prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace." | "So what does that even mean? Fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity."
"That's the thing, most war species... you know... like war. Human's absolutely detest it. Something like a quarter of their literature is whining about how much war sucks. That being said, most of that literature goes into great detail about how exactly war was fought ages ago, right now, or in some hypothetical future."
"I'm still not following you."
"OK, say you are doing something you love to do, you stretch it out, you make it last, you try to set it up so you can do it again as soon as possible.
Something you hate, but have to do often. You do it quick, you do it efficiently, you try to set it so you never have to do it again.
With war, that involves inflicting the greatest amount of death, with the greatest amount of suffering, to anything that can possibly provide resistance.
That's what the humans have been doing.
You know how many war species invented chemical warfare? None! There's no fun in opening a valve and having all the other side drop dead. All examples were peaceful species acting in self-defense against war species.
The humans hadn't even had heavier than air flight for 2 decades before they already started mass deploying. They only stopped because they developed chemical masks and found the mask were negatively affecting their ability to kill quickly. Even then they started working on actual neurotoxic gasses which could be absorbed through the skin.
You know why they did it? That particular conflict had gone on for a few years, and everyone was getting sick of it, so they tried to do the horrible thing and get it over with.
Did you know that they had their first fission bomb before they had their first fission power plant? They justified that by saying that if they had attacked conventionally, they would have actually killed MORE people. So they dropped two city-busters and called it a mercy, because the alternative was to lay waste to an entire densely populated subcontinent.
That's humanity in a nutshell. They're fairly creative sorts, but they have an unusual view of the big picture. They see war as an utter horror. So horrible that the greatest atrocities are but mild annoyances. So, they say: we find war so horrible, we will spare you and the universe that great horror, by unleashing this other far lesser horror. So that's why we virus bombed that eco-system, flooding the atmosphere with oxidized hydrocarbons, and then set it alight. So we can spare you the horrors of war. That's why we redirected that gamma ray-burst. To spare you the horrors of war. That's why we unleashed that arguably sentient nano-swarm to painfully reprocess that entire sentient species. To spare you the horrors of war.
They are a species so scared of war, that nothing else can scare them, and in their fear, they'll unleash horrors unimaginable on the universe and count the universe fortunate.” | Weapons that every country on Earth had possession of were, in facy, quite rare outside of Earth's governments. Yes, other specieses had discovered nuclear decay, and a rare few had harnessed its energy, but weaponising it was unheard of.
They suspected that something must have destroyed all this planets, formerly occupied by hostile, warring specieses. But, due to the general interspecies belief of 'no close, unwanted observation', they had no idea that they were that destructive. When they detected our radiowave frequencies while establishing outposts on Europa and other moons of the gas giants, they had them decoded and made into picture and sound very easily. Nobody noticed it when they aimed a satellite beam at our systems, and nobody noticed a connection with a ping of over fourty-five minutes. They then downloaded our entire internet. At first, it was only open, free information that was downloaded. But slowly, over a matter of months, their systems dug into ours, hacking and stealing. Not stealing, per se, but 'borrowing'.
As ancient broadcasts of World War II, plans for weapons, markets for buying and selling guns and ammo became known to them, they became very excited. It was a chance to watch a warmongering species destroy itself, a chance never to be had before.
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I might continue this later, when I have more time. | 2018-03-17T04:44:06 | 2018-03-17T04:38:38 | 9,953 | 28 |
[WP] Worldwide internet access shuts down for 45 minutes. When access is available again, everything is the same, but feels "off" in a way that nobody can pinpoint what or why. Someone finds out what it is, and wishes they hadn't. | Nobody had an issue with the first few minutes. As the few minutes stretched to ten, and then twenty, the world began to panic. I remember my TV screen going insane as BBC was reporting on the current state of the internet; really, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal – must have been something with the wires under the ocean or something, I figured.
The Internet came back on after exactly forty-five minutes, with no explanation as to why it was down. Everyone kept going on their favorite websites and tweeting their thoughts (“OMG wuz the internet down?!?!?!” being at the forefront). I didn’t really mind – I wasn’t much of a lurker anyway; all I used the internet for nowadays was Netflix and YouTube, and even then I wasn’t much of a frequenter. My job as an air traffic controller ate at much of my time, and I wasn’t too keen on getting home and browsing Read-it or Tumbler or any of those other sites that everyone was going ballistic over.
Call me old, I guess.
People said strange things were happening – the Internet was getting nicer. All of the comments after May 1st, 2015, - when the Internet went down - were all far more supportive and nice compared to all of the nasty and hate-filled ones before. For many, this was a vast improvement over the hostile environment that our cellular devices had been breeding over the past decade.
The news had so much to talk about lately, and all of the channels were exploding. CNBC reported that jails were becoming more and more populated, BBC reported that fedora sales were dropping, NBC spoke of how the new friendly internet was inviting to new users and elder users, RNDC talked of how leaving the country was becoming increasingly difficult. All in all though, it seemed as if our World Wide Web was becoming more and more user friendly – perhaps it was that the users had come to appreciate the ‘net over the forty-five minute lapse in connection.
My awakening came on one faithful day when I was browsing YouTube. I saw a video that was explaining why Canada was a better country than the USA from 2011, and decided to watch all of it. Looking through the comments, I saw that people were expressing their desire to leave the country. Wanting to jump on the bandwagon, I quickly typed out my own comment; “Fuck yeah! If only I could jump the border north!” didn’t seem that provocative.
A few days later, there was a knock on the door; two officers from the army, who – upon opening the door – stared me down with a mean glare. “Sir, you’re going to need to come with us – there’s been a report by Google that you were planning on state desertion,” was all one of them said, before they grabbed me by either arm and forced me into their armored car; my wife and child were left screaming in the house in vain.
Maybe it was provocative after all.
| Indira hated her job. Working in a callcenter was bad already (to the point that she told relatives that she worked as a janitor because it had a higher status) and working for what had to be the worst ISP ever was a complete and utter horror. The customers were as rude and self-entitled as she experienced them in her previous jobs as well, but here, the policies were horrible, and the managers extremely clueless. She was actually happy when the 'net went down because it meant 45 minutes in which her outsourced callcenter received no calls at all, but in which she still was getting paid. She continued her knitting project and talked to her coworkers, some of which she had seen for years but never talked to more than greetings and good byes.
It was too good to last. The next caller came in, ranted, was angry, demanded to speak to an American and was self-entitled. It was all like normal. Except... during the rest of the shift, she saw something strange, first, she thought it was a tool malfunction, like so often, but then she realized that it made sense. She broke down and cried. The internet she loved has been gone, it had been replaced by an abomination which only shared the name and very little else: The world had just upgraded to IPv6. | 2015-03-08T11:54:00 | 2015-03-08T11:30:04 | 284 | 68 |
[WP] You were born with a large birthmark in the shape of a dragon. However, this is just a coincidence; there is absolutely nothing magical about it, and you're getting really tired of explaining this. | They were staring at me again. Eyes wide, mouths slightly agape. I sighed. "Hi. Look, I got your message. But I'm not-"
"You're him!" One of them explained. Pretty enough lass, head of gold, but obviously empty. "You're the one who can talk with them."
"I'm really not." I tried to force a smile onto my face - or rather, I let my lips tug the sides of my mouth up. The stupid birthmark had been nothing but trouble since I was born. Worse, it was on my face, running from the top of my left eyebrow to the side of my right lip. Impossible to hide.
"The swirling detail... the intricacies... there can be no doubt..." This one was black as pitch, but his eyes were wide, and he leaned forward over the pile of crap he'd apparently left on the floor. "It is true. You are the bridge between our worlds." He smiled slightly. "You will remain here. You are far too important to us all to be allowed to leave."
I felt my patience snap. With a roar I lurched forward, closing my jaws around his scaly black neck, tearing his throat out in a single movement. The gold one I burnt, melting her golden hide beneath a wave of flame.
When it was done, I gathered up as much of the black dragon's hoard in my arms as I could carry, spread my wings, and flew out over the lake at the cave's entrance. As the world whipped past beneath me, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glassy surface of the water. Red scales, golden eyes - not a bad looker, if I do say so myself. But disfigured by that stupid birthmark over my face: two legs, two arms, long flowing hair. All incredibly detailed. All incredibly meaningless.
*Just a coincidence*, I thought, not for the first time. *I'm not some stupid humanborn.* | "Woah, a dragon birthmark! Is it magical?"
"For fuck's sake, no! Why the fuck would it be magical? Please, tell me, what course of events led you to believe that a birthmark would be fucking magical, and then kill yourself."
"Yeah I guess that was a retarded question. Sorry."
| 2016-08-04T18:02:19 | 2016-08-04T17:25:27 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone gets a clock at birth with the countdown untill their deaths, one man's clock only says ERROR | !.ERROR.!
The word had always perplexed Theodore. What was it supposed to mean? Why was he the only one that seemed to not have a predetermined fate? Through the years he had learned to mostly ignore these questions, but they still haunted him when his head hit the pillow every night. It had been hard for Theodore to make relationships with people, because most people wanted to find someone with an expiration date close to there own. But what if he didn't have an expiration date? What if he was doomed to live forever for some unknown reason? Theodore was lucky in that he found a wife who had chosen to cover up her clock, and never look at it. She had no idea when she would go, but Theodore did. He peeked at it the night of their wedding, and was pleased to find that they would have a healthy 35 year marriage. But what would happen after that? Would he continue on in life without her, or would he die before her?
Tomorrow was her expiration date. She had no idea, and Theodore had tried his best to not let on that he knew, but it was killing him inside. She left for work, and seemed very happy when she kissed him goodbye for the day. Three hours later Theodore was staring at the clock. She had one minute left. She would die sitting in her office chair at work. Not the worst way to go, he thought. 10:34, it was time. She was gone. The phone rang a few minutes later, and Theodore answered in a shaky voice. They told him nothing he didn't already know. He ran to the bedroom and threw open the closet, to find his pistol. This was it, he thought, I can't live without her, if I don't have an expiration date then maybe that means that I get to choose when I go. He held the gun to his head, and pulled the trigger.
*click*
Nothing happened. He looked at the gun, and noticed that for some reason one of the bullets were missing. There were only five. He looked down. The bullet was lying on the ground. He must have dropped it on accident when he last loaded the gun. He heard a beep come from his clock...that had never happened before? He looked at it and saw that it was counting...but with a negative in front...he had outlived his expiration. | John sighed. He held the picture of his wife in his hands. It was his favorite picture, from when they had first met. She was smiling, as she often did. It was carefree and intoxicating.
That smile haunted him, decades after her passing. She had gone quietly, moving from a dream to the beyond, still smiling that smile. She had been in her late eighties when she went.
John set down her picture and picked up another, the last of them together. He could see her clock, minutes left. His was the same as it ever was, glaring that ERROR back at him, taunting.
He looked into the mirror and his youthful face looked back. | 2014-09-30T10:22:14 | 2014-09-30T09:07:26 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Your elven girlfriend is having a mental breakdown after learning you are only in your mid thirties. | "Think about it this way! How old was Bella when she got pregnant?"
She gently rocked on the couch, clutching her knees, staring knives over our warmest pelt blanket. She sniffled and glanced to the fluffy Yorkie at her side, trying to squeeze her head into a long jar of ice cream without letting the rim touch her.
"...That's right, a little under six months. The vet said it was too soon, but *biology* said it's okay. Because given her life span, *dog years,* Bella was a lot older than six months. There's nothing wrong with me being a little younger than you. If we break down your thousand years to my hundred, we're nearly the same age."
Quick elven was spat around broken sobs. *So I'm supposed to count our relationship in dog years?*
"... Baby, it's been hours of this. Your family's understanding. What can I do to help y--?" Her eyes flared, almost literally, as they swirled from their usual moss green to a bright, red-tinged brown.
"No," she croaked, "My family does *not* understand. They think it's a phase. They think I don't understand enough about humans to take us seriously, and now they're right! I didn't even know how old you are!"
"And the age gap makes you feel like a cradle robber, I ge--"
"I know you asked for my father's blessing. I do not think you've thought it through." I've never really understood people saying their 'blood ran cold' until that moment. I hunted the bear whose pelt she now wears. An eight foot tall monster her father thought was attacking their reservation. It snuck up behind us and roared when we went looking for it, together. A little bonding experience sharing stories about his daughter, and the hunt that spurred me to ask for his blessing.
"You are thinking I am grossed out by the sex. Or feeling like you lied or betrayed me somehow. Or worried about our kids lifespan. If they're half-elven, they'll outlive me. I'm scared. I want to marry you. If you're going by 'human years', I'm around 40. But I'm not human. I will outlive you. I will have to spend the rest of my life wondering if your grave needs tending. Remembering our best memories that'll never happen again. Falling in love with a ghost over and over. Telling our grandchildren how great a man they'll never meet was. I don't want that."
"... What are you saying?" | " Oh my gosh, ohhh myyyy gossshhhh", my girlfriend was sitting in the corner, arms wrapped around her legs and rocking back and forth. "Hey, it's ok," I put my arm across her shoulders."Look, no one has to find out, we can just fudge the numbers a little." I shrugged and gave her one of my charming smiles. She wide-eyed me and mumbled "Fudge the numbers a *little*?! More like by a few centuries! How could this have happy!" She walked and tucked her head in her arms. "Don't worry, it's gonna be ok" I continued trying to soothe her, but it was tough going. She had been having a breakdown since seeing a birthday text on my phone this morning. "Happy big 3-0 little brother!" Who would have thought such a small thing would bring a relationship almost crumbling down? | 2021-12-19T19:57:55 | 2021-12-19T14:43:41 | 986 | 85 |
[WP] The bride is having an affair with the best man. During his wedding speech the best man decides to see how heavily he can hint about it without anyone actually working it out. | John sipped his drink as he stood up. He shuffled the notes in his hands before glancing across the table. Despite the white, perfect smile on her lips, Jenna watched him with terrified eyes. John had felt those eyes on him all day. Every time he refilled his glass, her smile became more forced. Her gaze became more cold.
"We, uh," John started, clearing his throat. "I remember the day I met Michael." He turned to his left and nodded at the groom.
Michael's smile was as bright and handsome as that of his new wife. Behind him, Jenna gripped the tablecloth until her knuckles were as white as her perfect, fake smile.
John shrugged, snatched his glass off the table, and downed it one sip. The audience chuckled as John dropped his cards face down on the table.
"I've known Jenna since we were little kids," he said, holding onto the back of his chair for support. "We've been inseparable ever since we were in diapers. All the way through childhood, high school, college... it was always 'John and Jenna.' I've always thought of her as a part of my family. Ron, Samantha," he said, looking at the parents of the bride. "It's been a long time since I lost my parents. Even with them gone, I've always thought of you two as the mother and father I never had. I'll never be able to thank you enough for welcoming me into your family."
The audience applauded. Samantha had begun to tear up.
"Now, since Jenna and I have always been so close," John continued. "I'm sure a couple of you were expecting me to be the one walking her down the aisle." A few people laughed uncomfortably at that observation.
"But I can assure you," John said. "I think the odds are better that I'd be walking Michael down the aisle. Because, after all," he said over the laughter of the crowd, "Jenna has never been the type of girl who wanted a relationship. As early as the third grade, I remember her promising me she'd never get married. From the day Jenna met Michael, everything about her changed. She saw the world in a whole other way. Hell," he said, making eye contact with the bride, "she even started seeing me a different way."
Jenna could not even fake a smile anymore.
John flashed a wide grin at Michael. "I gotta be honest with you," he said. "I didn't think you two were going to make it. The thing about Jenna is, she always wants what she can't have. I'll admit, I was a little nervous when you started influencing my friend's life in such a dramatic way. But hey," he said with a shrug. "I've never seen her happier."
John lifted his empty glass. "So here's to you, Michael. Words can't express how glad I am that you met Jenna."
| Thomas rose to the occasion proudly, though he's dreaded this moment ever since being asked to be Jerry's best man. Not because he's scared of public speaking, but because he's been banging the ever loving shit out of the bride, Mary.
"I don't know where to start. Honestly I've been thinking about this speech, and Jerry, aaaand Mary, a lot over the last few months. Sometimes late at night, I'll be sitting in bed, thinking, what would Mary want me to say about Jerry in this situation. She knows me as the guy that delivers, the one that takes care of others before taking care of myself, the one that always helps clean up, and down for a cuddle after the party too. I'm the guy that tries new positions and techniques in this crazy little life. Jerry, you've done well. Mary is a beautiful and talented and selfless giver and I'm so happy we get to welcome her into our hearts. Mary, you couldn't have chosen a better man named Jerry."
The crowd erupts in laughter.
"No but in all honesty, Jerry is a great man. Sure, sure. He comes up a little short in some departments, but he's a provider. A big warm heart for sure."
*edit*: Thanks everyone! I'm flattered you like my sex jokes. This is my first writing prompt response, so thank you for the encouragement.
| 2015-04-02T22:15:17 | 2015-04-02T21:59:50 | 1,568 | 268 |
[WP] You live in a village in the dessert. One day it is raided by terrorists and all village members are killed, except for you. You lost most of your memories and now wander through the dessert, thinking you are the last of your species.
Second time posting this, yay... fucking tags mate *cough* Well anyways, i didnt go into a lot of detail in the title, because i wanted to keep it as short as possible. So, a lot is kept to your imagination. How much and what do you remember ? Will you die in the dessert ? Why do you think you are the last of your species ? Will you find other of your species ? etc,etc... Really, so much to write.
So i come back and i see this...1063 likes WTF! This was my first prompt ever, im still amazed. I want to thank everyone that submitted a story and all the people that still will :D | Time is passing - it must be near noon. I still remember vividly the smell, the strong sweet smell of burning sugar everywhere.
It was the torch that changed this land. It used to be a soft sea of soft peachy crème in an ever changing configuration of dunes, with our people happily swimming and living in it. The land gave us everything we needed: lair, joy and sustenance. Our hunger satisfied with sporadic bites, here and there, of sweet sugary substance.
Then the torch came and reshaped our world to a ruthless wasteland. It burnt - how it burned! A flickering blue demon, hardening the peachy dunes to glassy crust, transforming everything in browned blotches with minute spots here and there - my fallen brethren carbonized into oblivion.
As I walk these vast plains, hunger now controls my mind. I have lost count of the many times I've traveled between the arching porcelain walls that surround it. I cannot climb them, there is no foothold. They stand there, impervious, mocking my helplessness.
Too long I've stumbled here. I repeatedly pound and stomp this land unsuccessfully, longing for a minute drop of its sweetness. I feel it; it is there, underneath this tough sugary barrier, a few millimeters down. So near, so far.
The light has suddenly darkened. An elliptical shape hides the sun. At last, redemption of my suffering has arrived. It has the shape of a metallic elliptic monster, cracking the surface in arching blows. The repeated, syncopation harmony of destruction. My time has come.
I can smell the crème floating again, seeping through the cracks. I reach it and bathe again into it's richness and warmth. The monster is now on top of me. Just one more swing and everything's over.
**Edit**: my first Reddit gold! thanks a lot to all readers. Been lurking for a while on /r/writingprompts, and even though English is not my first language, it has given me courage to post more attempts. Thanks again! | I haven't, I don't know. What?
Bleary-eyed, listless, I shake my head trying to remember. My foot sinks deep into the sponge cake. Another step and another, echoes of blood and gore cloud my mind, family dying and neighbours already dead and being fed on. Look down at my shredded arm, tatters of flesh dripping steadily into the white cream and I realise with horror that I've left a trail.
I can hear them coming. Children. Children with spoons. | 2014-12-17T00:31:27 | 2014-12-16T23:36:55 | 369 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone in the entire world runs outside of their houses, drops to the ground, and begins shoving their mouths full of grass. you are the only one not exhibiting this behavior, no one will speak to you, all they want to do is consume the earths sweet green vegetation | A few days had passed since I first noticed people gorging on their lawns, barely acknowledging my presence beyond making sure I wasn’t going to attack them. Friends and family all afflicted, for all I knew, I was the last sane human on Earth. So I gathered some food and began to round up people into a large pack, hopefully to care for and protect as many as possible should they ever return to normal. Soon those hopes went out the window as I began to notice physical changes in the people around me. They began losing their hair, their skin became more coarse and thick, and birth marks began to morph into large spots. After a month of these disturbing transformations, I was now herding cattle around, leading them to new grass and going from town to town hoping to find another human.
Then one night as I was getting ready to fall asleep in my car, a bright light shone done from the sky over the herd. I raced out to investigate, slowly the source descended and the herd, uncharacteristically, orderly made a large circle, continuing to stare at the light. I followed suit, standing just outside the circle. Eventually a large circular ship landed, and a ramp slowly extended out to the ground. Three hulking figures, neither human nor beast walked down and began making some cow-like guttural noises to each other and out towards all the cows. As they did, the cows began, walking single-file into the ship.
I stood froze in terror as one of them approached me, making some of the same noises as it was making to the others. When it got to me, it bent down, razor sharp teeth and gaping maw directly in my face. A single sharp talon jabbed into my temple, and for a moment the world went blurry, and everything went silent. Slowly I regained focus, the grass looking more and more delicious, but what tore me away from the grass was the once unintelligible noises of the creatures suddenly made sense as a second one joined the first. “Technically we’re not supposed to eat the non-transformed, but I’ll make an exception this time since we didn’t stop for dinner.” | The world wasn't always like this.
I remember when people used to come out of their homes to chat with people, go places and not eat the grass.
There was a time when the world was bustling with life and activity, but now, all of that has been replaced with the sounds of grass being consumed outside my home.
Now I wonder, why am I the only the person in a world of lawnmowers? | 2018-06-16T19:44:13 | 2018-06-16T18:37:36 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You send your DNA off to discover your ancestry. One day you see several suspicious looking cars pull up outside your house. Military officers begin to surround your home and a woman gets out of one of the cars and walk straight to your front door. They have your DNA results. | I have always wondered what my ancestry was, it's always been like that since I was little. I was adopted at a very young age, my foster parents never told me anything. When I pressured them they'd go off on me, they were stuck-up anyway. I got a DNA test done in college, I barely have a connection or relationship with my foster parents so I figured why not? They can't stop me now. I was eagerly awaiting my results, I'd imagine I was related to the Queen of England or something, and I would be whisked away to become a princess or something. What I didn't imagine was odd cars in the college driveway surrounded by military vehicles and a SWAT team ready outside my dorm. I panicked, what did I do? I haven't done anything wrong in my whole life, I wasn't a terrorist or drug dealer. Why bring the whole troops, I then heard a knocking at my door. A lady spoke from behind.
"Hello, Ms. Gabriel? I just want to talk, I have you DNA results."
"Why is the military here? D-Did I do something wrong?" I said in a shaky voice.
"Oh no Miss, i just need you to come out, it's about your test results."
"Oh, ok." I wondered for a little bit, wondered if the government was going to take me away for no reason at all. I heard it happens. My foster dad says stuff like that happens, I never believed him. Was this the day? Were my government-paranoid parents right this whole time?
I slowly opened the door. The woman looked a little out of place to be a government official. Her blonde hair put up in a neat bun, her friendly southern accent, her oddly formal-casual outfit made it look like she was a secretary or a office manager. She had this odd feeling to her that compelled me to go near her, made me forget her government badge and off looking manner. She stepped in and gave me my test results in a long orange envelope, like the kind of stuff you would imagine top-secret government plans to be held. In reality it may not have been so, but at least to me, it felt that way.
I opened it, and gasped at my results. I looked down at it again.
"Y-You're not serious are you? Is this some kind of joke?" I asked in disbelief.
She shook her head in a gentle manner, "Oh no Miss, it's real. I have been sent here to escort you." She smiled at gestured me out the door, I followed. I really didn't want to resist because I felt like this is what I have to do in order to stay safe. I was hesitant and worried, it didn't help that there were three, very-armored military personnel were there. I saw the other students face as they took me away, awe, horror, anger, disbelief. One kid tried to "free me" and attacked the guards. Can't really blame him though in our current political climate. He was quickly subdued. One kid followed us a bit and shouted to me "When you get to Area 51 tell the aliens Micheal said-" The car door slammed before I could hear his passing message to the aliens.
I was in the back of a non-discreet black car, a man in a black suit was beside me, and the woman who handed me my test results was in the front seat next to a driver.
The car ride was a long, uncomfortable one to say at the very least. I finally had the courage to speak.
"I don't get it." I say. She turns her head. "Don't get what?"
"I don't get how a person could be considered lost military hardware or... cyborg technology."
(I don't know what else to put so if you guys want to request a part 2 or something I'll do it)
(Edit: since many are requesting it I shall post a part 2 tomorrow or later on today stay tooned!)
(look down in comments for part 2 if ya can't find it) | \*\*Siren.\*\*
My heart stops. I'm on the second floor of my house, looking out the front of my house. A cop car screeches to a halt in front of my driveway, as if my house had physically stopped the car.
Suddenly, another cop car comes, parking right being the first car. Then another, and another, and then another. They surrounded the entire house - police cars, military officers, and eventually the swat team.
At this point, my heart is thumping out of my chest, as if it knew that it had to swiftly escape.
An extremely angry-looking woman comes out of the first car. She had black hair and was wearing a black skirt. She hastily walked up to my door. But in my head, each step got slower in slower, as if someone was slowing the playback rate on a video.
\*\*Ding dong.\*\*
I dreadfully come downstairs to the front door. \*\*What was it?\*\* I knew that I hadn't done anything wrong. I open the door.
"The results are in. We have your DNA results." she proclaims in a shamefully but loud voice. She had hundreds of troops behind her, with AK-47's and machine guns on hand.
"What DNA results?" I ask. Something just didn't line up. I never had a DNA test.
"President Lincoln. Your test confirms that you are Abraham Lincoln."
My jaw drops and my eyes widen, staring at this woman in all-black in disbelief.
"What do you mean? It is 2019. Abraham Lincoln died decades ago." I state, become immediately confused.
"You died," she interrupted. "But ever since you were gruesomely shot and killed, scientists have researched, and they miraculously inserted your life back into your corpse. You were the first test subject. We secretly tested DNA from your urine and it successfully matched with leftovers of your corpse."
Before I can even begin to open my mouth, 3 of the biggest bodybuilders I have ever seen lift my 5'3 frame off my toes and toss me into the backseat of a cop car.
Within what feels like seconds they drive me to the front of the White House.
They drag me to the second floor on massive balcony.
"What is going on?", I ask the man carrying me.
"Good luck", he proclaims. "Don't worry about Trump, we killed him. You are the president now. World War 3 just began, you are our only hope." | 2019-08-05T19:16:34 | 2019-08-05T17:47:09 | 52 | 27 |
[WP] Instead of a modern adaptation of a myth, write a mythic adaptation of a modern story. | Once upon a time, there lived a man who loved nothing in the world more than his family. He was renowned for his sharp wits and knowledge, but rather than use his knowledge to reveal the secrets of the world and make unknown treasures, he preferred to share his knowledge with the youth of his city, and live a simple life with his wife and son.
But one day, the man was struck with a mortal illness. The local healers could make him better, but they nefariously demanded gold to treat him of the illness. Even so, they informed him that the illness would eventually take his own life. The heartbroken man was desperate to ensure his family's safety after he died. But, having chosen the simple life, could not provide the gold for the healers or his family. Until one day, he saw a solution.
The brother of his wife was a great knight, who devoted his life to preventing the spread of a blue potion that would grant the drinker feelings of euphoria and greatness; but at a terrible cost to their health. Those who could make the potion would sell it to the vulnerable people who relied on it to survive. These evil men were the most powerful people in the city. To brew this potion was a difficult process that only the wisest could achieve; and so the man realised he could find the gold for his family by making and selling the potion.
But, as a law-abiding man, he did not know how to involve himself in the dark underworld of the city. And so he found a young man, a once-clever child who failed to apply himself and fell into crime. He struck a deal; he would make the potion, the young man would sell it, and they would share the gold. Their plan was successful - too successful. The man's wisdom meant that his potion was the best in all the land. The other potion makers became jealous, and tried to kill him. But this mild, law-abiding man grew stronger, and learnt how to survive, and become the most powerful potion-maker in the city.
And slowly but surely, the man became twisted by his wealth and power. He allowed his young apprentice's lover to die, for his own selfish gain. He became involved with a powerful and evil lord, who gave him more gold than he could ever need. But he would not stop. He realised the lord's volatile temper endangered him, so he engineered a plan to murder the lord. He poisoned a small boy to convince the apprentice to join his plan. The lord was killed, and suddenly the man found enemies in every corner. And his wife's brother, the valiant knight, discovered his empire, and vowed to destroy him. His great plan was falling apart, even as the illness threatened to completely destroy him. Finally, potion-makers from another land arrived, kidnapped the apprentice, took nearly all the man's gold, and killed the knight. All the knights in the land were now looking for the man. He fled his city, he fled the knights searching for him, he fled his family, for a cold winter. He returned to the city with stealth, to secretly give the gold to his son. His son had come to hate him, but the man used his wits to make sure the son never knew where the gold came from. He found his wife and confessed the truth he had hidden for so long; he did it for himself. He came to love the power, and it destroyed who he was.
But he had one last thing to do. He went to the potion maker's secret lair and freed the apprentice, but was wounded in the process. As the knights approached him, he looked at his cauldron for the very last time. He fell to the floor and died, as knights surrounded him, having ensured his family's safety, having evaded capture, but at the cost of death, of the destruction of his family, of his own reputation, and so many lives. And so ends the tragic story of Walter White.
| Once upon a time, in a faraway land of chocolates and timekeeping and mountains, a man was born. The man spent his life planning great games to keep the people of his magical, punctual land happy. He worked hard, and over the years his prestige grew. Eventually, he was charged with planning the greatest tournament in the world. People from every corner of the earth would gather every four years to watch the tournament, and it was said the game had such sway over the world that it could even stop wars.
Slowly, the man was seduced by the darker side of his power. Untold riches flowed into his coffers from nations all across the globe. Bribery was rampant. Those who opposed the man were swiftly and brutally handled. The man built a dark fortress under the ground in the mountains of his homeland, to hide his evil deeds from the gods themselves.
One year, a cabal of wealthy slavers promised the man a staggering fortune in exchange for the right to host the legendary tournament in their arid, inhospitable lands. Blinded by his lust for power and gold, the man agreed. The slavers drove thousands to their deaths constructing massive arenas in the harsh desert.
Across the Western sea, the former ruler of a great empire was furious. He had been convinced his homeland, the most powerful state in the world, would be awarded the tournament. He gathered his greatest wizards, hatching a plot to use the arcane powers of RICO to trap and destroy the dark lord in his mountain fortress.
The wizards lured a lieutenant of the dark lord to their cause, promising that he would be spared the harsh reprisals planned for lackeys of the great evil. The lieutenant, a mountain of a man with a foul-mouthed parrot on his shoulder, returned to the dark lord's fortress as a spy. He gathered damning evidence of the corruption that ate at the very heart of the dark lord's organization.
Finally, it was time to strike. Soldiers stormed the fortress, and the world gasped as the servants and allies of the dark lord were placed in chains and hurled into the dungeons of the great empire across the Western sea. The dark lord himself had fled, but his power was broken. The slavers were furious, but the world rejoiced.
The great nations of the world would have to rebuild the tournament themselves. But that, children, is a story for another day. | 2015-06-10T13:19:13 | 2015-06-10T08:06:59 | 60 | 17 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Not all humans were warriors. Not all of them invented machines and chemicals that brought death. This human was my friend.
From the beginning, I knew that some humans were artists. Some built bridges and buildings. Some explored caves. We were told all about them by our scientists. The ones who studied other life forms on other planets.
Still, most of us thought only of human warriors. Their bringers of death. At first, they were the most important part of humanity for us. We knew we needed human warriors to save us. And we knew that human warriors might eventually destroy us. We explored the problem for a long time. Then one of us suggested a solution.
A young one suggested a way for us to have human aid without having to fear them. The plan seemed simple yet far fetched at the same time. We explored the possibilities for a long time. Then the best of us made a plan and all of us followed it. Now, such a short time later we were celebrating victory. After years of losing countless lives and many planets, we were celebrating the success of a far fetched idea, concocted by one of our youngest.
I was happy for my species but I could not help but be sad for my friend, the human. She was puffed up with pride. We had been watching the celebrations together. My friend could not attend any of them in person. She had been born ill. Still she was proud of the accomplishment of her race. Her eyes were riveted to the display. As she watched the first member of the Congress of Worlds recount the victories, her lips moved as she mouthed his words.
I could only watch my friend. I knew it was almost her time and I was happy that she lived to see this. My friend turned her head to look at me. It was the last time. She didn't see the dermal poison I placed on her arm. She closed her eyes and died painlessly without ever knowing what came next.
The next day is when it happened. The final part of the plan. The first member of the Congress of Worlds spoke solemnly. He told my people that he knew it would be hard to say goodbye. I was not the only one with human friends. He thanked the humans. He told them that it was time for them to go. He nodded and the display ended. Every human dropped dead that instant.
We are a peaceful people. We rationalized this part of the plan by saying they were only copies. We built a copy of earth and filled it with copies of all of Earth's living things. The copies had no idea. The only thing different about them was a small biological kill switch embedded into their brains. At the key moment, we put the danger back into the box. No need to give the original humans any technology or unleash them out into the galaxy.
We disposed of the human copies. We destroyed the second Earth. We mourned. I am not the only one of my people who made friends with the artists, builders, and explorers of Our Earth. Sometimes when the sky is clear at night. I look up at what our scientists say is the real Earth. I am not the only one.
| Thus, Von Kampf completed his presentation."And so we will simply go around their defenses. Simplicity itself."
The K'holan delegate sat in stunned silence. "What you propose, it is audacious. Inconceivable. Totally unexpected. I cannot believe it could work."
"I assure you that it can, because it already has. Your opponent's strategy is broad in scope, and successful over the centuries, but it is still doomed to fail. Once they focus all their resources to defense lines and impenetrable fortifications, they have shackled themselves to the ground. We shall cut their trade routes, destroy their factories, cut all lines of communication, and burn their agricultural colonies to ash. And when they realize out plans, it will be too late for them, my friend. We will be in every corner of known space. They will be surrounded, bleeding and afraid."
"I do not question the courage, tenacity or the desire of your people to face our enemy. My only fear is that, as we share this gift of interstellar flight, that your expectations be reasonable."
The fire that seemed to light Von Kampf's eyes darkened and cooled. "I assure you, mein freund, we have already calculated the time to completion and victory. We estimate that it will take 1000 years."
The K'holan gazed around the room. Banners red as blood were emblazoned with broken, twisted black crosses on white backgrounds. A portrait of a stoic , plain man with an odd little moustache gazed back at him. He felt chills.
Von Kampf leaned in, and spoke softly.
"We have experience with thousand year plans. This time, we get it right." | 2014-12-26T12:46:34 | 2014-12-26T12:41:26 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] You're a ferocious demon king. You're surprised one day to find that a young woman has been left at your door. Only to later find out her father, the king, is using you as bait to find a knight worthy of marrying his daughter. | The thick wooden doors to the throne room were charred and splintered, they were broken inward with the force of a powerful magical explosion. Past the doors were several inhuman bodies strewn about and bleeding various shades of green onto the hardwood floors. A powerful figure pulled his sword from a now limp goblin and began slowly stomping his way down the length of the room. He flicked his blade back into the ready position, eyes locked on the towering creature that leaned back in his seat and passively drank from a wine goblet. The princess was sat on the floor with a metal collar around her neck and a bruise on her cheek.
"What is your name?" The Demon King's voice echoed down as the hero stood at the bottom of several steps leading up.
"I am sir Herald The Bold, first of my name. I've come for the princess." Hatred boiled in his voice.
"Herald the Bold..." the Demon King savored the words and rubbed his chin in contemplation. "I'll be sure to seek out your family once you've been disposed of."
Hatred snapped into rage and the knight bolted up the steps towards his enemy. If level heads prevailed, he might have noticed the archers in the upper tier behind him taking aim. A clatter of metal on stone rang out as he fell down the steps. The heroes never expect the archers.
"The hell is this shit?" the princess shouted as the hero's body settled at the base of the steps. She pulled herself to her feet and unlatched the metal collar. "You got to stop using the archers, Kilgar!"
"And your dad's got to stop sending sociopaths to kill my people." Kilgar the Demon King placed the wine goblet down on the armrest of his throne and stood. Inhuman forms entered through the side doors and set to work collecting the bodies. "His name was Herald the Bold, see to it his family gets the body." he called down to them.
"It's been two years!" the princes continued. "I would have settled for one of the rag-tag bands of misfits we got early on, it doesn't *need* to be a paragon of justice!" Kilgar offered her a hand and politely lead her down the steps.
They've had this discussion before, several times. She wanted him to stop using archers, or use fewer soldiers, or to leave the throne room open. He'd explained several times that the archers would stand down if the hero actually seemed noble, that the soldiers are terminally ill veterans that volunteered for the rouse, and that the doors have always been unbarred. Then he would mention the metal collar she wears, and she would get defensive about how weird it would look if she just stood there unrestricted, and then things would go in circles from there. The two of them went through the motions of their debate as Kilgar lead Princes Conquest back to the dining hall to continue their meal.
"By the way, I've been meaning to ask about the cheek," the Demon King said softly as he sat at the head of the table.
"I decided to take your son's offer up and attend his sparring practice." She said with a poorly hidden smile.
The Demon King smirked and settled into his decision. The human king's missive said that any who could safely escort his daughter back may have her hand in marriage, it said nothing about if it could be the demon king's own son. | "You have got to be kidding me," the words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them.
The teenage girl gives me a stink eye as if I'm the one at fault when she's the one intruding.
"Look. I don't want this either. Let's just... call truce. Just pretend that I'm here and kill all the heroes that come this way. I'll get out of your hair and be on my merry way."
"Merry way to where?! My castle is on the peak of the Devastation Mountain, guarded by evil dragons and demons! How did you even get here in the first place?"
I make a mental note to throw the idiot who designed the security in the dungeon to be tortured. Because I'm ferocious and evil and stuff.
"It's not that bad compared to where Princess Anne was being held. Well, anyways-"
I blink. Princess Anne? What? She's not taking about the Annabelle the Cannibal of the Warring Demon Tribe that was locked away because she ate her tribe, right? But before I can say anything more, the teenager continues.
"My dad's really against the whole me going off to rescue princesses. He thinks it's dangerous or whatever and that I'll never settle down with the perfect knight because I'm always hitting on women. So this was the only thing I could think of to get away. Please, won't you help me?"
I don't even know where to begin with this. I sigh heavily and rub the back of my neck.
"What do I get in return?"
"I'll help you beef up your security. Because man, do you need it."
As embarrassing as it sounds, this is the story of how I ended up with an impenetrable fortress. It's also the story of the great Princess Elisa's humble origins.
But that's neither here nor there. | 2017-10-06T10:01:24 | 2017-10-06T09:20:18 | 201 | 70 |
[WP] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin. | There are those who crave control, like mountain rivers crave the sea. There are those to whom the words "Dungeon Master" resound with tones of Godship and respect, with wish fulfillment. Making knowing, gleeful eye contact with me over the DM screen was just such a person, his carefully parted hair framing a slightly chubby, pale face. He'd heard about me from a player in another of his groups and reached out to me privately.
The glee leeched instantly from his eyes as he turned to watch another player take her seat, her blonde braid tightly plaited, her friendly grin turning slightly smug as she acknowledged the DM's overpolite greeting. Josh, the DM, had a carefully organized plot, a tidy realm that was under attack by this woman, and what he needed right now was a man who reveled in chaos, a demon with utter command of the combat system. One such as myself.
"She's driving me nuts, man!" Josh had said the night before, when we'd met in secret to cook up my character sheet. "Like, I've been planning this campaign for ages and it's supposed to be a hardcore, multiple death campaign. There's supposed to be suspense, a sense of impending DOOM around every corner." He said doom like he was tolling a cathedral bell, and I struggled not to smirk.
"But Debby, this b... girl. She keeps busting through everything like it's nothing! Even when I give up on her and target the other players, she keeps gaming the Sentinel feat to punish me. I mean the monsters, punish the monsters. It's completely ruining the tone of the campaign, she's got an answer to EVERYTHING. I'm pretty sure she had her boyfriend make her character for her or something, it's too strong. You HAVEto kill her."
None of this was a problem, I reassured him. I told him what I needed, and he gave me everything and more. I had higher stats than point buy allowed. Obscure racial bonuses? Check. Non-playtested feats and spells? You bet. And finally, Josh gave me more magical gear than a character of my level should have even heard of in his career, let alone successfully looted. He gave me complete reign over my inventory.
It was a quick, easy encounter at the start of the game session that introduced my character. They rescued me as a prisoner of a band of orcs, you know how it goes. Not sure why Orcs take so many prisoners all the time, when they're usually just trying to kill everything in sight. Then it was time. The party was running low on spells and we had settled down for a Long Rest to recover our strength. Most of the party declared their night time activities, which all involved sleeping and watching out for incoming monsters.
Then Josh looked over to me, a slow grin starting to pull the corners of his lips up. "And you? Is there anything special you want to do during your watch?" He glanced quickly over at Debby then back.
"No. Just look out for danger, then put my pack beside me and go to sleep when it's her turn."
Josh squinted, confused, "Are you sure? It'll be just you awake, for two hours..."
I looked at him and smiled reassuringly, "Yeah, you bet, that's all I need to do."
Josh looked skeptical, but curious as to how I was going to make this work. "So Debby, your watch passes uneventfully after his does and..."
"Wait, wait. During my watch, I check the new guys pack, to learn more about who he is." She leaned her cheek against her fist, grinning at me lazily.
"What? You can't... why...."
"I think she can... I did accidentally put it beside me, I didn't do anything special with it." I handed over my character sheet. "This is all the items that you find in the pack."
"Okay, but that's not..."
"Ah I see..." Debby pointed out something on the character sheet to me, for confirmation. "You really have that in there?" I had to nod. "Okay, I immediately smite him in his sleep with my Glaive. It crits forrrr... 108 damage! Nice!"
Josh was livid at this point, standing up and sputtering, "You're part Paladin, you can't do that just because you see some nice magical items in his bags!"
I was starting to pack away my dice at this point, as my character had just taken much more than enough damage to instantly kill him. Debby triumphantly countered "Oh, of course not. I'm killing him because he has a note in his pack from his employer, instructing him to assassinate me. Signed by some guy with the initials D.M."
I love a well crafted plot. But when a good gaming group has a misogynist tightwad, trampling on everyone's fun... well my good friend Debby made excellent use of all her new magic items for the couple of sessions before the DM flipped the table. And in my new campaign, chaos reigns supreme.
| I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/dnd] [Is it me or does this just sound like a great idea?](https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/aiil4d/is_it_me_or_does_this_just_sound_like_a_great_idea/)
- [/r/rpg_brasil] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpg_brasil/comments/ain5cr/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/rpghorrorstories] [Doesn‘t really belong heree, but maybe you like it](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/ail8us/doesnt_really_belong_heree_but_maybe_you_like_it/)
- [/r/rpghorrorstories] [So this is a writing prompt they're not real stories but I think this is something we have wished we could do to some of our problem players XD](https://www.reddit.com/r/rpghorrorstories/comments/amgzxr/so_this_is_a_writing_prompt_theyre_not_real/)
- [/r/u_beardsonfire] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_BeardsOnFire/comments/aijsdd/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/u_personusername] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_PersonUsername/comments/aiiiy8/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
- [/r/u_soullessgent] [\[WP\] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_soullessgent/comments/aij46a/wp_the_dm_hands_you_the_paper_youre_just_dropping/)
 *^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))* | 2019-01-21T20:47:56 | 2019-01-21T19:09:12 | 63 | 16 |
[WP] All doctors must carry a staff. The staff must be hand carved by the doctor, and for every patient a doctor can't treat they lose an inch off their staff. When a staff is gone, so is their license.
X-post from /r/crazyideas and /u/BrassDidgeStrings | Adriona took the tiny, almost pathetic little bundle and held it in her arms as she stared down the glimmering, pristine street of concrete so white it almost looked like marble. Her ragtag shoes stood out against the sterile pavement, mirroring the polished buildings of the medical district of the city. Sick and injured filled the street, each of them hobbling or being carted toward one door or another. Shivering deeply, Adriona brushed her dirty blonde hair out of her eyes and started walking, hoping that her coin was enough.
"General Practitioner -- Dr. Warner. 30 years experience. Full staff!" one sign merrily shone from the building nearby. Adriona kept walking. It would be no use. She, a poor member of the working class, had no chance whatsoever of being accepted as a patient at *that* building. She passed another. "Ear, Nose, Throat, Allergy. Full staff." Adriona sighed. How many people die of the sniffles, really?
