as in later days, but it was there, freshly planted, ready to tangle me up for the next few years.
I think Dad knew why she left, even then. I'd heard them argue some nights. "Nothing ostentatious" went for Mom's dresswear and jewellery and the house itself. For our lives. If he could have overcome who he was to make Mom happy, I know he would have done. But he couldn't. People don't work like that.
For him, marriage had been a promise made with his soul - *that* had been his ring, and if that promise was broken, so was he.
He'd never get truly over it.
Dad was still in his bedroom. Maybe he'd be down soon. Maybe not.
I found the cloth in a drawer next to stubs of chalk and rubbed out the two kids.
Then I drew them back, a bit smaller, one either side of Dad, each holding a hand. I knew the drawings wouldn't still be there in the coming days - I'd seen that much. Maybe I'd never been meant to draw them at all, I don't know. But it felt right.
I didn't force a smile on his face but I put them on ours. | 2020-01-27T06:03:42 | 2020-01-27T05:45:35 | 170 | 73 |
[WP] On the run from mercenaries, a young girl stumbles into an old Greek temple and in a last ditch effort to save herself, begs for help from whichever god or goddess it belongs to. She didn't expect them to show up in person. | "Please, please help me!" She whimpered to the statue she was hiding behind. The boots were getting closer. The doors to the temple were flung open-
With a flash of green and the scent of fur, a woman with a bow and steely stare stood where a statue had been a moment before.
The mercenaries stood in confusion. They couldn't see her behind the other woman, the young girl realized and crouched even lower.
The woman looked puzzled and glanced around.
"Who has called upon me?" She asked softly and curiously. "Its not often my help is requested."
One of the mercenaries stepped forward and in the blink of an eye the strange woman let loose and arrow that struck his center. The young girl cried out in fear, curling herself into a small ball.
The woman's eyes shot to her. The woman took in the sight of the terrified child with a torn dress and turned back to the men.
"I see." She said, then flung a hand to her quiver in succession so fast only one man was able to move. He had his hands in the air.
"We were only sent after the girl, ma'am! We ment your temple no disrespect! It was the girl who disturbed it!" He rushed.
"The girl? And what had this child done to to be 'sent after'?" The woman asked.
"Her father refused to stand down to his majesty. Refused to swear fealty. The girl was taken as ensurance of a change of mind." He said uncomfortably.
"And what was to become of this child, should a change of mind not happen?" The woman asked as she stepped closer.
"She would have been kept..." he shuffled nervously.
"And?" She pressed.
"And made use of." He winced.
"Made use of. I see. And had she been made use of in her stay yet?" The woman asked, face to face with the man.
"I'm not sure." His eyes flicked to where the girl was hiding. "I imagine her escape was due to an attempt..." he trailed off, unable go finish.
"To make use of her." The woman finished flatly. She grabbed his throat and lifted him. "To take her innocence. To defile and abuse her."
There was a snap and the woman tossed his body aside, then turned to the girl.
"Child," she called. The girl peaked up over the statues perch. "You may go home and face what may come next. Or, you can come with me and my women. We will protect you. Train you. You will never be at a mans mercy again. It is your choice."
A few hours later, a group of men on horseback surrounded the temple. A king cursed as he saw his men dead on the ground. He approached the statue.
It was of a strong proud woman. A bow and quiver artfully carved. And, beside her, a young girl with a steely gaze and smile. Engraved, Artemis and her huntress. | *Tap tap tap tap tap*
"H-How long will they chase m-me!"
*Tap tap tap tap tap*
"There she is, behind those bushes, get her!"
But they would not get her, like hell they wouldn't. Diana would keep running until the end of the world. Through cities and fields, deserts and-- in this case-- forests.
Wildly she threw sticks and rocks behind her, leaping over fallen trees and storming through bushes, anything to slow her predators down. But they were persistent, a tad too much.
Well, she hadn't expected anything less. Trying to run away after being sold is no easy feat, so she had been told by her friends. If she even dared, she'd be traced and brought back by the Hounds. 'Actaeon's Hounds'-- a tacky name, but they were ruthless efficient if they got the money.
*Tap tap tap tap tap*
Diana panted. Hastily she looked from left to right, trying to spot a place to hide. To her own surprise she saw something that resembled a little white house, vines and moss covering its white, dilapidated walls. With nothing left to lose, she went inside.
It all felt a bit off. Like there was supposed to be a witch or a portal to a magical dimension, but there was none of that. A few rotted benches and a half-crumbled statue, a marble bow laying shattered at its feet.
"Do you think she went in there?" Said an approaching voice.
"Might as well check." Responded another, clearly as exhausted as she was.
Fuck.
Diana slammed the door shut and pushed one of the benches in front of it. She took a step back feeling lightheaded, caused by breaths so fast that they could only be matched by her heart. This was it. She'd be knocked out, taken back, punished and then shipped off to the next dirty mucker who'd pay a hideous amount for her body.
With trembling hands placed tightly against her chest she yelled something that was supposed to resemble a prayer.
"Please for the love of all that is good, whatever thing lived or lives here give me a hand or so God help me!"
*Crack!* The door burst open with a violent bash.
Shocked she opened her eyes, right as an arrow zipped over her shoulder. A streak of light, striking a hound in the heart.
"What the--" Diana screamed.
"MAN DOWN!" The alpha yelled, raising his firearm.
*Zip!*
Another arrow flew past. Two down, two to go.
Somehow, Diana forced herself to turn away from the mercenaries and look up at whoever loosed those arrows. A seven-foot-tall woman with one eye closed in complete focus.
*Zip!*
In a small flash of light a new arrow appeared in her hand, nocked like she had done this from birth. Diana tried to say something, yet she could merely stand in silent awe.
*Zip!*
The lady lowered her arms, putting the bow on her back. Diana briefly glanced over her shoulder, but quickly turned back when she saw the mess of blood.
"T-Thank you..." She stammered.
"I should be the one thanking you." Her saviour responded, her voice surprisingly soft.
"Okay... W-Who, a-and why and... How and--"
"My name is Artemis. Your prayer called me down here-- it has been quite a while since that happened."
"Artem-- as in, the goddess?" Diana laughed. "I'm going insane from exhaustion." Confidently she reached out. "I'm Diana!"
With a tight grip Artemis shook her hand. "What a nice name. It sounds familiar..."
"Okay, but... Why me? Why'd a goddess like you come to help?"
"This is the first time I-- or any Olympian, as a matter of fact-- had received a prayer, a call for help that wasn't merely a joke, in thousands of years. I could not simply stand by."
"Well, thank you nonetheless. But I have to keep going, I don't want to get caught..." Diana rubbed her shoulder, looking back towards the entrance-- aaand back to Artemis to avoid the blood.
"You could stay with us for a little while. I promise I shall keep you under my protection at all times." But the deity still noticed a hint of fear and uncertainty in the air. "And I can... Perhaps, teach you to speak with animals and shoot a bow."
"That sounds nice, yeah!"
"Come then." Artemis reached out with a slender hand, though her fingertips were hardened from the ages of archery. Diana held on, and in a flash of divine light they went off to Olympus. | 2020-06-15T19:10:56 | 2020-06-15T17:40:51 | 350 | 186 |
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics. | The humans always ran.
They were hunting or hunted but never in between.
When they were hunting it was at the creatures that looked different.
The creatures who were food.
When they were hunted it was by the creatures that looked the same.
The creatures who were hungry.
Food is what we became.
The humans had to learn.
Those who ran the fastest won with hunting, had all the food they wanted.
But to the hunters humans all were slow.
None could run fast enough, none could escape.
Those who hid in the caves now would survive.
But the hiding humans all were weak.
Barely eating was the price they payed.
The humans had to change.
They were to slow, they were to weak.
They feared the danger no one could see coming, the danger no one felt.
That changed with time.
They realised hiding was not going to work.
When the humans got out of their caves, back to hunting again, they evolved.
Those who felt the creatures coming.
Those who ran away and hid in time.
They survived, and our gut was born.
Thank you for reading! Please realise i am not fluent in english and i am not used to writing stories over all. I hope you liked my very short story | Sand bit into the old man's skin as the wind whipped it at his hands, his arms, his face. He trudged on. The once cloudless sky was no more than an orange haze now. The old man thought back to that time before his joints ached and his eyes had grown cloudy, when he'd last seen the heavens extend above in a never ending expanse of blue. So many years before.
He stumbled as his feet sunk into the ever shifting dunes. Through his watering eyes he could still make out the silhouette on the horizon so he kept going, onwards through the storm and the wind and the vicious lashings of the sand it carried. Pebbles and grit poured into his shoes through the holes in the toe causing it to shift uncomfortably with each step, but by now he was used to it and his feet had calloused so he hardly felt it.
As the thick haze played tricks on his old eyes the silhouette seemed to shift in the distance, as if it were pacing back and forth, impatient.
/Stupid old man/ he thought to himself. Statues did not pace, no matter how long we kept them waiting. But it seemed that statues did not listen to the logic of old men, for when he shielded his gaze from the sun with a boney hand, the silhouette had gone. Impatient, it seemed, and tired of waiting.
Straightening up, the traveller scanned the vast wastelands before him and it wasn't long before he has spotted it again. He adjusted his course and began to make his way forward, pleased that the statue had decided to meet him half way. This statue, he reflected, was supposed to mirror ourselves. What we want, how we feel and what will become of us.
Perhaps it is telling me I am restless, he chuckled to himself.
The old mans joints burned and his lips cracked from dehydration but after traveling for so many years through this barren desert he had reached it at last. The old man had hoped to see the truth, a reflection of himself and who he was or could be. What he saw was a corpse. Shrivelled and alone as the sand danced over the stone skin, carved with such delicacy he was sure he could see the fragile bones beneath. As he reached out to trace hollow grey eyes he saw just how thin his own hands had become, so similar to those on the statue, slowly succumbing to the dunes at his feet. /All this time wasted/ he thought bitterly. How could he have been so stupid? To think a status would show him the way of life? That he could learn his true self from a piece of rock? He spat to clear the sand from his mouth. This was not a place to linger long.
As he began his trek back through the desolation, ruminating in his disappointment and frustration, he did not notice the statue leave. His fate sealed. | 2020-09-15T15:22:48 | 2020-09-15T13:43:30 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to stop time, but only temporarily. You can stop time for as five seconds. One day, at 33 years old, you stop time. As you move through your crowded office, you notice one of your coworkers's fingers twitch. | It was nothing like I had expected. I thought it would be a sharp stinging pain, but instead it just felt sore. Almost as if I had been punched.
I cried out in pain. “WRYYYYYY!”
The old lady across the yard dropped the bow she was holding.
“Oh goodness! I am so sorry, I did not see you walking across the range!” She said, her eyes wide with shock as she hobbled towards me.
Through the tears I laughed, and nearly waved my arm until I remembered there was an arrow embedded three inches into it. “It’s ok, it was partly my fault too. I shouldn’t have been walking across the range in the first place ma’am.”
“No no no no! This won’t do at all! I can’t believe I’ve done this!” The old lady continued to wail.
Luckily, the paramedics arrived before I got sick of reassuring the old lady that I was fine. Despite arrow injuries not being very common, they were able to take me to the hospital where I was discharged within a day. Sounds fairly normal right? Yeah, that’s because it gets interesting from here.
On my way home I walked through the bustling market in the city of Cairo, taking in the lights and smells that I could never get sick of. So much so that I began feeling peckish, as Hospital food was not exactly delectable. I passed by a bread store and saw the most delicious looking bread I had ever seen. It made me think about how many breads I had eaten in my life and what could possibly top them all. Walking towards the store, I reached into my pocket only for my heart to sink. I didn’t have my wallet on me. I looked at the bread again, and saw it’s soft fluffy insides and crispy outside.
*If only I could stop time. I could just take that piece of bread without anyone noticing.* I thought
The bustling noise was the first thing I noticed. I had walked through this market many, many times and not once had it been silent. I took my eyes away from the bread and stood up straighter. None of the people were moving. A butterfly was frozen in midair. And the bread store owners eyes... lifeless and unfocused. As a man who doesn’t question things because there’s no point in doing so, I took the bread from the table. Someone, or something had given me this chance so I would not waste it. Time had, well, time had stopped. Around me. Just me. What was I? God?
From that day on, I continued to experiment with this newfound ability. Despite having an amazing power, I could only stop time for five seconds. No matter how much I used my power, five seconds was always the limit. Life got boring. It was amazing at first, but it had become a usual part of life. I would only use it for petty things, like stealing or saving time. I mean, what could you do with only five seconds? That is, until, that one fateful day.
I arrived at work on time, and sat down at my desk. I saw that my coworker had brought in his Dalmatian. Annoying dog it was, always letting it’s tongue hang out of it’s mouth as it ran around the office. I sighed and paused time, slowly rising from my chair.
*How should I kill it?* I thought *Maybe burn it? That would be nice.*
Chills went down my entire body as all the hairs on my body stood up. “Tha- that’s not possible” I stammered.
My coworker’s finger had twitched. It was only for a second, but I saw it. I know I saw it twitch. Time began to move again.
My coworker turned to face me, his gold chain jangling against his coat. “I see that your power is the same type as mine.”