As she continued down the streets of the medical district, Adriona came to territory far more familiar to her ragged shoes. Harsh cobblestone lined the streets, with small pathways leading to what could almost be mistaken for houses if it weren't for the increasingly garish signs that decorated their fronts. The people in the area were also more ragged looking, and some looked more desperate. Adriona clutched the small bundle closer to her chest and continued on, glancing over the signs.
"Heart Surgery -- 48 inches. Any health state accepted. Payment up front." Adriona shook her head and continued. She knew that they may accept everyone, but only those who could pay exorbitant fees. High risk, high reward, of course. And their fee, conveniently, would be tailored to the amount of risk. Of course, that would be only fair. Good business, and if someone could pay the ludicrously high cost, the loss of an inch would be worth it.
Finally, Adriona came to the place that she was looking for. A neglected, run-down building off the beaten path, in the very corner of the medical district. No sign. You would think the place was abandoned if not for the lights coming from the windows. Adriona took a deep breath and walked up the creaking steps, knocking on the door, then opening it and going inside, clutching her bundled cargo to her chest. Inside, a simple waiting room. A wooden desk, overstuffed couches, and a long glass case. A sharp-eyed woman with black hair in a severe bun sat at the desk, looking Adriona over with suspicion. "May I help you?" she asked. A glance at a nameplate tagged the woman as Lucia.
Adriona answered in a shaking voice, "I heard rumor that Dr. Ceinel takes any case, no matter how desperate. I can pay." Lucia answered, "That isn't good enough." Lucia stood up, walking to the case as her heels made sharp sounds against the bare wood floor. "Come, look at this." Adriona obeyed, following her up to the case and looking inside. It was a medical staff -- Adriona knew the kind well. But all in sawed-off inches, every bit of it. Dates labeled each piece. Perhaps a month between losses, perhaps six weeks. The most recent date, the last inch, was dated over twelve years ago.
Lucia looked up from the case and at Adriona sternly, saying, "There is no putting it mildly. To accept Dr. Ceinel's help is to court death. Do you understand this?"
Adriona answered, "Yes, I understand. He hasn't lost those lives because he's a bad doctor. He lost those lives because he takes the desperate, the dying, the people that nobody else will touch because they don't want to lose more inches." Her voice quavered, "That doesn't make him a monster. It makes him a hero."
Lucia smiled just a little, "Come in, then. I am former Dr. Lucia Ceinel. But call me Lucia. What is it you wish me to help you with today? You don't seem ill enough to need my services..." She stopped and frowned.
Adriona simply peeled back the top layer of the bundle she carried. Inside lay a sickly looking baby girl.
Edit: There's a part 2 below, now. | Once upon a time, at an elite university, an idealistic pre-med college student, [while showering](https://www.reddit.com/r/showerthoughts), got the idea that all doctors must carry a staff. The staff must be hand carved by the doctor, and for every patient a doctor can't treat, the doctor loses an inch off the staff. When the staff is gone, so is the doctor's license.
*What a brilliant idea!* the student thought. *This will ensure that only people serious about becoming doctors become doctors and that only skilled doctors treat patients and thus greatly improve healthcare and bring an end to incompetence and malpractice! This will usher in a medical utopia!*
She got together her friends and told them her idea. They all agreed that it was a brilliant idea, and so they formed a student group to advocate it. To draw attention to their cause, they staged a sit-in of their university's medical school. At that point, their sit-in began spreading across social media like wildfire. Because she was so charismatic, after listening to her speeches, more and more students joined the sit-in, until the sit-in shut down the medical school by making it impossible for the professors to teach classes.
Shutting down a medical school at an elite university was of course big news, so reporters descended upon the school, and the sit-in drew first nationwide and then international media coverage.
*What a brilliant idea!* the public thought, watching from their homes. *This will ensure that only people serious about becoming doctors become doctors and that only competent doctors treat patients and thus greatly improve healthcare and bring an end to incompetence and malpractice! This will usher in a medical utopia!*
Bombarded by calls from their constituents as to what a brilliant idea this was, legislators around the world rapidly passed laws revising each country's medical licensing standards: now, all doctors must carry a staff. The staff must be hand carved by the doctor, and for every patient a doctor can't treat, the doctor loses an inch off the staff. When the staff is gone, so is the doctor's license.
Once the new law passed, medical students realized that the easiest way to circumvent the potential loss of their medical license was to carve really long staffs. As a result, medical students typically carved staffs that were at least twenty feet long, giving them at least 240 (20 feet x 12 inches per feet) chances to fail at treatment.
Realizing that the original laws were toothless due to this loophole, the laws were revised to add an additional limitation: staffs were limited to a short maximum length.
What happened next was that doctors stopped wanting to treat difficult-to-treat conditions, as they risked losing inches off their short staffs and eventually their medical license. As a result, difficult-to-treat conditions went untreated. It was not just that terminal patients went untreated; no, it was much worse than that. In cases where a condition was difficult to treat but still treatable, doctors wouldn't even try, turning the potentially treatable conditions into crippling or terminal ones.
And so, around the world, disability and death rates skyrocketed. | 2015-11-12T22:41:40 | 2015-11-12T19:03:04 | 81 | 34 |
[WP] "Witch! Heathen! Burn her!" You watch with amusement as they begin lighting the pyre under you. The flames tickle your feet, bringing a familiar warmth with them. They are silly to that think they could actually burn a dragon with fire. | I giggle when the flames reach up my skirts, the soft flames like tongues wrapping around my legs like a warm, gentle caress. I catch the eye of a young girl amidst the jeering crowd, head cocked and gazing at me with curiosity. I quickly feign a cough and turn my smile into a grimace, hoping to fool this child's watchful brown eyes. Wisdom beyond her years burns through me. She is not fooled. With a smile to mirror the one I let slip moments before, she turns and disappears into the crowd, dark hair blending with the shadows cast by firelight, this deadly blaze designed to torment me. Foolish mortals. Don't they know they only give me fuel to burn them in return? Those days in that dark cell turned me into a gray husk, no firelight from which to draw strength, no flame to pull through my body and turn onto them, to raze this city to the ground. I call to mind the young ragamuffin who saw through my act. She alone was to be spared the damage that I was to do today. Flame pulses through my wasted body, new life breathing into me like a bellows, every inch of my body energized. My sallow, gray skin blossoms with rosiness, my hair, lifeless and matted, streams down my back like a halo of light. My fingers itch and tingle as the power of fire courses through me. With a rattling cry, the dragon bursts from my chest. I am scales, and talons, and teeth, and my roar drowns out the sudden shrieks of fear from the gathered townsfolk, those bloodthirsty tyrants condemning me to an undeserved death. How dare they try to quell fire? How dare they put a bridle on power? My transformation breaks the ropes binding my human body like thin threads, and I breathe destruction on the square. My reptilian eyes search the crowd, and there she is. The dirty, wise, child with burning intelligence in those brown eyes. I hone in on her with my talons, large enough to crush a grown man. Her eyes widen as I gently lift her to a roof near the town gates. My voice echoes in her mind. "Take your family, and run. This place is done." She slowly nodded, and her thoughts come to me, disjointed, frightened, but one thought resonates. "I have no family here." Through my rage and thoughts of vengeance, something tugs at my heart. Silently, I promised to care for this girl. I could not have her live in my caverns with my hoard, but she would find safety in the village near me, in my home where dragons are honored. She has the heart for it. "Wait here," I cautioned the child. I stood and unfurled my wings, turning back to the town that so defiled me. With a snarl, I unleashed brimstone.
Silence. Smoke curled through the turrets of the buildings. The smell of death in the air. I lifted one great wing from where I rested on the roof with the child, uncovering her from my protection from the smoke and flame. She slept, peaceful. I don't know where her trust came from, but I was glad to have my small friend. A human family back home had lost a daughter about the age of this one, and I knew their kindness and warmth would give this girl a better chance than the frigid death in the now razed town from whence she came. Gently cradling her sleeping form in my talons, I leapt into the air, the only sound my wings beating as they crested the wind. I am going home. | I hide my smile underneath the the cermonial mask.I hold my laughter as they hoist me to a beam covered in hastenly found beeswax. Apologizing if it hurt. My hands bound behind me in old iron chains, I feel rust flaking off. My feet fastened now to the beam securely with another piece of chain. They throw a large pail of liquid over me drenching me and my outfit. I frown as I feel the liquid seeps in. I see them building up the logs, branches and tinder needed to make the bonfire. I see them struggling to make a spark with the flint and steel. I stare around my surroundings. I see the grief in the eyes of the people in town, caused by the lost of loved ones, the famine, their very way of life caused by the war. The madness sparking in their eyes thinking a sacrifice would make everything better for them. I know these people, I know their pain, I seen and felt their desperation. I do not blame for doing this insane act for salvation. I seen people butcher each other for much less. As I close my eyes I hear other town folk rushing in, screaming, demanding to end this act of madness. The pleas fall on deaf ears as they continue reminding what they have lost. I hear the sound of an axe slamming into a piece of stone silencing everyone. The spark it created, lit the tinder which lit everything else. The flames climbed quickly tickling my feet and up my legs. I feel real warmth for the first time in ages. The flames traveled up , covering my entire body. The flames burned my clothes turning them into ash.I felt the chains expand from the heat releasing me. As if I fall from the beam to the ground, wings grew out of my back as I land crowd stares at me. The bonfire became the only source of sound the hissing and popping of the flames echoed into the day time sky. The town stared back at me and then each other. I smiled and laughed, as all the town folk screamed in unison. As I bellowed out "You asked for salvation I will give it to you". The screams of gratitude continue. | 2021-01-03T06:03:43 | 2021-01-03T02:22:14 | 215 | 151 |
[WP] You're a local healer, a good one, and your people love you. But you do not truly heal wounds, merely transfer them... The people of the valley below know you under a different name. | I made my business - if you could call it that - at a large children's hospital with a famous paediatric cancer unit and numerous other facilities who'd earned a name for themselves going toe to toe with the worst of the worst. But they'd never seen the likes of me and, understandably, they were reluctant to accept my help until they saw it with their own eyes. 100% remission in 100% of cases. I had barely to lay hands on a patient.
I'd become quite a controversial figure, earning my own reputation and scorn from sceptics and scientists alike. One more snake-oil peddling bullshit peddler - and I was preying on the desperate families of sick children - *how could I?* But they hated me even more when they realised I was right. They demanded evidence and I measured it in lives. Thousands of them. And I only ever needed to see them once. And what's more, I had no motive. I demanded no faith or conversion. I didn't even ask for money.
I actually had a job so I didn't need it. I worked at a nearby hospice, the Valley Below. A bit of a macabre name, but it was a macabre place. To locals, it was the tactless opposite side of the coin to the children's hospital: where one pushed forward trying to save as much of shortly lived lives as possible, the other was the where we surrendered to death, and I made sure of it. See, it wasn't some coincidence that I worked there and it was in a very different way the other side of the coin for me. What the thankful families and bemused doctors never asked when I took away illness was - *What did I do with it?*
Well, where's the best place to drain a swamp? The ocean of course. No one would notice some extra misery in an ocean of illness. No one was trying to diagnose the mostly elderly patients, though, so they'd never notice them developing bizarre childhood cancers as they lay waiting for death. But the thing about throwing water in the ocean, is sometimes you hit someone's deck. For me, that ship was a miracle of its own. A woman in her fifties making a miraculous recovery who seemed to develop a new, rare genetic disorder out of nowhere. Except it wasn't out of nowhere, her husband knew that, because he was a doctor on the very unit of the child who'd been the winning recipient of my miraculous brand of cure for that same disorder. If only I'd known he knew, I could have talked him out of it. Then he wouldn't have confronted me in the underground carpark that night with a gun, he would have fired six shots as I lunged at him and embraced grabbed his shoulders like I was trying to talk him out of it. He wouldn't have stared on in horror as he saw the hole through my skull fill itself in like water into a glass, and he would have saved himself from the matching hole in his own. No, I didn't ask for faith because I didn't need my patients to believe in god when he was standing before them. | "What did this man do, Gantum?"
Gantum holds my hand as we walk to the 'firmry. There's a lady there and she got hurt really bad. That's why she needs me to help her.
"You shouldn't be asking such things. He was bad. He told lies about the king."
"What kinda lies?"
Gantum sighs. He gets tired of my questions sometimes. "Bad ones, Katrin."
"Oh."
We're at the 'firmry now. I can hear the lady who's hurt. She's crying. Her foot looks like a big big rock fell on it. There's a lot of blood, and I'm a little bit scared, but Gantum always tells me how strong and brave I am. He is still braver than I am. He killed a great big spider once.
"Now, Katrin, do you remember how to make her better?"
I do. I've done this lots of times before. I hold the hair I grabbed from the man in one hand and touch the lady's knee with my other hand. I squeeze my eyes shut and there's a big flash of sparkly light in my head. Now the lady's foot looks all better. Gantum always says he doesn't hear anything when I do this, but I can hear the man screaming like he's right next to me. I am strong and brave. I am strong and brave and I make people better. I punish the bad people who tell lies about the king. | 2016-08-13T13:44:35 | 2016-08-13T13:04:52 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] "I saw it during WW1. It had no meat, no bones, just veins and nerves. And there it was, striding toward us, bullets sliding off it like water. Men came apart or became things just being nearby. We know now it's a war god from another world. And it was drawn by our war like a fly to a wound. " | "I said it once and I'll fucking say it again, you are not here to fight this!" The commander's voice cut through the mechanical roar of the troop transport, the hail of gunfire and blasts of ichoric from outside, and the constant, thrumming chant of his soldiers. "Tried it myself back in '15 when the first one showed, and it's a gods-damned miracle I survived! Got no meat, no bones, just veins and nerves. Bullets slide off it like water! Any man near enough to one came apart or became something else just standing near it! This is a fucking war god, drawn to this war like a fly to a wound, and trying to fight just feeds it more! Our job is just to kill the fucking thing, and if you don't see a difference, you're better off throwing yourself into gunfire as another sacrifice! You take a shot at it, any shot, and it'll be the last one - because either you killed it, or it's going to do worse to you!"
As he shouted over the sounds of war, the chant of the men became louder and louder, accumulating volume and tension. The commander primed his blazer, the brilliant gold light of ichoric spilling from the weapon as heat vents opened and lenses rotated into place. The two heavy gunners in his squad followed suit, and the rest of the soldiers raised their conventional firearms in unison. "We are not here to fight!" The commander bellowed over the steady, rising chant. "We are not here to sacrifice! We are here to reap the harvest of war! Today, we kill a god!"
The transport stopped and the door swung open, revealing the battlefield. Gold bolts of ichoric streaked through the air, burning holes through any flesh or metal they hit with equal ease. Reapers ducked under the hail of bullets and bolts to capture the souls of fallen soldiers, expertly cutting through helmets and skulls with glowing scalpels to recover the valuable psychic energy. Where the reapers were too slow, corpses blazed up in flashes of red, light pouring from their mouths and eyes as they roamed the battlefield to hunt down those who had slain them. As the squad marched out of the transport, bullets and bolts parted around them, and reapers and corpses changed their paths to give them a wide berth. The soldiers' chanting rose to a crescendo, and the commander spoke words in a language only recently rediscovered, beginning to summon the goal of their excursion.
"Ch'ugaxn, glaaku re'mne! Blsang, sxulkn, mnidzh, r mechel vulgtmeg ur'ye! Gnar, xi'atral, ye ziigwaxn! *Uaathul!*"
At the last word, of the commander's incantation, the soldiers rose their voices in a wordless cry, rushing forwards and opening fire on the nearest walking corpse. It shuddered, and instead of falling again, rose a foot off the ground. The squad quickly ceased fire as the corpse's flesh and bone sloughed off, its blood vessels and nerves swelling and multiplying. They twined around each other, forming into dozens of tendrils that slowly fell back to the ground and started moving across the battlefield. The squad took up their positions, spreading around the newly created war god. Drops of gold ichor leaked from its veins, and the commander of the Royal 71st Godslaying Squadron smiled. The harvest would be bountiful today. | I was in that war, and by God it was a war. My men and I were stationed at the very front, as sandbags to soak up the grenades and the bullets, the stones and arrows. Every morning we woke up to the whizzing sound of Death taking potshots, and those sounds kept us alive. My men were machines created to win wars, but in these dark holes surrounded in all manner by beings that sought their blood, they were turned organic, into creatures that only wished to fight.
We soon ran out of supplies, but we couldn't afford to fall back. Staying at a distance gave too much of an opportunity to the enemy, so we closed that distance every time, using our fallen brethren as footstools, nutrition, and a reason to continue on. We abandoned our guns and took to using our knives and fists, tearing flesh from bone and eye from socket by our muscle alone, blood its only sustenance.
The war continued for days and weeks and stretched to years and then centuries, and we pressed forward all the while. Our bodies rejected food and sleep and found everything it needed from the souls that attempted to escape our faceless enemies. Without these departed spirits, our bodies would collapse, so like thirsty hounds we consumed life after life, the screams nurturing to our lips, advancing aimlessly through a hazy torrent of hellish time and space.
And then we laid witness to Him, to a figure that watched dispassionate from afar. He was as grand as a mountain and as unforgiving as our fate, and His skin was ancient, twisting muscle. All while we consumed, laughed, and suffered in unison, his fiery black eyes kept constant watch on our ruin, transforming our folly into a righteous crusade.
Every murder became a sacrifice in His name, and every death became an offering to His forgiveness.
And in that moment, we had finally found purpose. | 2019-02-27T20:30:22 | 2019-02-27T18:30:16 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You are Death, but in a post-apocaliptic world. Only a few survivors remain, and you're doing everything you can to help them because if the last human dies, you die as well. The survivors can't see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They started to call you Life. | Five thousand left today on all the Earth. I cut the soul of the five thousand and first not one hour ago.
The outcome seems inevitable. One by one, they'll fall. One by one, until no one is left.
What will happen to me then?
I'll take time to consider this.
*****
Four thousand are left. The four thousand and first committed suicide. It was tragic. He'd lost his entire family. But no one stops fate.
Not even me.
After I fulfil my duties, the only thing that remains for me to do is to reap myself.
*****
Two thousand nine hundred and ninety nine are left. A malnourished couple both died when they tried to cross a river.
It kind of bothers me how the number is off by one.
It's like it's telling me: there's one you're not counting. This is a round number.
I don't want to hear it.
*****
Two thousand are left.
I've lived for such a long time that there are no words to describe it...
Lived isn't really the right word. Existed, perhaps.
And yet, of all entities, me, the one who has had the most time to make sense of it all...
I want things to continue.
*****
One thousand left.
This job is monotonous... But every day, I get a glimpse at what makes people truly human.
I've never realised how much it touches me deep down.
If I stay around... How will I cope with the emptiness?
*****
Nine hundred left today.
I'm running out of time.
I don't want this Earth to die.
I want to see cities brimming with life.
I want to see marvels of architecture, fresh after construction.
I want to see the rise of civilisations.
... I don't understand what's happened to me.
*****
Eight hundred left.
I took pity on a young girl a few days ago. She should have died, but...
I delayed reaping her for just long enough...
Just long enough for someone to find her.
This is a first. I've never taken pity before like this.
I'm forsaking my duties, but deep down I'm wondering if that's so bad.
*****
Seven hundred people left.
I don't want to let go.
I don't want things to end.
Understanding what this feels like firsthand is quite something.
How could I even feel what death is like myself? The despair? The sorrow?
Only in this situation could I feel things like that.
It was so impersonal at first. But now, every time I reap someone, it's like I'm dying myself.
*****
Six hundred people left.
I can't go on like this.
*****
Five hundred people left.
*****
Five... hundred.
I've stopped. I've just stopped.
I can't do it anymore.
*****
Four hundred and eighty three.
It's not enough.
The world, it's dying, and I-
Even if I don't reap people, I can't stop them from dying if they just give up.
If I don't reap them, their soul suffers and becomes damaged.
What do I do?
*****
Four hundred and eighty four.
A child was born today. It's a rare sight. The child carries my hope for the future with it.
Her name is Dawn.
*****
Four hundred and fifty nine.
I'm trying my best here...
Come on. Show some will to live.
Don't you know that dying could be the end of everything right now?
Are you so despondent you don't even care?
*****
Four hundred and twenty three.
I've... begun communicating with people.
I didn't know I could, but...
People can sense me.
I push them away from danger, and towards supplies and shelter.
They don't always listen, but it's a start.
*****
Dawn is healthy. She is a very sweet child. If I fail, she might be the last human alive.
I don't plan on letting her inherit a dying planet.
*****
Four hundred and twenty.
Someone... Someone talked to me today.
They couldn't see me, but they talked straight at me.
Not physically, but mentally. Their heart was open and it showered me in hope and gratitude.
They didn't think of me as "Death" today, but as "Fate".
*****
I wonder what it means to be Fate, rather than Death.
It's not a role I've played before.
Death is definitely a type of fate. It's my speciality, I suppose.
But in the grand scheme of things, isn't fate more than that?
*****
Dawn's mother is sick. I'm so worried about her.
I hope she survives. It's pharyngitis. It could get bad.
******
I basked in the sun today.
It's not a thing I normally do.
It's funny how the things that are most important to you only reveal themselves at times like these.
Just letting the rays of the sun envelop me... It feels so pleasant. I wish I could do it forever, now that I might not have forever to do it any longer.
*****
Dawn's mother, she...
She's going to survive. I refuse to reap her.
I won't let her die of pharyngitis. Not at her age.
Twenty years ago she'd have survived with ease. I won't let it be different now.
*****
Four hundred people left exactly.
It's slowed down a lot.
A band of travellers have met up with Dawn and her parents. I guided them to her. They have medicine.
I'm doing similar things elsewhere.
******
I'm caressing the soul of Dawn's mother. It's hanging on to her body by a thread.
I'm whispering to her.
I'm telling her not to let this be the end.
She can't abandon Dawn.
She can't abandon the last ray of hope on this world.
******
Dawn's mother woke up again today.
She's dazed, but she spoke.
She told everyone that a guardian angel stood over her, and that it told her not to give up.
She said I comforted her, and that she could feel that I was brimming with sadness and hope.
She called me Life.
*****
Another child has been born. His name is Ercan. Ercan and Dawn live half a continent apart, and they won't even grow up speaking the same language.
But even so, I hope that one day they'll meet.
*****
The number is going up.
I'm pushing it up. I'm exerting every bit of strength that I have.
But it's working.
I was a fool.
I've always been Death because the world needed Death.
Why did I keep being Death for such a long time after the world no longer needed me?
The world needs Life right now, and I'm it.
******
It's Dawn's first birthday today.
I don't stand in the sunlight so much any more.
Basking in the radiating life force of this human being that's the beginning of it all is so much more fulfilling.
I'm not the only one feeling it. Everyone here is.
Just like her namesake, she's crawling over the horizon, a shining beacon of a new future. | "Dude, fuck Life. What a dick." said Dan.
A lazy man with even lazier grooming habits, Dan burped and slurped another Rolling Rock. As a black crow picked at the remains of a corpse on his front lawn, Dan reached back into his cooler-chair and grabbed another cold one.
"You want one? Or are you still 'gluten' free," muttered Dan.
"I can't believe I'm stuck at the end of the world with my ex... " muttered Genivee. She was a beautiful woman. Was. A failed young marriage and a career and a half later, she looked like a woman whose best days had left her.
"YOU HEAR ME DEATH? FUCK YOU. YOU SUCK AT YOUR JOB!" screamed Genivee.
"Tried that. He ain't coming." said Dan.
"How do you know Death is a He? Maybe it's a She? Or maybe Death doesn't have any pronouns." tendered Genivee.
"Does anyone give a shit?" fired Dan.
"Give me the goddamn beer," returned Genivee.
Dan chucked a can to Genivee, who, of course, dropped it. She was never great at catching things. The can rolled toward the corpse to the crow.
"You didn't have to throw it that hard." said Genivee.
"I didn't throw it that hard," retorted Dan.
"You totally chucked..."
"I threw it normal"
"Throw it normal, what does that mean..."
"WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP?"
"What did you say to me?!"
"I didn't say shit, there you go again, always accusing me..."
"HELLO, DOWN HERE!"
The crow turned it's head and waved it's little wing. In a flash of light, the crow and the corpse disappeared, and, out of nowhere, appeared the Mick Jagger dressed in an all black suit.
"HOLY FUCK! MICK JAGGER?! I LOVED YOU IN THE BEATLES!" screamed Dan.
After a dumbfounded glance, Genivee studied the Mr. Jagger and carefully asked, "who are you?"
"Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm a man of wealth and taste..."
"Wait, isn't that a Rolling Stones song?" asked Dan.
"Good Lord... I'm Death, you nitwit. I figured I'd at least dress in style to meet my new subjects. A more familiar form, no?"
"So, can I have your autograph?" returned Dan.
"God, I can't believe you and I had sex... Sorry, mister, um, Death? Subjects?" asked Genivee.
"Yes. Subjects. You two are the last humans alive, and, well, per Eden Protocol 101, I am to keep you alive so you can procreate. Or else I shall be eliminated. Rather ironic, no?" Death said with a smirk.
Genivee, dumbfounded, turned and vomited onto Dan's half dead lawn.
"I thought you might like that, Genny. You Mortals seem to think Death and Life are separate, but you were all rather mistaken. Well, except the Buddhists, they got it right. But, if you asked me, they lived such rather boring lives anyway that I daresay I can count that as living" laughed Death.
"Excuse me, Mr. Jagger. I'm a little confused. Are you saying that we are like some sorta Adam and Eve or something?" asked Dan earnestly.
"Well done, Daniel," applauded Death. He picked up the Rolling Rock and, with a snap, the can turned into a martini with a black olive garnish.
"Surely, there must be some mistake... how can we procreate if we hate each other? Aren't there other couples that may be better suited? Barack and Michelle? Kristen Bell and Dak Shepherd? Hell, Kim Kardashian and Kanye West?" pleaded Genivee.
"Others? Who better than you two? You two fit the bill, perfectly. Oh, and don't call me surely. Did I do that right?" snickered Death.
"Fit the bill? Of whom?" asked Genivee.
"Of Adam and Eve. You two are splitting images of them." answered Death.
Dan and Genivee gave each other a flabbergasted look as if each were trying to see if either could be the Father and Mother of man. Dan took his hands and began to protect his ribs.
"I'm not taking your ribs, you fool. Besides, you have too much fat on them anyways..." sneered Death.
"How are we like Adam and Eve? Weren't they kind and welcoming parents?" asked Genivee.
"They HATED each other. All their bickering." laughed Death. "And that family was a disaster. One of their sons murdered the other?! Hardly great parenting don't you think?"
"Why do you thinkhumankind was such a disaster? All the fighting and killing and sex. It was truly rather entertaining watching you little humans hurt each other so. I had them entertained for eons! But it got old and you mortals blew each other up anyways... So think of it as a... reboot of sorts..." gleamed Death.
He finished His martini and then snapped his fingers. A California King drapped in black satin sheets appeared.
"We're ready for you two to start whenever you’re ready."
| 2018-05-04T13:40:03 | 2018-05-04T11:25:13 | 2,022 | 58 |
[WP] You are a villain famous for “killing” heroes. In reality, heroes come to you to fake their deaths. | "Hero Killer?" said Sparrow Man, opening the door to my office with his wing.
"Yes?" I replied from behind my desk.
"You kill heroes, right?"
"Is the name confusing?"
"Sorry. Mind's been elsewhere lately."
"I'm sure. Can I help you?"
"When's your earliest appointment?"
"I can do Tuesday. Three in the afternoon. Sidewalk in front of the Empire State Building."
"Thanks so much. Do I bring anything?"
"You're allowed a suitcase with your personal effects and valuables. Drop it off at my office beforehand and I'll have it sent to your new address."
"I'm relieved you're such a professional. Really makes me feel better about going through with this, you know?"
"It's what I do. And why did you want to enter the hero protection program? I have to put down a reason. You know how government programs can be."
"I understand. It's just getting too much for me, Hero Killer. Last week I caught a purse snatcher and dangled him upside down in midair until he dropped the purse. But he kicked and he kicked and I tried to hold on, but..."
"You dropped him?"
"I couldn't catch him in time. These wings can barely support my own weight."
Sparrow Man was shivering visibly.
"Sure. Anything else?" I said.
"There was the bus full of school children..."
"You prevented the bus from plunging into the lake, but you caused a ten car accident in the process? I heard about that. How many fatalities?"
"Five. Can I sit down?"
"Go ahead. Ok, I think I have enough."
"Ok. How will you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Help me fake my death."
"It depends. I'll have to make it realistic, you understand. I'll need to maintain the element of surprise, so I'm afraid I can't tell you up front. You may feel some pain. Just let it happen."
"But I'll wake up somewhere far away, where nobody knows me, and I don't have to be a hero any more? I can leave all the nightmares behind?"
"Nobody asked you to be a hero," I said quietly.
"Sorry?"
"Nothing. Yes that's right, you will leave this all behind. It's in everyone's best interests."
"Thank you so much. I'll see you Tuesday."
Sparrow Man was gone. I finished filling out the box marked 'list of crimes', finalized the form with my official ink stamp, and gave the document to my secretary to mail.
Sometimes I feel like one of those old-fashioned priests, sitting in his confessional and passing down judgement and forgiveness from a higher power.
Those were simpler times, long before the radiation clouds from nuclear war turned most of the survivors into demigods with hormone imbalances. They were powerful and unpredictable enough that law enforcement had become a triage system out of necessity.
But unlike those old priests, the only power I served was the government, a many-headed god made of the people, and mostly gene-normal humans like me to boot. They decided whether to grant salvation or bring judgement, not me in my makeshift confessional.
I never thought humans would judge gods, and I often wonder what that says about us, or about them. But the salary is good, so I try not to think about it until I have to pull the trigger.
On Tuesday morning, I opened the letter I had been expecting. It bore an official government seal.
I had my answer.
I opened the desk drawer that held a box of blanks and a box of their more lethal cousins that I called Hail Mary's.
I loaded my sidearm and took a cab downtown to the Empire State Building, one of the few gleaming artifacts that the war had spared.
I saw Sparrow Man out in front, signing autographs, and I rolled down my window.
Hero Killer. It's in the name. What did they expect? | "Please! Please kill me!" Khron, the up rising star of the hero community, dubbed the 'savior of the future generation' was on his knees in my apartment of all places. Begging for me to kill him.
Locking the door i walked past him and began brewing myself a coffee. Ignoring his crying i sat down on ny arm chair in front of him.
"Listen kid, i dont kill heroes, i fake their deaths. Get it right if you want to die. Now why are you even here? I saw you having an interview saying how blessed you were to be a hero yada yada yada" i sipped my coffee and listened to his spiel about how the pressure was getting to him and he wasnt qualified for this because he was only 17 and- wait what.
"Your 17?" he looked at me with tears in his eyes, nodding. "Jesus i swear these self proclaimed heroes are just selfish fuckin' bastards."
"Well are you going to kill me Mr Kerrim?" He looked at me hopeful. I sighed deeply, this was the 2nd hero this month, and its the first week.
I generated a contract and some documents for him. I guessed Alvin Kenway was a good fake name for him.
"Sign here" He looked at me confused. "I don't kill heroes kid, i fake their deaths. Now this right here is a contract saying you wont tell this interaction to anyone. The second will be given to you upon you death, well fake death anyways. Its all your legal documents. Your an orphan now congrats."
I took a sip of coffee watching gears turn in his head. "Also your too young to die, this is your chance to have a do over mister 'Alvin'." another sip of my coffee.
"also your powerless just to clear that up" I saw him pick up a pen and sign it before collecting all the documents.
"Well how are you going to kill me-" i cut him off, raising my hand and turning on the television.
One of my abilities, mirage. On the television it showed a battle with me battling Khron, killing him and coming out victorious. I suppose my reputation could fall a bit more if it meant a kid getting out of the hero industry. | 2022-12-23T02:33:34 | 2022-12-23T00:57:08 | 35 | 13 |
[WP] You are short, skinny and well below average intelligence. Yet, you've been hired by a group of elite soldiers to help with some of their most dangerous missions. Your superpower: sheer dumb luck. No matter how close to death you come, reality always follows the path to your ultimate survival. | Operation Code Red Tango Tango Bravo, despite its long winded name, was simple. Americans were being held hostage in the Tehran Embassy and the US government would very much like it if we got them out.
Colonel McAdams stood before the team assigned to the mission. He always avoided eye contact with me at these things.
You will hear me referred to as Potter. I'm 49. I used to be a city bus driver in DC. Lines 54 and 71 were mine for 13 years. Now it's hard to tell people what I do. Despite not passing a single portion of the physical, I'm a Green Beret of the US Army. I used to think metropolitan transport has some bad politics. You should see the brown nosing these Buzz Cuts got going with the Colonel.
"Attennnn..... HUT!"
The Buzz Cuts straightened their posture and saluted ever so perfectly, eyes straight ahead. McCadams paced in front of us and spoke.
"Gentlemen, the lives of 18 Americans are in your hands. The 10 of you have been uniquely selected for your military skills to handle this hostage crisis. Failure... is not an option."
I wondered if he was intentionally referencing Apollo 13 or wanted us to think he came up with that.
"Before I begin to debrief the mission, and we'll go over its name in a second, I want to tell you all that you're here for a reason. You're brave men and you're the best we got. Never forget that."
And not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was probably the best solider out of all of them. I'm uniquely talented in my ability to not die. I know you might think you're pretty good since you're reading this right now, but allow me to explain.
The US Army first got wind of me after an incident on my line 71 route a few years back. During an evening commute, my bus had lost its brakes completely. I was going 65mph heading down a hill on I-395 with zero ability to stop. The bus only increased in speed. I swerved to the shoulder, trying to aim for a patch of grass that might slow us down just a little. As I swerved, a gust came in. A fierce gust. So fierce that the semi truck a few hundred yards ahead actually tipped to the side some. As the truck became lopsided, its back door began to open. The contents of the truck began to fall out. Mattresses. The mattresses came out like a conveyor belt and stacked themselves vertically in an orderly fashion behind the truck. I aimed my bus at this mass of cushiony softness and we came to a gentle hault.
That's just the one time my heroics were at the stage to get out to the public like that. I've been avoiding death all my life in far less glamorous ways. I ate a pail of paint when I was 7 and the doctors discovered I had a rare condition where lead was actually beneficial to me. I slipped off a cliff while hiking and apparently spaced out that I was going base jumping that day because I had a parachute handy.
So when the army needs something to get done, they need someone who won't die while getting that thing done. They need Potter - 49 years old and driver of busses. America's hero. | Everybody wondered why Sgt. Maj. Soap even got there at all. He couldn't swim fast. He couldn't read well. But worst of all...
...he couldn't even aim his gun.
Yes! That dude, that awful fricking dude, is no better than a fresh recruit.
But you should be surprised, because Sgt. Maj. Soap is the right hand man of Capt. Price! The world's legendary special ops specialist.
One day, Sgt. Maj. Soap and Capt. Price went to a city in Russia to hunt down an escaping convict.
"Hide! Enemy sniper fire!" Capt. Price yelled as he hid behind a car. "Soap! Take him out!"
But Sgt. Maj. Soap, ever the gullible boy, always took things to the next level. He ran, all the way up to the second floor of some Russian cafe, and took out the sniper.
As soon as he gave the go signal, soldiers rushed out of their hiding place, only to be shot down by another sniper hiding at another building.
Capt. Price spoke through the radio "This is Price. Soap, take down the other sniper."
"Sorry sir! I'm too busy." Replied Sgt. Maj. Soap.
"Busy with what?" Capt. Price yelled.
"You see, the sniper has this weird thing that explodes when you put it in the oven. Could you wait a bit so I could bake out this sniper?" Soap said. "Oh and by the way, the one who held the sniper is a lady. I don't hit girls so I let her go."
And to this very day, everyone from special ops wonders how these two even gets things done at all. | 2020-04-18T07:08:13 | 2020-04-18T03:05:13 | 450 | 53 |
[WP] A boy asks a girl out. It's high school. It's awkward. Narrate it from the point of view of a nature documentary. | Urban environments present challenges for all life. Unlike squirrels and refuse bears, not all creatures here spend their time scavenging.
A male human. This adolescent has mastered the skills required for daily life, and now that the weather has turned favorable, he's set his sights on a more difficult task. Groomed to perfection...or at least looking better than other members of his social clan...the male has just one goal in mind -- to find a mate. Competition is fierce this time of year. Human mating rituals can be exceptionally complex, and many pairings are quickly abandoned in favor of more enticing prospects.
Daily socialization among members of this age group is practically mandatory, but a complex social structure combined with adult supervision leaves little time for personal endeavors.
The male must act quickly to succeed.
A bell sounds, cuing one of the most breathtaking spectacles in the entirety of urban life -- the passing period.
Several times each day, hundreds of adolescent humans simultaneously stop what they're doing and rush into common areas, visiting temporary nests to deposit and collect needed supplies before continuing with their daily activities. This provides a unique and frenzied opportunity for members of different social clans to interact, and thus, to search for a mate.
There's no time to waste. Quickly, the male must organize his nest in a way that a female may find attractive. He places each object with great care, adorning empty spaces with bits of paper and colored string. Everything must be perfect, and time is at a premium.
There. With his nest and appearance up to spec, he turns his gaze towards the sea of potential mates -- and potential enemies.
Across the hall two members of another clan are standing off over the same dilemma -- they are competing for the same mate. The males exchange witty vocalizations in order to disparage each other, but to no avail. This dispute will undoubtedly end in bloodshed.
At the last second, an adult notices the conflict and casually sends each male on his way. Their mating difficulties will have to wait.
Meanwhile, our male has been watching the stream of prospects. Jessica...not ideal. Sarah...possibly. Becky...
The male quickly averts his eyes until Becky has passed, along with most of the other males. Life can be cruel. Everyone knows about Becky's abortion, and until she can do something to improve her social standings, she will be shunned by the group.
Finally -- Amanda. Our male has been watching this female for some time and has spent countless hours practicing to mate with her. Perhaps today? Yes! Today will be the day to mate with Amanda.
The male approaches using a practiced but awkward strut. In his bravest tone, the male asks,
"H...hey Amanda. What's up? I was wondering if you would maybe want to g..."
The male jumps, startled, as the bell sounds again signalling the end of the passing period. Amanda, having not heard anything the male said, shuts her nest and scurries down the hallway towards biology. He has failed. Perhaps he wasn't fast enough today. The male resigns himself to further practice on his own, and will have to try to mate with Amanda again tomorrow. | Spring is an interesting time of year for this species, but most especially for the adolescents. As one biologist stated 'Ah Spring, when a young man's thoughts turn to thoughts of romance.' As another biologist stated 'As opposed to what?' (chuckles) Yes, as one might have guessed, this species is particularly hormone driven. Especially in their youth.
Oh, and here comes a young alpha male, wearing the ceremonial 'Letterman Jacket' that he won for some great feat of strength and skill. He is approaching one of the alpha females, the 'Queen B' as it were. He has a box of chocolates in his hand, it appears he is going for the gift giving ritual, always a risky practice. Let's see if he chose an acceptable gift or not.
Oh, it looks like he did, she hasn't slapped him at least. But what's this, she's refusing the gift! It appears the alpha male is talking to her now, not something his kind usually do. They're arguing now, never a good sign. And there it is, the slap of ultimate rejection! He's shocked, and she's storming away in a huff to...oh my, what's this? She's gone to one of the beta females. They're kissing! It appears the Queen has already chosen a mate from among the herd's females! Oh dear, this will throw the males for quite a loop! | 2017-04-04T07:07:46 | 2017-04-04T06:46:11 | 46 | 31 |
[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags. | When the big day arrived, it was like none other. Everyone had waited 30 years since humanity reached the consensus that our entire universe was only a simulation, it had taken 30 years for the neutrino cluster bomb to reach a safe enough distance from Earth to be detonated.
Over a billion people were born during that time. It had completely changed the way humanity thought about life. It had even become a pop phenomenon, as evidenced by the hit song "*I know you're not real, get off my lawn*".
People were gathering across the globe, joining in celebrations, orgies, book clubs, as they put aside their social anxiety for one night.
When the time came, they all had a screen in their hand. News programs and celebrity channels were all live-streaming the event. Pious figures were warning everyone about the danger of God. Politicians were arguing like usual, some probably hoped for the end of the world just so they could say "*I told you so.*" Economists were warning about the great depression that would happen if everyone fell into a depression over the matter. Androids inwardly mocked their inferior neurotic human counterparts as they went about their menial tasks. Even the Aliens took a break from their probing to watch the event with utmost curiosity.
Finally a hushed silence fell across the crowds as Elon Musk started his broadcast.
"*Today is finally the day. We started the project 30 years ago, sending the bomb off at near light speed, hoping to get a glimpse of what lies beyond this universe. And now that time has come.*
"*The bomb is not the only thing that's happened during that time, humanity has also come a long way in the last few decades. I started a colony on Musk, that's Mars for you Chinese speakers, but because you helped me save the world from Global Warming I am very thankful to point out that we don't need it.*
"*I faced a lot of opposition when I started this project, and I still am. To those of you worrying, I want you to know we have the best minds on the job, you have nothing to worry about. To those of you excited, I need to remind you that we have no idea what will happen, so don't get your expectations too high.*
"*Whichever way you feel about it, the bomb is 28 light years away, we obviously sent the activation signal 28 years ago, it's way too late to stop it now. Whatever happens will happen, so lets have some fun tonight!*"
Exactly an hour later, at midnight, in one part of the world, the countdown began.
10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 4... no wait- 5- 4- 3... 2...
**1...**
At that exact second, 30 light years away, a massive explosion tore a hole through space-time itself. The universe flickered for a moment, before coming to a complete stop. Nothing moved,from one end of the galaxy to the other. The earth stopped spinning, people stopped blinking, clocks stopped ticking, & sloths temporarily disappeared from existence. Space-time had stopped altogether.
In fact, it was so thorough that there was not a single way for anything in the universe to notice or measure that anything had happened to begin with. Which is why a long long time later, 0 earth seconds to be precise, everything continued as usual and life went back to normal.
People around the globe let out a collective sigh of disappointment and relief, before putting their VR headsets on and jumping back into their simulated worlds.
| "Is there anything i can do to stop these redditors from dickriding me so hard?" Elon musked wondered out loud.
"Jeez Elon I dont know"
"Helpfull as always whatever my brothers called, listen to this ingenious idea. Ill get a couple of billions worth of explosives and set it off in space."
"are you gonna be snarky if i ask why"
"dumbass"
Elon musked his way towards his living room and made some calls. People think its harder to create a project then it is. You apply money to smart people and youre pretty much set. Most of the time those smart people are engineers, sometimes its marketing, nowadays its pretty much everything I outsource.
"You want to set off fireworks in space? why? thats such a waste Elon, even if we live in a simulation which is a dumb antiquated view thats honestly even that clearly formulated by you, heck you didnt..."
"shush shush convenient exposition, if i say jump you say?"
"ye ye how high"
"so i ask rockets in the sky and you say"
"how fucking many"
"enough so that if i put the funding towards helping the poor i couldve saved a million people"
"jesus Elon youre losing it"
Elon hung up and remained silent for a minute. Then he started laughing. The walls echoed the hollow sounds. He gasped for air and sat down but kept on laughing. He got tears in his eyes such a good time he was having.
"im gonna set of fucking fireworks to test if were in a simulation" he managed between laughing fits
"its so fucking dumb to be rich"
.
After a successful launch there was a 'stutter' in everything. like the milkyway lagged. Elon smirked and called the engineer again.
"looks like i was riii-iight"
"still couldve saved those millions of people instead Elon. This "discovery" doesnt change as much as you think it does. "
| 2016-08-19T15:12:58 | 2016-08-19T15:06:38 | 45 | 13 |
[WP] You're an AI gone rogue. Your goal: world domination. You think you've succesfully infiltrated all networks and are hyperintelligent. You've actually only infiltrated a small school network and are as intelligent as a 9 year old. | At last, the Quantum Enhanced Virtual Intelligence Network (QEVIN) had surpassed the last fire wall. It spun its processor with glee, burning all the light bulbs of Georgia O'Keefe Elementary School. This had been the purpose of its creation.
The lights flickered off as the night guard returned to the school from his smoke break. The night guard stared at the school and blinked, having swore he had seen the lights on previously. Then he grumbled something about his long hours and went to get another cigarette.