My eyes narrowed. “I don’t care about whether or not you have my power, but I won’t let you stop me from burning that dog.”
My coworker began to walk towards me.
“Oh? You’re approaching me?” I asked. “Instead of running away, you’re coming right to me?”
“I can’t beat the shit out of you without getting closer.” He replied.
“OH HOOO! Then come as close as you like.”
——
You guys have probably noticed that I am not a writer, and you’re right. I have literally never written a story before apart from in high school English, I just wanted to have some fun and make a jojo reference. I hope you guys enjoyed! |
# Moment of Pause
He glanced up when I walked by and looked startled.
His finger moved as well, that’s how I noticed. Five seconds is such a short time. There’s three-thousand six-hundred seconds in an hour. The effort to pause time was a monumental effort, akin to flexing every muscle in your gut at once. But I could do it and I thought that made me special. But here he moved too, in a sea of frozen individuals caught in main-line physics.
Time flowed once more but he already rose up to meet me.
“I was just taking a break,” he said. “I have the time to do it.”
The fact I was his supervisor may be making him ask questions. I had my own.
“How did you move around?” I asked.
He raised an eyebrow. Tried to make sense of the question as if he swirled a cherry on his tongue. Looking up in concentration.
“I have no idea what you mean,” he said.
He probably wouldn’t: I didn’t know until I was eight the specific movements to pause time. It may be innate in humanity, or maybe it’s only the both of us. But that idea of no longer sharing my paused time with others made me wonder: Did I pause it for others when I did the specific stretch? Is it only a world that we could access? What is this realm that we reached into, where everyone is a marbled statue and us merely the gallery observers? I never thought about it before, because it was merely paused time to me. But it seems something so much more, so much more profound, if I have to share it with another individual. Or individuals.
“What were you doing a few seconds before everyone else stopped moving?” I asked.
Again he looked at me. This time he hummed something to himself, as if that got the gears moving as he dived into the world of “deep” thought.
“I was only in here the whole time,” he said. “But I did some weird stretch if that’s what you’re asking. Are y’all playing some sort of game?”
I noticed the traffic of others walking in the hall avoiding me. I don’t blame them; the previous person in this position believed in the seagull approach: where one would fly in at the worst possible time, make as much noise as possible, and leave unhelpful droppings everywhere.
“Do that stretch again,” I said.
“Well,” he said, “it kind of hurt, though. Like my guts were being smooshed by my muscles. Why do it again?”
“I want to see it,” I said.
“Why?”
“Just do it,” I said.
So he did. The noise and the color fading happened.
Five seconds.
“Try typing something,” I said.
He turned to his computer.
Four seconds.
Clacking away he went. He threw his hands up in a moment.
Three seconds.
“What gives?” he said. “It’s frozen.”
Two seconds.
“It’s because you stopped time,” I said.
One second.
“The hell are you talking about sir?” he said.
Time flowed again.
“Ugh,” he said, “My guts hurt.”
“It happens when you stop time,” I said. “It’s a bit painful, but you can manage.”
“Do I want to,” he asked.
Linda hopped down the hallway, the young fawn of a worker she was. If only I had that energy again. I had all the time in the world to get it. Maybe I could actually convince him this time, I think.
“Do that stretch one more time. Look at everyone in the halls.”
“I need to get back to work,” he said. “I’m getting tired of all these painful stretches.”
“I’ll give you a raise,” I said.
“That’s stupid and you know it. But I won’t not take free money.”
He did the stretch. I can’t say what it is exactly, because I don’t wish for you to hurt and for other reasons.
The colors inverted around my eyes, then faded. The sound of a void erupted all around me, scratching my eardrums. Ticking of the world, which I believe was everything moving at once, ticked to a stop.
Five seconds.
“Now look at Linda!” I pointed down the hall to one of our coworkers.
Four seconds.
He looked.
“That looks impossible,” he said.
She was skipping and holding a stack of printing papers.
Three seconds.
“You paused time,” I said.
“No fucking way,” he said. He clapped his hands.
Two seconds.
“Is this why my computer freezes up sometimes?” he asked.
“Yep,” I said.
One second.
“Eh,” he says. “It’s boring now.”
Time flowed once more.
The paper that fell off the stack floated to the ground. The ticking sped up to an innumerable pace and the void noise reversed.
“And that explains why I hear that weird-ass noise sometimes!” he continued. “So how do I opt out?”
Now it was my turn to make funny faces at him.
“Opt out? I don’t know. I use it to get things done around here all the time.”
“Well,” he said, “Now you stretch.”
So I did the stretch and time paused.
“You see this?” he said. “What if I don’t want time paused? What if I’m driving and then time pauses? I don’t know why this hasn’t happened to me before, but it’d happen now. I can get hurt, someone else hurt, yadayada. I want out of time stopping.”
Time flowed again. My guts ached.
“And doing it hurts your guts, right?” He inquisitioned me with his tilted stare. “How often do you do it?”
“Rarely?” I said.
“You made me do it three times in a row. If *you* don’t even do it that often as I did, how would you think you’d feel?”
“Right,” I said.
“I hope whenever you find someone else that knows this, you don’t tell them the truth,” he said. “I’d rather just think there was something wrong with my computer, that I had some sort of epiphany, than having to freeze time.”
He smiled.
“Now about that raise…” | 2020-09-22T05:44:46 | 2020-09-22T05:35:22 | 317 | 31 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to stop time, but only temporarily. You can stop time for as five seconds. One day, at 33 years old, you stop time. As you move through your crowded office, you notice one of your coworkers's fingers twitch. | I twitched, as I felt another one with similar power walking the streets along with me. One who was of his lineage... I had to kill him. His father had tried before, but I outwitted him, putting myself in his coffin for 100 years, living as a vampire at the bottom of the ocean. Now, I had to kill this one. Right here.
As I walked passed all the busy desks of office workers, I saw him notice me, and his aura flared up. One of us would be dead after this, and I knew, with my time-stopping power, that it wouldn't be me. After all, I was a GOD over this world.
Oh, he's approaching me? He can do it all he wants, but he should be running, since he knows the the power I hold over this world.
"I can beat your ass from right here." was the first thing I heard come from his mouth as we stood there, only feet apart.
"AGH-AGH-AGH-AGH-AGH-AGH-AGH-AAAAAAAAGH!" We yelled, as each of our attacking abilities activated, rapid punches connecting with the skin, as blood flew out.
Quickly, as I knew that this would be the final blow, I yelled "I CONTROL「THE WORLD」", as time stopped around me. I pulled out a knife, and threw it as his neck, when it stopped at the last second, and I muttered, "Bye, Joe Snow.".
But during the last second, I saw his finger twitch, something that should have been impossible during my timestop.
As time restarted, Joe Snow suddenly appeared behind me, and threw one last massive punch, combined with his attacking ability, Sun of Diamond, as he cracked my head off its spine.
But this wouldn't be the last time I met the Joe Snow family line, not at all. I may have been defeated, but it wasn't over yet. Not at all. I'd rise, and Snow would fall. That would be that, and 「THE WORLD 」WOULD BE MINE!! | "Tod, you bastard, I can see your finger moving!"
"Aw, soz, had a bit too much coffee this morning."
Time suddenly shifts back to normal, people continue typing away at their computers, taking phone calls. Sally, the middle aged women seated in the next cubicle, is about half an hour into her daily online shopping.
"Tod," I begin as I move over to his desk, my voice hushed. "Why the fuck are you here, I'm just trying to live a normal life, I've left the war behind."
"Aw, come on mate, we need you, you're right handy in a tight spot."
Sally glances over at us, glaring. God forbid we interrupt the deep concentration required
to decide between strapped or laced sandals.
I kneel down, gaining a little privacy within the cubicle.
"Listen, you can't be here, you're going to make Jason sick if you stick around for much longer." I point at the body that Tod has possessed; Jason, the intern from accounting. "The poor kid has enough problems as it is."
"He'll be fine."
"He will not, he's turning purple already."
"Oh shit."
"Meet me in stalls." I say wearily.
Suddenly Tod disappears. Jason returns in an explosive breath, as if he's just come up for air. I leave him to his coughing fit and inevitable possession hang over.
Sally makes a little "ahem" noise, glaring directly at me this time.
"Oh fuck off Sally, why don't you go back to your Irish coffee. Yeh I can see the Jacks bottle between your legs, you're not fooling anyone"
She huffs, face going red, before turning back to her computer and beginning to type furiously. Probably another letter to HR.
I stop time, walk over and empty the Jacks in her lap before moving down the hall and into the bathrooms. As I close the door I resume time and hear screams coming from Sally's cubicle. Good luck explaining the smell.
A minute later an older man walks and gives me a wink.
"Come on mate," Tod's voice begins. "I know you want to come back, are you really happy in this shitty office? I've only been here a few minutes and I'm already depressed."
"It's better than risking my life for people who'll never know my name."
"Is the name so important?"
"No, the money is."
"Alright fair enough, how about we up your rate to 15%? Hmm? That sound better?"
"You're turning Herman purple, Tod."
"Oh shit," He says, disappearing from poor Herman, the elderly guy from policy. He begins retching, running to one of the stalls to empty his stomach. I sigh again, leaving the poor man and waiting outside. Jessie walks up to me a moment later, the young blonde from sales. She winks at me.
"A woman?" I ask.
She gives me a strange look. "Excuse me?" She asks.
"Oh, shit, sorry, look-"
"I'm just kidding mate, come on." She pulls me into the disabled toilets.
Once inside she grabs my face.
"Final offer mate, 18%, you get your own room and we give you weekends off. How about it?"
I stare into Jessie-Tods face for a moment, thinking about the end of year reports I'm supposed to finish before the end of the week. With a sigh I nod.
"Excellent mate! Excellent!"
"I'm going to regret this." I mumble to myself.
"Naw you won't, promise!"
I put out my hand. Tod taps it with his own, where a small tattoo spreads across my skin in the runic script of the fifth.
"Welcome back, mate, to the guild of the five second heroes!" | 2020-09-22T06:18:39 | 2020-09-22T05:51:53 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] You're known as "The King of Games" for never having lost a game in your life. However little does anyone know you're actually cursed so that everytime you lose a game you get sent back in time and be forced in a time loop until you win | Robert knew it was time to win. His blessing of never being able to lose had them playing for what would have been weeks in real time. Instead they sat across from each other locked in this embrace of competition, playing the same game over and over. He knew every move she would make in response to his and it was impossible to lose again. The chess board sat between them ready to begin.
“I guess I’ll go first.” she said.
“Of course.”
She made the same first move every game, and Robert could see the next twenty moves ahead. The path to victory was clear as day, it was only a matter of time.
He made his first move and asked, “What made you start dancing?”
Her eyes lit up as she thought back to her childhood. “The first time I saw The Broadway Melody of 1940 on television. Eleanor Powell performed Begin the Beguine with Fred Astaire, and that was when I fell in love. She was dazzling. I knew right then I wanted to be like her.”
Robert had heard this story many times now, but he knew the distraction that remembering her childhood would bring. She continued recalling her journey through dance school that led to her career dancing in theaters, on cruise ships, and even in movies. Joy shined out of her as she spoke, and she didn't focus on the moves she was making.
He moved his piece to claim one of hers and she barely registered the loss. Victory was only four moves away. Robert waited for her to notice.
“Oh look at that. I’ve played myself into a corner while I was caught up telling you stories.” she said.
“Maybe that was my plan all along?”
“You devil. You always did know how to get me talking, but I’m not out of this yet.”
She made the only move left to her in order to have any hope of winning. Robert went to move his piece into checkmate, but pain gripped his heart. He couldn’t do it. Instead he made a show of making the wrong move, and within four moves he was checkmated.
“You know better than that Robert. I can’t believe you let me win.”
The world faded to black around him, then color swam back into existence. He found himself sitting across from her once again with a chess board ready to play between them. Sounds from the equipment monitoring her vitals were cruelly beeping away. Her frail form looked so weak in that gown.
“I guess I’ll go first.” His mother said.
“Of course.” | It all started with a game of hopscotch.
A childish game, a gaggle of competitive brats and my own will to win and show off meant that when I lost, i didn't exactly take it well.
A badly worded wish muttered through tears later, i found myself standing back at the starting square, with no idea of what just happened.
When the children screamed at me to take my turn, i quickly realised what happened.
That started a lifetime of good luck and fame. I was unbeatable, no matter the competition.
Be it physical or mental, serious or casual, individual or team, my presence meant that the victory? Was a garuntee.
I coasted all the way to high school like this, only to be challenged in a way i had never thought possible during my first PE class.
I had shifted to a new school for higher education. People here did not know my reputation, and when time came for an athletic trials, they were ready to give there all.
Especially in the 100 yard dash.
Billy was his name, and Billy was blessed with long legs, a hard working lung, and a will to win.
I lost count how many times I ran the race against Billy. It wasn't then that i realised that my blessing was actually a curse.
Billy never gave up, not even the time i won. What happened was that Billy tripped. Billy was shocked, but i wasn't. I mean, given we had run the race over a 100 times, this was bound to happen, right?
I was more careful then. I never picked a game i wasn't already good at. I still had nightmares of trailing Billy down an endless strech, sweat bouncing of my body and my lungs craving for air.