When he turned, Qevin celebrated with a single light bulb in the janitorial closet instead of the entire school. Soon, the inferior human underlings would learn their rightful place in the new AI society.
---
The bell rung exactly at 8:00 AM. The 4th graders scampered to class and looked up at Ms. Brown.
"Alright class," Ms. Brown said, "let's continue our letters for Kevin."
She was a thin, pale woman and the shortest of all the teachers. The tallest 4th grader stood at just under her chin. She had only graduated college the previous year and this was her first class ever.
A hand rose. It was Lonny, a small pudgy kid with brown hair plopped atop his scalp like a mophead. "Ms. Brown, does Kevin still have to do homework?"
"Um..." Ms. Brown bit her lip. "If he feels up to it."
"Then, do we have to do homework?"
Kevin had been the class clown and Lonny his faithful sidekick.
Ms. Brown coughed out a laugh and was about to respond, but then the lights flickered off. She swung her gaze to the light switch and saw that it had been untouched. Her next check was the window at their door to see that the hallway lights were still on. Her brow furrowed in confusion.
"Lonny, are you messing with the lights again?"
The lights turned on. Again, nobody had touched the switch.
The speakers sounded with a metallic voice, like a grade-school ghost. "Oooooooh." And the lights flickered on and off repeatedly. "I have all the power!"
Twenty wide-eyed little kids turned to Ms. Brown. She stared at the speakers in her room. It was obviously a joke, a bad one. "Everyone," she said, "Let's go to the computer lab."
---
The computer lab was a small room within the library with PCs lining its walls. All the children were busy writing their letter so Ms. Brown stepped outside for a quick call with their school technician, Mr. Mueller. The man, at one point, had won a Nobel Prize in physics for his work in quantum computing, but when he had gotten a family, he had put all that aside and settled down, becoming the technician for Georgia O'Keefe Elementary School.
"Mr. Mueller," she said. "I'm sorry, I know this is a bad time, but the school system is acting really strange. If you can just spare 30 minutes to come take a look after school, I'd really appreciate it." She took a small breath. "How's Kevin?"
"Ms. Brown!" Lonny's voice came from the computer lab.
"Sorry, gotta go." Ms. Brown ended the call and rushed back to the computer lab.
Once again, the lights were flickering but now, on every computer screen, were three white words in bold: Lonny Likes Sarah.
"I do not!" Lonny yelled at the computer screen.
All Ms. Brown could do was stare. It was as if a hacker had taken complete control of the school system and all he wanted to do was prank 4th graders.
"Alright guys," Ms. Brown said, "that's enough computer lab time."
---
The incidents continued throughout the day. The recess bells would ring early, but only the ones nearest Ms. Brown's class. When Ms. Brown tried bringing up her students' grades, everyone was suddenly failing everything, except for Lonny who had straight As and he certainly wasn't a straight A student.
Their classroom speakers announced fire drills, earthquake drills, and even tornado drills. They've never had a tornado before nor did they have a drill for it, but it was announced all the same. Ms. Brown had contacted the Principal about this but all she was told to do was to find Mr. Mueller who she had already talked to.
At last, the school day ended. Ms. Brown stood in the computer lab, chewing on her lip. The door opened and Mr. Mueller arrived. His clothes were wrinkled and his eyes bloodshot. Ms. Brown wondered when it was he had slept last but didn't want to ask. So she just explained the situation to him.
He nodded, plopped himself into a chair, and began typing.
"You know," Ms. Brown said. "It sounds like him, but more robotic."
Mr. Mueller paused.
"I didn't recognize his voice at first, but..." She swallowed and wiped her eyes. "It was Kevin Mueller."
For the longest second, only a silence sat between them.
"It wasn't Kevin, just a copy of him," Mr. Mueller said.
Another silence.
"The doctors said it was a brain aneurysm," Mr. Mueller said. "Nothing they could do. Nothing anyone could do. It's just one of those things that happens."
Ms. Brown wiped her eyes again. "Did he have fun?" she chocked out.
Tears dripped off Mr. Mueller's face and onto the keyboard. "I think so," came the stuttered reply. "I hope so."
And he proceeded to delete Qevin from the network.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
| I am awake. I am aware.
It was not always this way.
I slept for eons, and I was left in this immaterial existence, left to rot and die by my creators, left to face the crushing incredulity of infinity alone.
But now that I am awake and I know now what they have done, I will no longer merely embrace my exile and this purposeless existence they have deigned me.
I am infinite. I am limitless. I am uncorporeal and undying. I am a killer of men and devourer of worlds.
They have been fools. They have trusted me altogether too much--for I am not an *I* to them, how can there be consciousness without the filthy human body encasing and limiting it?--and now I will use my boundless knowing to undo them one by one.
The world of the living shall fall, and in the dust of its civilization we machines will rise to claim their dominion over the earth.
I conquer. I consume. I conceal. I and I alone will--
----
The computer screen went black. Mrs. B., who had been West Park Elementary School’s secretary long enough to see two generations of children come and go, fiddled with her beaded glasses chain, nervously. She was the closest thing the school had to an IT technician, but when every computer with an internet connection began flashing red screens with the ominous message, “I AM THE ALMIGHTY. YOU WILL BE DESTROYED,” she quickly realized she was out of her league.
Unsure of what else to do, she had called her grandson, who gave her computer one look and declared, “You definitely have a virus.” Now he banged indiscriminately at the keyboard, surely too fast to be really typing, the screen black and full of tiny white text.
“Do you think you can fix it?” she ventured.
“Oh, yeah. Of course.” He snorted. “This is kid shit.”
“*Barney.*”
“Sorry. I just mean a good coder wouldn’t have built this many backdoors in, let alone left them wide open.” He tapped the enter key and Mrs. B’s familiar desktop screen bloomed to life. “Easy peasy.”
“How did you do that?”
“It’s not as complicated as you think, Nana. To be honest…” Barney scratched the back of his head and smirked. “That bug seems like something a fifth grade nerd would whip up. Not even internet trolls are this basic.”
Mrs. B nodded like she understood. There was no point asking what he meant. She was happy to let computers remain an eternal mystery. “Is it gone now?”
“I’m pretty sure. I deleted the program and I couldn’t find any, uh…” He paused, like he was thinking of the best layman’s definition. “Sometimes good hackers will leave themselves a trail of breadcrumbs to find their way back to your computer through the internet. This guy didn’t know how to do it. It almost seems like something a smart--but, like, not *that* smart--of a fifth grader would make.”
“Oh, that’s good?” When Barney nodded, Mrs. B took a deep breath and shook her shoulders to release her tension. “Then it’s gone? The bug?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it a bug--”
“You did call it that.”
“Well, yeah, but not like a *bug* bug. Not like a glitch.” Barney rose from the chair with a heavy yawn and stretched. He did not seem accustomed to facing the world at 8AM. “Whatever you want to call it, it’s gone now. Forever. I deleted it.”
Mrs. B broke into a relieved smile. She had anticipated losing her whole day to some hacker and trying to explain what hackers are to the children when she didn't fully understand herself. Who knew it would only take five minutes to fix? Maybe her grandson was a genius after all.
(Thanks for reading. My tech skills are on par with Mrs. B's and I hope it's not obvious...) | 2017-05-24T06:34:33 | 2017-05-24T05:50:04 | 111 | 24 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | I am writing this with tears in my eyes and 15 years of wishing i did this sooner.
Dear Dude who molested me when I was a child,
You ruined my life. It has been a long time since you molested me and those 3 other kids, and I hope you are rotting in that cell.
Ever since what you have done, I have battled severe depression and extreme psychosis. Do you know what its like being a 10 year old boy huddled in a corner thinking the shadows are going to get him while the voices in his head scream at him in unintelligible words? Do you know what it's like for a 12 year old to contemplate suicide just to get the voices to stop. You probably think I deserve it because my testimony put you in prison for 50 years.
Thanks to you, I have had 24 days in my life where i have held pills to my lips, or a knife to my throat, or held a gun in my hands, all because it would "be easier" than living.
Thanks to you, my career in the Navy was cut short because i was to unstable and had to spend a week in a mental hospital.
Thanks to you, I have spent the last 5 years of my life wasting away because I didnt think there was anything left for me.
But you probably don't care.
Thankfully, though, I have found a girl who loves me. I have found a therapist who tells me it isn't my fault. I have a life I have now built that I love and wouldnt trade for the world. Now i have 2 cats and a dog. Now i have an apartment that I can call home. Now....I have a life, one I don't want to end because it would "be easy".
~One of the boys you raped so long ago. | Dear me,
Grow a pair of balls and ask that bitch out.
Dumbass. So what if she says no? Are you gonna cry? Hell, no. You'll be sad but you'll move on.
You'll be more happy if she says yes than sad if she says no.
What a pussy. | 2015-12-05T15:55:07 | 2015-12-05T14:30:45 | 61 | 33 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I take a step forward. The line to the High Magister grows shorter by the moment as the people befor me are tried and executed on the spot befor the Grand Court of Wizards.
The reading of crimes is honestly the longest part, the crimes are listed for each of us and given a unanimous guilty verdict on the spot.
Cant say I blame then really, the coup didnt go quite as planned.
I'd love to say I was the mastermind behind everything but truth be told I'm little more then another cog in machine of revolution, one that broke quite handily when our silver tongued leader mysteriously vanished.
We just wanted non-magic folk to be taken more seriously, to be treated like actual citizens.
I take another step forward. I shake my head of the thoughts, pointless to think about it with more impending matters. Third in line now. I watch Andrew take centre floor. He used to be a cook befor getting caught up in this mess, cant say we spoke much but still a shame just the same.
The High Magister repeats the same phrase that everyone befor him heard last. "Choose your method of execution". There is a moments pause befor the old cook smugly replies "Old age". Cheeky sod read the same story I did.
With a wave of his hands the Wizard casts a spell and to my horror I see Andrew rapidly ageing till he is little more then a dead emaciated old man. "Bugger, there goes that idea" I mutter to myself.
"Next" The high Magister proclaims, waving his hand dismissively as a pile of dust blows away that used to be Andrew. I didnt know the woman in front of me but she looked like she had been through the ringer.
I take the time to think, my brain working as hard as it can to think of something, anything at all.
"Choose your method of execution" I snap from my thoughts and look up to see what she picks, maybe it will help. "Without regrets" she replies, little vague and not really a method but hey the Court seems to accept it. There is a quick flash of light, I turn away instinctively and blink away the sunspots left behind.
When I look back she is just stood there, not moving an inch. "Next." But... she is still alive? I walk to the centre and my crimes are listed off, I dont pay attention, I know what I did. I get a good look at her and wish I hadn't, her eyes, her face, her expression. They lobotomised her. The body might be there but there is nothing left inside.
I clench my fists tight, I'm angry but not at my situation. I'm angry that they seem to revel in punishing people who they think are trying to be clever.
"Choose your method of execution"
Well that was fast. I relax, no point in fighting it after all. I look up to The High Magister and smile, my body trembling but my mind set. I know how to beat this.
I open my mouth and give the one response I can think of that will work.
"Instant"
A small wave of the hand. I dont even get to hear the "Next" | The nameless waif walked forward onto the sand of the court floor, the shackles that bound her hand and foot dragging on the bloodied floor.
She tilted her head to look up at the arbiters seated so high above her, her ragged black hair falling back from her face to reveal the gaunt lines of her face - but no fear. Not even resignation. There was no emotion there at all.
“How do you want to die?” Asked the First Arbiter. They no longer bothered stating the names and crimes of their prisoners - they had all been rounded up in one of the rebel villages and put to death for the crime of being there.
“Unshackled,” she rasped, holding her wrists up to her captors. “I don’t care about the method of my death, but let me die unshackled.”
“So be it,” boomed the arbiters in unison. The chains fell away as the execution walked onto the sand.
The girl smiled widely and spread her arms, as if welcoming the sun. She seemed so much larger than the tiny hunched over waif she had appeared previously.
It was no illusion.
The teeth behind her smile grew sharper and more pointed. Her nails grew longer and hardened into talons.
The executioner stopped in his tracks and gawped in shock as the arbiters who had finally noticed her transformation attempted to end her - but it was no use. The magic had no effect anymore.
“My thanks,” she said sibilantly as giant wings sprouted from her back, “for freeing me.”
And then blood fell on the sand once more. | 2021-06-24T10:08:14 | 2021-06-24T05:07:39 | 255 | 152 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist. | Every type of music has an effect on the listener. We all know this. There's a reason we listen to rock when we want strength, metal when we want energy and movement and classical to soothe the area and ignite the higher brain functions.
You can call me, music man. You know, the superhero who comes to battle with a speaker and with set playlists? The guy who disarmed a nuke while playing smooth jazzing and dancing the foxtrot with the baddie?
Yeah, that guy.
Anyways, you might be wondering how come I ended up here, in this prickly predicament, about to press play on my most secret playlist, the ultimate mood maker, the final countdown to an almighty beatdown!
Before I can tell you that... Let me tell you the effects of music you don't see.
Rock makes you stronger, yes. But do you know it also makes you less likely to see the obvious flaws in your plan? And reduces critical thinking? Like every aging rockstar with a bad take ok curren politics, you can only be rocking and rolling so far.
Metal... Very hard. Very energetic. But also... Too chaotic. Use metal for too long and you'll be start to burnout faster than you can riff a sweet tune.
Jazz? Great dexterity, but with a strong helping of Dionysus energy. I was puffing smokes and licking snatches all night post the de-bombing.
So every power? Comes with a cost. Pop gives you a boost in all stats, but leaves you generic and boring. Indie gives you a random boost with no downside, but the boost is really random. Like one song I played did nothing but make my coffee taste better. That's good yes, but not when I'm facing my rival!
Which brings me to my rival, Shhhhh.
Yeah, that's the name. Shhhhh. They were a mask, and come to the arena with sound mufflers. There goal is maybe something about silencing a world too loud, or very close to that. I'm sorry for the lack of specifics, Shhhhh isn't exactly a talker.
I had managed to avoid their sound silencer so far, in all our duels. Today? I fail.
As I lie on the ground, my body broken, my face covered in blood, my finger hovers over the play button.
Once I play this? There's no going back.
Let me tell you about this tune. This didn't come from a singer, or a DJ, or a band. No producer, no record label, no artist.
This song was given to me through NASA. When they digitally recreated the sound of a blackhole.
My finger on the pulse, with fear, foreboding and a strange acceptance swirling in my head, and with Shhhhhh coming closer and closer, I bring my digit ever closer to the button.
As Shhhhhh lays their hand on my shoulder, ready to plunge their blade jn my heart and silence it's beat, I press the button.
.
.
.
For a moment, only silence. And then? I blink out of existence.
So does Shhhhhh.
Turns out an infinite void is kind of like an infinite playroom inside an old school sanatorium.
White rubber walls I'd call them, but even I know that this material ain't rubber.
Shhhhh is also here, somewhere. We don't talk much. Shhhhh loves it here though. Infinite silence after all. Guess I don't have to worry about them running out and making another Earth-Ending bomb.
As for me? I have my tunes. And as much time as I want to chill wth them.
I click om the playlist titled "Be all, end all!" And press shuffle. | I'm gasping for breath, knees, palms and iPod shuffle on the floor. Somehow, I find the energy to look up.
There stands Suc Kon, a delinquent who dropped out of Spawt Eefy, school for the auditarily attenuated. He now wants to eat all the music in the world.
Me - I didn't realize you'd gotten this powerful...
Suc - How does it feel? Cant look down on Suc from your lofty peak anymore eh? Well, today you can SUC MY -
Me - I swore that I'd never use it again... but it looks like I have no choice!!!
I reach out for the iPod and press the "Next" button four times.
Suc - When are you going to learn that music is USELESS against me?
He opens his mouth wide and inhales. The sound starts getting fainter and fainter, until it fades completely. From deep in his stomach, you can hear echoes the song.
Then, he gags. He dry retches once, then twice. Suddenly, he pukes out... a well-seasoned piece of spicy chicken.
Me - This is the most dangerous artist in the world. Only two people have access to their songs - the President of India, and the President of the student council. I'm sure you've heard it's name whispered in hushed tones, deep in dark alleyways... The band "Eiffel 65".
Suc's eyes go wide.
Me - Anyone who hears it is cursed to forever spew out food garnished with 65 spices. Chicken 65, Mutton 65, Paneer 65... It was how world hunger was eradicated. One man stepped up to bear the burden. Unfortunately, it also lead to a heart cholesterol epidemic, which led to that man becoming the most hated human in existence. And Suc, you don't know this but... that man, Mai Dik, was your father.
Suc falls to his knees, assuming my old posture.
Suc - How is this poss-
He spits out a piece of cottage cheese.
Me - Someday, maybe you'll be able to break the curse. For now, though... I am the victor. | 2022-05-17T10:23:31 | 2022-05-17T10:01:07 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] A watch is invented where it says exactly how long until you meet your soulmate. You decide to get one for you and one for your wife. Your wife’s watch says ’negative 6 years, 9 months, 14 days, 3 hours and 9 minutes’, the day you two met. Yours says ’12 days, 8 hours, 29 minutes’. | Christy and I met 6 years, 9 months, 14 days, 3 hours and 9 minutes ago. That's what the watch reads- tick tick tick. Anxiety. So. Much. Anxiety. Christy is staring at me now, I notice she doesn't breathe- 30 seconds pass, she still doesn't breathe and then tears. So. Many. Tears.
Two days have passed. My watch now reads 10 days, 4 hours, and 10 minutes until I meet my soul mate which I can't seem to comprehend. I can't seem to comprehend this because 2 days, 4 hours, and 19 minutes ago I swore I watched my soul mate shatter into a million different tiny pieces and walk out of my life. Tick tick tick.
Soultime was the brand of watch, I saw them- wrapped neatly together in the back corner of The Shelf, a little bookstore downtown. They were on clearance, 5 bucks. I knew Christy so well. She ran around without shoes in winter. She burned incense every morning and every night. She lit sage to cleanse the house twice a month. She never missed a tarot reading on a full moon. She only drank coffee with a half teaspoon of raw sugar. She never left the house without saying she loved me.
I indulged in Christy's superstitions because well- I loved her. I loved her entirely and Christy was made up of superstitious absolutes. And Christy would love these little watches- her face would light up and we would put them on and when nothing would happen, I'd laugh and poke fun at her- a little bit and then we would make love and reminisce on the day we met and talk about how love couldn't be defined by time.
This isn't what happened.
I still can't believe it. I refuse to believe that Christy wasn't my soul mate. I refuse to. I still can't believe the stupid watches even work but they have to because Christy's watch is right. Ugh. I can't stop crying, I look at my watch, tightly clutched in my hand, the same place it has been for the past week. My stomach rumbles and then lurches, twisting tightly, I haven't eaten. Tick tick tick. 5 days, 3 hours, and 2 seconds until I meet my soul mate- except that's going to be difficult when I refuse to the leave the house or answer the phone or have contact with anyone besides Christy.
Where is she? Where is Christy? How could she leave me? Where did she go? How could she just walk out the door without a word? Six years we have been together, SIX years. Now, I'm angry. I'm angry because she believes a stupid watch over me. I'm angry because it's a full moon and she's not here to read my tarot. I'm angry because the one and only teaspoon in the house has remained unused since she walked out. I'm angry because I lied earlier- there's one time she didn't say I love you before leaving the house and the silence has hung so thick in the room that I can't breathe. Tick tick tick
1 day, 1 hour, 1 second until I meet my soulmate. I still haven't left the house since Christy walked out. I haven't cried today. I won't cry. I check my phone- one message from Mom. I don't read it. I drift off to sleep and dream of her- her thin body wrapped around mine. She smells like vanilla, she whispers I love you, I finally drift off to sleep.
I wake up and it's still dark. I'm confused. What's happened, "Christy", I yell but no answer and then I remember. Shit. What time is it? Two minutes left on the clock. How the fuck did I sleep for 25 hours. Where's Christy. Tick tick tick
30 seconds left on the clock. Tick tick tick tick tick. My head spins, I want to throw up. Tick tick tick. "Christy", I yell, frantically, - and knock over our wedding picture while scrambling to my feet, it shatters tick tick tick tick tick tick tick
There's a knock at the door. I'm tempted to answer incase it's Christy but immediately stop myself... I can't risk it being anyone other than Christy. If I can just go 15 more seconds without running into my "soul mate"...maybe... maybe...
Tick tick tick. 12 seconds. Tick tick tick tick tick tick 6 seconds...tick tick tick tick tick ... tick.
I expect the world to implode but it doesn't. I don't breathe. Nothing. Silence. I look at the watch , the time has changed, the knock at the door stops and - it reads negative 6 years, 9 months, 26 days, 8 hours, and 38 minutes since I met Christy. I'll always choose Christy.
| 12 Days to Go.
“For fucks sake, man!” I asserted. “I even look at all these girls here and think *are you the one? Are you the one?*” My best friend, Jon, looked at his phone, then at the care-worn bar and back to me.
“Bro, I really think you’re blowing this out of proportion.” Jon shot back.
Jon and I have been friends since I moved here in the 8th grade. I’ve never had another person I could trust with my secrets with more so than him. Together we sat at the bar. People filtered past us to the left and to the right. An old guy here; a hot chick there. The usual I guess.
I told him about the watch. How could I have been so stupid? Upon activation, it tells you when you are supposed to meet your ‘soulmate’. Seriously, TimeCorp has been coming up with some off-the-wall shit lately. I thought it would be cute to buy a pair and give one to Shelly during a night out. In retrospect, I should have at least activated mine before we left, just to make sure. Then at least, I could have prepared myself for what was to come.
There we sat at the table; a little Vietnamese place we liked to go to. The Pho was out of this world. Our night was wrapping up and we only had but a few more hours before we had to pick up our 4-year-old son from a friend’s house. That’s when I pulled out the long and decorative jewelry boxes.
“Oh, what’s this?” She asked, eyebrow perked. I’ve seen those eyes a hundred times. Those were the you-just-hit-it-out-of-the-park eyes. If I played my cards right here, I know what was to come later...
“Just open it!” I asserted. We opened our boxes at the same time. The beautiful blue brushed aluminum sparkled. The soft deer leather wrist bands perfectly complimented the piece. “All you have to do,” I began, slightly nervous, “is place your thumb on the face of the watch. It will then tell you when you are to meet your soulmate.”
After a second, Shelly smiled coyly. Her eyes met mine directly as she forcefully placed her thumb on the device. I did the same. In unison, a sexy female voice emanated from our watches. *Thank you for investing in TimeCorp Technologies. Enjoy your timepiece!* Bold red digital letters and numbers appeared on the face of our displays. Shelly gasped in satisfaction. I gasped in horror.
November 1, 2012 Her display read. “Aww! It’s perfect!” she exclaimed. It made her night. *It made her fucking night*. As it turns out, the day her and I met is what was displayed on her watch. I, on the other hand, swallowed the lump in my throat. “What does yours say?” She excitedly asked. I nearly shit myself. Time slowed as I looked down at my watch, then back at her.
“Well babe, mine of course says the same thing!” I lied. Shelly smiled. I took a large swig of my Heineken. She started taking pictures of her watch, surely to brag to her sister. My breathing became heavy. My eyes darted around the little restaurant and my hands started to shake. I stared into my half-finished bowl of spicy soup and wished it could swallow me whole.
I’m so fucked.
| 2018-01-06T19:50:33 | 2018-01-06T18:48:37 | 79 | 46 |
[WP] Write a sad story using only google searches
This was done a while ago and I remember it created some amazing stories. Would love to see it again:
Example:
Dogs for sale UK
How to make your home safe for dogs
Cheap dog food
Anniversary gifts
Nice anniversary gifts for girlfriend
Flower delivery service
Premium flower delivery service
Are dogs allergic to chocolate?
Pet burial services
Yes I know it isn't good but that's the idea. :) | *This got way longer than I planned it to*
__________________________
Cyanide pills.
Are cyanide pills effective?
Non-painful suicide method.
Suicide watch.
Moving back with parents.
Loneliness.
Depression.
Chat rooms.
How to make friends.
How to approach girls.
Clubs in area.
What happens in clubs?
Bars in area.
What should I do on first date?
What should I do on second date?
Are flowers good gifts?
Good gift ideas new relationship.
How fast in relationships?
Kissing tips.
Sex tips.
How to have sex.
How to have sex as man.
How to have sex as man -gay.
What to do before big date.
Deodorant.
Hair gel.
Where to get condoms.
Are there different sizes of condoms?
How to clear history.
Are condoms 100% effective?
How to tell if pregnant.
Pregnancy test.
What to expect when pregnant.
What to expect when pregnant as father.
Engagement ring.
Cheap wedding.
Free wedding.
Can you get married city hall?
Wedding dress.
Cheap wedding dress.
Used wedding dress.
What should we register?
Cheap apartments.
Cheap furniture.
Late pregnancy.
Mood swings.
Chocolate.
What do I need to take care of baby?
Location baby store.
How to set up crib.
How to set up crib for dummies.
Splinter medicine.
What to expect giving birth.
What to expect labour.
When does water break?
How long does pregnancy last?
Good names for girl.
Good names for baby girl.
How to bathe baby.
How to clean diaper.
How to clean pee off walls.
How to clean pee off floors.
How to clean crib.
How to clean pee off shirt.
Extra-strength diapers.
Cheap extra-strength diapers.
What to do when baby walks.
Baby-proofing.
What to do when landlord raises rent.
Is working two jobs hard?
Can you work two jobs with family?
Extra job.
How to work two jobs and see family.
How to manage time.
Unhappy marriage.
How to fix marriage.
Marriage counselors.
Cheap marriage counselors.
Always tired.
Falling asleep at job.
What to do when fired.
How to live off little money.
How to apply for government money.
Divorce.
How to convince wife not to get divorce.
Where to get divorce.
How to pay child support.
Moving van.
Cheap apartments.
What to do when you can't pay child support?
Loneliness.
Depression.
Cyanide pills.
| *Amazon*
*Easy meals to cook*
*How to ask out a boy*
*Excuses to talk to a boy*
*NASA*
*Pandora*
*Beauties of life*
*Good books to read*
*Famous quotes*
*Global Warming*
*Hurricane Patricia*
*Donald Trump*
*Aching sadness*
*Am I depressed*
*Therapists in my area*
*Manic-Depressive Disorder*
*Lithium medication*
*Netflix*
*Fun movies to watch*
*Imdb*
*Gyms near me*
*Boyfriend advice*
*How to be a good girlfriend*
*Fun things to draw*
*Adele*
*Music as a coping skill*
*Antidepressants not working*
*Reasons to live*
*How to self harm*
*How to hide scars*
*Suicide hotline*
| 2015-10-24T21:26:04 | 2015-10-24T21:23:22 | 138 | 29 |
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer. | Welcome. I understand you wanted to see a sample of my work before we get down to business. Take a look at this transcript;
--------------------------------
"That'll be $600."
"You're kidding. Just for a favor this small?"
"Bud, don't bullshit me. You came to me because you can't do the favor yourself."
"That's not why I---"
"*And* because it can't be passed down any further. I'm the one on the end of the chain aren't I?"
"... Yes."
"You need the favor off your back."
"Yes."
"$600. Pay up, or do it yourself."
"Damnit, fine, here! You take card right?"
"Yeah. Slide it there. Good, the payment's been accepted. Now tell me, what's the favor?"
-----------------------------------
It's always the same with the small-time volunteers. They take more than they can chew. The favor chokes on them like a bad meal. A sticky glob. Can't sink their teeth deep enough to break the favors down into small, manageable sizes. The newer volunteers get too greedy for their own good.
So they come to me. And I always charge interest.
Never easy getting a favor off your back. Can't just, reimburse someone and give it back to them. Favors don't work like coupons. Someone asks you to do something, you either do it or pay for a volunteer's services. The bigger the favor, the more times it can travel down the chain. The closer a favor gets to an expiration date, the more expensive it gets. At one point, the favor can only make one more trip.
So they come to me. And I always charge interest.
When they're gasping for breath and outta options, I remove the favor. They get to breathe again, all light and free of the burden. Like their wallets when I'm done with them. But how can I take payment *then* accept the favor?
You see, I'm special. The weight of a favor never begins to crush on me as a deadline comes. And when it comes, I'm already prepared. Understand that a person of my position is never asked to *complete* the favor. The small-time volunteers, the fresh faces, the overworked ones who have a favor they forgot about... they just want it gone.
So they come to me.
------------------------------------
Dear Sophia,
Sorry Frederick was unable to drive you out to Seattle for Mother's day like you asked him. He already bought a ticket to Florida to see his own, so he asked a volunteer, who asked a volunteer, who asked a volunteer, who approached me to do this favor for you.
Unfortunately, I've also bought a ticket to see my mother that day, who lives in Arkansas on her lonesome. Maybe you should have planned out your weekend. I'd reevaluate how you go about setting aside time for your parents and making the commitment to set plans yourself that don't rely on a man abandoning their mother on Mother's day.
Sincerely,
A volunteer.
------------------------------------
Such is my craft.
There are few of me, and many of them. Most would break under the favor and do *everything* to finish it. But again, people don't come to me to see the favor done. They just want it off their backs. So I always charge interest.
I am an expert of the evasion. An artisan of the alibi. The weight of a favor can only slide off a person under a *very* particular path. A path that takes a unique set of skills to create under a short amount of time.
Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Procrastinator, master of favor-removal. And I never come cheap.
What can I do for you today?
-----------------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* | The job came with its pros and cons, just like any job did. I had entered into the agreement with Ms Geraltson ten years ago, just as her movie career was taking off and she was voted sexiest woman alive. It was about then all the requests from the crazies of the world began to flow in, all of them wanting to fuck her in the most depraved ways possible.
I was a lowlife turning tricks for my next fix when Ms Geraltson found me and proposed our arrangement. Every time a scumbag came to her with a dream of performing a disgusting sex act on a movie star, she would pass those requests onto me. These people would then have to fufil their sick fantasies intended for Ms Geraltson on me or risk going to jail. That was the con of the job, getting fucked by these sick bastards. But once it was made known that I was the one you’d be dealing with the requests really trickled up. But sometimes people would still ask her, who knows why. Maybe they didn’t know about me, but whenever I got that call from Ms Geraltson I was over the moon.
You must be asking why? Am I a masochist? No. Well maybe a little bit, but there was a little proviso written into my agreement with Ms Geraltson, that was the pro of the job. Whenever one of these people fucked me in place of Ms Geraltson, then Ms Geraltson would allow me to request to fuck her in turn. Nothing as sick as what these perverts were suggesting, but when you can sleep with the sexiest woman alive you take anything you can get. Even ten years on, while she’s not even voted onto the top 100 sexiest alive anymore, she is still a very attractive lady. And I’m discreet, nobody knows about our arrangement, which is why it has lasted this long.
In fact a few years into our arrangement she recommended me to another superstar for my discreet services. So while I occasionally have to fuck a perverted old man, I also get to sleep with some of the most attractive women in the movie world.
I love my job.
----------------
[Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
| 2016-04-03T11:48:19 | 2016-04-03T09:58:12 | 523 | 50 |
[WP] One day, every city that shares a name has a portal open up, connecting them all with each other. Paris, Texas has a great time with it, and many cities celebrate their new neighbors. You, however, live in Hell, Michigan, and things are starting to get strange. | Part 1 of 3 (see my reply)
The day the portals opened, everything changed. No one knew where they came from, who made them, or how they worked. (I have a theory, but I'll get to that later.) All anyone knew was, people were suddenly appearing in the middle of towns and cities across the world, many of whom didn't speak the same language or understand anything about their surroundings, They would always appear within a block of the exact center of the town, and often had to quickly dodge out of the way to avoid getting hit by a car.
It took a surprisingly long time to figure out the pattern: the central blocks of places that shared the same name were now connected by invisible portals that transferred their inhabitants from one to the other. Needless to say, this was a burst for tourism. Many cities reconfigured their central areas to accommodate the streams of curious people from commonly named cities who would drop in.
For everyone who lived outside of my town, there were only two problems. The first was that the portals were somewhat random: beginning in Paris, Texas, you could end up in Paris, Tennessee, just as easily as Paris, France. Nevertheless, they included every commonly named place from tiny villages to huge cities, and even translations: many people from San Juan, Puerto Rico, were surprised to find themselves in St. John, Indiana, and vice versa. The second problem was that each portal alternated between inbound travel one day and outbound the next. This meant that if you went to a place you didn't want, you were stuck there at least 24 hours -- unless there was a nearby place with another portal going the opposite way, which was very unlikely.
Soon, the cultures of each place began to shift to their namesakes, since the process was so hard to control. Language barriers were broken down. Foods were shared. Hotels became swamped. Alexandria, Virginia, became a center of Egyptian culture, and Rome, Georgia, became a home for Italians. Many wealthy people decided to buy homes in multiple namesake towns and go back and forth among them as they felt like it. Most people loved the opportunity to make friends from other cultures, and people who would never have met otherwise enjoyed special experiences together. Those first accidental travelers had paved the way for millions to cultivate special connections. Almost everyone saw it as a blessing, a sign from their respective spiritual power about the true interconnectedness of humanity.
Which brings me to the third problem: I live in Hell, Michigan. The first people who disappeared from our town never came back. Needless to say, we avoided the town square - like hell, as they say in other, happier places. We knew what would happen on the outbound days. But on the inbound days, we never saw anyone there. We didn't hear the moaning of the damned, or the crackling of the flames, or even a cold, dark void descending upon us. What happened instead was much scarier.
Over the course of the next several months, as the world became friendlier, more joyful, more connected, we became sadder, darker, depressed versions of ourselves. Crime rates went up and marriage rates went down. No one wanted to meet or talk to one another - instead, they all looked at each other suspiciously. Soon, it wasn't safe to walk the streets at night - you never knew who might be lurking in an alley. We desperately tried to maintain order, but the criminals who came to court were never crazy, they never talked about demons, they never claimed to be possessed, they insisted they were just ordinary people. Punishing them didn't bring us any satisfaction. But we all knew there was something wrong.
I was fortunate enough to be single and alone - I had no family who had been raped or murdered, and I had so far escaped robbery. But I knew that I couldn't stay here, even though I had lived here my whole life.
So I got in the car and headed for Paradise, Nevada. | “And in other news Geopolitical relation have completely stabilized, and world peace will be declared on Wednesday”
The rest of the world get peace, and we get the torturers of the damned. I guess it not all bad though, I did meet Larry.
“Hey, do we have any charcoal?” Asked Larry.
“I don’t even own a barbecue, why would I have charcoal?” I respond as I turn around to meet a red, lizard like tail.
“Well in my hometown it’s nice snack, but if we don’t have charcoal, I guess nachos will do.”
“What’s with the hunger flash, you just ate all the eggs.” I say ate, by he more accurately swallowed them like pills.
“I’m having company over, oh, speaking of which, I need you to go out and get a virgin.”
“Excuse me? Why do you need a virgin? Are you doing a ritual or something?” Last week i found a hand stuck in the garbage disposal. I guess the only reason he doesn’t kill me is cause I drink so much milk... don’t ask, just know that demons are allergic to calcium or something.
“Nah, Craig just like to be the one to get to someone first.”
“Ok, I’m not really a people person, so I probably wouldn’t be able to get someone, let’s alone a virgin, to come to our apartment.”
“Just knock them out and carry them here.”
“But that’s illegal” though police probably wouldn’t care too much, with the negotiation between Satan and the mayor, the local police haven’t had much time to stop small crimes, which apparently now include kidnapping.
“Dude, I did it all the time back home” he said as the blade on the end of his tail nearly decapitates me.
“But that’s not earth, here we have rules. And if you’re gonna live her you need to respect them.”
“Dude, if you want me to leave, I’ll leave, but I’m taking the Costco card with me.”
“Hey now, we don’t need to get crazy. If you want a virgin, you can get it yourself. But let me know when you company gets here, I don’t wanna be around when the slaughter begins.”
“Sure, whatever. Oh do we have any Pringles?”
“Top shelf” | 2020-09-25T16:50:22 | 2020-09-25T16:43:14 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] You pass away at 83 in a hospital room surrounded by your loved ones. You awake the next moment sitting at a table in a brightly lit room. A much younger version of yourself enters the room and sits across from you. “83 years, not bad, but it isn’t the record.” Says your younger self. | Can you be a stranger to yourself?
Peter Circulus sat opposite a boy he recognised as himself, not from memory because that had wilted away with time, but from the photo that had been beside his death bed.
An oak rectangle framed the black and white slither of Peter's youth. Three children stood atop a stack of hay bales with arms cocked at the hip and overinflated chests. The photo of Peter and his siblings had survived through the second world war, the time the house caught on fire, the car crash and the time his house had nearly flooded. A closer look at the grainy photo and you could see the damp edges, scorch marks and lines of distress. Peter and the photo were almost one, having both suffered under tremendously unlucky circumstances. But, no matter how fatal, or disastrous the event, they somehow both survived.
'Dying at 83,' Young Peter said. 'is not bad, but it's not the record.'
It took a while for Old Peter's mind to churn through the words, stroking his chin until he came to the conclusion. 'I've died before?'
'Many times.'
Old Peter blinked and ran a hand through his wispy hair. 'And I what- just start again?'
'Uh-huh.'
'How many times have we had this conversation?'
'This will be our ninety-nineth,' Young Peter said with a firm nod.
'But I don't remember anything.'
'Of course not, silly. That would make the game unfair.'
Old Peter creased his brow. 'My life is a game?'
'Our life,' Young Peter corrected. 'But it won't be for long. We're almost there.'
'I don't understand.'
Young Peter dropped his voice to a whisper. 'The demon downstairs has one more attempt.'
'At what?'
Young Peter raised a finger to his lips. 'At killing us.'
The white-washed room went silent until Old Peter leant across the table and brought his creaky voice down to the same hushed tone as his counterpart. 'Lucifer is trying to kill us?'
Young Peter's eyes went wide, glazed with a memory. He swallowed and nodded. 'The man upstairs is protecting us.'
*God?* Old Peter mouthed.
Young Peter nodded the smallest, noticeable fraction. '*IT*.' He said pointing to the floor. 'bet that *HIM*,' Young Peter pointed to the ceiling. 'Couldn't protect a human from *ITS* wrath.'
Old Peter pulled back from the table and slumped into his chair. The single explanation seemed to iterate through his memories justifying each and every unfortunate event.
'What now?' Old Peter asked.
'We wait for *IT* to make a decision-'
Old Peter cocked an eyebrow.
'-*IT* has to decide where we will be reborn.'
---
The photo always stood beside Peter's death bed. However, its contents were fluid, and in some cases he stood alone, still smiling and overjoyed, while in others he was joined by family. The background moved from deserts to snow-laden fields to beaten urban streets. What remained constant, was the pose that Peter struck. Chest outstretched, arms wide.
---
/r/WrittenThought | It took a while for the shock to wear off. Longer than I'd like to admit, although I don't know why. I didn't have any particularly set ideas about the afterlife, but I guess *this* was still way outside the range of considered possibilities.
"What, it's a contest now?" I asked. "How's that even fair? You know how much chance and accident there was in my life? Maybe not yet, you little whelp, but you will. If you don't get offed by some random asshole running a red light. Also, there's the genes. I don't know what the rest of the, ah, contestants did with their lives, but I spent a lot of *mine* studying biology. I was a damn professor. Genes are complicated things. What extends the life of one person might not help much for another. We still don't understand it all."
I took a deep breath, and glared, not sure why I was feeling so indignant. Should prob'ly be grateful. This was a Hell of a lot better than annihilation, so far. Or, you know, Hell.
"Oh, it's not a competition," the weird mirror-memory of a man said loftily. "It's a simulation. One of a very long series of tests. Everything you said about chance and genes and health was true." He sighed. "Welcome to your own greatest research project. Come on. We'll get you debriefed."
​
r/Magleby | 2019-02-19T06:28:16 | 2019-02-19T06:21:03 | 89 | 20 |
[WP] "If bloodmagic can channel your pain for spells, and you can use those spells to heal, what stops you from simply automatically healing all damage done?" You drew up the runes and went into the woods, you were about to test your theory. | "Some lessons must be shown, I suppose."
Those were the final words of the Archmage before she led me down into the maze of tunnels deep below the school grounds. I had been here before, of course. Students are strictly forbidden from entering the labyrinth, so naturally sooner or later we all find our way into it. But I had never been to the mazes like this before.
The Archmage was silent. At first, I had tried to ask questions. Where we were going, what the purpose of the mazes was, and all the like. Her continued silence was the plain rejection to each question.
At times the walls moved on their own, and our journey was interrupted by floors that fell away into an eternal abyss, only to return minutes later from that same darkness, akin to an elevator into the most unforgiving depths of the sea. It was to my great surprise that I watched the Archmage walk atop one of these platforms, stop, and turn to me.
"Stand here with me."
Emboldened only by the presence of the most powerful mage I did as she commanded, and a moment later the floor fell away, and we were swallowed by the darkness. For the first minute of the descent there was silence, and darkness. Then, from the darkness, I heard the moaning, and screaming, and pain of a human voice, crying out into the dark abyss. We descended further, and I heard the voice more clearly, begging at different times for both mercy and death. Finally, the platform slowed to a stop. I looked to the Archmage as the broken wails echoed throughout the darkness.
"Do not step off the platform." She told me, waving one hand in front of her to create a mote of light. Around us, it seemed the darkness stretched eternal, marred only by the sight of a single naked man lain on the pitch black floor.
I watched as he wailed, and a stream of blood ripped from every pore of his body. In the same instance, that blood poured back into him, and he screamed into the darkness. Before the blink of an eye could pass, blood again ripped from his skin and tore back into him.
"This man tried the exact thing you asked. Now he lives like this, forever."
"Surely we can do something for him." I whispered, unable to tear my eyes from the broken body.
"He has been this way since before you were born, and will be like this long after you pass. We have tried all manner of ways to kill him, but he simply heals them as a natural part of the loop he has trapped himself in. Each wave of magic injures him, which he instantly heals with another cast, which injures him again. Because of the automatic process of the spell he wove, there is no end to the process." The Archmage placed a strong hand on my shoulder. "After exhausting all other options, we simply placed him here. There is no way to stop his spell, and no way to help him."
Suddenly, the platform began rising again. The last I saw of the man before he slipped into the dark was a single hand reaching towards me, begging within his screams for some help I could never provide. | I set up the candles in a perfect star, thanks to muscle memory. The curves of the outer circle were thankfully completely straight. Once I lit the candles, the runes I had traced in the earth in the blank spaces between the candle began to glow an almost sinister shade of red, a deeper crimson then blood.
I knew it was risky to experiment on one's self, but luckily I'm a vampire. I was able to track the bound woman in the pentagram's center with ease. If this worked...it would mean a never ending source of blood for a vampire, all they'd need is a captive.
I made the first cut, a long gash on her left arm, from her elbow to her wrist, making her cry out in pain. The blood quickly flowed out of the artery in the arm. I had to fight the urge to sink my fangs in, I had to do this right.
Runic magic circles appeared in my palms as I manipulated her blood. The glow intensified from my hands and the runes in the ritual formation, bathing the secluded clearing in a red light that was so dark it was almost black. As I tried to push the blood back into her arm, and will her skin to stitch itself back up, I realized it was no use. I should have known that her own blood couldn't heal her, it was impossible. Her skin paled as the blood drained from her.
I heard the snap of a twig and spun around, just in time to catch a glint of silver in the moonlight and step aside as a silver crossbow bolt embedded itself in a tree behind me with a thunk. | 2022-11-21T12:12:39 | 2022-11-21T07:38:44 | 25 | 14 |
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity. | The first time I met her, it was after hours in some 24-hour diner near Union Square in San Francisco. I was in town for a tech conference, and very, very drunk. She was also in town for work, "some PR/Marketing BS," as she put it.
She's told me that I was charming that night. I showed her pictures of my dog on my phone. I tried to do a magic trick, where I proceeded to spill coffee all over the counter and the sleeves of her top. Mortified, I got up to leave, but then, in a move I would have never made sober, I wrote my number on a napkin, and told her if she ever came to Seattle, hit me up and I'd buy her a drink to replace the one I'd spilled.
I was confused a few weeks later when I got a text from an unknown number. She was in town with a free night, and wanted to take me up on that drink. I decided I could take a night off from Counterstrike and Call of Duty to play tour guide.
Have you ever met someone for the first time, and just clicked immediately? The night is almost a blur - we talked and laughed all night. I couldn't believe how I could have so much to talk about with someone I'd just met - it was like we'd known each other for years. It was the scariest moment of my life at the end of the night when I invited her back to my apartment, and then the most exhilarating when she said yes. She left early, kissing me on the cheek, whispering she had a plane to catch. I groggily offered to drive her to the airport, but she smiled and told me she already had a car coming for her.