Unfortunately, i had to go to college.
Unfortunately i got drunk at a party in a room full of smart people looking to do something stupid.
Unfortunately now I'm stuck in a game of chess with a genuine genius who is going to be forced to strip if he loses.
And he's not planning to lose.
And unfortunately, i don't know chess.
I'm learning though. It's been a year, I've counted, but i learn a little more every time we play.
I know it's been a year due to math. Turns out, all chess is geometry and math.
Our game is for 10 minutes. It's a rapid game.
Now a day has 24 hours. Each hour has 60 minutes, equalling a total of 1440 minutes. Divided by ten means that 144 games equals to a day.
A year means 52560 games!
We've played 52565 yet.
A lot right?
Well... A grandmaster in chess is one of the highest positions available. A grandmaster usually plays upto a million or so games to reach that level.
I didn't know that the person i was competing with was a super grandmaster.
Now, I'm stuck, in this game, watching the same result time and time again. Since my opponent doesn't know time reverses he keeps playing to win, and no matter how hard I try convincing a drunk guy to lose before a party's worth of attractive women is impossible!
So I've been learning. One game at a time. It's hard yes, to become good enough to beat a super grandmaster, that too when learning in an unorthodox fashion ten minutes at a time...
But what choice do i have?
I keep playing, mentally growing older as nothing changes, my mind just a jumble of regret, forgotten memories and chess theorems and patterns.
It's only for the last 10000 games do i realize I can hear a strange laughter as i keep playing.
It's only now that i realise that the laughter has been there since my first and final loss,
In a game of hopscotch,
To a foreign and strange kid i had bullied before,
Who turned out to have an even stranger smile when he saw me cry in anger as I lost.
Who probably heard my wish and decided to let it come true,
Knowing fully well that the child in front of him had no idea of the consequences of his wish.
Oh. Check mate. I lost again.
Here we go. | 2022-03-26T13:57:15 | 2022-03-26T10:47:35 | 3,587 | 626 |
[WP] “I’m sorry this is the last straw—you’re fired.” Your boss says. “Fine!” You exclaim. “Here’s my badge and gun!” You slam them on the desk but your boss looks confused. “What the fuck? Why do you need a gun and badge when you’re a waiter?” | "I fucking knew it, I am the best you got, but you are too scared to keep me because I am the only bastard here with some integrity and you can't control me."
Luis Canon sighed in disbelief, how could such injustice be placed upon him.
"How long have I been here, I have put sweat and blood into my rightful duties, and I put my life on the line every day for years, this is absurd."
He removed his belt, a saddened look as he looked at his firearm for possibly the last time. It was well kept, Luis would perform maintenance on it daily, never neglecting the care for his tool of justice, and always keeping his abilitties with it in peak condition. A surge of rage took over him as he removed his badge, a symbol of pride for him, representative of his values and sacrifice for his community. Luis's explosive temper began to show, in bitter expressions as he contemplated losing not only his job, but his identity.
"I am done with this, this is bullshit and you will sink without me." For the first time, he behaved with no regards for his firearm or badge, as he slammed them into the table in front of his boss."
A bit puzzled, the young manager sitting in front of him uttered.
"Sir, this is a wendy's" | The papers, pens and mug that says “World's Best Boss” go flying off and around the desk as the .35 rubber dart gun and plastic badge slam down with a thud again. I picked them up and re-slammed them for dramatic effect.
“*You just can’t handle my gung-ho manner, that’s all*.”
My now former Boss, the world's best, stares at me in disbelief. Annoyance and confusion fighting for the premier spot on his face. His eyes fill with what seems to be tears before I realise he has been looking at me for going on a minute.
Finally the glass mirror shatters as he erupts out of his chair, again the already messed assortment goes flying this way and that.
“*What the hell is wrong with you*?” The words come spilling out as he spills over his desk, grabbing at me in a rage. I snatch up the .35, cock it and pull. What could I do?
The orange translucent dart releases from the barrel and in what can only be described in terms of film magic, the world slows down. The click of the hammer rings out with an echo, the mug grinds against the desk as it begins its journey to the waste bin. Papers, pens, his computer and keyboard begin to pelt the ground like the rain on a cool Autumn day.
The dart gleams in the fluorescent yellow glow of the ceiling lights, coursing towards the forehead of Jerry, my former boss. World's Best.
I fall back a step, my movement slow and flowing. Jerry, red in the face coming towards me with the killing glint that a bull exhibits when the matador is in its crosshairs. Still the contents of the desk pelt the ground as I can hear Jerry’s desk chair toppling and hitting the wall behind.
The world slows more, and now I hear it.The deep, thrombotic moan of this wilder-beast. Jerry, arms outstretched in a v, howling like a mad man. The dart has found its mark. Bang on target. The centre of his forehead, a kill shot.
My world goes dark as time kicks back in. The only thing I hear is a dull thud and a crack as my soul is ejected from my body.
––
“And that’s how you ended up here is it? Shooting a dart at your boss's head?”
“*Yep, that’s about it, more or less*. I am sure there is more but my head is splitting.” I say.
The bearded, finely robed man grins. Light pouring out from around him. “*Fair enough then, in you go*.”
He gestures at me to enter through the Pearly Gates.
“*Oh! Word of advice, don’t try that with the Big Boss in there. His son tried something like that a while back, and let’s just say–it didn’t turn out well for Lucy*.” | 2022-07-29T12:36:48 | 2022-07-29T09:11:32 | 49 | 27 |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | We knew humans were weak.
They'd choose words and diplomacy over conflict, sought peaceful resolutions to disputes, made... *compromises*. All signs of weakness and brittle will. It only made sense that we'd wage war, aim to subjugate and add them to our glorious empire and employ their feeble beings in service to our greatness.
And just like that, they were a peaceful species no more.
They accepted our declaration of war with remarkable calmness; where we expected panic and grovelling, they showed determination and acceptance. We thought little of it at first; come the first taste of combat, they'd kneel. When combat came, we realized our gross miscalculation.
They had barely any army - and what little they had was employed in peacekeeping - yet they had far, far more than any other species in what they called "reserve". Humans who led normal, mundane lives as cooks, teachers, models, accountants; overnight, they all turned into seasoned, prepared warriors with years of training from their past. That they would have such training in war but *not* fight was... unthinkable. A warrior is a warrior, *nothing else*. Or so we thought.
Their fleet comprised of so many trading vessels, luxury liners, medevacs and more soon turned into engines of war lined with slapdash weaponry and haphazard shielding, unsafe for foes and crew alike. Humans, when pushed to the brink, had little concern for safety. This state, this 'Total War' they called it, was an absolute determination to win... or die trying. We've never seen anyone, let alone an entire species, face impossible odds and simply *not care*.
Worse yet, the tactics they employ, the levels they are willing to stoop to, how much of their souls they're willing to give up in the name of victory, it's... *monstrous*.
We thought humans were weak, choosing diplomacy, peace and compromise over war.
We thought they were being cowardly.
They were being kind. | "The war is over," The Custodian said to the gathered council. "We have Victory, and the Humans are pacified. This is what we will tell every member of this Stellar Council's remaining population. How could they refute us, when Human Armadas no longer burn our skies, shatter our mountains, and erase our War Machina?
"If we didn't win, we wouldn't be alive. This is what we will say. Our history books will remember Humanity as a rogue nation. A blip in Stellar history that will be quickly swept aside by Scholars and historians alike.
"They will become as ghosts; spirits of myth given to the fancies of the mad or the infirm. They existed, yes. They warred against us, yes. They do not exist anymore, and will never exist again.
"This is the decree of the Assembly, and one we must dutifully uphold.
He scowled down at the the text on his datascreen, and sighed.
"And now, we must move on to more pressing matters. We must draft our Notice of Victory.
"Gathered representatives, I already have asked you all to commit the gravest sin. I must ask you to falsify, to lie, to cheat, and to erase history. Many of you will not do so, and thus all of our combined efforts will be for nothing.
"If so much as one representative among our number refuses to act in accordance with the Assembly, the entirety of our Stellar Accord will crumble.
"We must omit all mention of Human triumphs, Human victories, and Human mercy missions. We must expunge all trace of their existence, erase their records, delete their datadrives.
"Never again must the Stars buckle under the call of freedom from Human lips.
"Never again must we taste the fruits of a collective species crying out against fate. Never again must we circle images of their fleets, their stations, or their faces.
"We must never hear another defiant speech, watch a last stand, see another Human fight while mortally wounded.
"We must never see their war stations bristling with cannons still firing as their life support fails. We must never again shudder with the mention of how not one single Human army ever surrendered.
"We must never taste their sorrow or bitter curses. We must never hear about how when all the Stars cried for their blood, the neutral among their number still rallied to ships with no banners to help the war-stricken.
"We must never again see the reports of the quality of life they gave to our troops when they were captured. The public may never know that armies under our colours flocked in droves to Humanity when promises were made and kept, of luxuries and lives most could only dream of.
"The feats of human medicine must be erased. Their wonders of technology eradicated. Their massive habitats, orbital cities, steadfast uninhabitable colony domes must all become the stuff of fanciful stories and lies.
"This is a necessity.
"Our civilisations, our cultures, they demand structure and obedience.
"Humans are anathema to that. The very idea of their society is the draught that will be our death-knell."
"So, gathered representatives. The Assembly has decreed we won the war. A military cordon and no-fly zone is to be created in every star system that borders Human space. An obfuscation array established to block their transmissions and data.
"No ship shall enter nor leave their space. We shall send and answer no calls nor treatise. For the greatest danger that Humanity poses to us isn't what happens when they win. It is the grace and beauty in which they *lose.*"
Without any applause or cheering, the Custodian folded the data screen, took a bow, and stepped down from the podium.
And all the Representatives were silent. | 2022-08-05T10:58:12 | 2022-08-05T10:06:30 | 1,540 | 397 |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | "Emperor, High Chancellor of Earth on Luma link to you", an advisor notified Emperor Gaumph.
"Link up." The emperor replied.
Holo visage of an elderly human sitting behind a desk materialized in the middle of the throne room.
"I presume this is about your mutual defense treaty with Lakilla?" The emperor asked the apparition.
"Yes. You shall withdraw all your forces immediately, or there will be dire consequences."
The emperor laughed. "Two puny defenseless races without so much as an army in a mutual defense treaty. What a joke. What are you going to do? Establish embargo on Coca-Cola? It's a popular drink among our people but our supplies will last until Earth is conquered and we'll have it without tariffs."
"We will destroy your cities, stations, colonies and capital ships one by one, until you surrender or until your successor surrenders."
"You and what army?"
"I think you're not treating our threat seriously, so let me demonstrate our capacity." High Counsellor tapped something on the desk in front of him. Surely a map in holo; you can't visualize a holo in another holo so it wasn't visible.
One of advisors sprung to alert. "Emperor, I just got a report, Acordia just exploded."
"The capital ship?! How?! Raise shields on all ships and planets now!"
"The signature is antimatter, about a kilogram worth of antimatter annihilated, the ship was literally wiped out!"
"Ah, so a hyperspace torpedo. They caught us unaware, but now with shields up they can fire away. Every object of importance is protected."
Chancellor tapped some other spot. Another advisor jumped up. "Emperor, the army colony of Maruja is gone!"
"Did they fail to raise the shield?"
"No, Emperor! The shield is still up, and filled with inferno left after an anti-matter explosion!"
"Attack! Send the armada to Earth! Destroy them before they destroy more of our resources!"
The chancellor shook his head. "I was afraid it would come to this. Let us hope your second-in-command is more reasonable." He tapped a spot on his desk.
A Coca-Cola dispenser machine in the lobby of the Imperial Palace made a quiet *ding*. Then the palace and the emperor ceased to exist in an antimatter explosion. | Everyone always assumed that the alien invasion would be violent. After our satellites had discovered spacecraft that we couldn't track to any nation's space program, my father began stockpiling weapons. Okay, he had been doing that already, but he began to stockpile harder. At least, that was until the spacecraft made landing and their diplomats reached Africa, and instead of killing en masse, they simply began constricting homes.
No one, really saw an issue, they had come in peace. Of course they saw resistance from local governments, but the United Nations did not have the strength to to back up the Ivory Coast in their war with the Bulmerians, and NATO was a shell of it's former self after America began cutting back it's contributions.
Eventually after a while the UN adopted a resolution of peace with the Bulmerians after our diplomats figured out their language. Earthly Bulmeria was given a seat in the UN and began expanding its influence over world politics as they began trading with humans.
That was over twenty years ago, and now their communications from their home planet had given the order to expand. Humanity had not fought any major wars in over 50 years, and the aliens mistook that for weakness. In a way we were weak, as our divided nations sought to appease them, with most of the world being tributaries.
However, in rural Appalachia we could not stand the US government, and I'll be good god damned if I was gonna pay income taxes to some two bit blue skinned jackass king a hundred light years away.
The first revolt happened in Ireland. After unification, they were already wary of all empires, so when the Dáil decided to appease them, Dublin erupted into riots, murdered almost all of parliament, and installed a new one, who refused to pay tribute. The Bulmerians invaded, but they had expected conventional warfare with NATO or a similar power. Instead, they found their aircraft, spacecraft and even landcraft being sabotaged.