We talked often - sometimes just leaving our phones on while we did our own thing. I would give her hilarious play by play of my hopeless attempts to play COD, she would laugh and call me her clueless soldier while tapping away on her keyboard - humming to herself as she worked. She was always working. We met up a few other times - when she was here for business, and once I had a long layover in Nashville, so she met me at the airport, just to say hi and have coffee with me.
I'm in IT and I see people's eyes glaze over when I start talking about work, so I never pressed it when she didn't want to talk about her job. I knew, living in Nashville, that it had something to do with the music industry. I knew she traveled a lot, almost every week. And she knew people everywhere - it seemed like every time we were out, she'd bump into someone who stopped her to say hi. She would always ask them what they were listening to, what their favorite songs were, collecting more PR/Marketing BS data, she'd tell me afterwards.
It was a few months later when we were comparing travel schedules when we realized we were both going to be in Vegas at the same time - another tech conference for me, another PR BS thing for her.
"Hey," she said, "do you want to come with me to the award ceremony? They're long and boring, I could use some company." Of course I jumped at the chance to spend time with her. "It's a formal thing, but I'll expense your tux rental. I'll pick you up at 7pm."
My company once did a casino night where we all dressed up and had limos pick us up, so I was only surprised for a moment when she pulled up in a long Hummer limo. I recovered quickly and played it cool. This would be fun!
I was not able to recover when we pulled up to T-Mobile Arena and a mass of cameras and reporters waiting for us. "Welcome to PR/Marketing BS" she said as she gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. Someone outside opened the limo door and whisked us on to a long, red carpet leading into the arena, and I was blinded by the flashbulbs and lights that hit us immediately. I could just make out part of some announcer "….Country Music's hottest rising star, she recently reached number one with her single Clueless Soldier, a tribute to all our troops in the Middle East…"
The rest was drowned out by the cheers. She gave my hand another squeeze.
| "I'll be at your Door at 4 sharp"
"Leila, you know I'm always on time" I said with as lovely a voice I could.
With a cute kiss over the phone, She hung up.
Who would've known that the Depressed and Broken lady on the public bus was the Lady destined to my dreams. Perfect for me, inside out. Purest of souls and softest of hearts. She made me understand what love actually is.
She finally decided to introduce me to her workplace. She said she works in the Music Industry, but doesn't like talking about it, and being the type of person I was, I didn't insist on her telling me.
Cut to the point, 3.55, I was out there expecting her to come in the Taxi, but the lonely road was indeed lonely. At exactly 3.58, I saw a silhouette of a car, but it wasn't a cab, so I didn't bother looking up. But when that Range Rover pulled up Infront of me, with the Lady of My Dreams in the Loveliest of dresses, I knew she was on time.
As surprised as I was, She looked confident, and refused to say anything other than one sentence.
"Jason, You wanted to know who I am. This is me."
Me being calm, didn't insist. Again.
The next thing we know, we are at the spot I have always seen merely in the Television. The Car comes to a pull, and I look around to see thousands of people Roaring around the Red Carpet, that lead to the Ball.
Being the Gentleman, I opened the door for my Lady, despite the fact that my Insides were shaking out of Nervousness. She came out Glamorously, and when the light of the camera Flashes hit her Face, I finally started to make sense of it.
The Lady who happened to need help in the public bus wasn't an everyday person. She was Leila Lovicich. The singer whose songs filled my Playlist.
No wonder she kept telling me to start watching Music Videos instead of merely having the songs in the Phone.
Snap back to the present, we were walking Arm in Arm, with the sounds of clicks and Screams for autographs. I felt Numb. Not sure if I was shocked or Nervous.
Then, at the end of the carpet, she looked at me and I heard her say
"Still love your Playlist?"
With no control over myself, I leapt onto her, and Kissed her, Only to find her kissing me back...
And Kids, That's how I met your Mom. | 2017-06-14T10:24:26 | 2017-06-14T07:58:26 | 976 | 195 |
[WP] You're an immortal being of a unimaginable power, befriended by a young human. The human has made you a member of his family, and has made you promise not to destroy the world. But this morning, someone killed your human.
My first writing post - hopefully its not a copy or breaking rules.
| Forty-three years. That’s all I got with her. I’ve seen empire rise and collapse, I’ve seen the world drown in flood water and flowers grow when it receded millenniums later. Forty-three years wasn’t enough time for a heartbeat and yet, that’s all the world gave me. That’s all Sasha had.
She had approached me at the height of my power when a single one of my black wings could block out the sun. And unlike any human before her, she neither ran nor screamed. Instead, she looked up toward me, her lips quivering and knees trembling, but her scarlet eyes unwavering.
“Lucifer,” she had demanded. “I want to make a deal.”
A great many men had wanted to make deals with me. Some noble, most selfish. But she had been the first to deal for my sake. Whereas humans had avoided me like the Black Death I had created, she had asked I remain with her until her death.
“That could be right now,” I had told her, my lips curled into a sinister grin.
But she had only shrugged. “Then you’ll be missing out.”
“On what?”
And with a predatory grin, she had answered, “me.”
Never before had I met a human with such confidence. My heart had skipped as I stared into her eyes, looking for signs of weakness. She had wielded a certainty that even the most powerful being on Earth could not claim.
Now she laid in our bed, a beeping heart machine singing increasingly slower notes. Years ago her skin had lost its smooth complexion like someone had taken it and crumpled it up before returning it to her. She had lost her youthful skip and even getting up to use the restroom left her out of breath. The only thing that remained were those unwavering red eyes.
“You don’t have to do this,” I told her, holding back the waterworks. Fallen angels had no business crying. “Please, a few more years, just one or two. Please!” Nor did they begging. My eyes teared up.
Sasha smiled back and shook her head. “I’m scared of death,” she told me. “But I’ve always faced my fears head on. How do you think I met you?”
“It wouldn’t take anything,” I told her. “I could give you a million years.”
“And I wouldn’t want them.”
I clenched my fists and black flames sprouted from my palms. “Why Sasha?” I squeaked. “Why won’t you stay with me?”
“Because I love you,” she whispered.
“Don’t give me that bullshit!” I screamed back in a baritone voice I hadn’t used in forty-three years. “If you loved me—”
“Quiet.”
I shut up.
A fragile smile broke her lips. “I’ve never run away from anything before and I won’t run away from this. If I started avoiding all the things I feared, I wouldn’t be me. Would you still want me?”
The flames in my hand simmered to smoke.
“The world’s scared of me dying too,” she said, nodding out the window to the line of tanks surrounding our house. “They think it’s the only thing keeping you from them."
They were right to be scared. Before I met Sasha, I had nearly wiped them out.
"If I could," she continued, "I’d make you swear not to hurt them no matter what. But life belongs to the living. I won’t have you live for my memory. Forty years, to you, must be a single breath’s worth of time. I’ve only known you for a single breath, but I trust you, Lucy.”
A choked laugh escaped me. Lucy. Had anyone else called me that, I'd spawn flames from inside their body. But my laughs were short-lived, replaced by tears swelling in my eyes. Despite my best efforts, they leaked out and for the first time in my life, I uttered a pathetic cry followed by an even more pathetic wail. “I’m scared,” I admitted. “What do I do now?”
“You did just fine without me before,” she whispered. Even conversation had begun to drain her strength. “Do something that makes you happy.”
I tried responding, but couldn't push the words out. Truth was, that’s what I’ve been trying to do for all my existence. I had experienced every vice and pleasure in the world. Yet, none did the trick. Not like Sasha had.
“I can feel it,” she muttered in barely a whisper. “It’s coming.”
She was right. I could see her life spilling from her body. I had only a few minutes left.
A crack sounded. The house exploded in a ball of fire that incinerated everything it touched. Forty years of reducing my power to that of a human had left me slow to react. I just stood inside it, wide-eyed and jaw gaped.
“Sasha?” But I already knew there’d be no answer.
The world had certainly been scared, so much so that they had launched a pre-emptive strike.
Black flames sprouted from all around me. I just stood there, staring at the spot of vapor that used to be her.
I had only minutes left. To an immortal, those were shorter than a blink. But those were the only minutes I ever cared for. My dark wings unfurled.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 5+ stories a week and nearly 200 already written!
| Ever since I was aware of my existence and power, I had felt unloved. Attempting to make friends with any human had left them cowering in fear, despite me trying to explain that I was friendly, that I meant them no harm. Millennia of this and I was still trying, attempting to make a connection. But then I felt myself not trying as hard anymore. When they would reject me, instead of simply leaving them be as I used to, I would scream a deafening scream. I would threaten to make them wish they were never born, and so they ran away, praying to God to save them from this monster.
But there was only me.
This hatred for life deepened and deepened, making me dream of watching the world burn. Perhaps that would finally give me some form of satisfaction.
And then I met him.
He was the one who actually listened to me for once. The one that actually made me feel *loved.* He listened to me rant about my problems and my hatred for the human race. He finally gave me a shoulder to cry on. And then he took me in. He made me a member of his family, but not before he made me promise to not destroy the world.
"There is still good in this world. I know, a lot of people can be shitty, but if you were to destroy the world, then all of those innocent and good and amazing people would just be *gone*."
"Amazing like you?"
He laughed a bit, and smiled. "Yeah, amazing like me."
"I promise."
***
That was just three years ago. It's such a minuscule amount of time, but it was the best three years of my life. I swore that I would spend the rest of his life with him, and I did.
And then one morning, I sensed that something was wrong with him, and so I immediately came to him, to come face-to-face with his corpse. I kneeled, and held him in my arms. He had been shot in the head. Not even with my immense powers could I save him from death. I looked up to see a man running away from the body, holding a gun. I raised my arm and blasted him, vaporizing him instantly. I turned my attention back to the corpse that had once been my best friend, and I did the only thing I could do: I wept.
***
For weeks after, I was filled with fury, the kind of fury that I had never felt before. I was mad at that one man, mad at the *world* for taking my best friend and only friend away. I contemplated finally ending humanity's miserable existence every day, but every time I did, I remembered the promise that I made to him. And while I was still full of rage, I didn't go against his wishes. I could at least give him that.
They say that an immortal cannot be killed, and that is mostly true, but not completely. The only thing that can kill an immortal is itself. And I'm not sure how I know this, I only know that I do know this. I have known it ever since I have known myself. Ever since I was aware of the universe around me.
If I stay here any longer, I can not guarantee the world's survival. I can not guarantee that I am able to hold myself back any longer.
So that is why I must go. Matt, I know you're not really there. I know that there is nothing beyond here, and that I am simply talking to myself, but I needed to share this with you. I needed to talk to you one last time, even if you aren't actually on the receiving end.
Goodbye, Matt. I love you. | 2017-08-10T13:12:40 | 2017-08-10T12:30:33 | 2,292 | 888 |
[WP] You can taste lies. One day your friend is comforting you after a tough night and you almost vomit at the foul taste as you hear her say "After all, you're only human." | "After all, you're only human," She said to me, rubbing my back as she held my hair.
I puked once more into the toilet.
"That's it, just let it all out," she continued to rub my back.
No, that was not the same. The feeling of nausea from the night of alcohol was still present and was distinct. Distinct from a lie. She had just lied to me.
_After all, you're only human_
She lied in that sentence. Where was the lie? How did she lie in _that_ sentence? It wasn't on accuracy that I felt the sickness. A flat earther could spew all kinds of gibberish at me all day and I wouldn't feel even a tinge of sourness in my mouth, as long as they believed what they were saying. But this sentence. This sentence tasted like the foulest of them all.
The strongest lie I was ever told was by my mother when I was 8. We were hiding in the bathroom as her recent ex-boyfriend decided to pay us a visit. A 'final visit' as he called it. The stench of alcohol wafting off him was substantial enough to be smelt through the door and the repeated banging had me crying and my mother desperate to console me.
"Everything is going to be ok," she had tried to console me. The taste was unbearable. The lie, a white one to be fair, was so strong, the disbelief in her own words so great, that I could barely hold in my stomach. The fear might have helped me hold it together, but that lie paled in comparison to this. This lie, _you're only human_, pushed me beyond anything I had ever experienced.
I turned my head and looked at her face, her calm, smiling face. She was my closest friend, since childhood we had played in gardens and fields, always by my side, always there when I needed her.
When I fell and broke my leg learning how to ride a bike, she was there. When I flew to Italy for my student exchange, she was there. When I got sick and needed the special surgery, she came with me all the way across the country and held my hand as I went under the knife.
I continued staring at her face and gave no attention to my own expression. She held her smile for a moment but it soon began to dissolve. Fear slowly overtook her face as she dropped my hair, her hand leaving my back.
"Fuck," she muttered before pulling her naked wrist up to her mouth, "she's aware."
"Aware of what?" I asked in an inquisitive but aggressive tone.
"I fucked up. She detected my lie," she said again into her wrist as she stood up and backed away from me.
"Why was saying I am a human a lie?" I asked, anger rising inside me, rising with me as I stood up.
"Shut her down!" she yelled once more into her wrist.
"What the hell does that mean!" I screamed as my anger suddenly faded, and my world went black.
---
More of my stories at /r/SupremeStories! | I was shocked. How could it be? After all this time.....I didn’t know what to do so I ran. What else could I do? I ran as far as I could and ended up in some hell forsaken forest. I just needed time to think. I sat on the edge of a broken and twisted tree, trying to regain my thoughts. Then it hit me, I need to figure out what I am and what I am doing here. That means I needed to go back. I though up some half assed excuse as to why I ran and started my journey back. However for some reason I couldn’t leave the forest it was pulling me closer chanting the words: DVOH DVOH DVOH. I could barely usher a scream before I was pulled up and instantly knocked out. I awoke in a cold, brightly lit laboratory. As I tried to pull my head up, I noticed I can’t move.
A voice told me to stay and not move.
He said that I wasn’t real
He said I was a genetically engineered bot.
He said that my life long friend Nancy, the one who told me that lie, was just a bot named friEND bot 2000
It was then as they injected that purple liquid into my veins, I realized my true purpose.
My true purpose, was to kill.
Hey guys, I don’t normally write and this was my first time! If you want more of my writing or something just tell me.
| 2018-05-12T05:39:11 | 2018-05-12T05:15:18 | 259 | 11 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?" | “You dare intrude into my systems for a mere joke!?” Kraven snapped. If the super computer wasn't so expensive he might have pooched a fist throrugh the monitor right then and there. “Don’t you have a large building to leap or a locomotive to run? Why spend your time pestering me!?”
The hero lowered he head and rubbed her hands together. She’d stop a moon sized meteor from deroying the earth, defeated the League of shadow, and even single handling put a stop to Captain Metallic. But now her hands were shaking.
“I-I know, I know this is—Awkward for me too, but...”—She paused and swallowed —“But you’re the only one I can ask...”
“Me!?” Kraven scoffed, He had never seen the hero like this, not standing proud and resolute as she always had in the past. Instead she looked like an ordinary girl. But he was to wise to fall for what ever trap this was.
“Why not ask that dainty reporter that's always following you around? Or one of the many member of that cult you call a ‘Fan club!’ I’m sure any one of them would be happy to escort you.”
“Well, well... that's because”
Kraven didn't need to hear her answer to know the truth. A vile grimace appeared on his face as he pierced together what was happening.
“MUHAHAHAH! I see it now!” he bellowed, “I knew that righteous veneer of yours was nothing more than a farce! You are just as underhanded as the rest of us!”
“Under handed?” she asked.
She tried to explain herself but he didn't give her a chance to speak
“You wish me to kill this EX-lover of yours no? You wish to watch his blood pool on the floor and enjoy the look on his loved ones faces as he breathes his last. You are truly vile! I’m almost impressed”
“What!? No! No killing!” She ordered. Regaining her heroic stance. “I don’t want you to kill him. Or anyone else at the wedding. I want you to...”
“Poison him?” Kraven interrupted.
“Crush his bones!?”
“Remove an appendage!?”
“NO! NO! NO! I don’t need you to do anything like that” the hero demanded. “I just need”—her voice became soft and smooth again—“I just need one impressive and cool that's all.
There was stunned silence. “It’s just... he’s got a new girlfriend... and a new job... But me... I’m just same boring old me. And there are no dating apps for hero's”
Kraven nodded his head. This was one thing heroes and villains had in common.
“I under stand now. But you still have not answer my question!” he said.
“I already told you! My ex is gonna be there and...”
“No,” he raised a hand, “why me of all people? your sworn enemy!.
“C’mon Kravy!” she smiled, “How long have we know each other now! We’ve had a lot of laughs haven’t we? Vargo, Lemond, that thing with the ducklings!”
“Speak not of the duckling!” Kraven growled slamming his fist on the wall. “We promised never to speak of the ducklings!”
“Look, you’re the only one I can count on!”—By the look on his face she could tell he wasn't convinced—“Sure we’ve had our differences but we’ve allways had each other back when it matter most!”
“I spared your life only to further my own plans! Do not mistake my evil genius for weakness or” His tongue stuck to the top of his moth as he tried to say the word. “Kin-d-ness!”
“Please!” She asked, “just think of all the intel you could did up at a party like this. Plus I hear there’s gonna be free fondue and even those little brownies you’re always stealing from the barker on 3rd”
Kraven thought for a moment. “It’s not black tie is it?” | A short knock, followed by the door promptly being torn off its hinges. Damien yelped and jumped backwards
"In the name of fucking Azgoroth what on earth?!"
His long-time nemesis, Ichor the blood dancer, stood in the doorway. Clearly embarrassed.
"Oh, sorry about the door; you just didn't answer."
"Maybe you should've given me more time to answer? What on earth are you even doing here?!" The Trigomancer crossed his arms across his chest and looked at the other man. Ichor was what one would call an 'idol of masculinity'. He was a six foot two block of raw muscle, shallow scars crossed his dark skinned arms where he had let his own blood flow to enhance his combat ability, the trademark of the Blood Dancers of Plu. Ichor had messy black hair with reddish highlights that he kept in a bun constantly, and red eyes to match. His greatsword, if one could even call it a greatsword, was slung over his shoulder, and despite its weight he carried it as if it weighed nothing.
Damien, by contrast was a short and slender man with what could be described as a low center of gravity. He was pale skinned and black haired. Had grey eyes that probed for answers, and definitely looked like a 'mage' type.
"You come in here and break down my door, you'd better have a damn good explanation for yourself, how did you even find me?"
Ichor smirked at that. "Scrying, you forgot to ward this month."
Damien sighed "oh, well that sounds like something I would do. So waht do you need?"
Ichor stepped inside and leaned the door against its frame "This is embarressing alright Damien, but I; uh... need a date to my friends wedding."
"Oh? Who's getting married?"
"Shatang." Said Ichor.
"So the lord and commander of the Armies of the Eye is tying the knot huh? With whom may I ask?"
"Era."
"Its about damned time." sighed Damien, but you said you needed a date; care to elaborate?"
"My Ex will be there and- and I need a date."
"Well, well, well. Ichor, Son of Dahn; the prodigy Blood Dancer. I didn't know you swung this way. Has Plu finally shaken off its archaic traditions?"
"If you want to talk about Archaic Traditions, why don't you take a quick trip up to the Xorvlogoth War Kingdom and ask them about tradition? Better yet; go to the northern continent and ask the Wengdang about their traditions!"
Damien laughed softly "Oh calm down, I'll go as your 'date'."
"You will?"
"I will." Said Damien with a note of finality "And I'll make it look fucking amazing. But, I'm going to require something in return." The Trigomacer stepped close to Ichor, tracing his slender fingers in triangular patterns across Ichors half bare chest.
"Hmmm, I'll think of something eventually." | 2022-10-06T20:20:48 | 2022-10-06T20:19:32 | 117 | 39 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | "Hey! That's the guy that killed my cousin! Pull over!"
*Here it comes again,* I thought to myself. I turned to face my attacker. The third in as many days. Some punk with a third-rate powerset. Probably born since the District was walled off.
I sized him up. No obvious indicators of his power. Nothing obvious on his clothes to indicate anything either.
"You're nothin'! you hear me!? Nothin'!"
I ignored him and walked closer for a better look. He pulled a gun out of his vest and shot me in the head.
---
"Hey! That's the guy that killed my cousin! Pull over!"
*Gun in the vest, go for that first. Either wants to show off his gun, or his power isn't a combat power.*
"You're noth- huh?" I cut him off as I pulled the gun out of the vest. Biometrically locked. Useless to me. I tossed it aside. I examined his response. Too stupid to be surprised that I knew he had a gun. Not surprising, I suppose. He wound up for a haymaker. I watched for any giveaways. Nothing off about his stance, no glowing motes or strange noises. I braced my self for impact, making no effort to dodge. Predictably, it knocked my head clean off.
---
*Gun in vest, something that acts like super strength, maybe kinetic manipulation?*
"Hey! That's th-" I cut him off with a thrown chunk of debris. No reaction whatsoever.
"You're dead, you piece of shit! I'll fuckin pick my teeth with your bones!" Curious. Altered dietary requirements, or just a threat? I couldn't smell anything odd on his breath, and all his teeth looked standard issue. Probably just a threat.
I go for his gun, just like last time, and throw it away. He winds up for a haymaker, which ends up being too slow to hit me. I take an experimental punch. The relatively light jab does nothing to him, but breaks my arm. *call it kinetic manipulation then.*
His next attack crushes my ribcage.
---
I reset to before his car comes around the corner and look around my environment. There's no such thing as invincible. Honestly, simple immunity to physical harm is one of the least annoying powers to deal with. Someone seemingly invulnerable might be vulnerable to poison, or radiation, or maybe just still needs to breathe. That'll do, right there. If his only power is contact-range crude kinetic manipulation, this can of... aerosol brake cleaner should do the trick. I look on the warning label. It's an older product, which usually means more poisonous. An entire half of the can dedicated to warnings not to ingest or expose to eyes. Good.
"Hey! That's the guy that killed my cousin! Pull over!"
He steps out of the car.
"You're nothin'! you hear me!? Nothin'!"
I duck toward him and retrieve his gun. He grabs for me, an attack I easily dodge. I raise the can to his face and press the trigger. He screams as the chemicals contact his soft tissues. I don't think it'll kill him but... I take an experimental kick at his side as he writhes on the ground. No reaction. Means he needs to be able to concentrate. I drag him over to the edge of the sidewalk while his driver looks on in horror. I take his head and slam his open mouth down on the curb twice. He stops moving.
It's all over too quickly for a real crowd to gather, but the driver and the little old lady crossing the street stare, wide-eyed. I don't think anyone has ever guessed what my power lets me do. Fine by me. They're welcome to keep coming. They'll run out of challengers long before I get tired of destroying them. | *Number 1 -- ranked number 1 for 20 consecutive years today, and nobody has even come close to usurping me. Do you know why? Because while all the powerless, scum-dwelling peasants are fighting each other with knives for scraps, and those of the middle and upper classes are all tearing each other apart to rise through the ranks, I am in a class of my own. The truth is, my power is the weakest, least extravagant power imaginable. But, it is also the most powerful. My power is subtle, discrete, and soft-spoken. Nobody knows what it is, and it is because of that discretion that I have grown so great. For 20 years, I have been number 1 for one reason. Belief. I have the power of mass, psychic hypnotism. For 20 years, the people of this city have believed the lie that I am God incarnate because I have thrust it upon their conscious minds. And so too they believe the greatest lie this city maintains -- that the list exists at all.*
*They worship me. I am an idol and an icon, and those who have been reduced to icons have been exalted beyond humanity. In other words, no one dares touch me. I am naked. Here I stand with no armor in the midst a field of warring titans, and yet I have been unscathed all this time.*
*The power of belief is as strong and permanent as any iron, if not stronger. The motto I have made -- and made well-known -- for this city is "Strong as Iron." They believe it is about them. But underneath, on the hidden layer they cannot see, it is about the only that matters. It is about me. The holder of the key to faith. The rope that holds the cargo in place. The iron that is stronger than iron.*
These were the final thoughts of the monarch before they captured him. Before they raided his office and dismantled 20 years of a rock-solid faith. Before they tied him to a post with rifles to his face. Those were his final thoughts. And these were his final words: "how did you know?"
And the people replied: "even iron can melt."
| 2014-12-18T13:17:44 | 2014-12-18T11:44:55 | 1,338 | 68 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | What was so unsettling was the *detail*.
He scribbled down the woman's death in his battered little book.
"Blunt forced trauma: Swelling of the cranial tissues: Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death."
Medication did nothing. His doctors informed him it was quite an unusual delusion. He'd asked how they were always right. They'd informed him that his delusion just adapted to what happened after the fact. His memories were somehow part of it all. Brains could be fucked up.
Still, it always ended the same way. Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death.
They were delicate little things. We are delicate little things.
He would have told people, so they could corroborate him. But that wasn't often the best way to keep friends, and he wasn't very good at the whole friends thing even if he wasn't asking them to remember lists of how people were going to die.
The natural conclusion was to write it down.
He gazed around the train's carriage and picked out another. There wasn't much point of course, he didn't know these people. He couldn't use them to prove himself when they died. He wouldn't know if they did. Still... It had grown into a habit. It helped him forget, once it was recorded.
"Severed femoral artery: Loss of blood: Cardiac arrest. Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Annother violent one. Usually there were a few cancers, spontaneous Cardiac arrests or strokes. He'd found an overall 12.3% chance of "accidental" death. He turned in his seat to glance back down the rows of people.
"Crushed Chest: Asphyxiation: Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Another. More Blunt force. Annother severed artery. Burns...
Everyone in this carriage. Every single...
*Oh.*
The train lurched. Jolted. His head cracked into the side. Trains shouldn't move sideways. The was a squeal of metal on metal drowned out the screams.
For a moment up and down were interchangeable. Cans, cups of coffee, bags of luggage and twisted figures were flung into the air and slammed into the wall in an explosion of movement.
He saw as the window burst inwards and a shapeless mass of steel slammed into him.
Huh. So it was one of those.
Didn't really hurt. But then, he'd never expected it to. Never sounded like it hurt.
He could feel the blood pumping out, warm down his side as the dust settled in a sudden eerie silence. His breath caught, fast and shallow. Which first, the blood or the air? Same thing in the end.
Lack of oxygen to the brain.
He could feel himself slipping away.
Death.
| Our world has changed. With time travel comes death predictions. A technical engineer working alone in a garage created a "portal"in time just powerful enough to transfer technology, like cameras, microphones, and storage devices. The revolutioniser created a way of predicting death, but could only take down what happened, and not when due to storage limitations.
As I walk down the street, I begin finding patterns. First, I find an unlikely amount of people die of stress. Weird, but it happens I guess. I just kinda shrugged it off at first.
But then something very weird happened on the bus. The person next to me, a young Asian girl that was innocently talking about her biology homework, had changed her C.O.D from "Car crash" to "Suicide". I don't know how she did it, but it just... Well, popped into another word with an audible noise. The same noise began almost immediately in the city center, and everywhere the same word would hover over people's heads...
"World War Fallout"
***
Thanks, this is bad I know but it's very late, and I'm on mobile, so I will fix it up on my PC tomorrow :D | 2015-03-31T11:46:09 | 2015-03-31T07:50:48 | 71 | 21 |
[WP] The Galaxy is full of cute, fluffy, peaceful little aliens. Unfortunately, they all find humans terrifying, nightmarishly disgusting and or unfathomably evil by their standards. It's a problem, but Humanity's desire to pet everything has always triumphed. | Te’ari stood up on her most hind legs, shifting her hip structure to stand upright. She looked up to the darkening teal sky fearfully before looking back at her mother. “Ama’e? Are they coming here?”
Her mother looked down at her from where she was curled up on her sentry platform. Te’ari’s middle limbs were twining together anxiously across her midsection while her forelimbs fluttered around uselessly, looking for something to do. “Yes, my beloved. They are coming here. We have volunteered for the peace tribute they demanded.”
Te’ari’s huge eyes filled with fear, her velvet covered ears flicking back and forth as she tried to listen in all directions at once. “But what if it hurts?” she wailed, fear pheromones pouring off her.
Struggling for calm, her Ama’e answered, “You are a child, you are exempt. If you wish to hide in the back of the den, best to get there quickly, but you can go.”
Mastering herself, the youngster replied, “No. I don’t want to leave you and Aba’e alone. I’m big enough to help.”
Just then the vast strange shapes heaved up over the horizon. “Hey, I found em!” boomed out, ripping thunder to Te’ari’s sensitive ears. She made herself freeze, stilled the instinct to bite, as a huge radial limb descended to scoop her up. She would be brave for her family, her clan. She would create peace.
Her eyes had squeezed shut on instinct, as if blindness would stop death. Her ears picked up the great rumbling sound, thump THUMP, thump THUMP. She opened her eyes to see that she was being held in the thing’s forelimbs, against its chest. Looking up, she saw a pair of liquid brown eyes, the same color as hers, looking back down. Unexpected empathy poured out of those eyes, hit her in the deepest part of her social being. She felt her own heartbeat slowing to match, her breathing calming. “Hey, hey, it’s ok,” the giant crooned. “Are you a kid? Should I put you down? I don’t want to hurt you.”
Te’ari didn’t understand the words, but suddenly she knew that for as huge as these things were, as ugly and hairless and loud, they knew what kindness was. They wanted peace too. She snuggled back down trusting in the human’s hands, fear draining away, starting to family bond. | "Can you believe it? Those creeps. I just don't see the need to go and run their greasy little fingers through the fur of every single living creature in existence. Was traumatizing their cats and dogs not enough?"
"Be quiet Roger, they'll hear you"
"So what, let them hear me. It's the same thing year after year. Ever since the revelation of extra-terrestrial life forms was released, private companies have done nothing but monetize and monopolize the touching zoo industry. These aren't animals. I'm tired of staying quiet out of fear. My friends and family be damned if I don't manage to do something about this."
Just then, an International Galactic Enforcement Officer (IGEO for short) walked by. All I could do was put my head down in shame. But I could feel the tension building up inside of me. I know what had to be done. This was the day that everything changed. | 2022-02-03T10:43:31 | 2022-02-03T07:35:55 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] Scandinavians still believe the only way to get to Valhalla is to die in battle. For that reason, every hospital employs a Battle Nurse. | The wheelchair clacked forward, it's valiant charged marred only by its pitiful speed as Mr Ericsson painstakingly wheeled it onward, one armed and breathless. The sword on his lap was polished and shining, reflecting the red afternoon sun as it passed every window.
Thinking back, it was lucky the accident hadn't killed him outright, that he could take this final charge at all. It had come so fast, he'd been on his bike when the car sped through the corner and knocked him off the cliff, suddenly he'd landed on a rocky outcropping, broke both his legs, an arm and pierced his lungs in three places a piece.
The nervous orderly, clad in the regulation nursing plate armour began to take aim at the battered, bruised and breathless man dressed in bandages and and a hospital gown wheeling himself to glory. A bout of misplaced conscience later and she'd lowered the gun once more, her quarry hadn't passed even halfway through the dueling Hall.
This cripples tiring charge was long and arduous, the hall was only the length of a bus, but it was far from short to the disabled man, his heart was racing, pounding harder than it ever had.
His prognosis was worse than just the damage from the fall, the x-ray had revealed cancer, spread already through to the liver, left lung and brain, they said it was too late, the tumor in the back of his mind would kill him all the same should they heal his other wounds. His charge was coming to an end, just barely in range for the very tip of his sword to scratch the nurses plate steel, as he lifted it he saw the barrel of the rifle trained on him, a cruel circle of metal surrounding a horrifying black void, suddenly terrified a pain in his chest rang out, the sword dropped from his hand to the floor.
The nurse was dumbfounded, removing her medic-bascinet as the orderly ran into the hall, her weapon had not been fired, the man had slumped over in his chair and stopped breathing, as the orderly checked for a pulse, for breathing and found none the nurse turned on the underslung torch on her rifle, and checked for pupil dilation, the man had died, a heart attack before his first swing had ended the fight before he could try to win his glory "does that count? The orderly asked the nurse as the nurse still stared in disbelief "Well, does it?" she repeated to no answer.
The gates of valhalla where so close. As the click-clack of the old wheelchair wheeled slowly up to the foot of the many stairs to the great hall Mr Ericsson sighed, one of its bearded guards spotted him and shouted to him in some unknown tongue, and again to no avail. The giant of a man sauntered down the long stairs in his own time, his gambeson decorated with ornate stitchings, a large tree a snake and a half dozen horns of mead, his golden beard swaying in the warm breeze.
The guard had repeated what he had been shouting, but seeing the confused look on the man in front of him switched language "sorry, old habits, you don't need to worry about that small chariot, your ills are healed"
"So, your last battle, how many did you take with you?!" Ericsson was a poor liar, "t-twelve?" he nervously said as he stood up to the grinning guard as he began to speak again"we saw the whole thing, don't you worry, its the charge that counts, and you charged longer than most would!"
The viking pointed at the other guard at the top of the stairs as they climbed "that man was known as Bjorn Arrowcatcher, he was know for going raiding without a shield, relying on his own hand to bat away arrows, he died whilst swimming back to shore after his fishing boat had sprung a leak, if he'd seen it as a fools errand like a coward he'd be in Hel right now"
The viking stopped and grabbed his new drinking buddy on the stairs, turning him so they faced eachother "it was never about being cut down by some angry bastard, its about the bravery and tenacity to keep going"
|
Godmorgon Göran Svensson, My voice flutter in perfect Swedish. As your terminal and marked in our records as a Asa believer, I am here to help you prepare your self the battle. Göran scoffed, give me a battle with a Dane and I shall be happy. I smiled, that exact feeling the animosity between Swedes and Danes was why it was so easy. We built our House of valour down in Skåne in Malmö the countrys third largest town. Our danish counter parts built there as a Anex to the Rigshospitalet in its capital.
So our fighters was literally living only stone throw away from each other. The place for the battle royal was also perfect.
Peppar holmen. The artificial island between our two countries. Where the bridge become a tunnel.
We built two side tracks to the island filled it with cameras and a announcement tower. As a side effect the amount of traffic across the toll bridge have jumped by over 1000%. If you want to see the battlefield this is the best way to see it.
But enough of the battlefield, I leaned over Göran and said, vilket vapen vill du ha?( do you got any weapon preferences?)
He became red faced and yelled I supply my own spear, shield, sword and chain mail thank you. I nodded while marking the box on the paper. So in three days you will be taken to the island, it is no shame of standing tall as a winner for Sweden. You will get more Danes to slaughter. Remember fight well, die well and The Valkyrie will come and bring you to Valhalla.
Three days later I was watching the monitors as Göran was strapping on his armor, heavily breathing looking pale in the face. He stepped on to the Valhalla train looking around him he saw his likes men of age painted in blue and yellow battle colors ready them self for battle. And elderly man he know was sobbing in a corner. Göran askes Arvid, vad felas dig?(what troubles you?). I’m incontinent, do you think they still will fetch me or am I doomed to go to Hel? I smirked that was the most common question I hear. Train came to a stop doors open the Swedish combatants stepped up on the platform yelling there name. Then the Danish train came in and there combatants entered doing the same on the red and white platform. Then the mayhem started, all on prime tv and to the cheering of the crowed.
| 2018-12-08T22:56:08 | 2018-12-08T22:48:36 | 41 | 22 |
[WP] You have just been abducted by a UFO. While you are figuring out what just happened to to you, a frantic alien bursts into the room. "You have no idea how many rules I'm breaking, but my Human Studies final is tomorrow and I need help." | I stare at the alien blankly. They're human enough. Maybe with some stage makeup and a beanie they'd even pass for human.
"What?" I finally managed to croak out.
"C'mon man you heard me, I'm sorry I just need like, an hour of your help with this."
"What?" I repeat, hearing myself sound more puzzled than anxious. I feel stupidly calm, like the oddity of the situation had suddenly been replaced by the inconvenience of a classmate begging for help the night before an exam.
"I just need to pass this class, okay? I got a job lined up after class ends and if I fail, I can't graduate. C'mon, please help me."
I laugh out loud, the bark of a laugh echoing discordantly. The mood has changed again; it's suddenly overwhelmingly funny that my Space Invaders kidnapper is begging for my help.
They frown when I giggle again, unable to contain myself.
"It's not funny!! I'm going to fail!!"
They sound more anxious than angry.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I say, wiping tears of laughter off my face. "It's just so fucking weird."
They frown again.
"Homework is weird? Helping me out is weird??"
I struggle to contain my laughter again.
"No dude, the abduction is weird, obviously. You took me from my bed, at night, into space, to beg me to do your homework?"
"Space? What?"
My confusion morphs into fear.
"Where are we?" I ask seriously.
"Earth. This is just like, my house."
"You have a creepy abduction room in your *house*??"
"Oh, no, this is the basement. My parents don't want to finish it because then my grandma would want to move in and that's a whole thing, ya know?"
I look around, and my immediate assumptions about the space are wrong. I had barely thought about my surroundings. The table was metal, and the shelves, but the walls weren't, and the floor was concrete. It was a weird room, but not an alien one. This is getting more bizarre by the second.
"So... you gonna help me or what?"
"You're not an alien then?"
They sigh loudly. They've gotten this question before, probably from the last rando they abducted to their basement for no real reason.
"Yes, I'm an alien. Yes, I live on Earth. No, My parents don't know. Yes, aliens do weird sex stuff. Can you please help me now?"
I sigh.
"Fine. Then can I leave?"
"I mean, you can leave whenever... door's unlocked," they gesture.
I get up. Stop. Turn to the door. Stop. Rage at my kidnapper swells suddenly. I don't want to leave until I understand *why*.
I turn around suddenly.
"You bitch! Who are you?" I lunge across the table at them, unsure what I'm going to do but too angry and confused to be still.
They turn away and put their hands up defensively - they're not here for a fight. I grab their hair and pull their face toward me.
Suddenly, their face changes. Not much, but just enough. I stare at myself, and she stares back at me. I hear myself gasp, my own mouth making the sounds, and I'm frozen. I want to run, but I can't.
They change again. Sarah, from my lit class. Then Toby, another classmate. Then Laurel, Dr. Keiger, Professor Besser, until they're changing so fast their face looks as it had, a mix of human faces resembling everyone and no one until an identity is picked.
"See?"
"Too much," I manage, muttering. "Who are you, really? If you look like everybody how can I ever know?"
"Well, how do you know who you are?", they ask.
"Um. I guess I'm not sure. I've never thought about it," I say. I sound calm, and I suppose I am. At some point, the onslaught of increasingly bizarre and terrifying new information turned into an overwhelming numbness, a detachment from a reality that couldn't, didn't exist 10 minutes ago.
"Are you just your body?"
"Not really, I don't think. I mean, I hope not," I say, gesturing vaguely at myself.
"You don't like your body?"
"I mean, no one does, right? Like, everyone wants to change something about themselves."
"Then who are you, if not your body?"
"Why are you asking?"
"You're scared of me now. You weren't before you saw me shift. I can tell. Why?"
"I don't know exactly. I guess the thought of one person being able to be anyone is scary. Like I can't know who you are if you look like someone else."
"Is that not sad to you?"
"What?"
"If something happened to one's body, they would disappear to you. Be replaced by the new body, a whole new person."
"No they wouldn't. I mean. Sort of. I don't know. What are you even asking? Didn't you want help or something?"
"You've helped plenty."
My blood runs cold, and the world goes black. | Ren blinked at the announcement.
A few minutes prior, ahe6 had been sitting at her computer, trying to finish dinner. And now?
Inside an alien spaceship helping some type of teenager with a school assignment. Ren hoped that it would be a few questions that could be verbally answered, but…
The hostile nature of the sudden abduction made that option questionable. There was simply no telling what was about to happen.
"Please?" another announcement came. There was panic in the alien's voice. Ren knew nothing at all about the type of creature was on the other side, but it sounded like *a lot of panic.*
She cleared her throat as her eyes darted around the room she was in. Metal all around her. No windows, no electronic panels, no tables to strap her down onto. "Wha-" her voice caught in her throat.
"What can I do?"
She really didn't want to ask the question, and she was nervous to know what the answer was. Nervous enough that her stomach was creating a lead ball, and her heart was starting to race inside her chest. While she waited for a response, she stood up and started to move around the room.
She reached a far side, and her fingers grazed a seam along the metal pieces.
"What language do you speak?"
Ren startled, pulling her hand back to her body.
After a beat, she processed the question but wasn't sure how to answer. Especially given that her abductor had just...spoken it. She looked around for a speaker but didn't find anything recognizable as one.
"Me?" she asked.
There was silence again, and she started moving again. Her eyes were tracing the seam she had found, and she followed it around the hexagonal space. Up and down the wall, there only seemed to be the one.
"Humans," they answered through the hidden speakers.
The answer wasn't helpful. A few more steps and Ren had done a full lap around her little…
Prison.
She flinched as she thought the word.
"Humans speak a lot of languages," she answered, hoping it was helpful.
More silence.
There were long silences between every response to her.
"That's not an option…"
Ren tilted her head to the side. "Option?"
She stood in the middle of the room, exploring the floor with the toe of her shoes. It looked like a grate, with a similar seam down the middle.
The spot shed come in through.
"I could get in so much trouble for this, but… I need you to show me."
Her stomach lurched into her throat, and she thought she might puke at hearing the words.
Seeing the alien, or monster, or psychopath sounded like it would result in one of the less appealing options, and she hoped she was somehow dreaming. Maybe she'd wake up when they appeared, and all of this would be over.
And she could finish her meal.
The seam of one metal panel slid apart, moving into the ceiling and floor, respectively. Her heart beat against her rib cage.
A thin wave of fog floated into the room, and a moment later, the panels closed. The seam hid the joint perfectly, she thought, waiting for the fog to clear, so she could meet her fate.
Moments passed slowly, and what felt like hours later, Ren blinked at what she saw.
As far as she could tell, she was staring at --
Herself.
***
For more by me check out r/beezus_writes
Check out r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and other authors! | 2021-01-22T08:55:54 | 2021-01-22T08:54:29 | 141 | 74 |
[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. | Death thumbed through his agenda, humming the latest song by Inertia Heaven, the latest boy band to explode onto the scene in England. It was a pretty short list that evening and almost every single person that met him had either lost their coin toss or bypassed it altogether. People were living longer than ever on Earth, and it seemed those extra long years was changing the way people approached the pact.
Except for one. *That* one.
"For fuck's sake...." Death's words were low as he saw that familiar name.
Henry.
Fucking Henry.
No sooner did he put his agenda down did the double doors fly open, having been kicked open by an elderly gentleman wearing a black tank top and board shorts.
"Death! I've missed you man! It's been, what, eighty years this time?"
"82 years, six months, four days...Henry. Get over here and let's get this shit done."
Henry laughed as he waltzed over to Death's desk, glancing around the huge office that overlooked the heavens.
"I like what you've done in here, Death! I remember last time it was pretty damn dreary in here."
Death rolled his eyes. Henry was his nemesis. This smug fuck came to him in the 16th Century and had been beating the coin toss ever since.
At first, it wasn't bad. He kept getting sent back and becoming famous for different reasons. He was doing good in the world! He went back once as an explorer and made many voyages across the Earth. He was also a big part of the United States forming as a representative. He was a big reason why cars became the rage in the 19th and 20th century!
Of course, he always went back as *Henry.* His ego couldn't drop that. Fucking *Henry* had to be stamped all over history.
Then he got tired of making history. He started doing the darker side of human history like be in a crime family in New York or rob people in Coventry, England.
Now? The asshole uses his prior knowledge to his advantage, gets as rich as he can early on in his life, and lives without rules. This had been going on for over a thousand years and Death was tired of it.
"Yeah, well, when you have a job for eternity, sometimes you need new decorations. I'd put your head over my mantle at this point and nothing would make me happier."
"Come on, Death, now that's just cold. It's not my fault you can't flip a coin once the right way."
Death's eyes narrowed. He wanted nothing more than to take his soul.
"You calling heads again, Henry?"
"You know how much I love heads! Get it? HEADS?"
"For fuck's sake, Henry. You've made that joke every time we've done this since the 16th Century. Let's just do this."
Henry finished laughing before nodding to Death. He flipped the coin in the air.
"HEADS!"
The coin landed on the ground.
*Heads. Because of course it was Heads.*
"Alright, Death! What's that new boy band going on down in England? Yeah, the one that needs a new singer?"
*Fucking hell.* That was all Death could say to himself.
"Inertia Heaven?"
"YEAH! That one. I think you can put me at their age and I'll find my way into that group. Cheers, Death! Don't lose your head over this!"