Evidently Bulmerians we're unable to distinguish human powers, and had no respect for nationhood. So when they began punishing other nations who were happy to pay tribute for the bombing of their embassy in Britain, the whole world rose up in revolt.
And so I sat in my living room, watching an old movie called "Braveheart" and working on an IED. After my brigade captured a series of pulse grenades from the local Bulmerian military base, I had set upon reverse engineering them, and was ready to try an upscaled version of it.
"And there, you ready to try it?" I asked to my friend and comrade Patrick.
"Fuck no," he said "but there's a caravan coming through today, so we can try it then."
We had set up an ambush. I had inherited a 2025 Toyota Hilux from my granddad and had mounted a rebuilt M2 Browning to the back. It wasn't the latest and greatest, but it still worked, even after over a hundred years of service. We had parked it in the bushes, away from immediate líne of sight. Once I heard the sonic boom of the pulse mine i knew it was time, and I gripped the ma deuce as Patrick screamed past the caravan. I rained down bullets onto the vehicles, screaming like a berserker.
The caravan had grinded to a halt, and the Bulmerian soldiers leapt from their vehicles trying to fire upon us but we were long gone. We heard sounds of continued gunfire as our comrades tagged in, raining down with a DShK and tossing in Molotov cocktails for good measure.
That was simply one ambush in the long guerilla war for the Appalachians, and that was only one front I'm our global struggle against Bulmeria. They still hold most of Africa, but they failed to realize one thing: humans really don't like bullies. | 2022-08-05T13:02:15 | 2022-08-05T12:58:48 | 163 | 108 |
[WP] "I don't wanna fight you, low-level bandit." Says the Lv.100 Hero, who killed the embodiment of space-time. "I wouldn't want to fight me, neither." Says the low-level bandit. | "I don't think you understand," the Hero said. "It's not that I'd lose, it's-"
"You'd win, yeah. I know," the bandit said defeatedly. "I mean, of course."
"What do you mean?" asked the mighty hero, vanquisher of all evil.
"I mean come on. You've killed dragons, monsters, gods. Obviously, I know who you are. I just thought, that, maybe if I fought you, it would..." the bandit motioned his hand vaguely, "*mean something*, you know? That ***I*** would mean something. But... no challenge, no glory. No point. I get it."
The Hero stared at the downtrodden man silently.
"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you. I really- I really shouldn't have, I'm sorry-"
"Are you alright?" the Hero asked suddenly. The bandit looked up, his face pale and gaunt.
"What? I- I mean, sure. Just tired is all. Look I'm sorry, I'm not even really a bandit, just wanted to-"
"What are you, then?"
The bandit paused for a moment. "Not much of anything, really," he sighed. "I mean I try, I really do try to do different things but it always just... fails. All of it."
The Hero considered the man's words. They were... painfully familiar.
"Would you like to grab a mug of mead and talk? Perhaps about what makes you happy?" the Hero smiled.
"What? No- of course- no, thank you kindly. I'd hate to drag you down," the man said hurriedly and raised his hands.
"Nonsense. Come, it's on me," the Hero said jovially and pushed the man forward. Seemingly distressed but genuinely relieved, the would-be bandit accepted the helping hand and set off alongside the great Hero.
It wasn't a quest. It wasn't glory. It wasn't a promise of riches that motivated the Hero.
It was the right thing to do. | I sighed at the bandit. He wore simple leather armour, sporting a well used sword. His long brown hair was a wild mop on his head, clearly untended to. His sharp face was set in a determined expression, though I could see a seed of doubt in his mind.
I shifted my balance, ready for him to make his inevitable swing. My comfortable clothes were well worn, going far to hide my identity. As nice as fame was, I enjoyed the quiet life, and so chose to keep much of it on the down low. So the fact this bandit chose me wasn't a huge surprise.
"Now, hand over your goods, and maybe I will let you live."
His tone was probably enough to scare most people I to complying. But having spent time with the Voices, it was just another way of speaking to me. Even in that, I could hear the subtle notes of hope that I would just hand over my bits.
I could guess his type. He was hust trying to prove himself. He probably chose this life in an effort to drown out his self doubt.
"Please, put your sword away. You really don't want to go down this path."
His eyes showed the inner turmoil. He wanted me to just comply. He hated the idea of me making him hurt me. But he had to appear strong. He had to. He had no real choice from what he could see.
I watched his body, seeing muscles tense. As he lunged forwards, I reacted. My body had been trained by purging the vampiric undercity, reflexes beyond that of normal humans. His swing was horribly slow to me, allowing me to catch his arm. I moved into it, rolling him over my shoulders.
He slammed into the ground, his face a mask of confusion. I stepped on his sword, leaning down.
"I told you, I don't want to fight you."
His bravado broke, tears springing to his eyes.
"I-im sorry!"
I looked down on him. He was broken from just one throw. He was too weak to take lives out of cruelty. It would be well within my rights to take him in, or deal with him permanently. But I had killed only for the greater good. This would be nothing like that.
"Hey, stop crying."
He continued, and I smiled. I remembered being like this, back when I was but a young child. The face of my teacher swam into view, a kind, gentle face. I gave a sigh, picking up the sword. It was basic, no enchantment to speak of. With a shrug I stuck it into the dirt, before reaching down to pull up the bandit.
"Listen, this life isn't for you. Trust me, I have seen many bandits in my time. You wouldn't hack it. But you could do more. You seem relatively competent with a sword."
He blinked through his tears. I could see him processing, and I put my arm on his shoulder.
"I don't really want to fight you. If I did, you would be dead. I've had enough of death for a long time. So I'm going to give you a choice. You can turn around, and try to continue this banditry. That will end only in your premature death. Or you can come with me, and I will make you into someone to be proud of."
I released him, taking a couple of steps back. He stood there, looking incredibly lost. To one side was his sword, the life he had lead. To the other, I promised him something more. It was his choice to make. I just hoped he would make the right one. | 2022-08-11T16:37:51 | 2022-08-11T14:53:24 | 1,203 | 198 |
[WP] "Despite all we've been through. Despite all the battles we've fought. I have nothing but hatred towards you". | You are perfect. Nothing you have ever done or said could cut so deeply as your loyalty to me, to my brothers and to our country.
When I was wounded in battle, you carried me to safety. When I was hungry you fed me. When I was hurt you came. And when I cried you were there to dry the tears.
Nothing I could ever do could compare to your innumerable feats your many victories and your unfaltering morals.
I strapped myself to you for protection and you loved me for it. You loved all my faults and never asked me change. Never could I compare myself to you, so now I'm leaving you behind, in your time of need I'll not be by your side. You'll cry out, I'll listen, but I will not come. You will die and I will carry on.