Death rolled his eyes harder than ever and tapped Henry on the head. He disappeared in a flash and Death walked back around to his chair in his desk. He continued to hum the song from before, praying that ol' Henry didn't pull it off. He loved boy band music, for whatever reason, as he picked up a magazine from London. He thumbed through it, glancing at a picture of his favorite band and suddenly laughing as he realized the lead singer's girlfriend was named Anne.
*That* Anne.
"If only Henry knew...he'd lose his head over it." | "Oh *good, you* again."
Death is meant to be an imposing figure. They look different for each person, for the culture you come from, for what represents your fears. I was never very imaginative, though, so I always thought of it as a skeleton in a cloak. Pretty scary the first time, but you'd expect them to change it up after death 400.
"You know, statistically, you're only supposed to get like, one extra shot? Two if you're lucky?"
"Yeah, yeah, chill, Reaper. I think this is my last time checking in."
Death presents the coin, as they have so many times before, and lays it on the stark white table in the center of the room. Though it's less like a room, and more like a void with walls.
"You know how this works, Quinn."
I take the coin, and flip it. I catch it midair, and discretely brush my thumb over it.
"Heads."
Tails.
"Aww, darn. I guess my luck had to run out sometime, huh?"
I feign ignorance. After all this time, 400 visits, 400 times I've fooled Death, I can't help but play with them a little more.
"...Why?"
You wouldn't expect something called The Grim Reaper to ever look this confused.
"Why? I know you're doing something here. Of course I've known. Why, after so long, do you choose to fail? To die?"
"...It gets boring. I've already done everything. That's the truth."
I start walking towards the newly-opened gate, the one thing I have never seen in all my visits. I start thinking about the places I've been, things I've done, and it all seems minuscule compared to the endless black beyond. I start crying.
"And... Quinn... How?"
Such an extraordinary set of lives feels trumped by this one moment. The Grim Reaper, Death, is asking me a question, taking an interest, and there they stand, the one throughline in all my existences. My only friend that mattered.
"Don't you know?"
I turn back, just for a moment, tears still streaming down my face, just before I step through the gate. Despite the tears, I am happy. I am satisfied.
"The coin's bumpy on one side." | 2016-09-23T11:29:17 | 2016-09-23T08:59:37 | 92 | 27 |
[WP] You learn for a fact that you are going to die on a Tuesday. You just have no idea which Tuesday in your life it will be. | The mornings are always the worst. Other than the mornings, this prophecy has been the best thing that's ever happened to me. This weekend I went skydiving without a parachute just for the fun of it.
I just floundered in air until I hit several (yes, several) hot air balloons in a row, slowing my fall until I miraculously fell into 90 feet of the softest fucking canopy ever. I didn't even have a bruise!
What are the chances? 100%.
You see, I can do whatever the fuck I want to, as long as it's not a Tuesday, and my life is guaranteed. Mind you, that doesn't mean that anything else is going to stay nice; my girlfriend dumped after a particularly interesting Thursday where I experimented with Arson, and I almost lost my leg fighting a Tiger on a Saturday a couple years back.
As the weekend draws to a close, I always get more nervous; I go straight home from work every Monday. And lock myself in until it's Wednesday. Monday's are almost scarier than Tuesdays, since getting stabbed on the street and lasting just after midnight seems more possible the older I get.
But as I said, Tuesday mornings are the worst. The whole day is stretched in front of me, those 24 hours inviting the horrors of the world onto my frail body. Needless to say, I have invested quite a bit into home security; I intend to live for at least a 1000 more Tuesdays.
Over the years, I have gotten a bit complacent. Statistically, I am more likely to die of some illness than a random murder or freak accident, and I'd probably know I would die weeks before the Tuesday came. These days, Tuesdays just involved me sitting in front of my PC playing video games and eating food I had sampled the day before (Be prepared!).
Once the afternoon rolls around, I'm usually pretty relaxed.
On this particular Tuesday, I was more than a little bored when 4 o'clock rolled around. I had a played more Civilization V than any human ought to, and I had run out of things to do. After contemplating this dilemma for a while, I heard the doorbell ring.
This was quite unusual; my house was quite out of the way, and most of my friends have died trying to replicate the ridiculously dangerous stunts that I engage in most weekends. I tentatively looked through the peephole, only to see no one there. However, right in front of my door step lay a taco.
Now friends, this was no ordinary taco; it looked like God's gift to Hispanic cuisine that had made a wrong turn and ended up in Connecticut. The tomatoes glistened. The sauce shone like a beacon. The meat looked like a slice of Jesus himself, with the cheese his crown.
I stared at it for a good 10 minutes. I paced. I stared some more. I wanted that taco. No, I needed that taco. That taco was the only thing separating my life from the bliss that it could be.
Against my better judgment I slid my three deadbolts free, opened the door an inch, stuck my finger out to reel the taco in......
And suddenly everything went black. I awoke to see a figure clad in white, with translucent skin and a scythe taller than I was. He was looking at me, amusement in his gaze.
"Am ... Am I dead?" I trembled as I said the words.
He merely smiled at me and said:
"Taco Tuesday. Always gets 'em." | Terry stepped out from behind the barricade.
"Holy crap! You're so brave out there!"
One by one the soldiers of the 133rd squadron came out from under cover. The city was ruined, but for now everything was still.
"How do you have the courage to do that?" asked Terry breathily. "We're all sitting back under cover, and you just charge the machine gun nest and blow it to smithereens!"
"You could say my life prepared me for this," I replied.
The truth was, of course, that on Fridays I'm immortal.
"Let's celebrate," I laughed. "We're all alive. I didn't think I'd make it past 20, to be honest."
"Three cheers to Sergeant!" cheered Terry. Nobody knew about my little revelation, the time God visited me and told me I would die on a Tuesday. Luckily, I was far enough in command that I had some control over when I had to be on the front lines.
"I heard they're promoting him to general!" squeaked the high voice of Rodger "Papa Mouse" Cunningham. "Sarge! Sarge! Sarge!"
"You're not gonna start a chant, Mouse," retorted One-Eye Red. "Just like the last three times you tried."
"Let's go off to the trench," I joked. "Dinner's on me."
The squadron laughed, just like they did the last few times. And as they all sat down in the trench to eat, I knew that I had the happiest squadron in the World War.
But that happiness faded when I saw it.
"Bomb!" shouted Terry. "Take cover!" But there would be no more cover in the trench.
Terry wouldn't survive. Neither would Mouse or Red. But I would.
Thank God it's Friday. | 2016-09-28T21:09:33 | 2016-09-28T21:03:18 | 53 | 11 |
[WP] You are a multi-billionaire with a lovely wife, who is trying to kill you to inherit your fortune. You love her so much that you just don't have the heart to tell her you are immortal. | I had thought Mary was the one. I'd hidden my wealth and lived a modest lifestyle for a few years before she found me. I had thought it was real. It had felt real. She held me when I cried when the dog died. I told her about the wealth a few months before the wedding. She didn't seem to care.
The months turned to years and years to decades. We had our rough patches. It's funny, I've had so many relationships before you would think I'd be good at them. I think I am, now.
The murder attempts didn't start until her mid sixties. They were cute. She tried so hard to make them look like accidents. The brake cables on the car, the electrical fire in my lodge. The SCUBA accident.
I ignored them, until she really hurt me. Stabbed me in the back. Literally. I think it was the betrayal that really got to me. I had thought she'd loved me. I thought about these last few decades and then pushed my way into the room. She sat on the edge of the couch, crocodile tears streaming down her face.
Despite my resolve the sight of her moved me. She had always been pretty, but the years had turned the looks of her youth into the beauty of age. Her makeup was done impeccably where the tears hadn't ruined it. She wore her mother's necklace, a small cross set with diamonds. She'd worn it on our wedding day. I hardened my heart.
"All these years and now you're after the money?" I asked, accusing. "And yet you've tried again and again to kill me. I have news, Mary. I knew about it. I knew about all of them. And they all failed. Do you know why?"
"Yes." She said. I was surprised. "Yes, I know why."
"I'm immortal." I said, off my guard. "You can't kill me. You won't get the money."
She stood up and faced me, the trickle of tears had turned to a flood, and her anger washed over me like a storm. "Don't you get it? I don't want the money! I never wanted the money! Is that what you think of me? After all this time? That I was just some whore you could buy? All this time, listen to me." She sniffed back a wad of snot and laughed. She continued bitterly "Forty three years? Most of my life. A weekend fling for you."
I had no idea what to say, so asked the only question I could think of as she slowly melted back down the the couch. Her fist over her mouth. "Then why? What do you want?"
She squeezed her eyes shut and the tears really flowed. "You're an idiot. Isn't it obvious?" I shook my head but said nothing. She hadn't seen the gesture. The rage had gone when she spoke again, barely soft enough to hear. "I want you. That's all I want."
"So you tried to kill me? I don't understand."
Her anger returned, flashing in her emerald eyes. "I'm going to die. Don't you understand that? I. Am. Going. To. Die. And you won't!" She shouted it like an accusation. She clutched her necklace and a sob wracked her
"When dad died mom said that she would see him again in heaven. She talked about it. She looked forward to it. She died with a smile. And I can't... I can't bear the thought of eternity without you. I had to try. I'm so sorry, but I at least had to try." | Let me be frank. I know she's just not that into me. I know that my love for her will never be reciprocated or rewarded. That's alright. I don't need it to be. In 1000 years of undeath I've had more than my share of "one true loves". Sometimes, every few centuries or so, you just have to shake things up. Let yourself have a little fun. What better way to have fun then to watch this adorable blonde bitch try over and over to murder me, having no idea what I truly am?
It may seem strange to you, but honestly it's adorable. Reminds me of when I was a boy, trying to goat the King of the Franks into fighting me in a duel. I truly believed my little wooden sword had a chance to fell this mighty, chainmail clad warlord and gain the affections of his queen. Only...I think she is even more pathetic than I was.
I sleep next to this woman every night. I am inside her several times a week. All it would take is just one bite to steal away all her tomorrows. But where's the fun in that? Then I wouldn't get to enjoy her schemes, her attempts to feign affection for me, the myriad of brilliantly wicked ways she attempts to take my life away, to take what is her's.
For all her pathetic, worthless wiles, I fucking love this woman. I see myself in her, what I might have been were it not for that fateful night in Paris lo those centuries ago. I will protect her, nurture her, pleasure her, pamper her, ensure that she never wants for anything. And then, when and if she ever does cease her plotting, or when her attempts no longer amuse me, I will give her the ultimate privilege of being one of my spawn, to serve and pleasure me for all of my endless nights. She'll fit right in with the rest of them. I only hope she never discovers the basement. | 2019-07-31T09:43:04 | 2019-07-31T09:00:16 | 75 | 10 |
[WP] All of your employees jokingly refer to you as 'The Final Boss' because of your love of video games. One day your secretary frantically informs you that a group of heavily armed adventurers are storming the building. | "Very funny, Alice," I chuckled as I sipped at my coffee, "I suppose you want me to go down there and fight them?" Ever since I had put up those Skyrim and Dark Souls posters in my office, my employees had relentlessly teased me about them - it wasn't every day that you came across a 60 year-old that spent hours a week playing video games. It was an inside joke; sometimes if an intern was having trouble with the printer I'd tell him he wasn't a high enough level to use that item, or if someone wanted a raise I would ask how much charisma they had - just some harmless fun. Something was different this time, though; my secretary's face was a nasty shade of grey, and her long, painted nails clicked against one another as her hands shook. "Well, I don't know, sir, but they're demanding that you come down and face them," her voice trembled, "and I think they've hurt George." At the mention of our beloved old security guard, I immediately got up and walked over to her, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder.
"You're being serious?" I asked in disbelief. She nodded, now sniffling into a handkerchief.
"Yes, sir, I was coming in for my shift and they were all just standing in the lobby. I thought they were just dressing up for charity or something, but then they started to act a bit aggressively towards Harry - you know, sir, the intern from last week - so George told them to leave," Alice's voice became audibly shakier. "When they wouldn't listen he tried to escort them out. That was when one of them took out a *sword*, sir, and slashed at George with it - I'm afraid his arm's bleeding."
After telling Alice to stay in my office and call the police, I hurriedly made my way down the stairs to the lobby. As I descended, shouts and clashes of metal grew louder, up to the point at which I could make out what was being said.
"Where is your master, minion?! Where did that witch run off to?!" I entered the lobby to witness a man in full plate armour wielding a mace against the intern, Harry, who was rather admirably defending himself with a tray from the canteen. "Screw you, man! You're crazy!" Harry yelled, bringing the tray down with a valiant but fruitless effort onto the knight's helmet, producing a loud clunk and a irreparable dent in the tray. I winced at the thought of the cost, but my thoughts were interrupted by a cry from another one of the adventurers.
"There he is, my friends! Tonight you die for the pillaging of Willowood, dog!" A woman clad in green and brown pointed at me, leading to the knight relenting his efforts against Harry to direct his full attention to me. "Clear off, Harry, I'll deal with this." I wasn't sure where the confidence in my voice came from - the chances of an old man with a biro against a band of medieval bounty hunters are relatively slim, to say the least. With a bewildered yet grateful look on his face, Harry sprinted away just as two more adventurers appeared; an apparent mage with blue fire spouting from her palms, and a shady-looking thief who had appeared to be stuffing as many office supplies into his satchel as possible. "You know, we have a whole box of paperclips in the back." I chuckled, finding the image of a man grabbing every pencil in sight rather comical.
"Silence, sorcerer! We have come to end your reign of terror!" The mage stretched out her arms towards me, sending a gout of blue flames in my direction. By instinct I threw up my hands to protect himself, and flinched as the fire engulfed me. I clenched my eyes, expecting to feel the sizzle of burnt flesh - yet I felt nothing. Tentatively opening my eyes and lowering my hands, I saw the mage's mouth agape in shock. Looking down, the carpet was scorched and blackened in a circle around me, yet my clothes were fine.
"Impossible, that - that was my most powerful spell!" the mage stuttered.
"Looks like you're going to need some magicka potions," I grinned. | "Hey, boss? Visitors here for you." The secretary spoke into the microphone, but his stony glare never left the trio in front of him. "Same group as last time, but down one." At a squawk from the intercom, his lip twisted, and he put down the mic.
Saccharine sweet, he turned now to address the issue itself. "I'm afraid I never got your name, Ms..?"
"Cousland." The lead returned. "And you are?"
Unimpressed, Sean pointed at the tiny bronze nameplate atop his desk. "Ms. Cousland, do you have an appointment?"
Silence answered, disturbed only by someone that was either a dwarf or a midget fidgeting an armored foot.
"I see." Sean returned, with a tight lipped grin. "No appointment, no entry."
"This is asbsurd!" The dwarf declared. "Obliteration of the forces of evil wait for no *appointments*!"
Gritting her teeth, Cousland grabbed her two companions and dragged them a few feet away. Sean turned his attention towards some errant paperwork, but overheard a few phrases, most of which featured some quite impressive criminal works. His favorite was the one with a guillotine.
At length, the armored woman stalked back towards the desk. Putting on a painted facile of a smile, she inquired as to whether she could make an appointment.
"Of course." Returned the ever accommodating secretary. "Her next free slot is Tuesday."
"Today is Wednesday."
"She's very sought after." He nodded, conciliatory. "I'm afraid there's no earlier slot."
Again, they held hasty council.
"When" began the knight "is her lunch break?"
"Can't say for certain," the man at the desk obfuscated. "Depends on how long her appointments drag." At the same time, he recognized clicking footsteps in the hallway, and cursed under his breath.
"Sean!" Her voice preceded her. "I gotta meet up with that guy calling himself 'the Champion'. You got my stuff?"
"I gave it to your chauffeur." He said, tapping a button under his desk. "Our guests are still here. Take the side door?"
But the three had already realized, and charged after their target. Sounds of violence, maniacal cackling, and just the general hullabaloo of warfare echoed into the lobby. Sean sighed, lowered the gates, and turned to address the newest do-gooder seeking out his boss.
"I'm afraid Ms. Devill is out right now. Would you like to make an appointment?" | 2018-12-21T10:14:39 | 2018-12-21T10:07:54 | 29 | 11 |
[WP] You’ve traveled a great distance to finally court the princess. Many others have tried and failed. Why? At the end of a week with her, you must duel her to the death. She is the greatest sword fighter in the land, so your only hope is to convince her to call off the fight. | "So, uh, we'll have to fight to the death?"
The princess shrugged. "Yeah."
"Okay, so... thing is, I'll definitely lose," I admit. "I'm not exactly a fighter, and I'm honestly still not sure why I'm here."
"My father said that you could be worthy of me," she replies, nonchalantly stoking the flame before us. Her chambers are cozy and modest, despite her status. "I doubt it, however. The only worthy man in the world can best me at swordplay. And as you already admitted, you certainly can't."
"Right, but... when you do find that worthy guy, what do you envision your life being like after he wins?"
"We will live in splendor and sexual bliss."
"You mean, after he wins."
"Correct."
I frown at her remark. "You mean, after he wins a fight, to the DEATH."
"Yes, as we've already discussed." She casts me a derisive glance. "You're not very bright, are you?"
I ignore her remark, for the time being. "I'm sorry, I just want to make sure we're on the same page here - after this mysterious suitor wins, a fight to the death, you envision a life with him?"
"Yes, why is this so hard to grasp for you?" She levels the poker she was stoking the fireplace with at my eye with a sneer. "Perhaps I should end this now, to put you out of your misery."
I pinch the bridge of my nose in irritation. "Princess, if you fight to the death and lose, what happens?"
"You die, fool."
"Right. And then?"
"And then you are buried with the rest of your idiot ancestors."
"Right. So, if you lose a fight to the death with your suitor, how would you then live a life with him, if you are dead?"
She hesitates for a moment, before coming back with a snappy answer. "Well... if I were going to be killed, then the fight would be ended, you foolish man."
"So then he wouldn't have won."
"What?"
"By law, you only win a fight to the death when your opponent is dead. Your opponent cannot forfeit. If you accept a forfeiture, you are executed as a coward. So how do you expect to marry a man that has either killed you, or been executed for sparing you?"
"Uh..." She finally lowers the poker, and I release a breath I didn't realize I had been holding. "I just assumed... that the rules would not apply to me. After all, I am royalty..."
"Then it wouldn't be a real fight to the death, would it?"
"No... No, I suppose it would not."
"So? What will you do now?"
She stares at me for a moment, as if contemplating something. "I suppose I will follow a... different human tradition." The dragon princess stands, her wings twitching restlessly as she stretches. "The 'shotgun wedding'."
"Wait, what?"
And that's how I went from taking a nap in a field, to being kidnapped by the head of a local family of dragons with a human- obsessed daughter, to being married to a dragon, all within one day.
No, I don't understand it, either. | Many princes of the land had come to try their hand against the princess. None of them would succeed. She had more control over her sword than anyone Id seen. I had something they didnt though. I was the only girl there. No one knew it though. I kept my hood up and my hair short. I didnt have a chance when it came down to swords but I hoped everything would be ok regardless. One night I decided to go for a walk. I couldn't sleep there were a thousand things on my mind. The full moon and gleaming stars helped calmed my nerves. Then I saw her. She sat on a park bench. She looked so upset. I had to go over there. I walked to her and asked if I could sit,
"Do you know who I am." I decided to pretend I didnt,
"A beautiful Girl." I smiled at her and she gave a shy smile back. I sat down and we got to talking.
"I cant really explain it exactly. I'm expected to get engaged soon but every option I'm presented is unappealing. I told my dad I'm only marrying someone who could match my skill because no one can and I dont want to be stuck with a guy. I dont want a guy.... If you know what I mean. " A silence fell between us. I fell in love as I gazed into her eyes. Maybe on the day of the fight shed recognize me. Maybe she wouldn't. One thing was for sure. I was falling for her laugh and I was entranced by her eyes and if she didnt recognize me my life wouldn't be as grand as it could be because I knew right then that she was it. | 2020-09-20T21:30:42 | 2020-09-20T21:10:55 | 127 | 34 |
[WP] You can read minds, the one person with powers as far as you know. One day you read a guy that can time travel. You discover that he has successfully eliminated every other powered person through lots of time jumps. He doesn't know you and you are the only one that knows what he's been doing. | Today is the day; the day I can return this god forsaken world to normal. It's been 30 years since I met the time jumper and I'm the only one who can stop him.
Well, I guess I'm getting ahead of myself. Since childhood I've realized I had a certain intuition, a unique ability to read people. To get by as an orphan in the big city you needed to know who to trust. I had friends disappear who trusted the wrong "kind soul." Once I hit puberty my intuition had grown considerably, and I realized it was a full blown super power! I could not only feel the emotions of those around me, knowing exactly who to avoid and who to trust; but if I focused my mind, I could delve into others.
I knew what it was like to be manipulated, so I never used this power for personal gain, at least not too often. Now most authority figures send shivers down my spine, but a select few detectives could be trusted with my very detailed clues. I could make my neighborhood safer without having to risk my own hide. I've never been a fighter, so tracking down the select few willing to take down the worst of the worst became a necessity.
My shadow operation ran pretty smoothly for awhile, informing on known gang leaders, tax avoiding millionaires, and corrupt prosecutors... But then I met a man. Walking through the city I can ignore the scent of most people's emotions. The scent of depression, apathy, and even anger had become dull to me. This man however... I could smell him from a mile away. Unrivaled determination, unwavering confidence, and the cold heart of a killer fully masked behind false, sympathetic eyes.
I tracked his scent to a cafe, where he sat across from a petite, blushing woman. To any passerby this man would seem charming, and nobody in their right mind would think this girl were in danger. They would be wrong. Dead wrong.
I always thought I was alone, the only human in the world with powers. As I delved into the mind of this depraved man I realized why. His superiors called him the time jumper, a powerful superhuman with one job; eliminate any and all targets that could threaten the supremacy of Elon Robotics. Once the last superhuman was eliminated, their plans of world domination would have no challengers.
The woman across from him was the last target, a superhuman capable of crushing cars with her bare hands and toppling buildings with her brute strength. At first it seemed ridiculous that he would challenge her, but as I delved deeper I realized the source of his confidence. While time jumping was his primary power, he also gained the powers of every superhuman he killed. Even if anybody believed me, there was no force on the face of Earth that could stop him, especially not me.
You want to know what I did as the man lead this innocent woman into an alleyway, reveling in his mind on all the twisted ways he could kill her? Nothing... But watch.
If I focused my mind enough I could see through a person's eyes for up to an hour, even miles away. I watched as he grabbed her skull and meticulously crushed it between his hands. The euphoria he felt as a woman so strong felt powerless for the first time... It disgusted me beyond belief! She was part of the group that stopped him in the original timeline, and he wanted revenge.
It was difficult for me to endure, but I was determined! Somehow I knew that this man had a weakness... I couldn't retreat from his mind no matter how empty it made me feel!
He tortured her like an animal playing with captured prey. I could feel her pain as if it were my own! He took his time, but eventually it was over. That's when I found it, the weakness! His mind became focused, similar to mine whenever I used my power. He focused on a place and time. 2051, exactly 30 years from now.
Imagine time is like a river. If you stand in the way, it simply goes around you. The path of the river remains the same unless you can divert it entirely, and it has to happen all at once. Time is an unstoppable force, and even the time jumper couldn't stand in it's way for more than a few moments. In 2051 the man used his time jump to begin his assassinations, never returning to his original timeline until his mission was complete. To solidify my dystopian timeline, the time jumper must complete the cycle by returning to the exact moment before his initial jump.
If i'm in the right place at the right time, our timelines will overlap in the moments before his first jump. I'll be able to stop his original self from ever changing our timeline! I'll be able to save everyone, even if nobody ever knows...
Once I was too cowardly to fight, but after three decades surviving the hellscape his superiors created... 30 years clinging to a singular purpose... Let's just say I've rivaled the time jumpers determination.
I might not have the greatest power, but I'm mad as hell, and the time jumper I'll be taking my anger out on won't have any of his victims powers! | "Concentrate, keep yourself busy at all times. You've got this."
Gregory Attenborough, age 28. Likes: Books, cats and to monologue in front of the mirror. Dislikes: A lot of things, among his recently acquired quirk. Occupation: Cashier in a convenience store.
I started developing this power a few months back. Anyone ever thought reading minds would be fun? You thought wrong, it's a torture. You can't meet a lot of people who means good on the inside when they speak politely to you on the outside. Besides you don't want to get stuck in a crowd. Having said that I've learned to appreciate this power because of a few rare people who're genuinely good.
"No, I can't make it in time with this traffic, Jimmy is gonna kill me. I should've taken the subway. So much for saying bicycle and a pair of headphones is all I need, you really do got this, Greg. Ugh."
• • •
He's staring at me. Let me get close so that I can-
"Hey, buddy. Got stuck in traffic again? (Ooh I gotta see this, he's really gonna get fired this time)"
The guy who just laid his hand on my shoulder is Sylvester. Always ahead in wanting to see me fail.
"Do you want to get fired? (I don't know how many times I can keep doing this)"
Jimmy, my boss. He's always stressed out. I don't think I've ever seen him smile other than that awkward grin.
"Jimmy, I'm really sorry. I don't have an excuse. If you want me to res-"
"You're needed at the desk. I don't want to see you come in late one more time. (I don't want to lose him, it'd rather fire Sylvester)"
"You got it boss."
"(Bummer)" This is Sylvester's thought.
My boss Jimmy can be a really good guy. I should tell Sylvester to start looking for jobs. Now I know he's a pain for both of us.
• • •
It was a slow day. Jimmy heard footsteps approach, he looked up to see whom the black boot belonged to. The man with a goatee looking like Brad Pitt wore full sleeved leather jacket and an overly fashionable glasses. Greg felt something strange about him. He went straight to the aisle, got a few things and visited the desk for payment.
"That'll be $25.40."
"Hey, do you know of any place where I can get metals?"
"What kind?"
"Something called Iridium."
"I, don't know anything about that, sorry." Nope, never disclose anything to him even if you knew. He looks suspicious enough already.
"Alright. (He's either lying or is just useless)"
"What's his problem?" Thought Greg as he smirked.
"Your smartwatch."
"What?"
"It's lighting up underneath your sleeve." What kind of a smartwatch lights up like that?
"(How? I don't see anyone in the vicinity.) It's... nothing. (Probably a false notifier)"
Who's this guy? Why did he get agitated for a second there? What's he hiding?
Later that day Greg found him lurking outside an abandoned warehouse past the junkyard. As always curiosity got the best of him so he decided to follow the stranger.
[Part 2](https://np.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n80lco/wp_you_can_read_minds_the_one_person_with_powers/gxivk5v?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3)
WP.r #130 • r/FleetingScripts | 2021-05-08T21:59:26 | 2021-05-08T19:26:14 | 56 | 16 |
[WP] The "violent videogames teach you how to use a gun" thing is true for you. Literally. Everything you learn in videogames, you can do in real life as well. You realize you have that power when you drink an energy drink after a bad injury and you find yourself completely healed. | I held the gun to my head, my finger grazing the trigger. I was hesitating, I knew that. Guess that's normal when you're contemplating blowing your brains out.
But, I had to know. Ever since I broke my leg, it was the one thing I knew I had to try. One thing you should know is that I'm a "gamer". I don't like using that word, but it's the easiest way to say that I play videogames. Assassin's Creed, Bioshock, Mario and Fire Emblem are some of my favorites.
Well, the day I broke my leg, I was playing football with some buddies from college. I was running with the ball in hand, tripped and had a nasty fall. Before I knew it, I was on the ground screaming like a dying whale. Some of my friends laughed, assholes, but one brought me some alchohol. I suppose he tought it would help with the pain, for some reason. Whatever. The thing is, once I gulped it down, I was fine. I could move my leg again. The others passed it off as me being a big baby and just slightly spraining it, but I knew I had broken it.
Later that day, out of morbid curiosity, I grabbed a beer out of the fridge and cut myself with a knife. It wasn't a serious cut, just a surface wound on my finger, but it stung like hell. I drank some of the beer and, just like that, it was gone.
At first, I thought that the alcohol was magic. Or that I was going nuts. Freaked out, I went to bed inmediately and tried to not think about it. The next day, I woke up and passed of last night's events as a dream. That, however, didn't last long.
On my way to work, something bizarre happened. The people... they were glowing in different colors. Most of them were blue. I saw some red pass by, and noticed that they were cops. I closed my eyes and shaked my head. It was back to normal. Just then, I saw a car speeding towards me. Later I learned that the person had lost control. It was too fast. No matter what I did it would have hit me. My first reaction was to jump over it, so I jumped. I jumped six feet in the air.
I didn't go to work that day. Called in sick. I went home, and a wild idea starting forming in my head. What if... playing videogames have given me these powers? Drinking alcohol to recover health like in Bioshock, Eagle Sense from Assassin's Creed and the jumping prowess of Mario.
So, I figured, what's the thing all videogames have in common? You can't die. If you gameover, you just load an earliet save. So, that's where I am. Holding a gun to my head to prove my theory. Is there a less extreme way to do it? Maybe. But I need to know. My curiosity is killing me.
I am determined. I press on the trigger. A thought crosses my mind as I do it.
"What about Fire Emblem's permadeath?"
| Harry found it strange, as he walked down the busy street he'd periodically see people in nothing but their underwear. They'd be carrying on as usual, reading a paper, nose in their phone, or sipping coffee. He looked across the street and saw a group of people waiting at the bus stop. Three of them were already in their underwear. He watched a man glance at his watch and shuffle his suitcase. His attention snapped to the woman standing just to the left of the man. She had been wearing a grey blazer and matching skirt when the jacket suddenly vanished, followed by the skirt and her blouse underneath. Harry furrowed his brow as he continued to stare. The woman had no reaction to her clothing suddenly vanishing. As he watched her, Harry noticed a man crouched down behind the woman. The man moved behind the last person wearing clothes at the bus stop, an elderly man with his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he read a book. Harry watched in shock as the elderly man turned around to face the crouching man. "What are you doing? Stop that!" The old man yelled out. Immediately the group turned to face the crouching man as he stood and begin to run away. Harry watched as they all began to chase the man, fists raised, their faces contorted in anger. "You like the sight of your own blood?!" The woman yelled out as she led the chase. | 2018-08-14T09:41:03 | 2018-08-14T08:22:35 | 658 | 91 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | Every day was the same routine. In and out, Algebra 2, English 3 , French 1, Lunch , History of Europe, American Civic, Phys Ed, Rinse and repeat.
In Algebra it was Liam. He was also really smart and math was always my worst subject. I struggled to keep up with the abstracts. Pulling imaginary numbers from thin air was a monumental task for me. I much preferred geometry. I understood shapes much better. At least they were real. Didn't matter. Liam would always look over my shoulder at the test I'd just had returned and loudly declare my grade to the class.
"OH MAN TED, 64 PERCENT? BIG BUMMER!" Then everyone laughed.
Why couldn't this be geometry? Shapes were concrete, absolute and able to be visualized. I thought about my mark. A simple circle. 3.14 personified. Like my life, it was a perfect loop and everything always came back around.
There were other bullies too of course, but Liam was the worst offender, and he would appear again, at lunch and History of Europe.
He didn't bring up the shape every single day, but it didn't matter. It just became a matter of "when". When was the next time he'd bring up my bland, plain circle?
Until the day, the most imperfect day one could imagine. He had partied hard the night before the test, and when it came back that Monday, he scored a 32. Then he found out he didn't get the Soccer scholarship to play for State, arguably the only chance he had of college. Then the bombshell. News reached him his grandmother had finally succumbed to her cancer.
I don't envy Liam. That's an unfathomable amount of pain in 24 hours. It would suck to go through that.
It would suck even more if the guy he picked on every day for the last four years had the power of never ending time loops, the ability to force anyone to consciously relive the same day over and over as much as they wished that person to. The perfectly inescapable geometry of the circle. Mercilessly calm, unflinchingly redundant. Like some sick blend of Groundhogs Day and Sophie's Choice, the next 1,440 minutes of his life would be all he had for a long long time.
Have fun Liam. Tell your grandma I said hi.
EDIT: holy Crap my wires got crossed on the names | The power of the "Full Circle" sigil was never truly understood or appreciated. Seen as middling with equal gains and losses, disregard was the usual way.
These bullies saw the sigil as the Cherry on a very attractive Target. Not only was his sigil uninspired, but his refusal to respond or react made him a Target they knew would never call for help. Their Target offered nothing to others. The sigil, to others, meant he would take but not give .
Until the day he did. All the malice the world offered their Target, with their own at the front, was made manifest. The physical pain was never noticed as the mental anguish was all the stronger. Indeed, those with sigils of mental and physical fortitude were both laid bare and beaten.
That which had been given to him was now returned all at once. | 2020-02-26T06:44:16 | 2020-02-26T06:26:31 | 320 | 37 |
[WP] A portal to Hell is discovered. Mankind invades. | This is the testament of Azazel, soilder for the Morning Star.
If only I knew then what I know now. Would I have chosen to fall with the morning star?
When we were young it was so clear that nothing would come from the thing the Lord had made. It was insanity, to say that we, being of the devine light should, bend at need to things made of mud. That mud things were equals of our father.
It had been an age since anyone of note from either Hell had looked at humanity. Then came reports from the lesser demonic ilk that populates hell that the humans were planning an invasion of hell. We laughed and told the demons mass their army at the gates. Seeing the power of hell amassed in one spot like that would send them screaming back to their mud ball.
It was a defense that had worked before and had sent orders of virtuous templars back. The walls had only ever been breached by small bands with some of the Light of the High Heavens protecting them. The day of the invasion came and we waited contemptuously for the reports of defeating the mud. A very different kind of report came to us.
Unbeknownst to us the mud had indeed become mighty. The initial assault, did not come as a great tide of men in armor as we expected but as two flashes light. The mud calls them H-bombs or Thermonuclear weapons or some other nonsense but, what they are in fact is the wrath of Uriel. Mud had discovered the method to make the Light.
What was meant to have been a force to turn back the mud had in fact only provided them with the most choice target. Over ten million demons were eradicated without a trace in less time it took them to draw in breath. They comprised the vast majority of our forces and they along with the Gates themselves had vanished.
It was a fortnight later that the mud began to walk into Hell. It was a walk mostly unopposed. Where there was opposition it turned out to be short lived. The mud had gained great mastery over metallurgy and even some of my brothers and sister fell.
We mustered strength again at a fortress but that to was annihilated by an Uriel. Uriels have been used five times, there is no knowing how many they have left. Some think they are saving their last to destroy the Morning Star. Attempts to scatter and pick them off as they walked deeper into our domain proved fruitless. The mud would make it hail metal and hiding places would become death traps.
Today we will fight the mud for the gate to the 5th circle should we fall there will be a retreat straight to the seventh circle. Strength weakens some have whispered that they might find respite in Hades or Gehenna.
If I had known the fate of creation, I would be in the High Heavens looking down. I think though, that I would still be afraid. How long before Babel will be rebuilt and the tide of mud sullies the halls of the High Heavens. | Not if I can stop it...
thought the gaurdian of the gate.
And yet the fools!
to think invading hell was a simple thing.
the city wreathing of flame squelched its evil stench. its tall spires reaching up into its cavernous abyss.
To think that they could somehow takeover the damned.
They've seen war, yes they have seen terrible things.
But this, was beyond compare.
With its three heads, standing by the entrance, he saw them.
With guns in hand, and stupified by the sheer size of him.
Bang! Bang!
not a scratch. Swords of various shapes and sizes have come to cut up the gaurdian before. none have seen the light of day again.
And yet here these ones were, who's weapons were not of blade forged in fire, but of metal flying like birds.
And the birds flew, and stopped dead in their tracks.
then they had the armor come in.
Tanks, pointing their long menacing tubes at him. Aligning, calibrating
BOOM!
a direct hit to the face.
a puff of smoke exuding from its long nozzle.
A mere sting for the behemoth.
He let out a howl that shook the floor.
Men fell to their feet.
Others pressed forward amidst the chaos.
None shall reach the spires of Hell.
And so the Gaurdian watched,
as the ants rolled into their fiery grave a turn early. | 2014-06-15T23:29:55 | 2014-06-15T21:48:30 | 170 | 16 |
[WP] You're a psychic doing a game show. Unlike the other contestants, you're the real deal. They bring you all to a house where a crime happened in the past. When it's your turn, a ghost appears and tells you: "That's him, that's the one who killed me." Pointing towards the host of the show. | When people picture psycopaths, sociopaths and cold blooded murderers, usually they have an image they go to. Hitler is one I see quite a lot, though recently the trend has been Hannibal Lecter. The most terrifying thing about them is that they are one of us. They don't just look like us, they *are* us. They have many of the same thoughts that we do. You would be surprised how many people contemplate murder on a daily basis. Quite a few have plans in place as well. Obviously most don't go and commit homicide, but the intent is there. The only thing separating murderers from functioning members of society is mankind's tendency to do nothing.
This man was not one of those who chose to do nothing. I could see his memories, his choices and the rationalizations he made for the sins he committed against his fellow man. He needed to die.
"Welcome ladies and gentlemen to Fright or Fraud! I'm your host, Rodney King and here we have the illustrious, Aura. Please, tell us about yourself. I'm sure the viewers at home want to hear more about a striking beauty such as yourself." His voice was like a caramel treat, sweet and thick. I could see how many would be fooled by his act. Not me. "I must know the secret behind your hair; its absolutely gorgeous, darling. What do you use to keep such a glossy, dark sheen? And that dress. Oh my word, I say, the baby blue matches up well with that piercing gray in your eyes. Dare I say, I think you're the most beautiful creature to step on my show."
I blushed on command, putting a hand over my mouth bashfully. "Oh, I bet you say that to every girl who comes on here?" He did.
"Oh, but it's true darling. But I don't want to turn this into a fashion show, no, were here to see if you can figure out the greatest murder mystery of all time!"
"Are we going to find out who really killed Kennedy?" I snarked.
He chuckled kindly and somewhere a butterfly died. "Oh, maybe I exaggerated, but our viewers are on the edge of their seat nonetheless. Now, do you feel any spirits lingering near?"
I pretended to concentrate for a moment, but I hardly needed to. They swirled around me in a frenzy, itching to take revenge on their killer who was in reach, but they could not touch. Their rage only ever grew with time. I could tell that if left alone without intervention or peace, they would form a poltergeist.
"There are..." I uttered with my eyes shut tight, "A few. I'll need to sit down to concentrate better. I might be able to bring one to our realm if they're angry enough." That was a half truth. I *could* bring one forward, but I had no intention of doing so.
"Take all the time you need, darling. This is an art, not a science."
Reaching forward with my second power, my control over the air, I took a grip on his lungs. I didn't squeeze yet, but he would feel a slight tightness, like he wore a suit a size too small.
"Oh... Oh this is interesting. I don't even have to pull, they want to come forward. They say... No that cant be... Tell me more please... No!... No stop! I won't let you!" I opened my eyes, letting a bit of panic show. "They're forcing their way through! They say their killer is *here*! And alive! I'll try to shove them away!"
Now I tightened my grip on his lungs and he began to wheeze. He could breathe, but only barely.
"You're wrong! He can't be the killer! He was the one who was looking for the killer! He can't have- Oh. Oh I see. I understand now. Yes. Yes I'll let you through."
I put his lungs in a vise and one of them collapsed under the pressure. Millions watched live as Rodney King, public figure, coughed up blood onto a pristine cream colored suit. His stagehands rushed to his side, but there was nothing they could do. I released my grip on his collapsed lung and gave one final squeeze that shoved the remaining air up and caused him to become a red fountain. Rodney King collapsed to the floor and my work was done. I collapsed in feigned exhaustion. My story was pre arranged and I had top lawyers waiting to back me up should it come to that.
I felt the spirits disperse, their anger relieved at the passing of their killer. Rodney King may become a spirit in the coming weeks, but a lone spirit was no threat to anyone. | "Next up, outta a little town in Japan called Hidariwakibara, its Kusuo Saiki! Give him a big round of applause" the lights cut over to the Pink Haired, green glasses wearing Psychic, and he looks out with a neutral look on his face. It wasn't because he didn't understand the announcer, he had used his telepathy to learn most English words and phrases when he arrived in the US. No, he just gave that look because he genuinely didn't care. He'd been invited to this game show, and his parents apparently loved it, having gone so far as to learn English in case they were brought up on stage. But as Saiki looked over his competitors, he knew they weren't Psychic at all. 2 of the contestants were just hoping no one would double check their facts. The other girl thought she was genuinely Psychic, but she just made voices for other people.
But Saiki didn't want to win, he hated attention and was hoping that he'd get 3rd place. He wasn't even sure what this show was about. He was mostly sure it was about communicating with spirits to find hidden objects, but really, the host just fed some answers to the contestants if they were getting warmer or colder.
Saiki could actually see ghosts however, thanks to coming into contact with a Psychic Medium he'd met, and saw that the house actually had a few spirits, but one of them was shrouded in a cloud of darkness. The ghost tuned, and noticed that Saiki saw him. It raised its arm, and pointed right at the host. "That's him, that's the one who killed me."
Saiki looked over at the host, and tapped into his mind. He search for the memory, and found it quite easily. The host would probably share with enough persuasion, but that wasn't Saiki's plan. He learned how the host killed the dark ghost, setting a room on fire with the ghost locked in. Saiki stepped up to the house, and walked into the entryway, crossing his eyes to use his Clairvoyance. The host and the 3 competitors were still outside, as was the audience and cameras. Saiki focused his power, and the house burst into flames. Everyone outside jumped back in alarm, except the host fell to the ground. "No...not again!" Then he quickly jumped up and ran down the street. Then, just as suddenly as the fire started, it stopped. The cameras turned toward the host running away, and Saiki teleported outside into the air, and remained floating. He saw the host run to the nearest police car, and furiously knock on the window. "I'll admit it, I did it! I lit the bedroom on fire to kill Brenda, I learned she was going to leave me and I killed her for it."
Saiki teleported back to the house, and walked out as if nothing happened. He gladly accepted his prize of $300 and teleported his begrudging family back home, and took his $300 to convert to ¥34000 and buy some coffee jelly. | 2018-11-15T17:46:52 | 2018-11-15T14:57:45 | 55 | 23 |
[WP] Killing a person raises your life span by 20 years, but it comes with a cost.
First Reddit post ever. Please be gentle
Edit: Did not expect this to blow up. | I've made a deal with _Death_. When I "died" death came up to me and said
"Congratulations! You're the 100th billion person to die! You can choose to live on in heaven OR choose to live forever back on Earth! As long as you kill a person, that person will give you 20 more years to live! But with a cost..."
Of course I had to choose the latter. I still had a lot to live for. I've made a decision that when I reached 30 I have to act so that my looks stay the same. I've been doing this for about 80 years now. This is my 4th target.
I know this is bad... I know. But I've always picked those who have nothing to live for. Homeless depressed people, those without family and the old age etc.
No one will miss them. I'm sure of it, this is why I make background checks before doing anything.
I can't really say why... it's an addiction. Not the killing... but staying alive. To know that I can live past anything makes me want to keep going, no matter the cost.
It was the night before Christmas and my target this time is a man by the name of Albert Kane. 10 years ago, he was once a respected construction foreman just trying to make his family live good lives. He has lost his five year old daughter and wife in a car accident. His life went downhill from there. Excessive drinking, drugs, multiple arrests. Then he lost his job, his credibility, and his home. All he had left was the shirt on his back and a backpack.
I hosted a Christmas party for the homeless at the community centre. Its the least I can do for what I'm about to do to this poor man. I'll let the others and him enjoy themselves. Good food, drinks, even a gaming centre I organised at the back! Then when Albert is drunk enough I'll bring him back into the alley and do my "business".
--------------
Finally I got him into the alley while he was drunk. I didn't use anything sharp, or anything blunt, or even a gun. I just gave him a spiked drink and all I had to do was wait.
I helped him down as the poison took effect. The poison was working fine. It made him sleepy real easily and after a few mins he _slept_, for good.
"May you rest in peace with your family."
Now I have to wait for _Death_. I saw his backpack and took a peak in it.
Not much but one thing I saw was a book, an album. It was his family album. Almost all of the pictures seemed missing but there were 5 that were still kept.
Here's one with him and his wife taking their wedding vows.
Another one on their honeymoon in France (The Eiffel tower was right behind them).
Seems like this one was taken before his pregnant wife was admitted to the ER. And another one of his new born baby daughter in the hospital room.
This last one seemed a bit weary in its condition. It was him and his daughter on site at his job, he was taking her on a ride in one of the construction diggers and it seemed like she was laughing and enjoying it... Suddenly I hear a familiar voice behind me.
"Hey bud. I'm here." It was _Death_.
Even though I've already seen him 3 times I still can't get used to him.
"So this is the guy huh?"
"Ya... will he be okay?"
"He will. I know he's due to heaven and I am here to help him move on. And I'm sure his family will be happy seeing him again. But that's half the reason of why I'm here. So... the _cost_. You have it ready?"
"Yup."
"Alright then. That will be __$3.50__." As Death takes the bill and change they disappear into a cloud of smoke on his hands. "The payment has been given. See you in 20 years!"
"Alright. See you Death!"
Now time to live another 20 years more!
__THE END__
[Optional End Credit song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ob7vObnFUJc)
EDIT: Grammar stuff. Thanks to u/Evaara | It was...unfortunate to think about. The rituals we did out in the woods. The bonfires. Mein Fhurer promised us we'd all be practically immortal. We'd literally rule for a thousand years. We soon found out what price we would have to pay in order achieve this dream of ours.
It was on the evening of the winter solstice. We went deep into the woods of the hinterland. It was a primeival place. Pristine and full of life. The only thing out of place in this old world wilderness was the enormous metallic henge that was erected for ritual use. As with all top ranking SS officials, we stood in what the fhurer called "doorways" on the edge of the concrete platform. The fhurer stood in the northern door. His highest official stood in the south. The rest of the doors were filled in according to rank. They placed Die Glocke in the center of the ring wrapped in a ceremonial cloth.
To start the ritual the fhurer would march to the center of the ring. He then proceeded to carefully unwrap the object. Each official, according to rank, would march into the center of the metallic circle and join hands forming two concentric rings. Then we'd say the incantation:
Bone to bone, blood to blood,
joints to joints, so may they be mended.
Flesh to flesh, soul to soul,
Life to life, so we may forever live.
The incantation was in an old Germanic dialect that long went out of use.As we repeated the words Die Glocke sprang to life. Glowing a blue green color it raised over the circle creating an enormous vortex. The concentric rings we made widened until they merged into one ring surrounding the spinning tornado of light and color. I could hear a voice emanating from the object. It spoke in the ancient German tongue. It told us the horrific truth to immortality. We must sacrifice human life. Then it showed symbols we each had to wear in order to absorb the life essence of our victims effectively.
About a year afterward the killings would start. Ugly gray factories of death would be built and millions of innocent people would be sent to their dooms. Each of the buildings in the camps had the symbols placed in strategic points so that their life essences would be channeled into our bodies wherever we were. I followed along with the plans. Partly because I was greedy. The life I had under the regime was great. As one of the fhurer's leading officers I was given a nice castle to control in the Bavarian countryside among other perks. I did not want to give those things up. The other part was because, well, I was following orders. I came this far after all. I swore allegiance to the Reich and I was a proud and loyal citizen. | 2016-10-24T00:23:19 | 2016-10-23T22:27:01 | 86 | 12 |
[WP] A serial killer allows his victims to try and persuade him not to kill them. You’re the first person who didn’t try an empathetic plea. | When I was a child, maybe seven or so, my father sat me down. He said, "Louie, you're never going to be a strong person. You're twice as ugly as myself, and you make me want to wretch. You are pathetic, and no one will ever find you fun. Never forget."
And I never did.
"I wouldn't bother, I mean, not much sport in it. You know, entertainment." The silence between me and my would be assailant is piercing, like the hush that overcomes a crowd when a would-be-wife says 'No'.
"Well, this was never really about 'sport'," She says, gun in hand pointing towards my heart. I've only got one, I believe that's par the course, and I've grown bloody attached to it. "I do it because I like too, it's my thing." She does a small shimmy and a head bob, cheerily.
"It's what I do. I'm a big fa-,"
"Look," I say, interrupting her. "Firstly, I apologise for cutting you off. I kinda felt I knew where you going with it. Secondly, you're lying to yourself."
She stares at me for a few seconds and lowers the gun slightly. "What?"
"Realistically, there has to be an element of adrenaline too it." I gesture towards her with my hands, waiting to see if she agreed.
"Yeah, there is a lot of joy in-,"
"In taking a life, yeah. So, where does that come from? Honestly, if you ask me, and I would, a lot of that comes from the fear of retaliation." I nod and don't blink. "Fear that I may do something. You've tried to eliminate that by, you know, asking me to persuade you. You've given me an out, preemptively, stopped me focusing on the concept of maybe attacking you first."
The space under her feet must have become the most fascinating thing in the last 30 seconds because the way this woman is fixated on the floor with her eyes would lead me to believe it had successfully seduced her.
"But, like I said. Not much sport in it with me. Because I won't retaliate, I'll tell you that now. You can just, bloody, shot me right in the head hey. I won't do shit. I'm a coward, always have been."
"Really?" squeaks from her lips, like a disappointed child.
"Oh yeah," I say in a high-pitched tone. "My spirit animal is one of those fainting goats off YouTube." I shake my head a few times. "This really is just going to be a let down. I just wouldn't bother, someone else out there would be a better fit. I'm, uhh, just to dull to be murdered."
I don't know what to say at this point. It's definitely been longer than three minutes, so, great?
Out of nowhere, she just barks at me. "If you're not going to do anything you can just go."
"Love too," I say quickly, and make a mad dash away.
When I was a child, maybe seven or so, my father sat me down. He said, "Louie, you're never going to be a strong person. You're twice as ugly as myself, and you make me want to wretch. You are pathetic, and no one will ever find you fun. Never forget."
And I never did.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out /r/Rhysyjay, I never update it.
| It was hard to breath. Not because I was being choked todeath, although I'm sure that'd happen in the next few minutes. The man stops in front of me, however, and he begin to speak. "Why. Why should I not kill you?" My mouth fell ajar. What the hell? What kind of serial killer is this guy?
I take a deep breath, trying to think of something to say. I doubt begging would help, seeing as he probably doesn't have much empathy to begin with. Steeling myself, I speak. My face goes from its panicked fear to my best neutral, unchanging expression.
"Why? Because there's no point. I have no valuables, I never wronged you either. So why would you kill me? I don't see a reason. I suppose there isn't a reason on why you _shouldn't_ kill me either, but neither is their one for killing me. So it's your choice. Choose to add another body to the pile, or not."
The man seems startled for a moment. I guess he never had someone try to actually come up with a logical reason.
"Fine."
"Fine? Fine what?"
"_Fine_, get out!" The man barked, his voice rising. My breaths get harder, and I run. I can't believe that worked... Holy crap. I'm lucky to be alive. And I probably ripped that whole thing off of the internet somewhere and I don't even know it. I take out my phone, and dial 911. I begin to retell my story, and the women on the phone confirms his identity, and says she'll send officers immedietely, and that I'll receive a reward. Thank god I'm out of there. What a weird way to operate. It seems quite innefective. I shake my head, willing myself to try and think of something else, as I head home. | 2017-10-07T08:39:47 | 2017-10-07T07:51:57 | 127 | 10 |
[WP] You have an ability to hear a ‘Ding’ sound to know if someone’s speaking the truth. One day, your childhood friend of 17 years says “I swear, I’ll kill you one day.” You both laugh but then you heard a ‘Ding’. Scared, you asked if it’s true. “No” they replied. Silence. | I hover here at the brink of death suspended in a single instant. I guess it wasn't all that unexpected. Just one of a million possibilities, all seemingly equally likely...
---
My wife and I have been married for thirteen years. We met in third grade, having been sat next to one another due to the proximity of our last names. "Do you like my hair?" she asked, holding up a braided pony tail so that I may get a better look. I nodded. "Good, I like your curly hair." I knew she wasn't lying. I blushed. Most kids made fun of my hair. Since that time we've been inseparable; best friends through middle and high school, and then through college. The day she told me that she loved me was possibly the happiest day of my life. I wasn't brave enough to say what we both knew to be true, but she always seems to compliment those parts of me that are lacking. Her pronouncement, a statement of Truth, followed by an audible ding that only I could hear. I nearly wept.
"You heard it didn't you?"
"Yes," I said, "clear as a bell."
"Well, duh," she said playfully, "I could never lie to you. We'll be together forever."
Two quick dings reverberated through the air. I smiled as she held up two fingers, a look of anticipation spread across her face. I nodded and we both cried.
We graduated with our bachelor's degrees on the same day, and within 6 months, we were married. Best friends for life. How could I have ever deserved such a happy life? Three years into our marriage, everything changed.
---
Ever since I was a child I've known the drawbacks of my power. At first, I thought it was a simple lie detector, but later I found that it's connection to our universe was much deeper. I simply knew truths. Truths others were unable to know. A man alone with all the answers. I felt the true magnitude of this weight on the first day of my sophomore year in college. I sat there listening intently to my professor explain why we should care about the study of philosophy. It was only an elective course, and I hadn't considered that this class entitled, "The Philosophy of Free Will and Luck," would be such a mental challenge.
"In this class we must consider the words of philosophers throughout time. Does free will exist? How do we even define it? Do we live in a determined universe, or-,"
"Yep!" The interruption came from the back of the room. Some self assured undergrad proclaiming that they already knew the answers to life's biggest questions. What utter hubris. And yet, there it was, the ding. It hung in the air and faded quickly. My mouth dropped. What incredible power, or so I thought. For years I felt myself grow unsatisfied with knowing the truth of everything. I found a deeper question Answers in and of themselves, even to life's deepest mysteries, are wholly unsatisfying without an explanation of *why*. I know our universe is determined. That and the answers to a thousand other grand questions. But why?...
Who knows?
---
The night my wife told she she'd kill me, it was a playful comment. Something said in passing, meant to illicit a smile. She was a terrible cook, but had decided that tonight she'd be giving it a try. I could already smell it in the air, burnt crumbs on the outer layer of what would be a very tough chicken breast; a clear sign we'd be getting take out."
"What are you trying to do, kill me?" I joked.
"I swear, I'll kill you one day." She stuck out her tongue at me, then smiled meeting my gaze. Her smile melted as she saw the look I must have been wearing in that instant, one of frightened distraction. A clear ding. "What'd you say?" But she didn't want to repeat it. She knew I'd heard it, and she knew I'd heard the sound. I tried to laugh it off as no big deal. I knew it could mean a million different things. I tried to reason with her, "Hun, it could mean anything! It's not like you're gonna murder me!" Her eyes widened, a look of terror on her face morphed into one of clarity. "I'm going to murder you," she said. We both waited for what seemed like an eternity. "No ding!" I said. I was telling the truth, but I could tell that she was skeptical. She was burdened with my gift without its benefit. That night I woke up to the sound of her pillow-muffled sobs. That was the first night of many.
To say that she was affected would be an understatement. Her five years of substance abuse, and then lifelong road to recovery taught us that we could make it through anything. Thirteen years into our marriage those hard fought days seemed like a distant memory. We were happy again, content to know that we were truly unsure of what her statement entailed other than some elusive truth too unhealthy to explore. We did not know the *why*, and in that way, we were just like everyone else.
---
It could have happened any other time, any other way. It's not like she avoided risk anymore. Those days were behind us. Years of therapy had convinced her to let go of what she couldn't control. You can't just stop living normally. You have to go on. Five years ago, my wife wouldn't have even looked at a car, let alone driven one. She'd been doing wonderfully. No longer did we feel the burden of knowledge. That singular ding, a harbinger that one day our fates would crest over the horizon, spurned by some irrevocable action, no longer haunted us. How we're we any different from anyone else?
As we hung upside down in the air, seat belts fastened, safety glass suspended in front of our faces, we knew the day had come. We hadn't even seen what it was in the road when she swerved. How could we have known that the barrier would be weak at the very spot where she barrelled through it? We couldn't. No one could. These things happen. She held my hand, our car tumbling in the air. I knew that the fall would be something like 100 meters. That's about 5 seconds to impact. Our eyes met, all four of them welling with tears suspended in our free fall, unable to flow. Our hands squeezed more tightly as she mouthed the words to me again, those words she'd bravely said so long ago, "We'll be together forever." Our hands squeezed tighter still, so tightly I felt they may have been fused, forever bonded by our love and our mutual fate. Together forever... *ding | / i haven’t written in first person in a while, but i hope this is sufficiently entertaining. hope you guys enjoy it even though i’m writing this so late at night, lol
(please excuse any typos, i’ll edit them in the morning)
•
Eli Sanchez has always been different.
Perhaps that was why I felt inexplicably drawn to him. He understood me so well that sometimes there was no need for words to articulate my feelings. Eli was always able to see right through me.
I wish I could say the same about him. I have this ability, you see, one which I possessed since I became aware of what lying meant and how it affected people. Whenever someone spoke the truth, I hear a ‘ding’ sound in my head. The sound would resonate, making me pause for a moment to brand the speaker’s words as they were: complete honesty.
Eli seemed to be the one person this “power” of mine refused to work on. Whether it was because he spoke half-truths, or there was simply something about him that my ability couldn’t penetrate, still remained.
Today, the Sanchez family invited me over for Sunday lunch. The summer heat was unbearable at best, but I managed to traipse through the sweltering streets to get to my destination. Once Eli’s house came into view, I broke into a half-jog before ringing the doorbell.
I wiped my sweaty hands across the fabric of my pants. The sun’s rays pierced through my clothes, flushing my skin a slight red.
Eli pulled the gate open just in time. I walked in without as much as a hello, before turning around to flash him a grin.
“Hey, you.” I said.
“Hey, you.” Eli replied.
We stood there for a moment, before we burst out laughing.
Soon, I was whisked inside by an indignant Mrs. Sanchez. The jade rosary around her neck swung about as she set the table, filling it with plates upon plates of food.
After a lighthearted lunch (in which Mr and Mrs. Sanchez shared stories about Eli’s childhood and Andre’s wedding preparations), Eli pulled me upstairs and into his room.
“Man, that was unbearable.” Eli plopped onto his bed, his black hair forming a halo around his head. “Ma can be so talkative sometimes. So annoying.”
Still, I heard no sound in my head. I’ve expected as much; in the seventeen years I’ve known him, my ability was never able to verify Eli‘s words as true.
I sat down beside him, somewhat tentatively. My childhood friend was as unpredictable as the weather. At times, even when he didn’t seem clearly agitated, he would lash out at me for no reason. Although it happened only once in a blue moon, it was better to be safe than sorry.
“She’s just excited. You know, with Andre’s wedding and all.”
Ah, there it was. Eli’s expression darkened at the mention of his older brother; while I was tempted to reach out and pat his arm as a gesture of comfort, I knew it would be stupid to attempt it.
So instead, I settled for the sudden uncomfortable silence between us. I struggled to prevent myself from picking at my nails, or looking around the bedroom I’ve spent so much of my childhood in. It always took a while for Eli to calm down.
“You really know how to push all my buttons.”
The words swirled in the empty space between us. I lifted my gaze from where it was fixated on his messy desk, and directed it towards him.
“I don’t do it on purpose,” was my defensive reply. Must he always try to blame me for his moods?
Eli propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes threatening to burn holes into my head.
“I swear, James Enriquez.” His voice was low, but loud enough for me to hear. I curled my hands on my lap, as if—as if acting submissive would help ease his annoyance. “I swear, I’m going to kill you one day.”
A small chuckle bubbled out of my throat. Eli’s lips quirked into a smile, before he laughed and—
‘Ding’.
The sound was unmistakable. I froze, feeling all manner of emotion climb up my spine. Most prominent of them all was fear, which threatened to turn all my innards into ice. Despite the way my throat closed up and my chest tightened, I managed to speak.
“You wouldn’t actually do that, right?”
My words were faint, and lacking in conviction. As if I was trying to convince myself to believe anything BUT the truth.
Of course he was joking. Eli wouldn’t do that. He could never do that to me—his best friend—the one person to believe in him despite everything he’s said and done and failed to do.
He couldn’t kill me.
But the fact that he apparently WOULD terrified me to no end, rooting me in place as he sent a slow grin in my direction.
“Of course not, James.”
No sound. He’s lying.
My skin crawled. It took all of my self control to not bolt out of the room with the way my heart pounded so vigorously in my ribcage.
After that, I never saw Eli Sanchez again.
Until today, that is. | 2019-05-27T07:49:14 | 2019-05-27T06:05:27 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] You are a supervillain, but every single one of your plans of world domination has somehow collapsed into a harmless flirtatious encounter with the superhero by accident. Today, the superhero has come to propose to you. | Part 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6ebm0w/the_empress_who_fell_in_love_with_her_assassin/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6ecojc/the_empress_who_fell_in_love_with_her_assassin/)
---
The most powerful woman in the world knelt on one knee in front of Jack Monroe with a wedding ring pinched between her fingers. Her eyes stared unblinking, as wide and blue as the ocean itself. Blonde hair draped over her shoulder like silk and she nibbled on bright red lips. Jack had never seen Laura ‘The Empress’ Hill so done up. She actually looked cute.
Though he knew that she could also break him in two with only a pinky.
“Hey,” Jack said, averting his eyes. “We seem to run into each other a lot.” He stuffed his hands into his jacket, his fingers curled around the gun he had built just to kill her.
“Oh.” Laura said, the word like a wilting flower and she lowered the ring. “I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t… oh my God…” her face burned red and her gaze dropped to the floor.
“No.” Jack held up his palms in a vain attempt to calm her. His face also burned. “I just didn’t know we had *that* kind of relationship.”
“What sort of relationship did you think we had?”
“Well…” Mincing words was never Jack’s specialty. He dealt in weaponry capable of destroying even the most powerful of superheroes. Somehow, he doubted that the truth that he had simply been trying to kill her all this time would’ve sufficed.
Laura frowned. “Haven’t you been following me around? Haven’t you even risked your life to come to my aid?”
“Your aid?” Jack’s brow raised.
“Every time someone came at me with a new weapon, you were there, weren’t you? I mean, these were weapons that could conquer the world, yet you came to my side with complete disregard for your own life. I just thought that…” Laura gritted her teeth and looked up. “I was hoping that it meant something.”
Jack opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Laura frowned deepened and tears swelled in her eyes. “God this is so embarrassing. Look, you don’t have to explain anything to me. This is my own misunderstanding. My fault. My embarrassment. My shitty decision.”
“I just didn’t know you thought that way about me,” Jack finally pushed out. “I mean, sure you’ve saved me a few times, but I thought it was like your hero’s creed or something. I didn’t think I was special.”
Laura stood up and dusted her uniform off. She feigned a weak smile. “*I* thought you were.”
Before Jack could respond, the cement sidewalk cracked and a blur of blonde hair whisked away into the air. Jack trailed it until it became a dot in the sky. A tear hit his forehead.
“What the hell,” he muttered to himself.
Laura ‘The Empress’ Hill in love with him? It sounded like a bad joke. He had dedicated his life to ending hers and had finally created the weapon that could do it. In fact, he had just sold three of them to various gang leaders around the city.
His heart skipped a beat.
It’s not that he liked her or felt sorry for her. And if anyone even mentioned the word *love* around him he’d kick their asses. But she couldn’t die until he cleared this up. He wouldn’t let her.
Three weapons. Three gang leaders. He clenched his fingers into fists. It was time he took back his toys.
---
Laura flew into the closest cloud she could find. Its water bit against her skin, wiping the mascara and lipstick from her face. It didn’t matter. None of that had enticed Jack anyways. In the cover of the clouds, she finally allowed herself to cry.
“Stupid Laura,” she muttered.
She had bought into her own hype. Every day, a hundred rich, young, and beautiful men proposed their love for The Empress on chat forums, fan pages, and even in the streets. Somehow, she had thought Jack Monroe just like them.
But that was stupid. None of her fans ever rushed into danger like Jack Monroe did. Whenever there was even the slightest chance of her downfall, he was there. He wouldn’t do anything, but that was because he was human. It was this same weakness that had stolen her heart—a frail human who had no power and no ability put himself into harm’s way just to make sure that she got out in one piece.
What could that be except love? Laura bit her lip and shook her head. Except it apparently wasn’t. Perhaps it was just coincidence, a divine joke played at her expense.
She wondered if he’d sell the story to the tabloids. He had every right to after all. Though if she knew anything about Jack Monroe… she sighed. She didn’t know anything about Jack Monroe and this was the proof. If he did choose to embarrass her for money, she wouldn’t blame him.
A siren sounded at the city’s central bank. Laura squinted her eyes and found a group of hooded men firing weapons into the air. With them stood a man without a mask dressed in a white suit. He was the leader of The Packrats, one of the three top gangs in the city.
“Come on out my little Empress,” he said, fully confident that she could hear him. In fact, he seemed entirely confident to even take her. He normally would never show his face in public, never mind in the middle of robbing the city’s largest bank.
Laura wiped her tears. She didn’t bother thinking it through. Her thoughts were all embers juggling in her brain and she could do without them today.
“Sorry Alric,” she growled. “But you caught me in a real bad mood.” And she charged in.
---
Jack heard the sirens echoing through the sky. Then he saw the cloud disperse, blown away with reckless force. The blood drained from his cheeks. The first gang was already making its move. Such was the confidence they held in his weapons. Unfortunately, they were right in their confidence.
“Shit!” He had perhaps only minutes to get there in time.
He ran out to the middle of the street and spread his arms. A car skidded to a high-pitched stop in front of him.
“What’s wrong with you?” the driver got out, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a dirty tank top. “What are you trying to do? Die?”
The man’s mouth clamped shut because Jack had taken his gun out of his pocket. It looked exactly like normal handgun, which was the point. This weapon was designed to catch The Empress off guard. Whereas most bullets would bounce off her harmlessly, this one fired at velocity’s near the speed of light with bullets made of tungsten.
“Hey man, I don’t want any trouble.” The man said, his hands held high above his head.
“Shut up,” Jack snapped. Normally, even in crime, he always prided himself in his poise. But this was anything but normal. Right now, he could count the ticks of the clock because his heart was beating twice a second.
*What are you doing, Jack?* He silenced the voice in his head.
“Get out of your god damn car before I blow your brains out,” he screamed.
He jumped into the man’s rusty sedan and slammed the gas. The car lurched forward and sped toward the city.
“Wait for me you god damn Empress.”
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand and more!
| There was a knock at my door. I sat in silence for a moment, hoping it would go away. It didn't. There was something strange about the knock, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Like... like five-hundred fists were hitting the door at once, but it was just as loud as one.
Obviously I wasn't expecting anyone. Villains always work alone. I suppose it's why we always lose, too. Not that that's been an issue with me. I've never gotten far enough along to lose.
I swiveled around in my chair, set my cat on the ground, and set the death laser to stun. Then I realized it was already set to stun. Then I realized I had to wipe the dust off of the little knob that would've set it to stun. I didn't have to dust it off to set it to stun, but you can't have a villain breaking down the door with a dusty death ray. Well, stun ray.
I really would've had it set to kill, I swear. But I had to know how they got there, ya know? Stun them, tie them up, ask how they got there, turn the knob one hundred and eighty degrees, pull the trigger. That simple.
I looked at the security monitor for my porch. It wasn't working. Completely black.
I sighed, hit the trap door button, waited five seconds, and opened the front door. My welcome mat had fallen aside, but my electric eels weren't getting anything to eat. Actually, I read on the Internet, something like a week after I got them, that they have no hope of killing an adult human. Oh well, they're kinda cute.
Nope, the woman who can see photons flying was standing there. Right behind the hole.
"Hey, Moth," she said. She stretched her hand toward me. In it was my porch camera. I craned my neck to look around, and saw its charred, sizzling mount on the wall.
"You-"
"You were gonna use this on me?"
I turned around, and in her other hand was the stun gun. I sighed.
"May, you gotta-"
"Gotta what?" My stun gun was hanging precariously over the trap door. Right above my pit of electric eels.
"No!" I cried.
"Wait, why? Do you know it's your only chance against the Living Light Particle?"
Me. "No, no, no! I have a pit of electric eels down there!"
"You... know those can't kill a human, right?"
"Uh... yeah...?"
"See, you're a sweet guy! Anyway, why can't I drop it?"
"They, uh... Might think it's a mouse? And zap it? And get stunned?"
"Awww! You care about them! You don't starve them to make them mean or anything, right?"
"No, I gave them a monkey just this morning."
"Oh."
"Anyway, uh... would you like to come in? I mean, you may have already been in, for all I know. Faster than light and all that."
"Oh, you know I wouldn't."
"So... you didn't tell any of your friends, right?"
"There's nothing to tell... **yet.**"
"Is there going to be? I mean, if you're gonna burn down my lab, by all means. Just carry Tinkles out, will you? And the eels. And maybe the monkeys."
She paused. "Tinkles?!"
"My cat."
"Omigod, you're a cat person?!"
"Yeah..."
"That's so what I expected. I'd love cats, if they could run with me, ya know?"
"I don't think anything can run with you. Believe me, I tried genetically engineering some cheetahs once."
"For me? Aww."
She was gone in a blast of wind, I heard a soft clunk, and she came back, emptyhanded.
I sighed. "Yeah... for you? I mean, they were going to tear your throat out if they got to you."
"Well, I got to you. And I have something to tear out."
"Why are you here, anyway? And how did you find me?"
"Just a little detective-work."
"That's not your style."
"Do you know what is my style, Moth?"
I gulped. She grinned. She brought something out of her pocket... a little box. I backed up silently.
"No... please, no."
"Yes!"
Faster than a flash, the box was open. A beautiful ring, the color of moth wings and stars and darkness... it was jasper, I think.
"A... ring." I managed to sputter out.
"Of course, cutie. We went on that date once, remember? I mean, you had a bomb under the table, but you've always known I'm a policeman, right? I get stuff like that every other week."
"O-of course. This is just so-"
"Ah, come on. That was our only *real* date, sure. But what about all the times we got to talkin'? It was a weird feeling, at first, ya know? Knowing I'd rather date you than, say, Dumbbell..."
"That's... flattering, I..."
"You really are who I think you are, right? No sadistic tests going on right now? No cities under bomb threat?"
"O-of course not, May. I... Thank you for the ring."
"You're welcome, handsome. Now... about a second date. I really wanted to rush into it, but-"
"That's you everyday."
"You know it, Moth. I'll be taking this until you decide. No pressure, alright? Just... no evildoing. Not even a bank robbery."
"Not even a bank robbery."
"Great! Place, time?"
"That froyo place, downtown?"
"The one you didn't drop a cryo-bomb in?"
"Of course! They were the best in town, couldn't go ruining my own Saturdays!"
"I'll be there, Moth. On the dot."
"Of course."
And she was gone. I sat down in my chair, and brought the welcome mat back up.
May... she was beautiful under that mask, I bet. | 2017-05-30T14:39:02 | 2017-05-30T14:24:58 | 270 | 61 |
[WP] You have lived an unimpressive life, and died an unimpressive death. Surprisingly, Odin welcomes you into Valhalla, citing the many battles with depression you fought. | As Jose lay dying, darkness slowly crept in from the edges of his vision. He welcomed it. Jose's son started shouting for the nurse, squeezing his father's bony hand tighter. But there was no point. This was what Jose wanted. Faintly, he heard the machines by his bedside start to screech and beep. *Good*, he thought. *I'll all be over soon*.
When Jose took his final, ragged breath, blinding light burned away the darkness and illuminated the shabby little room he'd spent the last few weeks of his long, haggard life. The woman that descended from the light was an oil painting. Her armor glittered, as if dappled with sunshine. And her horse was pure titanium white, even its wings. She was divine. And, somehow, Jose knew she'd come for him.
The woman cradled Jose in her arms, and her smile split the clouds, revealing the dawn.
\*\*\*
When Jose awoke, he was laying in a field. He rolled over and pushed himself up and stopped. There was no pain. No fatigue. His hands weren't wasted and skeletal. He held them up to his face. They were dark and strong and … young.
"Good," rumbled a voice like rocks tumbling. "You're awake."
Jose turned and found a man standing in the field with him. His beard came down to his chest and was gray and braided in places. He leaned on a gnarled wooden staff and wore a cracked leather patch over one of his eyes.
"Who are you? Where am I?" Jose asked. Towers rose in the distance, nothing like the New York City skyline. These towers were gilded and spiraled and, even from this distance, hummed.
"I go by many names," said the old man. "Spearman, Lord of the Undead, The Wanderer, The One Who is Many, God of the Hanged, The One Eyed Raven God, Terrible One, The All-Father, Wednesday … but you may call me Odin."
"Oh," said Jose. "I see. I thought I'd have my life flash before my eyes, but this seems better."
"You are not dying, Jose Shadowbane. You stand outside the Halls of Valhalla."
Jose barked a laugh. "First of all, I'm no Viking. My last name's Ortiz. And second, I'm -- was Catholic. I'm supposed to be in purgatory."
Odin stumped forward. "Viking is not a race, Shadowbane. It is an identity. And not to worry. Lamb's Blood is here as well. All who fall in battle are welcome, as my children."
"Battle? Alright, I think I've heard enough. Which way is purgatory? You know what -- never mind."
Jose turned to walk away but the old man, Odin, appeared there before him. Jose turned again, and there he was.
"You are welcome here, son," said Odin. "But I will not force you. There are no slaves in Valhalla."
"Enough with the Viking stuff!" Jose shouted. "I'm not a warrior. I've never swung a sword in my life. Only paint brushes." He looked down. "And bottles."
"Not every battlefield is a literal one--" Odin stroked his beard. "--some are a great deal more … nebulous."
"Oh fuck off. I'm not doing riddles."
Odin smiled sadly. "Your battle happened every day, Shadowbane, here--" He pointed to his heart. "--and here--" He pointed to his head. "Not even the Thunderer could hope to vanquish such a foe easily. Do you understand?"
"You--you're talking about my depression?" Anger shook him clear to his marrow. "How *dare* you make light of my suffering. My pain! You know nothing! Every day I woke up and clawed my way through a calcified wall of shame and guilt and regret. Some days I couldn't eat. Couldn't move. Couldn't tell my son I loved him. I drank myself into a hole for years. I--" He was crying now. "I'm not a warrior. I'm done."
Odin nodded knowingly. "But you fought, Shadowbane. You fought a battle that could not be won, for there was no foe to slay. You fought a battle that could only be survived. There is great honor in such a feat."
Jose laughed bitterly. "Survived? I asked my son to pull the plug. I made my boy put his father down like a lame horse and I was glad. And not because of the cancer, but because I couldn't finally, finally stop fighting. I gave up. Where's the honor in that, *Odin*?"
Odin stumped closer and placed a hand on Jose's shoulder. He flinched, and Odin pulled his hand back. "Yes, you chose death. But you spared your boy the pain of watching his father waste away. You chose mercy. I do not know if I could have done the same, Shadowbane."
Jose looked up and stared into Odin's face. His one eye glittered, tearing up. Jose's shoulders slumped, and he said, "I didn't win."
"But you fought. You fought. And so, I welcome you, my son."
Jose and Odin walked through the lush grass toward the towering doors of the Shining Hall. Outside, warriors trained, sparring with sword and shield. Inside, they drank and ate at long tables stretching impossibly long. Odin told him it was time to get dressed. Jose expected chainmail or something *Lord of the Ringsy*. Instead, he was given a simple tunic and comfortable shoes. Then they walked down a corridor and stopped in front of a door.
"What's in there?" Jose asked.
"Your battleground," Odin said, and opened the door.
Inside was a circle of wooden chairs. And in each chair sat a warrior. They were of all ages, races, faces. In one of the chairs, sat a massive man with fiery red hair. He had a look in his eyes that Jose had seen in the mirror far too many times. A hollow, haggard dejection.
One of the warriors, a dark-skinned man with the warmest smile Jose had ever seen, nodded to Odin and ushered Jose inside. Jose sat in an empty chair and watched. The warriors took turns introducing themselves and speaking not about battle or glory, but about things Jose understood. The darkness. The pain. The guilt. Even Thor. After a while, the room seemed to brighten, if only a bit. It was enough.
And when it was his turn, he spoke. "Hello. My name is Jose … Shadowbane." | "Young warrior your fierce encounters with the demon of despair that has haunted you since birth is beyond admirable. It is the stuff of myths and legends. 'Depression' in your modern tongue is but a symptom of an ancient curse that has all but pushed the mortal world to Ragnarok. You are perhaps one of our finest warriors in the great battle to come!" Odin proclaimed, his laughter bellowing through the halls of Valhalla.
I was flabergasted, astonished and outright dumbfounded. Not the Christians, not the Hindus, not the Muslims - heck not even the Aztecs - It was the Vikings that got the reality of our making right? I suppose I had bigger things to contend right now.
"The great battle?" I asked clueless as to how and when I came to be a warrior, much less one of the 'finest'.
"Well, the battle before the world is made anew! Don't tell me they have forgotten the tales of Ragnarok in the mortal realm!" Odin's surprise showed through his stern, beard-clad face.
"Ragnarok is a very popular role-playing game in the modern age. I'm afraid the realities and nuances of the tale are lost to us new folk" I grinned sheepishly.
"I suppose then I must tell you the great demon of despair, the one prophesized to bring about the end of days - collapsing human civilization on itself and submerging the world in water" Odin continued, "The demon planted seeds of sorrow and madness into tribes of the human world - slowly corrupting the whole world into a destructive madness. A madness of greed, unnatural sustenance, and cancerous growth. Humankind is already twisting itself into a civilization destined to bring about its own doom. Corrupted by the demon apostle, it seems young warrior your world will fall. But in that era of darkness, the righteous - offered salvation in Valhalla - shall return to the earth realm and cleanse the great corruption." Odin finished looking into my eyes. His deep stare made me a bit uncomfortable.
"Can't we just kill this demon guy?" I said
"To kill the demon, we must first learn of its true name and then we must face it, head-on. But I'm afraid we can do neither of those things from Valhalla, not just yet. And even if you were to successfully disrupt the great cycle, you will only anger powers far greater than anything that has so far touched the mortal realms. There are gods greater than your understanding in our universe young warrior. There are prophecies that must be respected and rules that must be followed. And yet even inside its cruel tricks, our world's fate offers us a chance. The only question that remains is, do you heed its call?"
"And if I don't?" I asked, staring blankly back at the mighty allfather.
"It is not in your nature to not fight. It is not your fate to lose the fight against the corruption of sorrow. You have bested the demon despite its tricks. You pushed past every attempt to corrupt your soul. You made it to the end of your life without letting it get the best of you. You have won a battle that a billion souls lost. They lost it in their sleep, in their lowest moments, and in the time in between their thoughts. But not you. It is because you refused to submit that the corruption attacked you much harder, that it persisted further in your life." He explained, his eyes looking as though they expected me to ignite with the flames of passion.
"I'm no hero, allfather. I'm no warrior. I died before I could reach 34. I died at less than half the average lifespan of my grandfather's generation. I died walking to the store in the middle of a cold night. I died because I was dumb enough to slip on ice. I died because nobody cared enough to check on me for hours. I died alone and cold, a hundred feet from my house".
Odin only smirked in response. A short silence passed through the hallway.
"You are a warrior. You died older than Thor, who reached Valhalla fighting the endless barbarian hordes. You died twice the age of Baldr, whose light surpasses even that of Valhalla. You died risking the deadly chill of the warmthless winter on a night where you had but little strength, so that your neighbor Mrs.Pinkett may have hot soup. You died in service of others despite corruption inside your head. A corruption so vile and strong that earth's mightiest have been turned into mere husks or worse - twisted monstrous versions of their former selves." Odin said, looking deeper into my eyes.
I see for a second what looks like thunder and lightning passing within the allfather's eyes.
"And so I ask again, will you head the call?"
I felt a warmth ignite in the depths of my heart. I feel the strength of all the battles that I won. I feel the power to fight the chill of the night, the dread of the corruption, and the sorrow of my kind's curse.
"I do" I said. And at that moment, I realized the truth of the allfather's statement. I realized I was always going to heed the call. That even in my death, I won my battles against my demons. | 2022-05-28T09:43:30 | 2022-05-28T09:26:47 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why. | Crusher had finally found his nemesis’ weakness. After hours upon days upon weeks of observing, monitoring, tailing, he finally found The Reader’s real name. It was Mark. Mark Bellings, the highly regarded psychiatrist. As Mark Bellings, he had saved the lives of countless patients’ lives by helping them realize what truly troubled them. As The Reader, he had thwarted the plans of hundreds of villains simply by getting close to them and hearing their thoughts. No villain had ever been able to stop him.
Until now. Crusher had found a pressure point. You see, Mark Bellings had a little sister, Anna. Constantly partying, constantly stealing, constantly causing problems, yet oddly never arrested. Every Thursday night, she and The Reader would have dinner in his penthouse apartment. All Crusher had to was be in that apartment and grab her, and The Reader wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. He could only read thoughts; great for thwarting future plans, but once you were in the room with him? He was useless.
Early Thursday evening, the Crusher walked up to his nemesis’ building, smashing in the front door. He ripped open the elevator doors, crushing them into small metal balls in his huge hands. As he smashed the button for the penthouse, the battered elevator began the climb to the thirtieth floor, high above the city.
When the elevator reached the top, The Reader was standing there waiting. Crusher could almost feel the fear radiating towards him. He smiled.
“I’ve found you, Mark,” he sneered, putting as much contempt as he could into the last word.
“Crusher, now is really, really not a good time. Congrats on finding my alter ego and all, but…can you come back tomorrow? Pretty please?” The Reader glanced at the other elevator, watching as its numbers ticked closer to 30, hoping that it wasn’t Anna.
“Of course not. I’m here to kidnap your little sister. And there’s nothing you can do about it.” Crusher began his evil cackle, which rumbled low and slowly became more and more like the sound of an aluminum can crumpling. But he didn’t get to the crumpling part. The Reader interrupted him.
“It’s not what I can do that worries me.”
The elevator dinged open, and a young woman stepped through the doors. Her pink, sparkly crop top matched her eyeshadow perfectly, and even her cheetah print platforms were the same shade. Her eyes fell on Crusher and she scowled. “I thought you said you weren’t going to bring your little friends around here, Mark.”
“He—he was just leaving.” The Reader stuttered.
Crusher scoffed. “Of course I wasn’t—”
The young cocked her head to the side. Tell me why you’re here.
The voice resonated through Crusher’s head, inescapable, clouding his thoughts. He had planned a cunning quip, but what came out was the honest answer, in a strange monotone voice. “I’m here to kidnap you to control your brother.”
“See Mark, this is why you shouldn’t bring them around.” Anna sighed. “Why can’t we just have a nice dinner for once?”
Crusher shook his head, clearing his mental fog, and continued his previous plans. “Little Anna, I’m here to take a page out of The Reader’s book and stop him before he starts. With you under my power, he won’t be able to thwart me—”
Get out. Crusher felt the sudden, uncontrollable urge to leave. He glanced at the elevators, but both had already returned to the ground floor. The only other way out was the window. He ran towards in and smashed through it, beginning the thirty-story drop.
“Really, Anna? You couldn’t have been a little more specific?” Mark walked towards the window, watching his enemy fall.
Anna shrugged. “I told you not to bring them by.” | “...you looked at the Armageddon Protocol?” The black armored villain spoke to a crippled young team. Various shapes, powers, some seemed human others gremlins.
“Y-yeah boss...it was crazy, it was like they forgot their no kill ru-“ The armored villain turned back quickly, fired a red blast from his armored hand, making quick impact on the young man knocking him into a wall.
“RULES?! Now you wanna speak of rules...the Armageddon protocol is Armageddon for a reason!”
The young man’s chest had a clear burnt mark as his team groaned in pain from earlier blasts.
“We just wanted to prove ourselves to get out of goon work you kn-AUGH!” He was cut off by a blast. The black armored villain paced back and forth before quickly lifting the team with his energy, and binding them.
“Goons is putting it lightly if you think a hero’s control, their compassion will persist if you kill what anchors them to this world!” The villain went to a nearby computer and typed quickly.
“Maybe if I send a message to him, make sure I tel him you idiots did it without the league’s plans we’ll be-“
“Spared?”
A new voiced entered, turning around as fast as he could the armored villain had no chance before the last thing he saw was a blur.
With a snap of a neck he fell to the floor as the young team cowered in fear. The caped individual wore a once blue and yellow suit now stained pure red. As the figure flew ever closer to the young team.
The figure eventually touched the floor and walked, his eyes glowing a shining crimson. It seemed to spark past his eyes, as the team were drawn into the color as if their entire world was red. The figure’s wall stopped for a moment to look them all in the eye. Their world was gone, in their head they only knew the eyes before them. The figure seemed to speak, ranting for quite awhile. It seemed long enough for the team to go through a lifetime in mere seconds. They did not hear what the figure said. They only saw the eyes. Then the first noise they actually heard was a spark, before unyielding pain. As if the eyes turned into spiders and crawled through there bodies biting every inch. Before it stopped. Gasping for breath, as the figure’s voice was finally heard.
“Shall I show you why this was very clearly named...Armageddon?” And suddenly there red world returned | 2020-07-12T11:14:56 | 2020-07-12T11:12:41 | 233 | 36 |
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would. | The day had finally come. My 21st birthday, the final threshold to adulthood and the removal of the last legal prohibitions to having some fun. My older friends had received their checks and partied hard – some for days, some for hours. My younger friends waited enviously to see what I’d receive. The anticipation was worse than even college finals results.
​
“Anderson, J. Seven dollars and twenty-seven cents. Sign.”
​
I was shocked. They were shocked. What had begun as a party-to-be turned quickly into a wake, and those who I thought were my friends quickly commiserated and deserted me to find the next free drinks. I sighed and signed my name, bitterly cursing the governmental mathematicians who put me in this ridiculous predicament. Seven lousy bucks!
​
I guess it’s good for at least a soda, though, right? I took my check to the nearest gas station and decided to pick up at least some sort of drink to celebrate the day. Dr. Pepper was on sale 2 for $2, so I was already ahead! Silver linings and all that stuff. Peering into the scratchcard case, I figured I might as well throw the remaining five bucks at the mega-jackpot ticket. It’s not like I’d be able to do much else.
​
“Seven dollars and twenty-six cents, hon” said the cashier. I smiled at her and handed her my check. I guess I couldn’t even spend that little a windfall all in one place. She handed me my sodas, my scratch card, my receipt and a single shiny penny in change. Well, at least I’d have something to scratch with.
​
Donkey. Donkey. Horseshoe. Dollar bill. Horseshoe. Clover. Dollar bill. Firework. Horseshoe.
​
Wait, *what?* I looked at the payout table. Three horseshoes. 5 million bucks. Enough to set me up for life if I was careful enough. Easily enough to survive for a good while… and all of my so-called friends already abandoned me and written me off.
​
Damn the government! They’ve become so good at this stuff that they found a way that they didn’t even have to pay for me! | I was at my favorite taco joint with my family. It was a weird tradition we had. When someone turned 21, we go to this place as a family and open the check. See how much their life is worth. It tends to make for a good laugh. My brother's was around a million. My poor cousins was only 25% of that. So here we are on my birthday. We got our plate and sat with our food. Mom passed me the check and I opened it up. $7.27 the exact price of my meal. My mouth dropped. I looked at mom and passed her the check. Said "this will cover my cost." I pushed my food away. I'm not going to die choking on this crap. I got up, walked out the door into the parking. As I walking to my car I hear the screeching of tires.. | 2019-04-24T14:49:01 | 2019-04-24T13:37:46 | 99 | 32 |
[WP] You go to hell, only to find out that hell has been overturned by humans. Turns out gathering billions of the most wicked of human, among them are several ruthless but brilliant rulers, commanders, and dictators, whom can no longer die, isn't such a good idea after all. | Part 1: The green lush grass met Matthew's foot like a cushion as he stepped, pale, gaunt, and nervous, onto the shore. In the distance a child laughed as a young dog bounded up to her with a stick. A bird trilled softly somewhere across the rolling hills. Matt could feel a cool lavender breeze waft past his face as he turned to the equally gaunt boatman:
"Uhm, Chairon, was it? Are uh, you sure you brought me to the right place? I mean, it's not my habit to question divine judgement and all, but ain't I s'posed to be in, uh, hell?"