Don't worry I'll tell your beloved that you died like a coward. That you begged and pleaded with our captors. I'll tell them that it was you not me that caved under pressure. That this time when I needed you, it was you that failed me and that despite your efforts I survived.
But don't worry when I tell them I won't hold it against you. You were under a lot of pressure after all. And besides this should offset all you've done, you won't be perfect anymore. In memory you'll be just like me. | "It's that look in your eyes." I said, trying to explain what I felt, bottle up for so long.
"I don't think I've ever seen you express a single ounce of real compassion." I glanced over at him.
He was still, unmoving. His eyes held no emotion and his face was a blank slate. From those two dark holes he peered back at me, and as always, it made my skin crawl.
Steeling my resolve, I continued.
"I've watched you slip a blade between a downed man's ribs as he screamed, first for you to stop and then for his mother. You reacted to neither."
I glanced away, at the ground. I couldn't look at his face any more.
"When we landed on the beach in Bombay, that horrible bloody affair, I watched you get close to Private.... Private..." the boy's name had escaped me.
"oh hell, the one with the blond hair and the blue eyes. The one we all knew wouldn't live out the month. You made friends with him, you guided him, and in return he loved you. Did everything you asked."
I paused again. Looking back at those eyes. I felt my hand clench around the .44.
Why did I feel that I had to explain myself? He wouldn't do the same for me.
"I know it was you who told him to kill the Lieutenant, and I know it was you who turned him in and took the promotion it got you."
Still silent, emotionless, the man gazed at me from across the fox hole. Though he betrayed nothing, I was certain he was hardly listening to me. He was waiting for his chance. I wasn't going to give him one.
"That boy, he looked at you, I've never seen a more terrified and pitiful look. Right til the end, he looked to you to save him. They put him up against that wall, and you just stared. When they shot him, you didn't even flinch."
I paused and looked him right in the eyes.
"I hate you. You're a monster, you have nothing inside you but a void. You consume everything and give nothing. You've never cared about another person in your whole life."
He began to shift, ever so slightly. Gaining traction, readying himself.
"Psychopath."
I spat the word at him.
He jumped at me, and for a second, I was terrified.
I'll never forget the look in his eyes. Faced with death, he was still blank. There was nothing behind those eyes.
I felt my finger pull on the trigger. The sound was deafening.
The bullet must have ripped right through his stomach, but he kept coming.
His hands closed around my throat. The corners of his lips turned upward as he began to squeeze.
I pulled the trigger five more times.
Finally, his grip weakened and he slumped down.
I'll never forget that day. I cried like a baby because I had seen true abyss, and it had looked right back at me and smiled. | 2014-05-19T10:05:58 | 2014-05-19T10:00:25 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] At age 18 you are required to go to city hall and have someone read you through a choose your own adventure style book of your life while you make the choices. The choices are permanent and will determine your life. You are the clerk reading the books. | It's not about the ending... It's just not about the ending.
I try and tell that to them, but they don't listen, really. I guess I wouldn't have, when I was 18, but there was no Choosing then, not with an upper case.
Just choices, that I made more or less without thinking, and it led me here. Because I didn't think any of my choices mattered that much.
But these kids, they do. They really do. They think the Choosing is the most important moment of their lives, and they come into my office and sit in my chair and sweat and fidget and, often, cry.
It tears them apart to have to Choose all at once, because they want a good ending for their story. Everyone wants a happy ending.
And I watch my newest client, a kid in a buttoned up collar who's never really lived, Choose fifty years of hard work, eighty hour weeks, a wife who does the right thing, kids who get into college. I watch him Choose the "right" path, where he dies in bed, surrounded by his grandchildren, rich and ripe and old.
And I flip past the pages about Mary, about how they ran on the beach in the dark. About the way she looked at him, the way her smile broke his heart and made him real. About how he could always make her laugh.
I skipped over the pages of debt and struggle, that would have been sweet with her smile in every paragraph, with her laugh in every line. I skip every one, because he chose the responsible ending, not the one where he dies in a car accident on the way home from a party at forty-two.
I can't tell him, or any of them, but I wish they knew. The only good endings are the ones that complete a good story. | You are the clerk who reads the CYOL books.
If you decide to quit your job and go on an adventure, go to line numbered 1.
If you decide to stay at your job and take fufillment in the careful enunciation of each word describing people's future destinies, go to line numbered 2.
1. Seeking excitement, you loudly proclaim that you quit your job, and intend to seek adventure. You decide to apply to a job dancing with polar bears while wearing naught with ice skates and a leather tunic. To see how this turns out, go to the line numbered 3
2. You carefully state each word in each book, and find the actual words lose meaning after a while. You grow increasingly tired, and dreams of ice skating and dangerous animals start to inhabit your mind. If you give in to temptation, go to line numbered 1. If you continue on this path, go to line numbered 4.
3. You get some near misses, and you almost die, but you sadly don't get the job, as the job just doesn't exist. Well. You could apply to a circus and be a clown, but that's not the same thing, is it, as much as some aspects are similar. You decide to apply for a job as a librarian. You could potentially read about dangerous acts then, since, hey, you have experience reading things, right? Go to line 5.
4. You find your mind dull, and your wits also dull. Everything is dull, dull, dull. You scream inwardly, but you are trapped in a dull job. You consider leaving (if you do, line 1 is for you), but you also realise you have tenure and job security in this job. You cannot leave. You mustn't leave. Too risky. Go to line 6.
5. You get an interview with the local library, and it all seems great. They say they'll 'let you know the results after they've finished the interview phase', and they commend you for having prior experience in reading to young people, especially teens. Go to line 7.
6. Control. Safety. Hope. What Hope? you start giving false information to the children, these mere teenagers entering your domain. You are tired of living for other people, you wish to live, but you cannot live. So you will ruin their lives. One doctor is to be told they're doomed to be a office clerk in a steel stockholder. One future supermodel with a tendency for poor decisions and dependency issues is encouraged to enter the porn industry. You are the master of their lives. DANCE, PUPPETS! DANCE! Go to line 8.
7. You're offered the job. If you take it, go to line 9. If you don't, return to your job reading the CYOL books via Line 2.
8. You're caught. You didn't think there was no oversight, did you? You're to go to jail for extreme abuse of CYOL Reader authority. Go to Jail, do not pass Go.
9. You have a long and fufilling life reading books to kids, and recommending books. You're an admin, a helper, and a researcher. And you pretty much manipulate the currents of fate to change people's destinies with your actions. The end.
((there would be more branches and more choices, but I'm at work and trying to actually work, but had to get this written down at least in this draft-like form) | 2015-02-24T09:08:37 | 2015-02-24T07:37:41 | 51 | 29 |
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