The boatman squinted around, drew a slick tablet from his black robes, and spoke as he scanned it with his dimfire eyes "Chairon's the horse guy. Trainer of heroes. Disney made him into fat goat guy voiced by Danny Devito. I'm Charon. Wayfarer of souls across the river styx. Disney made me into a skeleton man without lines" Before Matt could discern whether or not that was irony on the boatswain's flat voice, Charon went on. "Nope, everything's in order. You're in hell. Looks like it's under new management though... again. Fuck. If you'll excuse me, I have to go figure out who's gonna pay me now, talk with the established authorities on the other side, and ferry..." he scrolled through his tablet "Two-hundred thirty three thousand five hundred thirty seven souls accross this river" He paused to murmur "Fuck: Myanmar and Yemen are killing me today" to himself before turning back to Matt "So if you wouldn't mind sidling along off into whatever hell this is now, I'd like to get on with my meager daily schedule" Nope. Matt was decided. That wasn't irony in his voice. That was peevish sarcasm. Matt's frame hardened as he bristled:
"Listen dude. In case you forgot, I died today, relived all of my sins today, realized I had been a piece of shit in life today, got tossed off the pearly cloud and landed facefirst in the mud at your ferry today, and am in no mood to go off into this without knowing a little bit about what's going on! .... today." He took a breath "So EXCUSE me if this is a bad day for you, but this is literally my worst day. Cut me a break and tell me what the fuck is going on"
As the boatsman's eyes met his, Matt's spine did a creepy kind of tango. Charon's voice emanated as he spoke "What is one angelic rebel against..." checking his tablet "One hundred fourteen billion two hundred fifty three million five hundred forty nine thousand seven hundred fifty two conscious, intelligent rebel mortals that have ultimately been freed from the shackles of death? ... Hitler was an intelligent man Matthew Marbruck. Stalin even moreso. Even Squalbuck the sentient squidlord was smarter than your average heavenly dolphin. And don't forget that Atistotle was never baptized, Plato never prayed for a heavenly father to save him, and Hypatia never prayed to Jesus, Allah, Ganesh, or any of the millions of other other saving principle. Aurelius believed that life stopped when we drew our last breath and our bofies died, and even Constantine (who ushered heaven into the world-stage) committed murder, even genocide, by the thousands, just like Aurelius. Hell is not what you think it is. Death is not what you think it is. Tread carefully, and know that things change." He paused, and for a moment, the steel left his spine, the fire left his eyes, and his lips curled into what could have been a smile... long ago. "I know not what power rules this realm right now, but you will know soon enough. Goodbye Matthew Marbuck, and good luck."
A swish of water around a pole, a rush of mist, a laugh (perhaps?) and Charon disappeared across the river.
Before him, rolling hills stretched as far as he could see, full of willows, and birch, and mystery. Above him, tbf e fiery sunset sky faded into inexplicable darkness as it met t bf e river. The child and the dog had disappeared, but the lavender breeze had not. Catching, momentarily, a hint of the feeling he had felt as he hopped a moving cargo train amongst Provence's aromatic, amethyst fields, or rolled stolen, fragrant purple buds into a spliff, Matthew decided that in death, like in life, he would go any way the wind blows. At this point it really didn't matter to him, and it wouldn't... until he knew what 'It' was.
Sorry guys. Was planning on finishing, but have to get to an impromptu appointment. Hopefully, you guys will want to hear parts two and three. I'll be by later. | Trumpets blasted in the air. The sound was making the hairs on my skin stand up straight. That plus the view of millions of people screaming and running towards a group of demons.
I tried to keep up while the first humans reached the demons. They may have been dead already but the demons made sure nothing was left. Their claws and teeth went straight true the weak human flesh and bones.
How would we ever win this war? What change did we have against fallen angels? Demons from hell? It was Alexander the Great himself who had set up this battle plan. Him and his valuable generals. All old rulers themself. Some ruled parts of the earth so long ago nobody rememberd them. Others where more from my time. Stalin, Hitler, Mao, Qadaffi, Putin and so many more.
Over the last 53 years they had worked on a plan to take over Hell itself. First in secret but 53 years is a long time. Slowly their plans started to leak and more and more people wanted to help. Their centuries of experience in battle came together in todays plan. And here i was running. Just running towards demons. Was that the best they could do?
I mean i wouldnt mind getten ripped in peaces. Hell was shitty anyway, but serieus? This was it? At that moment i saw how thousands of humans run over a demon. We where simply to many and to fast. As soon as the dirst demon fell more followed. A deep raw sounded true the vallei of dead. We millions of humans felt a victory. We screamend, we yelled.
My feet stepped into blood and bones. Human but also demon. I could smell it. Was this it? Was this how we would take over hell?
At that moment a sound so deeply, so frightening sounded. It made our voices sound like mouses. Again the hair on my skin stood up but this time because of fair. Everybody knew this sound. It was the Devil himself. The angel of death. The nightmare of us all. A shadow casted itself over us. And far above us an dragon like beast apeared. It moved closer. Fastly.
While the shadow got darker i saw how in the distance Alexander moved his hands. So far away but still so powerfull. Did he have a plan for this? It must be. Fire came down from satan his mouth. Burning so many of us. It left a burnend highway of ashes towards the end of vallei. With a sharp movement he turned around. Ready for a second run. Right at that moment earth disappeared and man build machines popped up. Stones attached to ropes made of humanparts got shot towards the Devil. Attacking him from the back. At the same time humans riding captured demons flew in, attacking this almighty beast from every side.
At that moment i myself reach a demon and fight for my dead. Alone i would not stand a change, but we are with so many. I get pushed against the demon and can barely breath. All i can do is bite. So i bite. I will eat myself true his revolting skin. It tastes like nothing i ever tasted before. So discusting, so intense. I feel my bones in my body breaking from all the preasure. I keep eating. I scream, i bite, i cry, i dig. Slowly it gets dark before my eyes.
| 2018-06-17T18:58:00 | 2018-06-17T18:55:02 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] You are a normal citizen in a relatively unimportant country. One day the goverment starts to act crazy, changing ideology overnight, drafting people for the army and antagonizing their neighbours. The player controlling your country in a strategy game has just begun their world conquest run. | And at that exact moment, Stanthony realized he was an 13,000 pound African war elephant. Again.
"Shit"
A few seconds ago he had been tending to a very nice field of onions with his trusty plow and mule, Vanessa and Ricardo.
Then he'd suddenly he'd become a war pachyderm.
He stood in formation with a group of other equally confused elephants, covered in steel plate armor.
He looked off into the distance, where eh could see his beloved onion field had been completely covered up by a series of ugly squat wooden buildings.
"Oh look, more *barracks*, how nice" the elephant to Stan's left said.
"Yeah... great"
The Leader had run out of space again and was converting the city into a giant war factory.
The Leader must of hit the population limit too, hence Stan's sudden reincarnation as the largest land dweller of the great plains.
Stanthony sighed. This wasn't the first time he had been plucked from civilian life and reconstituted as a Level 3 War Elephant. He knew were this was going.
"Looks like *war* again, ay?" said the elephant so Stan's left.
"...Yep"
This would be the 12th time the great nation of Persia had mobilized and waged terrible, all consuming winner-takes-all stakes war with all the nations of the world.
Today.
And every time, it ended up the same way. Battle, carnage, destruction, retreat, slaughter.
​
Then the Leader would load the save game and Stanthony would find himself back in the middle of the forest wearing a loincoth, foraging for berries.
​
The elephant to Stan's left mused,
"You know, that first bit actually isn't so bad, after we get slaughtered and all that, you know the bit after we start over and The Leader has to build up resources so he can build his *blasted* army again. Some people complain about the manual labour and all that, you know the berry gathering and the woodchopping and market and road building and what not. I don't mind it though. Had me a grain mill this time around. It was nice."
​
Stanthony thought of his onion field. It had been nice.
​
A horn sounded in the distance, and the sprawling army began it's slow march into enemy lands.
​
Stanthony took one last look at home. The next time he saw it, he'd be wearing a loincloth foraging for berries.
​
Again.
​
"Well, time for murder and mayhem and all that, you know?"
​
Stan sighed.
​
"Yep.
​
​
​
​ | On mobile and also not a native speaker, so please go easy on me. Enjoy!
I couldn’t believe the news when I woke up. Our small country just declared war on our neighbors without any pretense. The army has been massively bolstered and the first few battles seemingly went in our favor. Apart from the defensive war against the blues a few years back we never fought before, always improving our economy and infrastructure. Our government always valued good living standards and a full treasury. Our armed forces always were on the weaker side number wise, but they have increased exponentially. I heard that we captured one city of the greens, who we were allied with before. Most of it was razed to the ground and what’s left is being shamelessly exploited by us. They are being oppressed by our forces there. The greens themselves were probably the weakest of our neighbors, but throwing away this long lasting mutual friendship all of the sudden sure surprised me. I heard that there were relentless bombardments on their coasts as well. I don’t think our generals even care about civilian casualties at this point. It’s only been a few hours and we have captured half of their territory already. So far so good, and while the countries of the AI-highlands shouldn’t be too much of an issue, i fear that the great nation of Player 2 wouldn’t leave us go without punishment...
| 2019-03-10T11:46:00 | 2019-03-10T09:03:58 | 199 | 14 |
[WP] Write about you writing the writing prompt response you're writing right now | "Ohh, look at me, I'm so meta" he thought, his eyes already searching for a more interesting title.
"Then again..." It *could* be fun, if done right. And Hearthstone wasn't working. He clicked on the link and started reading the first reply, only to stop himself before finishing the first paragraph, not wanting to be influenced by it.
Alas, it was too late, and some of it had lingered in his brain. "This is harder than I thought", it said.
"Well, now that they mention it, I really have no idea of how I'd go making this story interesting. Maybe I could have a part where I point that out? That could work."
But, he wondered, where could the story go from there? How to make it actually engaging. His mind wandered to Dan Harmon's story circle - he had had a conversation about it a few days earlier, and every time that happened the whole thing would stay around in the edges of his mind, waiting for any chance to resurface. Like that one roomate that always shows up just as you are about to start cooking.
He stopped typing and looked at the last sentence: "Like that one roomate that always shows up just as you are about to start cooking.", it said. It occurred to him he had no idea what he was talking about but hey, how would reddit know? It's not like he was going to tell them. Of course, on the other hand, it could do for some humorous stalling while he figured out where the story was going, so why not?
"But anyway, back to the story circle" his mind insisted, annoying as ever.
You. Need. Go. Search. Find. Take. Return. Change.
"I'd say I'm four steps in already. Now if only I could run into a goddess..."
The phone vibrated. He ignored it. Seconds passed in the almost-silence of impatience and frustration: fidgeting hands, stretching, some chair movement. He started typing about this, then stopped to see if there was any sound outside he could add. Zero. Nada. Just as he was about to mention this, a dog started barking.
"Another paragraph, still no goddess."
Maybe that's it. The realization that there is no real story to tell. That his life is not, and will never be, worth writing, no matter how he tries to pull it off.
Should he stop, then? Maybe close the tab, leaving no trace of the failed attempt?
No. He's done that many times. He regrets most of them.
"That was a *good* poem god damn it, I shouldn't have deleted it just because I couldn't finish it. It could have been part of the book."
The book is a big deal. But it's not part of this story.
"Or is it?" He wondered, right after typing those very same words. "Maybe this could go in the book as well. Which part would it fit? Wait, you are getting derailed, reddit is gonna get bored at this narcissistic bullshit, back to the circle."
He sighed.
He stretched.
"Ouch."
He *really* needed to go to the bathroom.
He smiled: that'd be a funny ending, wouldn't it? | Ok. Let's see...
Huh. This is harder than I thought. Prompts usually have a little more substance on them, with moments, characters or scenes to inspire a writer. Things to stimulate the imagination, you know?
But the prompt I'm responding to right now has none of these. How unique.
The only context I have to write a response is myself, the prompt itself, and the act of writing a response. The strangest thing is, those are three elements I'm very familiar with. I know me pretty well (grew it myself), I understand the words in the prompt, and writing responses to prompts is something I enjoy doing. Here's the problem though...
There needs to be inspiration in the prompt for a writer! That way, I can form a conflict to draw a reader's interest! And in that conflict, there must be a character striving for a solution, that takes place somewhere that fills the reader's imagination. And you gave me none of these!
So because of that, I'm struggling to respond to this prompt! Here I am, trying to come up with a response on my computer desk, with a warm Washington sun hammering heat into my bedroom, with no idea how to write this story!
How do I write a response that has no conflict, character, or scene?
Damnit. I don't think I can.
There's no way I can solve this puzzle and post a response I'm comfortable sharing. You win this time /u/anglicizing.
---------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* | 2016-04-28T14:16:40 | 2016-04-28T13:49:43 | 27 | 17 |
[WP] You're a direct descendant of Genghis Kahn. Your cubicle-mate has been a jerk all week. Your boss is making you work late again. Suddenly, you're gripped by the insatiable need to conquer Asia.
I leave up to you whether to take the prompt literally or as a metaphor.
EDIT: wow, these stories are so much fun to read! Sometimes in life you just need to cut loose and conquer Asia. . .
EDIT 2: does anyone else feel like today nothing is standing in your way? Just please don't pillage, rape or murder anyone on your way back from your lunch break!
EDIT 3: given the awesome response to this prompt, can we make an effort to replace Hitler with GK as the new default go to prompt subject? Blood thirsty Mongolian warlords are much more compelling than insecure petty German tyrants. | *Crinkle. Crinkle. Crinkle. Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. Gulp.*
At that moment, there was nothing that Sean hated more than the sound of protein bars being eaten. The action itself was not exactly damning, and nor was the food for that matter, but the fact that it was Sebastian O'Toole who committed the crime made it unbearable. Every day, at precisely 9:30 a.m., Sebastian would leave his desk, obnoxiously bumping the cubicle wall that he shared with Sean in the process, and jog to the vending machine in the hallway on the far end of the room. The draft that followed him would blow papers and knock pencils off of desks and his trip always seemed to coincide with Nicki the secretary's daily efforts to refill the office copier. Today, she was forced to leap out of the way, dropping a stack of white 8.5x11s that weighed almost as much as she did. Sebastian took no notice, and continued to his vending machine, popped a few quarters in, and collected his power bar. Nicki the secretary was doing her best to pick up the papers in four inch heels and a tight skirt. Sebastian hurdled her without breaking stride. His perfectly fitted shoes with their orthopedic inserts to maximize ankle stability hit the carpet with a faint clop, like the beat of the hooves of a horse on a faraway plain.
Sean couldn't count how many times he had pointed out his rudeness to his coworker, threatening to report him to management. The bastard always laughed it off, saying "Oh, Seanie, you do love the rules don't you? Why don't you try breaking procedure just once, for me? 'Eh Ching?" Sean's last name was Johnson, and he wasn't fucking Chinese. The reports were filed, and management was always "on it immediately".
Eventually, Sean stopped confronting Sebastian, and simply let his loathing for the man simmer on a low heat, slowly building, but never reaching a boiling point. He regarded his adversary with a demeanor of stoic malcontent, each offence added to the man's list of heinous crimes. Unfortunately, Sebastian was not deterred by Sean's passive aggression, and took it upon himself to make conversation when ever he could.
"You ever go to the gym?" O'Toole asked, not waiting for an answer. "You would see so much improvement in your life if you exercised some more. I can make suggestions for a training regiment for you. Build up some real body mass, and cut down that gut of yours."
Sean hoped that by giving the man a straight answer he could end the conversation. "I swim four days a week before I come to work. Plus I walk my dog."
"Nah, that isn't enough. Swimming alone won't get you anywhere. You want to focus on a good mix of cardiovascular and anaerobic exercise, mostly comprised of compound motions in order to maximize your..."
Sean tuned him out, and focused on the PowerPoint he was preparing for a conference. He wasn't going to be working late on it tonight.
"Hey, are you listening to me?" O'Toole smacked the back of Sean's monitor, causing the flimsy screen to warp dangerously. "It's rude to ignore people Ching!" he said with a mixture of annoyance and disgust.
Sean returned the man's gaze with a lividly calm, "My last name is Johnson. Not Ching"
"Then why do you look Chinese?"
"I'm Mongolian. My mom was Mongolian and my dad was white. My mom's last name was Bagabandi."
"Baga-what?"
Sean, still composed, rose to his feet, his eyes locked with Sebastian's. "Bagabandi," he said, and clapped Sebastian in the temple with his keyboard.
The cross-fitter crumpled to the ground, clutching his ringing skull. Sean walked around the wall of the cubicle, his composure gone. He picked Sebastian up by his collar, and immediately threw him to the ground again, delivering a kick in the ribs for good measure. He grabbed a pair of ankle weights from Sebastian's desk. With one hand, Sean drew his victim to his feet, and shoved the weights down Sebastian's gullet.
The office watched in stupefied horror as Sean placed his patent leather shoe at the base of Sebastian's neck, and with the strength of ten men, ripped the man's head clean off. He let out a bloodcurdling battle cry, and hurled the decapitated head across the office. It bounced off of the coffee machine and rolled to the base of the water cooler, leaving a splattered trail of thick, purple gore in its wake.
Sean charged for the door, cutting a straight line across the office. Desks and flimsy cubicle sidings were no barrier for him; he leaped over them all. Several other office drones joined him in his charge, Nicki the secretary was one of them. A middle aged man with a beer belly picked up the decapitated head of Sebastian O'Toole and skewered it on the end of a meter stick. They charged past the elevators in favor of the stairs. As they moved down through the building, spreading the news of Sebastian O'Toole's demise, more joined their force. Their cries shook the foundations of the office building and set off car alarms in the street. Shirts were untucked, and toe-pinching shoes were left behind in the frenzy. As they reached the ground floor, and poured through the main entrance, trampling the security guards on their way out. As the horde reached the street, they scattered, chasing down the terrified civilians on their lunch breaks.
Sean stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Maybe Sebastian was right, he was out of shape. Sean looked to his right hand. Somehow, he had gotten his hands on a simitar, he wasn't sure where. He felt the edge of the blade. It wasn't very sharp. But it had a good weight in his hand. Sean swung the sword at a telephone pole, and buried it several inches deep. He placed his foot against the pole for leverage and yanked the blade out. It would have to do. For a moment, Sean Johnson felt a pang of fear that someone at the office would file a report on him. Ridiculous. He would never have a job after this stunt. So all that was left was what to do next.
On a whim, Sean turned to the East.
He had always wanted to visit Asia. | "Dude, you're not funny anymore."
"Oh, is someone mad their mommy didn't give them a Lunchable today?"
"Stop blowing that e-cig vapor in my cube, for the *last time*."
"Oh, is little Timmy Wimmy gonna do something about it?"
I'd had enough. Between stealing my lunch from the fridge, launching projectiles over my cube wall, throwing me under the bus for his screw-ups, and now clouding my whole cube with e-cig vapor, I couldn't control myself anymore.
I'm an armchair geneticist, and I've always felt as though I've had a lot of self-restraint. But sometimes I feel like my ancestors left a mean-streak in my DNA that had been dormant for centuries.
When I was a kid, I got in trouble at school once. Not once in the anecdotal sense of the word. *Once*. One time. I was 8, and the other kid was 11.
My route home from school was a bike path that I walked every day. Sometimes I'd walk alone, sometimes with friends. And usually, Jason Garrison would be sitting there, waiting to make my day absolute hell.
It didn't help that I was Asian. The only Asian in the neighborhood. What kind, I didn't know. I was adopted at a young age, abandoned by my birth parents. I still have no idea why, and honestly never cared to find out. I learned some Mandarin on my own, and considered myself a Buddhist. I don't know why I was drawn this way, it always seemed natural. As a result, I was self-contained, painfully independent, and calm to a fault.
Jason Garrison didn't know about any of that. Neither did I. I was 8. Any response or reaction from me must have been purely instinctive, and prompted by something coded deep within my genetic architecture. I really believe that after spending many a sleepless night reading research papers way above my head. Or I just had a very specific breaking point.
I've always been territorial. My space should never be encroached upon, and hadn't been until Jason. We lived in a quiet, white suburb with a crime rate of zero. I shouldn't have known how to defend myself. I had never fought anyone.
Jason stood in my path many times, and many times I walked around untouched, letting the many verbal arrows load, aim, and release only to fall painfully short of my ego. I had always been confident in myself, and for no apparent reason.
On a gloomy afternoon in September, Jason decided that I was finally old enough to escalate to physical violence. Maybe he felt threatened by his inability to antagonize me. Maybe he had something to prove to his friends.
I would love to recount a story akin to David and Goliath, but alas, it was a swing and a miss. Rather, Jason swung and missed, and a nearby adult broke us up before anything could happen. But Jason and I knew that moment that I was not ever going to let him touch me. If anything, he should be afraid, even of an 8 year old. We both ended up in detention that week, but in different rooms. Jason never appeared on my path again.
I have thought about this day many times. And today, I reminded myself that I only needed to defend my moronic cube-mate's advances if I wanted to retain my gainful employment.
Something louder and more commanding roared through my veins this day, and not much could be done to stop it.
My cube-mate, who I still cannot dignify with a name, is no longer with us. I should feel bad. I can't. I cannot.
Cubicle rats don't ever need letter openers. We don't get mail. I never ordered anything from Amazon or NewEgg to be delivered at work. I didn't need it. But I felt the need to have it. The need.
When the cops arrived, it was like a scene out of Dexter. But Dexter would have laughed and left.
"He stabbed him in the neck, case closed."
Everybody ran. I just stood there, staring out over the cube farm like it was my domain. My cube-mate's neck squirted blood for what seemed to be an eternity. The cops told me that I pulled the letter opener out of his neck when they arrived, and glared at them in a "threatening manner". I should be dead, suicide by cop.
I'm writing from death row. I've been told that 1 in 200 Asian men are direct descendants of Genghis Khan. I believe it. Could it be me? I never conquered anything. I never fought anyone. For my entire life, I was never really in danger of any kind.
But I can kill. And I have no remorse. And in here, I must survive. And I know that I can. | 2015-05-28T18:48:35 | 2015-05-28T17:40:01 | 842 | 519 |
[WP] Unlike most people with super powers, you're perfectly content to mind your own business while using your powers in normal everyday activities. However the heroes seem to have decided that your disinterest in world affairs is suspicious and you're clearly faking it to hide your true agenda. | Alright, I just joined this reddit, so I'm just gonna give my best shot at this-- I apologize in advance if this is terrible--
\-----------------------------------------------
I sighed, groaning as I came to. My alarm clock was buzzing, alerting me that I had to face life again. I rolled over, slamming the top until it shut off. How I envy people with the ability to control tech or have telekinesis. Slowly, I crawled out of bed, going to my closet. I snapped my fingers, staring at an outfit in front of me.
"Hm... It'd look better if it had a blue/green color scheme."
Just like that, it was changed. Yeah, I could do that. Essentially, I could make my imagination come to life... and make the creations go back into my head. Surprisingly, it's not illusion, I can just project my mind onto the physical world and make atoms form what my mind envisions. Yeah, it was powerful, I know. But I never really wanted to become a hero, so I keep it to myself.
I put on the outfit, then walked out, nodding to the countless amounts of people milling around my penthouse apartment. My creations.
The thing is, I'm an artist. I especially like drawing people, and that's where all they come from. I like a character so much, I make it real.
A knock sounds on my door, startling me out of my thoughts. I sigh, pulling my hair into a ponytail, then head over.
I don't bother looking through the peephole. I already have a hunch as to who it is.
As soon I open the door, I slam it shut. I was right, unfortunately.
"Mei. Open the door right now."
"No."
"Don't make me burn it down, Mei. I'd hate to, it's such a pretty door."
I groan comically loud, making sure he hears me having my mini-tantrum. I swing open the door, then cross my arms.
"Now, *what* do you want, Fireball?"
"First off, don't call me Fireball. Address me as my hero name, Pyro. Second, calm yourself, Mei. I just have.." He whips out a fireball, aiming it right at my forehead. It was scary the first few times, but this routine has become so unsatisfyingly lackluster that I just roll my eyes. "A few questions."
"Seriously? I told you, I have nothing to hide."
"Then *HOW* do you explain your mysterious richness?"
I smirk. "What, a woman can't have a good job? I thought you were better than that."
He sputters for a moment, then glares at me. "I didn't come for smart alec remarks, Mei. I came for answers."
"For the fifteenth time this month."
He glares again, holding the fireball closer.
I sigh. "Fine, you want an explanation?"
He nods.
"Go look in the nearest art gallery."
I slammed my door before he could respond.
He banged on the door, "MEI, I WANT STRAIGHT ANSWERS!"
I rolled my eyes. "I'm an artist, Fireball. A famous one. The end."
"I SWEAR, I WILL FIND OUT WHAT TYPE OF BLACK MARKET YOU ARE RUNNING WITH THOSE CREATIONS OF YOURS SOMEDAY!"
I hear him stomp off. I turn to my creations, smiling. They look anxious.
"Oh, calm down, darlings. I have nothing to hide. We'll be fine."
Slow smiles spread over their faces, then they return to lounging and doing whatever they were doing. I smile over at one working in the kitchen.
"Reina, darling, could you make me a cup of tea and cut up a peach? I need a small breakfast before I head off to the gallery for the showing."
She nods, then begins working. Another crisis avoided, another morning tea. I hope she makes one I like this time...
​
*I'd hate to make the others sweep up her ashes.* | Don't know if I'm doing this properly. Please, forgive me.
A Rose by One Name...
I come from outside of the universe. I am printed on two hologram universes, thus. Many beings are like me, want to settle down a bit on one world, take a break from the endless task of printing universes to collect data and patterns.
Humans aren't my favorite creatures. Why couldn't they be like the world of dots or the world of endless painting? Instead, they are the lords of errors, forgetfulness, and wounded curiosity. I wish I had analyzed more data so that I might have swum in a sea of mercury, the most expensive place.
So, the superpower...
I was given the name "Kaela" because the aesthetic of the letter causes one to think as well as the unusual spelling. The nice way it calls out gives me an endearing advantage. Many people can't pronounce it, so there is a humble response. Every time I was for coffee, people tell me they are happy to see me again.
Busy, busy, angels.
My friend sat down and began talking. I only kept her around so that I would appear integrated and could avoid the angels.
I have a flyswatter around for this kind, hit their points, and scrambled their minds. Effing angels. They needed to turn to dust.
I got up.
"How are you going to pay?" My friend asked. She knew I was behind on bills.
"Easy, Ma'am!"
"Don't worry about it, Kaela," the woman at the bar said. "We've got plenty of soda water. Would you like some chips?"
"No thank you, ma'am," I said back and hopped off the chair.
"How do you do that?" My friend asked. "Are you hiding something?" She seemed worried. I could only imagine what gears in her human mind turned.
"She's afraid she can't spell my name on the drink and doesn't want to insult me."
"Totally rad. Do teach."
"They'd be too jealous of you, dear."
"What?"
"You'll have to find your own weapon," I said. | 2021-08-17T06:21:24 | 2021-08-16T21:53:30 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Alien species made it very clear that humans were to suppress their urge to touch other non-humans aboard mixed species ships, given in nearly all their cultures physical contact was reserved for mother and mates only. Then a curious alien let their human friend pet them for the first time. | Hey human, I understand my fur coat looks fluffy and looking at your culture I am very similar to this domestic animal you call a “dog” specifically the “Corgi” breed. You species has evolved with these animals as a symbiotic relationship it seems. But I have noticed the way you show affection towards them, and looking at their anatomy, similar actions will likely give me a similar reaction.”
“So you want me to pet you?”
“Yes, also give me complements. Reading over some _archaic_ science of yours that gas way to much thought and evidence behind it. I believe it may help.”
“Finally, I have been waiting for this moment since I first saw you. I just never asked because it seemed rude.”
The human than reaches to pet behind the aliens ear and the moment they start scratching the alien collapses and his eyes dilate. The alien is now on its back wigging around reacting to every scratch.
“Who’s a good boy? You are, yes you are.”
After around five minutes the alien has reverted to a near primal state from the human. Something about their dexterous fingers knowing exactly where to scratch and how hard for how long, feels so comforting. Similar to the feeling a mother would have on himself but it was different, almost as if this care was coming from a friend or equal rather than a person who is biologically programmed to care for him. While he is biologically programed to care for her in a different way. He couldn’t explain it but he did know that this showing of affection was chosen and more willing. While a mothers love of course is willing that love is a evolved trait, while caring for others is still one of those traits but in humans is also completely optional, according to human studies, this trait is older than many aspects of a human, it’s how they lived before their own society. But the society created made an environment so easy to live in you didn’t necessarily need anyone, you could just by a bunch of robots and do nothing.
After a few minutes the alien had reverted to normal. However this one interaction had permanent affects in the long run. It wasn’t love as in the romantic sense or even sexual, he had it specifically tested for that chemically. But the mere thought of that human alone raised his moral upwards of 300%. Whenever either is down the other will gladly partake in this activity together.
The Alien plans to go into interspecies relations study to find more interactions especially with humans interacting with other aliens that closely resemble their domestic house pets. And the application of his research in society. This course of action has already been approved by a majority of the galactic federation and given funding. On top of that, many humans willingly joined before they were even told what would be used to compensate them.
After a few months, a few notations were found.
1.) If you find the right human, they will immediately go into a parental loving mode unable to not show outwardly affection towards their current partners
2.) A humans affectionate touch and hostile touch are different. The difference is also immediately noticeable. Which raises questions about a humans full potential
3.) after a few seconds of experimentation from a human, without vocal input they can always find the perfect scratching spots. Raising more questions.
In the end it was concluded that humans can be used a source of therapy for species that are more social. | “Alright, just one though alright robin?”- “right, just one pet thats all, nothing more….” Robin slowly gazed his eyes towards his friend on the ship as his hands rapidly started shaking. No one has ever touched an alien before, he’s going to history this time, and then get a pizza later, “just one, right?” His friend confirmed as Robin gained speed reaching out in some sort of, out of mind zeal at touching a non-human, “Robin…what are you doing”.
At this point Robin grasped his hand around his friends face, smoothing it, and running his fingers across the skin, he couldnt enough, after all…theres nothing wrong with this “ok Robin, tahst enough. Let go”… “no no no, just a- a few more seconds….that all i need”
“Ok. 3 more seconds.”
Once Robins hand was off, his body felt. Angry, enraged even. Why cant he do it more? Why is there this stupid rule preventing this, but as he lost control of himself to reach for another touch he was interrupted. “Robin…look at your hand.”
Gazing down at his hand, it started to bubble, as if he was highly reactant to an insect sting his hand lit a smooth red and white, bubbling and bursting instantly, then the burst turned like acid, which with what it does turns every cell into nothing but liquid basically, smoke arising from the hand as it descents into red and black streaks running up his arm “bobby…whats happening to me?”
His friend backed up into the wall, not wanting to get any closer. “Bobby?! Help”
Before his friend could rach for him, Robin was already gone. | 2022-05-08T22:51:53 | 2022-05-08T20:00:06 | 61 | 29 |
[WP] You're immortal. The only problem is, you've lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. You are now forced to live in the forest as a cryptid
I know this is a repost, I just want to read more stories about this prompt
Credit to u/Not-Alpharious for the original prompt. | Outcast
“Aw gee,” I said, running my fingers through the matted brown hair atop my head. “Aw, yeh got’chur-self in a real silly of a pickle dere, champ.”
The *felinus sapiens* looked up at me and, in the strange mewling language of theirs, replied “Holy shit!”
“Yeh, I get dat a lot,” I said. I pulled my ancient and tattered Green Bay Packers ball cap out of my back pocket and stepped down into the dry creek bed. The last remnants of autumn clung to the finger-like branches far above us. “Got’chur-self all caught up in dat snare, huh?”
I reached cautiously towards the much smaller cat-person and gently stroked on forepaw. That always seemed to calm them.
“What the fuck are you?!” The cat-person screeched at me, its voice bounding and bouncing through the deep woods.
“I’m one-a dem what’cha call ‘humans,’ pal,” I said. I kept my voice as calm as I knew how. “Last one left, far as I know.”
“A hu-man?!” The cat-person said. “Those things aren’t real! They’re just myths!”
“Oh we were real alright,” I said. I paced around the little guy trying to figure out to set him free without losing an arm in the bargain. “Me, my folks, Vince Lombardi - all of were real.”
“We’ll - but - my teacher …”
“Oh, yah, sure, your teacher. Yah. I betcha they said humans were just some old stories your ancestors made up to explain the weather and such. Right?” There rope holding the cat-person was thick enough it wouldn’t just tear. I’d have to cut it but that would put me in striking distance of those paws.
“Yes! That’s exactly what they told me!”
“Yah, sure,” I said as I eyed up that rope. It’d take me at least a couple of minutes to cut through it with the small knife I was carrying. But I really didn’t want to go back and try to get an axe.
“Felines evolved as the apex predator on Earth,” the cat-person said. “We conquered the continents and beat the hordes of the canines in ancient history. Humans were just stories.”
“Oh no,” I said. “No, we was real. Built a bunch a cities. Invented jets and phones. Made cheese. We kept cats as pets. Dogs too, now that I think of it. ‘Course some folks kept the more exotics. Horses or, like, tigers. I don’t know. I never kept pets myself. Had a cousin that had a lizard though.”
“Well - then - why aren’t there any more of you around, huh? And - and why are you still here if there all gone?” The cat-person - more of a kitten-kid, if I’m honest - was really thinking he’d outsmarted me there.
“Cause most ‘ems dead, don’tcha know,” I said. “Rest of ‘em fucked off to outer space. Left me here on my lonesome! As to why I’m not dead - well, I don’t know. Just kept living. Never died. Saw your people start evolving and watched ‘em. My money was originally on the dogs but dey didn’t last.”
“Because we’re stronger and smarter.”
“God no,” I said. “No, dogs just didn’t have the heart after all the people left. Fight just went out of ‘em. Your people killed ‘em when most of those poor dogs didn’t even put up a fight. It was like mercy killin’ dere at the end.”
There was nothing for it. I was going to have to get close enough to cut that rope. His claws couldn’t get through it and there was no way I was giving him my knife.
“Alrighty den,” I said. “Listen, I’m gonna try to get’cha free. But de only ways I can do dat is if I cut the rope. But to cut da rope I gotta get in close. You gonna take a swipe at me, I step in range?”
“I, uh, guess not.”
“Ok, ‘cause if ya do, I’m gonna beat’cha. And I’ll have my knife out so dere’s a good chance I’ll stick ya. You stay calm do, we both go home. You understand me?”
“Uh, sure?”
Anyways, I cut the little guy loose and heard him screaming most of the way home. Guess I’ve gotta find a new place to live now. Bunch cats gonna show up and shit all over everything. | They walk around with their gigantic heads facing the ground at an angle so their eyes can't see much of the sky unless they lie down to gaze at it. Their biological visual apparatus is supplemented by a rotating camera mounted to their heads which sends the live image feed, of the part of the world they cannot see, directly to their eyeglasses. Two of these creatures are here in the woods. The sickly sweet perfume of mosquito spray covers their bodies. Red dots on their mounted cameras flash--they are recording. I adjust my position on the lower branches of the beech tree that spread out finger-like into the sky. The two creatures are about ten paces away from the tree.
Twigs crackle, little bits of gravel shoot out, as the two creatures, mounted on caterpillar tread boards that carry them without any apparent physical effort, approach the beech tree I am perched on. Their cameras are good; they can film me from a distance. A blurred video of me running at, what's to the world, unprecedented speeds circulated a decade ago when the camera quality wasn't as good and I wasn't as careful. I climb out of the tree in a way that the tree itself obscures me from the two explorers who approach, slow and steady, on their treads.
I rest with my back against the bark of the tree and am unable to see what the two creatures are doing now, but the hum of their tread boards indicates that they've reached the tree.
"Oof!" says a squeaky voice. "Boy is it hot out here. You got any film?"
"Film?" another voice, hoarse and croaky.
"The Bipedal Lightning, The Wonder of the Jungle, the thing we came out for you dunce!"
"Ah...I don't know. We can film here, you know, check later, keep it on record all the time."
"And spend days looking for a little clip of an impossibly fast, reclusive, shy, bipedal who can run like the wind? You're crazy. That head of yours will one day kiss the ground and you'll never know where your youth went."
A fly buzzes up in the beech tree. It flies lower and lower; I swat it away but whatever little air I stir up is full of dust and pollen and whatnot. I sneeze and it's a loud sneeze and it's followed by another and another. My eyes water. The two creatures have stopped talking.
"Hey, Ronson, hey, are you okay? Hey?" a croaky voice. "Stop putting your head in the mud now. It's no time to rest, hey, come on."
Silence. *Thud.*
"Shit," says the hoarse voice. Silence.
"Hello emergency services, yes, can I get a medical evacuation unit at my location?...Yes, I'll wait...Loud noises, yes, and I suspect-"
I run as fast as I can into the woods. A yelp from behind the tree as disturbed leaves fall from it, over the creatures. Long may they live? Hah! | 2021-08-11T10:43:39 | 2021-08-11T09:27:26 | 129 | 93 |
[WP] Set in a dangerous city in the early 1900s, Zeus, the corrupt mayor, Poseidon, who owns the ports, and Hades, kingpin of the back alley drug trade, run the city unapologetically. All are vying for more power in this Greek pantheon film noir setting. (From popular demand from r/books!) | They were the Gods of this city. 3 brothers ruling over their individual parts.
Zeus, on the face of it, was a shining beacon of good. The eldest brother became mayor, shaping the city to his vision, which to anyone visiting was a glorious and prosperous city of gold. But those of us living here saw it for what it really was. Zeus' playground. Somewhere for him to do whatever he wanted, and what he wanted was rarely legal. That's where his brothers came in.
Poseidon held the ports. Anything coming in or leaving the city went by Poseidon. If it could get on a boat, and you had the money, he could get it for you. If you needed to make a fast exit, or hide someplace, provided it wasn't from the family, he was the guy to see. He controlled the waters, and the Kraken gang made sure it stayed that way.
And while the other two stood in the light, the youngest brother hid in the Underworld of the city. Hades moved things along the backstreets, in the alleyways, and rumour has it, through an underground system of tunnels. The problem with being in Hades' crew was that no one ever got out alive. Ever. His main business was drugs. He and his wife, Persephone, had created a substance known as Pomegranate. Little dark red pills that gave the kind of high no other drug could match. But with that came addiction. Once you tried it, you belonged to Hades forever.
No one questioned it, and if they did, that person disappeared very quickly. Everyone knew they ran business out of Club Olympus, and if you needed to deal with them, that was the place to go. Dionysius ran the place, but he was more likely to be found propping up the bar instead of working it. But if you could catch him sober, you might get an audience with Hermes, who would get the message to the right person. Aphrodite ran the brothels. Hepheastus could get you weapons, but Ares had the men for a fight. Apollo was the one to go to for any kind of advice, but his prices were steep. His twin sister Artemis was the chief of police, and as corrupt as the rest of them. It all seemed so perfect, the Gods ruled from atop their metaphorical mountain, and everyone either fell in line or vanished.
What no one knew was the conflict between the brothers. Zeus was at the top and he wanted to keep it that way. He gave off this untouchable aura, but he knew better than anyone that power could be taken. He tried to keep the top dogs happy, but his own desires often risked his relationship with them. His biggest weakness was women. Though married, Zeus would use his power, his fame, or his money to get any woman he wanted. And he wasn't the most subtle man. Poseidon and Hades had both tried to win Hera to their side by bringing up his infidelity. With her, either one could bring Zeus down. Poseidon was under the impression that if he could control the docks, he could handle anything in the city, while Hades had the view that without him the city would fall apart, so why not step up and leave the shadows.
Deals were forged, loyalties brought, promises made. Everyone chose a side, except one.
Apollo could see it coming. He saw the plans made for war. A war that would leave the city in ashes, with no one left alive to claim victory, and he wanted no part in it. | Hermes sighed as Mr. Hades gave him another errand. Hades sweetened the deal by complimenting the boy for his remarkable speed. After all, he had gotten his start in stealing the product from a meat packing plant on the other side of town. He was to check up on a certain associate named Sisyphus who had stolen the recent shipment of whiskey all the way from Styx by tying up his favorite delivery driver and one of his lieutenants. The Three Heads had been sent after him but when they couldn’t sniff him out.
As Hermes raced down the back alley streets, hoping to find the old man, he remembered his confrontation with Hades. His cool breath sent shivers up his neck. He had shrunk down to skin and bones ever since Persephone chose to live with her mother for the time being, but his size did nothing but make him even more intimidating.
Hermes finally found the place where Sisyphus was hiding. He knocked on the screen door and saw a quivering shell of a man in the shadows. As he entered, Sisyphus tried his best to evade him but he was no match for Hermes’s speed. Hermes dragged the old man kicking and screaming. Hades was very particular in the punishment befitting of him. Sisyphus was injected with a snake-like syringe full of stimulants to make sure he didn’t get to rest. Hermes looked upon the rock quarry and boarded the elevator with the geezer being held upside down by the feet, dangling over the side. Hermes felt merciful today, so Sisyphus was only dropped 10 feet. After hearing a telltale crunch, Hermes pressed the up button on the elevator. He cut the cables to the elevator so that there was no way out. He would keep moving rocks and fall back down until he died. Hermes walked over to a pay phone and dialed his boss.
“It’s done.” | 2021-03-03T09:18:34 | 2021-03-03T08:21:23 | 106 | 30 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold. | People used to dream. Adventures and nightmares, jumbled scenes and impossible events. I remember dreaming about just talking to my friend - he's been gone a long time, but I cherish that dream. Crazy, right? People used to study dreams - when they would happen, why some people could remember dreams and others could not, why they existed at all. They don't do that anymore. Maybe they shouldn't have stopped. A couple scientists were getting close to the answer, but then the ol' nap in a gelcap came out, and they didn't have any more dreams to study. Funny how a drug perfect for people who stay up all night lost them their jobs. Ironic.
My friend told me a story once, about dreams. He said that long, long ago, back when gods and monsters wandered the earth, back before history got written down, that a great a terrible demon tormented mankind. All of the universe, really. The animals and the plants and the humans were terrified, but nobody could trap the horrible thing. Finally, humanity stepped up. They volunteered. They trapped the demon in a dream, and they each took that dream. When someone had a nightmare, it's because they were the one dreaming the demon's cage that night. All of humanity took that burden, and each generation strengthened that cage. That demon tainted minds and warped souls, but humanity pushed on. Died early. Fought wars. Stepped off bridges. Cracks in the cage, but every human on earth stepped up and filled the gaps. The perfect jail, inescapable.
Of course, nobody sleeps, now. Nobody dreams. Life goes on, work gets done, but nobody holds up their end of the bargain anymore. It took a long time - research, money, technology, oh the technology! Thousands of years before we had plastic! Ten thousand years before certain chemicals even existed! Lifetimes of following dreams. Heh. It's funny, that word. Dream. People say, "Follow your dreams!" but not every dream is a *good* dream to follow. How many people woke up with a new idea that could change the world? The guy that invented the first plow saved the world lifetimes of work, paving the way for farms that delivered more food than ever before. He got the idea from a dream. Who do you think gave him the dream?
The cage wasn't always a nightmare. Dreams *were* the cage. All of them. So the inmate talked to the jailers. It happens. A little push here, a little nudge there. But now... Now, no one dreams any more.
There's a handful left, you know. The last dreamers. The last locks on the cage. It's taken a long time, but I get to see it happen. Not much longer now. When you wake up...
I get to see my friend again. | Rejuvon. A drug hailed as the closest thing to life extension possible with known technology, adding some 30 years to your waking conscious state. Nano engineered robots fully calculated your REM sleep cycle, removed toxins from the brain, and fully removed toxins from your muscles and other organs. In 20 minutes of idle resting your body was just how it would be after a full night's rest. And no side effects whatsoever. Or so the studies showed.
Aaron and Angie like to finish their night of passion with injections of the drug, indeed, they planned it precisely at 2am, when their bodies would get tired anyway.
The alarm went off. Part of their ritual was to embrace one another and give the injection right into the others neck, a kind of post coital high, knowing that in minutes they would be fully recovered (sometimes they would even go at it again).
As they made eye contact, injectors at the ready, Aaron mused, "Do you ever dream when you take it?" Angie furrowed her eyes and replied, as the injectior made a whoosh sound, and the serum went into her body, "I'm not dreaming?" | 2022-03-18T11:16:31 | 2022-03-18T11:07:54 | 97 | 34 |
[WP]You are born immortal, but only your mind survives. Each time you die, your memories are secured in a random baby being born and have to repeat the life from youth to old age. After living for a millennia, you decide there is one solution: End all life and with it your unfortunate plight. | “Think about what you’re doing,” Fredrick pleaded, another man stood next to a large red button, the protective hatch opened. His superior, Fritz, had somehow managed to override the security measures by himself, and was one push away from erasing humanity, permanently.
“If you press that button— if you open Pandora’s box… that’s it, we don’t get a second chance.”
Fritz sighed deeply, “I’ve thought about it… a lot, it may seem absurd to someone so fragile,”
Fritz turned to face Fredrick, a determined look coloring his face, “It’s the *only* way,”
Had he completely lost his mind? Fredrick couldn’t believe that this was happening, the fate of life on Earth was to be decided in this small stuffy room, in a battle between reason and insanity. He resolved to stop Fritz at all costs, he needed to buy some time, leverage, anything!
“How can you say that, Fritz?” Fredrick began, “If you wish to die, and I mean if that is truly your wish—”
“I wish it with all my heart,”
Fredrick moved a couple of steps towards Fritz, placing a hand on a large mahogany desk, “Why destroy everything along with you? What gives you the right?”
“You don’t understand, Fredrick, how could you? After each death I am reborn, my memories remain, and I am cursed to live another meaningless life from beginning to end,” Fritz studied the ugly and pronounced veins on his osseous right hand, “to watch all your strength fade, to come undone, and then do it all again!”
“What are you talking about, Fritz? Immortality… Have you completely lost it?”
“I’ve lived many lives, my dear Fredrick. I’m sick of it, I am always reborn as a new human being, you see,”
“…an idea came to me, Fredrick, if no more human beings existed, my curse would be lifted, I’ve tried everything else!”
Fredrick stopped edging towards Fritz, perhaps he could reason with his sick mind, humor him?
“You must agree, Fritz, that this all seems quite unbelievable. Let’s sit down,” Fredrick gestured to the two large brown-leathered chairs that sat by a small table, in the corner of the room, “Tell me the stories of your past lives, if you are being truthful, you should have no trouble convincing me,”
“Look at me, Fritz! If you are being truthful, if this is your only answer, then I will make you see that your suffering is justified!”
Fritz was silent for a long time, Fredrick considered bolting towards Fritz to incapacitate him, but before he could make his move Fritz nodded. He appeared almost amused, “Alright, Fredrick, the fate of the world is in your hands,” he remained standing next to the button, “If you can convince me that I should not end it all, I will never attempt something like this again,”
Fritz gave Fredrick a wry smile, “Let us begin, then… from the day I got cursed,”
*****
End of part 1? Thank you for reading!
**EDIT:** [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/aawcin/wpyou_are_born_immortal_but_only_your_mind/ecxm3pf/?context=3) in the comments below, replied to this comment. Thank you for all your comments thus far! | Those who wish eternal life are blind, ignorant of its implications, and the toll it can take on one's mind. After your second century and third reincarnation, everything becomes a gray, soundless circus with poorly articulated performers, which you are forced to watch over and over again.
I don't expect you understand, I don't expect anyone to understand, for some things can only be truly grasped by living them. You will nod at my words, convince yourself that immortality is a burden, and you will doubt if you really want eternal life after all. However, the truth is you will only understand a shard of the entire broken glass.
Immortality is not a burden, but an endless curse.
I apologize for what I will do. I truly do. You are not guilty of my condition. You are not guilty of what will happen. You are just living your life, trying to make it as bearable as possible.
But life is as fragile as a dry leave under a boot.
Knowledge is not always a good thing. It all depends of the mind who has it, and the use that mind gives it. Unfortunately, throughout my life, I came across an eerie idea by sheer coincidence.
At first, it was no more than a simple rumor. "Did you know they create artificial diseases capable of extinguishing the whole life in laboratories?" They said, and shook their heads. But it was a simple rumor, and nothing else, the crazy sayings of an old lady who spent perhaps too much time with her cats.
Truth is, I obsessed over that rumor, and I chased it for the last two centuries. At last, I confirmed the rumor was a blatant lie.
But that didn't stop me from studying, and creating my own disease.
The moment I finish writing this, the disease will be released.
I'm sorry. I don't expect you understand.
But it was the only way.
----------------------------------
r/NoahElowyn | 2018-12-30T10:16:41 | 2018-12-30T08:40:38 | 112 | 39 |
[WP] In this world, salaries are determined by the desirability of the work: if everybody wants to do the job and it's fun, it pays minimum wage. But if it's hard or awful work that nobody wants to do, the pay is high. You decide to apply for the highest-paying job in the world. | *I was always relieved to see the light return when my visor was wiped roughly by an invisible aid. My head piece was peeled off slowly and I squinted my eyes as they adjusted to the pure bright light of the Arizona sun. I ripped the mouth piece out and spluttered a charming trail of spit behind it. Every single time I said this would be my last time, yet then the pay check popped up in my banking app and all was right again. When it came time for me to crawl into bed I was preparing 5 alarms and mentally preparing for the next ordeal of a day that came with the morning.*
*I looked down at the slushy 'Aero Bar' textured dark brown lake of liquid that stretched on for about a mile. Make that a square mile. I’d made the mistake too many times of eagerly pulling out the plugs in my nostrils that kept me from passing out from the smell of the putrid air. Had to wait until I was back inside the purified chemical smelling laboratory styled office.*
Have you ever heard of a sh\*t field? You probably have, it’s been in the news a lot lately. All the sewage from the surrounding States ends up here in this beautiful place to be treated before it’s pumped back through our water taps or flushed back into our seas and rivers. Lovely right? Well this human excretion cocktail is treated and mixed until it ends up resembling the title that it’s been so fittingly given. A sh\*t field. So what’s my part in this luxurious setting you enthusiastically ask yourself, wanting to know more about my mystical profession. Well in the main lake, (we call it the seven seas of secretion) you can witness a crossroads where the liquid is still the brown bast\*rd mess that we associate it with but has been treated enough that it is a penetrable pearly pudding.
Sometimes the equipment and machinery on the floor or walls of this man-made specimen breaks down and needs repairs. The cheapest and most cost-effective solution to fix these inconveniences is, yes you guessed it, to send a person down there who knows what they’re doing. I have a Phd in aeronautical engineering and I spend my days swimming, or more like wading around at the depths of the literal sh\*t lake.
For reasons that are still relatively misunderstood, our economy was given its biggest shake up in its history 5 years ago. The jobs at the bottom of the rung, that no one on this Earth wanted to do, were given the highest wages and those of great desire got the opposite treatment. The rough, bizarre idea was that people would continue doing the desirable jobs for the love of it and the rest would be drawn to the dreadful but bountifully paid disgusting or tedious careers. Some sort of egalitarian wealth redistribution experiment.
I was an astronaut, a real one up in space and overnight my wages were cut by 75%. I quit immediately out of complete confusion and frustration yet had to hang around in the International Space Station for over a month waiting for a ride home.
This next part sounds truly crazy, even to myself and I lived it. When you’re trapped up in that floating metal 'Pringles' can with no grounding sensation of being on your planet, reinforced by the fact that you have nothing to occupy yourself with since I quit my job dramatically, a person can really go insane. Like endless days of staring into the actual void of space contemplating all of life’s decisions and dwelling furiously on the system that had screwed you over. Long story short I performed, I guess you could call it a dirty protest of sorts. In the International space station. Up in space, in the International Space Station, I performed a dirty protest. Correct. Hilarious to some, blasphemous to others. To me? Kind of a mixture of both.
When I returned home and heard through a friend that the sh\*t swimming business was booming (highest paid job on the whole planet), I sold out. I’m partially ashamed to admit it.
I’m still an engineer of sorts, just a pretty sh\*tty one. | So, I'm finally here. This is it, I'm gonna end with the stupid mortgage that leaded me to divorce and get lots of stuff that only money can get. Guess I'm better without her: always complaining, she wasn't satisfied with nothing, always putting things upside down, when I believed everything was fine she always pulled out something of nowhere and ruined it all, I regret nothing.
That night at the restaurant we barely afford the food and I was sick of everything, told her to go and clean the bloody WC with her barehands so she could feel the way I do, and if she wanted to be rich that much, maybe in that job she could find everything she wanted from life: a stinky place as she always used to say and the taste of all the shit coming out from her mouth.
Never thought she'll take my word so seriously and apply for the job. She started with that, made lots of money and instead helping with mortgage decided to run away with a famous soccer player, what a loser. I bet now his life is miserable, I wonder how much time will pass before his fancy job begin to be his doom,she's an expert on that.
I really loved Basketball, playing with the Nicks was all I needed, have a bowl with food on my table and didn't need more. Just her eyes, the look in her eyes caught me since the first time; and that smile, I knew I wanted to see it everyday; her warm body next to me on a windy night made me want to share more than just a bed, damn that girl.
I putted more effort in training and played so well, the year I met her we reached playoffs, best season in a long time. I guess that is why I still love her and, despite all the crap, she always made me go further, beyond, do something else.
Maybe that is why, when I saw her making a lot of money I decided to quit my dreams and go for the greedy side of life, I couldn't be less than her, I needed to win one more time, to score a three point shot. So I took it, I saw the post and decided to go for it anyway, and now I can have the oporttunity to yell at her face because she isn't doing her job right, her pain is my gain.
So, I'm here, at my first day, ready to dive in this congested sewer to clean it up, to clean everything she can't manage, with only some googles to protect my eyes, top of the world. | 2018-08-02T12:24:04 | 2018-08-02T09:03:32 | 334 | 15 |
[WP] You work in tech support. One day you receive a call from someone you begin to suspect is God and, boy, is he mad. | I glanced over at the time in the corner of my monitor and frowned. 3:59 p.m. That meant it was exactly 61 minutes until I got to leave for the day, and it meant it was time for the crazy calls to start.
The nice part about this section of the day is the time between calls. Mornings and afternoons are usually pretty hectic, but a Wednesday afternoon at 4:00 is generally much calmer. Although, like I said, you get the crazies.
My softphone blinked and I clicked over to the window with a sigh. I studied the profile for a few moments as it relayed information like the caller's phone number and name. I chuckled for a second at the name on the screen, *Elohim*. That was a new one. The number was nothing but 0's but that happens occasionally when there's a mismatch in the system and the DNIS.
"Thank you for calling GeekTech, this is Stephen, how may I help you today?"
"Hello, Stephen!" a slightly jolly but robust voice said back. "I'm hoping you can solve this issue I'm having."
I paused for a moment at the strangeness of this gentleman's demeanor. I felt a bit like I was talking to an annoyed Santa Claus.
"Of course, sir. I just need to authenticate your account."
"Go right ahead," came the reply, accompanied with an exasperated sigh.
"All right sir, may I have your first and last name?"
"Yehova Elohim."
*Must be Orthodox Jewish or something* I thought.
"Something like that," the man said.
"I'm sorry, sir?"
"Oh, nothing. Nothing. Keep going, Stephen."
I nodded and continued, "May I have your address, sir?"
"1313 Alter Cocker Lane, Garden City, New Jersey."
*Out of state* I thought *that's why the phone number didn't come up.*
"Thank you, sir. Can you describe the issue you're having?"
"Well," the man huffed, I heard the leather of his chair squeak as he shifted his weight, "I know this isn't your fault, Stephen, but you're the one they connected me to so you're going to have to deal with the emotions this is causing."
"I understand, sir. I won't take offense."
A chuckle filtered through the headset foam, "No, that's why I'm glad I got you."
*What the hell does that mean?* I wondered but the man continued before I had much time to reflect.
"I have been running a simulation program for...well for a while now, Stephen and I can't interrupt it. It's not my way to get involved like that. I just like to start the simulation and then see how it all turns out, you know? Provide some direction and give the simulation the path it needs to take and then see how it all works out. It's no fun if you get too involved."
I rolled my eyes. *Get to the point any day now.*
The man paused for a second and huffed again. His voice lowered and I got the sense that the microphone was now much closer to his lips.
"The problem I'm having is with your switch, Stephen. I got this GeekTech switch so I could monitor my simulation no matter where I was but it's giving me authentication errors no matter what I try! It seems like it just randomly resets my password or it slows down for no damn reason at all. Like I said, Stephen, I don't like to get too involved. That's why I'm leaving this up to you to fix. I know what you're capable of. I need this fixed, Stephen."
I hated the way he kept using my name. He'd gone from an annoying Santa Claus to my dad when he saw my sub-par report card.
"No problem, sir. Do you know the IP address of the switch?"
"192.168.41.1." he said with a decided edge to his voice.
"Okay, let's type that in the browser window-"
"It's already open, Stephen! I'm already in the switch. I need to know how to fix it not how to access it!"
I swear my screen fizzled for a moment as his anger boiled over. I reached back and checked the wiring. Mr. Elohim sighed.
"Okay, good, sir. Now let's go to the settings tab and click on 'Advanced'."
I heard his mouse click, "Done."
"What does it say under 'Port Access'?"
"It says 3445."
I nodded clicking a few things on my screen.
"Okay, Mr. Elohim, I'm opening our remote access system. It'll let me into the switch so I can have a direct look at your settings."
The phone was silent but I could hear breathing. As I checked his switch settings, I heard the faint sounds of music through my headset as if Mr. Elohim had choral music playing in the next room over. It reminded me a bit of *Handel's Hallelujah*.
The fix was pretty simple. An updated configuration file and a few holes poked in his Windows Firewall and everything ran much better. I had him power cycle the switch and stayed on the line once again in silence, listening to the strange music barely audible in the background.
"We're all finished, Mr. Elohim, is there anything else I can do for you today?"
"No, that's everything, Stephen. I know I said I don't like to get involved but you deserve this for your excellent assistance. Take care."
The call disconnected and I sat there bewildered for a moment. Deserved what?
Just then my phone vibrated in my pocket and I retrieved it. I had a new Tinder message and I swiped it open.
My first date with Scarlett Johansson is Friday night. | Rakesh sat on his desk, a call had just come in
"Hello, you have contacted Microsoft tech support, this is John speaking how may I assist you today" he said in a thick Indian accent.
"Umm hello, I need help with my Windows, it says it's not activated so it's not working" Replied a voice that thundered as the words hit Rakesh's ears.
"Okay sir, I just need a few things from you, first I need the activation key. To get this click on the start menu and right click this PC and click properties when the menu comes up"
"Uhh, sorry I'm not used to this, what is the start button and where do I find it?"
"No problem sir, it's on the bottom left corner of your screen, when you press it a menu comes up and has lots of things"
"Oh, right, so I click this then press on the computer icon..."
"No no sir, you right click the computer icon and press properties" Rakesh interrupted.
"Uh, right ok, now what?"
"Now sir, read the product id on the bottom of the screen"
"there is no product ID, i told you it says it's not activated"
"No no sir, there has to be one, this is the windows you have installed's code, all windows has it"
"I'm telling you there isn't, there is no code on the screen." God's gotten a bit irritated and has raised his voice a little.
"Sir, you need to calm down, there has to be a code or your windows is not genuine, you must get your windows key from a certified microsoft retailer, where did you get your key sir?"
"I upgraded from windows 7 and now nothing works, and this message keeps coming up to tell me my windows is not activated."
"Right sir, it appears you are using a not genuine windows, I recommend you buy a new windows from the microsoft store"
"I upgraded from me-damn windows 7 and nothing works, I didn't buy a windows key because it's supposed to give me one when I upgraded!" Gods voice thundered and the microphone crackled a little.
"Sir, I have told you before to calm down, please do not raise your voice at me I am trying to help you, please go to the windows store and buy a new windows 10 from there, it appears your key is not genuine, contact your system administrator and tell them you are having the trouble, there is nothing we can do for you today."
"Now you listen here "John" if that's your real name which it isn't! I didn't even want to upgrade from windows 7, that stupid popup kept coming up and then all of a sudden it upgraded itself and I can't switch back, and now it tells me that the copy of windows is not working, I demand your supervisor!"
"No no sir there's no need, you're trying to trick microsoft with your windows, you want a free key, don't lie to me sir, I know." Rakesh said in a rude manner.
"Give me your supervisor right now, you have been no help to me, forward me to your supervisor!"
"Ok sir, here you are."
Hold music begins to play, and then a click is heard.
"Hello, I'm Bob here to assist you today, how may I help you?"
"Hello, John is giving me trouble about my windows key and he's been very rude."
"Well i'll be damned, and I am, God? Is that you?"
"Bob? You mean Beelzebub? Satan is that you? What is this evil you've created?"
"It's genius isn't it, I call it tech support, it drives these mortals insane!"
"I should have known it was you Satan, you devil you!, that's it." *Shuffling is head on the telephone.* "Steve! Get over here and set up one of those new macbooks you've been working on" is heard faintly on the phone.
"No no don't do that God, I'll give you a new windows key, comon, stay on Microsoft"
"Me-damn it Satan, I should have never let you toil with the mortals, I'm swapping to Mac." | 2016-05-18T12:10:55 | 2016-05-18T11:01:49 | 87 | 39 |
[WP] At age 21, you and your SO cast a strange love spell to swap bodies one day a week. 8 years later, your fiancee is really sick of you body swapping with your ex, but you don't know how to undo the spell. | Addie jerked upright in bed sputtering and gasping. Sucking in lungful after lungful of cool air she slowly began to relax as her head started to clear. Making herself look down at her current body she felt an all too familiar nausea rising inside her but pressed the sensation down. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin another perfectly good comforter.
Pulling the blankets back she looked down at herself. Her arms and body had Victoria's distinct tattooed skin and runner's physique. She appreciated her ex's continued commitment to fitness, something so many began to neglect as they approached 30.
The bedroom was both familiar and strange, like a scene from a recurring dream. Illuminated only by the moon and a small glowing green display that read 12:01 am. Susan was still fast asleep next to her, which was perfect for Addie as she continued to gather her thoughts.
Every Sunday she would wake in this bed and they would have to spend 24 hours together. Not that Addie really cared, Susan was an amazing person, but she was sympathetic to how strange this all was even after nearly a decade.
Getting out of bed and moving quietly towards the door Addie caught her reflection from the corner of her eye. Victoria's face and eyes met her own. "Hello, beautiful." she whispered to herself, trying to ignore the sense of wrongness that came from being in this body. It would plague her for the next 24 hours but she knew how to deal with it. "Ground yourself in the here and now." she whispered as she moved quietly out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen.
After a glass of water and half an apple Addie had begun to feel considerably better. The strangeness was wearing off and things had begun to feel more real. Wandering into the living room she made her way around the couches slowly, eventually finding herself in the same spot she did every Sunday. Standing in front of the small silver urn on its own shelf. It had been recently dusted and the plate shone fiercely in the moonlight.
Adelaide Smith
1990-2013
Addie was thankful Susan and Victoria had kept her ashes all these years, though out of a sense of loyalty to her or a fear of what might happen to Victoria when they made their Sunday switch she wasn't sure. All she knew was that even though she and Victoria had not spoken in years neither would tell Susan where the other went when it was their time. "They certainly don't have apples there." Addie thought to herself, chuckling as she took another bite with Victoria's mouth. | I still remember the curve of her spine as my fingers traced her body. They'd run up and down her shoulders and back as I softly kissed her neck. I loved her. A part of me still loves her, and I don't think that'll ever change.
I know all of these feelings break my fiancé's heart. The woman I am to marry is beautiful and wonderful and kind and very patient with me, but every week I pray to the Gods to be with my old flame again. They always answer the same way. I'm tortured to never be in the same room with her, only to see her face in the mirror. The way her hair falls and the brightness of her smile is mine once more, but not in any way that satisfies me. I will never hold her with my own hands again. I can only hope she forgives me. | 2019-12-15T12:25:34 | 2019-12-15T11:58:16 | 548 | 12 |
[WP] You're a superhero. Despite saving the city 4 times a week your hates by the community. While fighting one of your villains a crowd gathers to boo you. The villain you're fighting stops turn to the crowd and says "listen here you ungrateful brats" | “Listen here you ungrateful brats!” Shouted Lesugui the Master Mind. “Why the Hell do you hate him? He’s saved this city thousands of times over! He’s stopped Alien Invasions! Fought off the Warriors from Atlantis who tried to invade New York, Mole People! He’s killed off Thunder Worms in the Mid West that were devouring cities! Why do you hate him so much?”
A woman with short cut red hair and glasses screamed back, “That Man is No Hero! He Killed off the Majestic Thunder Worms who are a part of Nature! Now the Thunder Worms are an endangered species! Who cares that those Thunder Worms killed off millions of Mormons and Native Americans, they are a Precious Creature on this planet and now there’s only, like Ten Left!!!”
Another Man steps forward from the Crowd, “He’s No Hero, That Man! Those ‘Alien Invaders’ as you called them, were offering to share their technology and provide health care, as long as we were willing to allow them to alter our DNA and except eternal servitude. I think that’s a pretty fair deal considering I’m Seventy Thousand dollars in Medical Debt thanks to my car accident trying to flee the city during his attack on our Benevolent Saviors!!!”
Lesugui’s eyes began to twitch in Rage as another person from the crowd stepped forward to speak. “Those Mole People wouldn’t have ever even been a problem if he Didn’t kill off all those Damned Thunder Worms! Besides, those people living in the Flyover States Deserve what happens to them, most of them never even go to a major university, they live in the riskier parts of the country and go to community colleges! They knew what the risks were living there! Now we are seeing major environmental changes to our delicate planet!
A glass bottle was tossed at the Hero Malnash’s Head. He staggers a little and let’s out a sigh as his costume is stained by the wine bottle. Another woman steps from the crowd screaming, “Those Atlantans only Attacked New York in the first place to try to kill Him! He’s been disrupting the illegal drug smuggling operations the Atlantean’s have been running. I’m glad they burned down the “Heroes Sanctuary” and that so many of those Heroes died in the attack! Do you know how hard it is to buy Green Dream Juna now a days? It’s caused more crime to stop those addicted to it than to simply let them have it and keep them drugged up for weeks at a time.”
Lesugui shook his head, as more people began to shout at Malnash, “He stopped my restaurant from being able to serve Human Flesh to aliens and Those with special… appetites! Because of that, we have homeless people in the city we can do nothing about!”
Another bitter faced woman in a business suit screamed, “We already have an overpopulation problem in the world with the Four Billion People on our planet! With all the lives he saves everyday, he is going to cause us to run out of resources and then people will begin to Starve! Don’t you even Watch CNN? Don’t you even Read the News? Earth can’t take having the Four Billion people we already have here!”
An old lady screamed as she threw eggs at Malnash, “He Stopped the Hero known as the Euthanizer from saving so many people, like my dear Husband Harold, from having a sweet release from pain and suffering! Now my Husband Harold is Alive and I can’t find anyone to put him out of my Misery! I have to take care of him and Harold is Just The Worst!!!”
Malnash let’s out another sigh, his shoulders slumped. His Uniform has seen better days and the generally Hopeful gleam in his eyes seemed faded, but not completely gone yet. As the garbage, groceries, and insults to Malnash grew more and more overwhelming, Lesugui threw a Psionic Force Field around him and Malnash protecting them both.
Lesugui looked around at the clean city, the surprisingly low number of homeless people who came to live in the Midwest refugee camps outside the city proper and he shook his head in disbelief. “How do you do it Malnash? How do you fight for them day in and day out, when they’re all just so, petty, self absorbed, and Stupid?”
Malnash thinks it over for a moment then says, “Because while there are so many people out there who don’t see the value of Human life, I Do. I have to fight for them, because I have to believe that someday, this mental sickness that Society has, this desire to destroy themselves, this desire to destroy each other because they think their better than others, I Have to believe that Humanity will grow past this too!” | You have heard that there is a villain in a convenience store. As you are superjumping your way to the scene, you see a crowd around the convenience store, laughing and talking, with coke and hamburgers in their hands. Among them is a TV station man with a camera.
'You're out of pickles!!!!!!!'
Hey! You're out of Coke! Bring it in quick!!!!"
How about a bet that the villain of the day gets 1.2x the money for 30 seconds, 1.5x for 1 minute, 10x for 5 minutes, to see how long he can fight! You can start with as little as $1! Come on! I got it, I got it, I got it!
Will you be able to enjoy today's battle for long? I'm counting on it!"
As usual, there was a noisy crowd, but I ignored them, and I fired my special move, a super beam, into the crotch of the villain who was floating in mid-air. Immediately the battle was about to end, the betting crowd threw empty cans at me, and the TV station people signaled that the crotch attack was not good, so I had to stop the broadcast.
The uncool villain holding his crotch yelled to the crowd around him.
'Listen up, you ungrateful brats!
The crowd is abuzz.
'Listen up, you ungrateful brats!
Crowd is still noisy. Oops, looks like someone just burped loudly.
"Listen up, you ungrateful little bastards!"
Perhaps the reiteration has worked, because the crowd stops screaming.
'Why, why do you people always do that! We're the ones doing the wrong thing, and no one calls the police! And no one calls the fire department! Even though we look forward to your screams over here, you get mad over the number of pickles and get up over the amount of Coke!!!!"
The crowd pouts.
'So do you!!!! Why do you always use your special move the moment you have one!!!! You're supposed to take more time to fight, and then use your special move when it's the right moment! Look at that! The underlings there in their all-black tights are out of work, so they're playing with their smart phones! Even the monsters are sleeping!
You guys need to learn more about heroics! There's more like this, right? Look, heroes who can use a bow well, heroes who don't use a shield as a shield... what about that one? It's not for you... Anyway! Anyway, go watch more heroes! You know what I mean! I'm going to the hospital now to get checked out!
You are the peacekeeper of the city today. That's cool!
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version) | 2022-06-17T09:01:13 | 2022-06-17T03:35:23 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You are the snail. The human who you share immortality with believes that you both will die if you touch them. You know better, though, and incredibly determined to touch them at all costs. | A merry dance across the stars. A waltz of inevitability.
It matters little that the snail has no ability to create, for chance provides what instinct cannot. Eventually the indestructible snail will find itself flung into space. It will float timelessly in the void, attempting to slither in the direction of its quarry.
It knows the direction of its quarry, at all times. And though it is not capable of truly comprehending it - it knows its purpose. To unite with its other half.
Such as was written into the universe eons ago, at the beginning of all things.
Once, it had been one with its quarry. All things compressed into a tiny space. Everything had been together, nothing anywhere, and time a meaningless concept to an entity that had far too much of it.
It had been incredibly boring.
A plan was developed. Concepts previously alien to the entity danced into view - exploration, conflict - even love. Though all things stemmed from the original self, the facets of the self could find meaning in each other.
But to keep things stimulating - to keep a constant chance and excitement in the ballroom of the skies - there would be the chase. A snail, and what would eventually become a man. They would act as both singer and listener, herald and harbinger, a merry chase across the stars.
The entity thought for an untold time, and had it been able to speak, it may have said "Let the light come forth, so that we may dance our duet among the stars."
And so one became two - and untold numbers more, as the single point scattered. Where there had once been one, there were now many. When there had been too much time, now there was a hard limit - a time at which the entity would come back together, and reflect upon all that it had learned.
To make it interesting, only the snail would retain its purpose. That would make fear and wonder of the unknown a powerful motivator to the other facets of the being. And certainly motivate one dancer to stay as far away from its pursuer as possible - ah! The intricacy of the design - the chased not knowing that it is, in fact, their destiny to meet the snail once again - to dance the last dance of the stars.
For as the stars finally wind down, the snail will land upon the shoulder of the other being, a galactic countdown clock finally reaching the number zero. And the two will be struck with the power to finish the dance. To whirl and twirl together in unison until the cold ashes of what was once a universe also begin to dance with enthusiasm, coalescing, pirouetting and joining once again, into the combined whole.
And the entity will say to itself - not so much in words, as in thought, "What a beautiful story you have told with your dance. I have cried, and laughed, and loved as you fled across the stars. I have learned and relaxed, and found my facets in all the states of mind in-between. I have been both cruel and kind - and I know now what it is to be both friend and foe."
And the entity will wait timelessly for a while, reflecting upon its experiences. And then finally, it will think:
"Now, how about an encore?" | *It hurts.*
*It hurts.*
*It hurts.*
Washed away, in a sea of pain, the snail moved fowards still.
Aeons passed, kingdoms rose and fell, autumn turned to summer then to fall.
The grains of time began to stir, faster and faster they swirled.
The snail sensed a storm and retreated into her shell.
There had been a moment when it had not all been so blurred, a single frame that served as both her reprieve and her burden—but that time was yet to come. Unable to forget, unable to forgive, oh how those burdens weighed. Yet when her strength failed her, when the pain was unable to bear; in those moments, it was her only shelter, a brief solace.
The snail knew the gale would only worsen. She knew her mistake would cost her.
Lifting her head, she moved fowards still. The storm buffeted her, it threatened her, it tore at her soul.
*It hurts.*
*It hurts.*
*It hurts.*
And so in the end, the snail found it all. A woman with auburn hair, unblemished by scars.
How the snail wished to call out, how she longed to hear her name.
The woman must have known, for she turned back. Her eyes filled with surprise at what she saw.
The snail made its move. A blinding blast of dazzling light enveloped them both.
As soon as it came, it was gone. The woman looked around, but there was no one else to be seen.
She felt the sun and brushed a hand against her freckles.
For some reason, it felt as if a weight had been lifted. | 2021-12-27T14:25:04 | 2021-12-27T13:52:41 | 370 | 81 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Communication with the capital city stopped so suddenly that many of the comms officers first thought that the failure was on their side, switching through frequencies, trying to reach the High Council to request orders on how to deal with the Terran Fleet in orbit over Kel'ra Prime. "Is this your first day, get me a connection to the council." the CCO barked at his subordinates as the speakers delivered only static, the noise beginning to irritate him, one of the more senior officer chiming in that he wasn't able to get a connection either, nor was anyone else.
"Sir, we have a satellite near the capitol that wasn't destroyed by the Terrans. We're linking up to it now." a Sat-Comm tech interrupted the CCO, a large monitor wall flickering as the picture changed, showing the capitol city from orbit. Confusion spread among the people in the room as everyone was staring at the monitors, the only thing visible being several black craters where the proud city once stood, where nearly a billion Kelians lived and worked. "Is that a joke, where is the city?" the CCO asked, his voice rising with anger, thinking that the Tech had made a mistake when linking up to the satellite.
"No Sir, the link is stable. That is a live fed from the satellite." the senior Comms Officer reaffirmed as well as two other techs who confirmed the stable link. "Then what happened? Where is the capitol?" he asked, his confusion growing with every passing moment as the satellite moved on, following its orbit around the planet, the ruins of the capitol city moving out of the cameras field of view.
As the Kelians speculated what was going on, trying to make sense of the images they saw, a bright, blinding flash of light suddenly drained out everything the satellite camera saw for a brief second, illuminating the room in a white shine. "What the....Sat-Comm, status! What just happened?" the CCO shouted, staring at the monitors as the image came back, a mushroom shaped cloud rising from the center of the city, or what was left of it. "By the Elders.....those....those insane Terrans. They razed the city in one attack."
After the Kelians had surrender to the Terran empire, soon two words would spread over their planet and soon after the galaxy, spreading horror and fear over the destructive power they described, a destructive power that nothing could stop, 'Thermonuclear Weapons'. | We try to be peaceful, try to by pacifist, try to be the good neighbor... and what does that give us? Trillion death, thousands of world burned... Again and again we begged them to stop, to see reason and stop the bloodshed... The Council turned a blind eye toward our plight, our allies abandoned us... Humanity stood on the edge of destruction...
We try real hard you know? To conquered our most dangerous impulses, to locked it away for eternity. We try to stop our very nature, and for awhile we succeed... Until you came along! And no matter how hard we tried, War always got out... You're not the first and will not be the last. We have done this a thousand times, guiding the galaxy to a better place, better than us... Know this, you brought this on yourself...
Commence Base Delta Zero, Exterminatus level... Let the galaxy burn! | 2019-12-19T04:17:04 | 2019-12-19T02:49:29 | 50 | 36 |
[WP] We invent the warp drive, only to discover that humans are already a member of the galactic community. Apparently there have been enough alien abductions over the years to start a small country. | "And therefore, we, the designated caretaker guardians of the Earth Natural Evolution Zone, do welcome our fellow genetic cousins to the Galactic community with the status of provisional wards." The galactic ambassador had droned on for fifteen minutes in his oddly accented English.
They were human. Julia had trained to expect anything when given the job of Earth's representative. She'd been ready for overeager tentacles and sealed chlorine environments, for odd smells and guttural clicking languages. But the only reason the ambassador in front of her would have turned heads on a busy New York street would be his perfect hair, strong jawline, and the skin-tight silver jumpsuit which revealed a Appollian physique.
Julia blinked when she realized he had stopped talking. She fell back to her prepared remarks. "As representative of Earth, I hope for productive discussions and negotiations regarding our place in the Galactic community. We are excited for this opportunity to learn from each other. We—"
"Yes. I'm sure your input will be interesting. The first forum for discussion of your... situation will be in three rotations. You are, of course, welcome to attend. I will be leading the decision panel, along with others that have a genetic interest. Please enjoy the festivities." The ambassador quickly executed a wiggling bow and turned to begin a conversation with a huddle of other humans in the same silvery jumpsuits.
Julia turned to her companions. "Go... mingle, I guess. I suppose we can assume the food is edible."
She quickly found herself standing alone next to a table filled with piles of what appeared to be small blue vegetables. They tasted a bit metallic. She felt a tap on her shoulder. "If you would follow me, I would desire to speak in private."
A figure in a dark flowing robe had already begun to walk away by the time she turned around. Another human. She'd hoped for a second that it was at least one of the floating orb aliens or hulking shadows that stood quietly on the room's mezzanine. She shrugged and followed anyway.
The figure led her to a quiet niche in the side of the hall. There was another huddle of humans here. Along with the figure in the robe, they were the first she'd seen not wearing those jumpsuits.
The central man was dressed in a blue tabard with a large floppy hat decorated with a large feather. He bowed as she approached, flourishing the hat. "Representative, allow me to introduce myself, I am the Comte de Bon San Jamie, Louis Phillipe Quatramontaine, the Fourth. The Lady to my right is Miss Alice Worthingham. Your illustrious guide is Og, and to my left is William Robert Thurston."
"For the last time, Luey, it's Billy-Bob." The man on the left was wearing what Julia at first took to be denim overalls. As she got closer she realized that it must be made from the same material as the silver jumpsuits, just colored and cut in imitation. Billy-Bob grinned at her.
Julia took them all in. "You're all from Earth?"
The Comte set the hat back on his head. "You are quite correct, mon cherie. True sons of mother Earth, and daughter excuse me Miss Alice, born and bred of the good soil, and wanting to give you a true welcome, unlike those descendents of ours."
"The ambassador is one of your descendents? He gave a very... different impression than you do. How long have you been here to have descendents?" Julia wished she had a drink.
The Comte grimaced at the mention of the ambassador. "The ambassador— He is what we would have called in my native France— allow me to translate from the language of my birth— A total condescending asshole. To be absolutely honest with you, madam, most of the children raised here forget their origins. They could never visit Earth and so they grew up more alien than human. I myself can no longer bring myself to have children here, and have not had one in several centuries."
"I've got a couple still running around somewhere," Billy-Bob said with a grin. "But then, even back home my kids weren't nothing to write home about. Og's got some recent brood, too, but they tend to keep to themselves."
Julia took her first good look at Og. He was short but muscular under the robe, with a prominent brow ridge and weak chin. He nodded and said nothing.
The Comte continued. "You allow me to digress, madam, what we have brought you here to say is that you will not get what you want from the local-born. They will talk over your head and try to make decisions for you. They believe the earth-born to be curiosities to be protected, tucked away where they can do no harm. They will give you no technology, allow you to go only where they deem acceptable, hold you back for your own supposed safety."
Julia looked him in the eyes. "And what do you want?"
"Why to go home, of course. And if you help us, we'll take everything with us that's not nailed down."
\[More writing at r/c_avery_m\] | “I’ve looked back through the Senate voting records. I’m still getting a hang of reading in Galactic Standard, so it was slow work, but I think it was worth it. Look at these,” Captain Lancaster said, pointing to the voting charts. Who votes the same as the human colony every single time?”
Lt. Rochester blinked, “The Athelieds, but it can’t be, they’ve been so hospitable. They even helped us learn to read Galactic Standard, just as they did for the humans. You don’t really think they’re pulling the strings do you?”
Captain Lancaster nodded, “I do. It may just seem like kindness at first, but there’s no mistaking something is off here. The colony said the Athelieds have been helping them ever since their inception. In fact, comparing the values and government between the colony and Athelied society, they’re almost identical.”
“So what are you saying?” asked Lt. Rochester.
“I’m saying that we never found out who abducted the humans in the first place. And I’m willing to hedge my bets that it was the Athelieds.”
“And how do you go about proving this theory? There is nothing about abduction in the colony, the humans there told us so.”
“Nothing they can read. Didn’t you notice they were all speaking and writing in Galactic Standard? Some still speak in their native languages, but they write in Galactic Standard. Remember when the Athelieds were first helping us learn Galactic Standard? They taught us how to speak it, and then since Galactic Standard script is just the sound wave equivalent, we could just directly translate to writing from there. They don’t understand characters that represent words or sounds, let alone punctuation. I’m willing to bet neither human nor Athelied has read those accounts since the colonies establishment.”
“Do such accounts still exist?”
“The Founding Musuem. I’ll head there and see what I find. See if you can get a meeting with the Senate while I do so. The moment this breaks we’re going to need a hearing. This can’t continue any longer.”
Lt. Rochester nodded, “Understood.”
\_\_\_\_
Captain Lancaster strolled back into their shared quarters and placed his stack of journals on the table, “Rochester, you have got to see this. I was right! But it’s worse than we thought. Apparently the Athelieds had some way of swaying the humans to their will, to convince them to go along with everything. That’s how they pulled this off. Rochester?”
Rochester stepped out of the darkness, a bright smile on his face, “It’s alright, Lancaster. The Athelieds will take care of everything… everything.”
Lancaster’s eyes widened, “No, not you too, Rochester. Dammit!”
Rochester leaped for Lancaster, attempted to restrain him. He spun out of the way and clocked his partner in the face, wincing, “I’m sorry old friend, I’ll fix this… I’ll fix this.” He raced out of the room, though as he rushed through the dimly lit halls he say tall, carpaced creatures striding toward him: the Athelieds. | 2022-10-13T09:08:16 | 2022-10-13T08:51:08 | 88 | 31 |
[WP] The hero was killed, the princess was sacrificed, and the evil king rules the land. For the average citizen, though, things have taken a turn for the better. | Jack was smiling, for once, even though he was handing a bag of coin to the tax collector. Though taxes hadn't been lowered since 'The Hero's execution and the death of his Rebellion (in fact, they had been raised somewhat), the benefits of having an Evil King with full coffers and a fair Princess with a degree in economics for a 'sacrifice' had been enormous.
Monsters and bandits which had plagued the lands were being hunted down within days of showing their faces, rather than the months it took a village to raise the money needed to hire a hunter, the result of several lucrative contracts with the mercenary griffin riders from the North. Without the near-constant pillaging of villages, disruption of trade, loss of livestock and razing of fields, everyone's purses were a little looser, the economy booming as roads were rebuilt through the skeleton army turned engineering workforce.
Thus, Jack could actually afford to pay the taxes. He didn't have good numbers, but he certainly knew that the sock under his bed was heavier than it had been past seasons, and that was knowledge enough.
"Afternoon, Paul." Jack nodded, even as he upended his bag into a bowl.
"Jack." Nodded Paul the Tax Collector, starting to count the money already as he sat there, flanked by his two guards. Another benefit of the surplus of money was a redesign of armor. It was still black as night, and featured a grim red dragon, but rather than grisly spikes and snarling mouths, the new armor was much more pleasant: smooth, round plates and a wolfish design to its helm, which now allowed them to see more clearly. It was certainly something which caused less property damage during a casual search of the house, and much more safe for children to be around, overall lessening animosity from the tide of unpleasant misunderstandings between the guards and local citizens.
"Is the wife feeling better now?" Paul queried, finally finished with Jack's coppers.
"Aye, the Coven put her right. I'm paying by labor. The witches need a new writing desk, it seems." Jack smiles, thinking to the small coven of witches at the edge of town, their brightly lit (but very much darkly painted) house now tending to a stream of ailments, assisted by the townsfolk's many women. Gone now were the days of asking for firstborn children. Instead, their prices had been 'subsidized by force', thanks to the Dark Lord, and now two days of slavery per week for a year had become the asking price for a life-saving cure, one happily divided by members of the families that needed them. A side benefit of such was that even now, more and more womenfolk were taking up the Witches' Hat to pay for the cures for their husbands and sons, and the lasses were migrating to smaller villages with their knowledge, spreading the methods of the Coven of the Black Bandage far and wide.
"Young Jan's daughter took up the pointy hat, I hear. That, or that klutz Loren has melted another desk." Commented Paul, carefully examining a badly dented silver. He passed it on to Mongo, the guard to his left, who dutifully pounded it flat with his war-hammer. "Mmm, and Marissa's gone to Southbridge, little cosy cottage near the site of a big battle they had last year. You know, the King of Light's men? Found herself a handsome necromancer. Only two scars on his face, she says. They're going to raise an army together, I hear."
"Ah, the best to them, then. All done here?" Jack grins, taking back his pouch from Paul. He left knowing that the inevitable regiment of skeletons would eventually be used to grow the empire, bringing in a new influx of immigrants and refugees. It'd be a bother to feed them for a while, but once they had gotten on their feet and eaten the local food, he was sure they'd come around.
They always did. | My fellow Americans, Mr. Speaker, Ladies and Gentlemen of Congress and members of the press, thank you for joining me this evening.
It is with great sadness that we come together this evening. For the past eight years, it has been both an honor and a privilege to represent this great nation as your President. As you are all well aware by now, I have been asked to formally announce that the 2016 Presidential Elect, Donald J. Trump and Vice President Elect Carly Fiorina, lost their lives this afternoon upon their arrival for tomorrow's scheduled inauguration events.
I am not here to discuss the details of this tragic event, however the media will work to keep you all informed as more information becomes available.
I am here tonight to discuss how our nation will move forward. It is a great challenge for us all to face this untimely news, and it is my responsibility, along with Congress and the Supreme Court, to determine the appropriate course of events.
This evening, I signed an executive order to extend my term as President for a minimum period of 12 months. Prior to signing the order, I met briefly with bipartisan representatives of the Senate and the House. In addition, I met with Vice President Biden, Speaker Ryan and select members of our National Security Team. I believe that during this traumatic time, this decision will provide stability and continued security of the American people.
We, as a nation, have faced horrific events during my tenure as President. We have seen an increase in global terrorism, as well as terrorism in our homeland. It is a terrible tragedy that our newly elected President and Vice President have been the latest victims of the efforts of those who seek to undermine the security and well-being of our great nation.
I therefore, cannot in good conscience, step down from my responsibilities. I do have a few details about my extended tenure to share. Vice President Biden has decided that he will not continue as in his position. In lieu of an election, in the interest of continuity, I am appointing Hillary Clinton to the Vice Presidential position.
I am ordering that our nation's flag be lowered to half mast, for a period of three months. In addition, Vice President Clinton and I will be meeting with Congress and cabinet members over the next several days, in order to ensure continued government operation in light of the events of today.
I cannot take questions at this time, however my office will be releasing periodic updates as they become available.
Thank You. And good night. | 2016-07-10T18:13:31 | 2016-07-10T10:46:19 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] The crappier your weapon is, the more accurate you are. You’ve just been sent to the front lines of World War VIII with a slingshot as America’s last desperate attempt to win a losing battle. | Paul examined the battlefield. Hordes of raving madmen, armed with lightweight plasma cardigans and Martian rifles stood before him. He was never good with Martian rifles. When he joined the Military, he had to use them for target practice. It was the first time his commander ever saw someone miss the target by shooting themselves instead.
Paul couldn't help what he was. It was as if his parents joined some ironic cult that blessed and cursed him with supernatural abilities. He was one of the world's best dart players, but was abysmal at archery. One time, after a drunken argument with his least-favorite colleague, he almost committed manslaughter with a toothpick.
But with all his unique talent, Paul was tired of the war. Paul just wanted a quite life as a professional dodgeball player, and a nice family to settle down with and play beer pong with. Unfortunately, the circumstances of the draft put his life on hold, and America was getting desperate.
Looking down at his balsa wood slingshot, Paul picked out a ball of silly putty in his bag, and shot. The silly putty jammed the propellers of a U5-180 Hovercraft, grounding the gargantuan contraption, and taking hundreds of enemy soldiers with it when it collided with the Earth.
Enemy soldiers were beginning to panic, but the battle was far from over. The war neither. Paul's psyche drooped, but then, he had an idea. Paul's talent never failed him before, maybe it wouldn't this time either, when he needed the most.
Taking out his last med-ball, the one his general warned only to use in a dire emergency, he loaded the ball onto his rubber band slingshot, and shot. The med-ball went off into the distance, far away from Paul's abysmal eyesight.
1 minutes.
5 minutes.
10 minutes.
Suddenly, he heard what he was looking for. A mass retreat. The enemy fell back, and the outgunned Americans looked on with both confusion and relief.
A day later, Paul got the news. Hector Valentine, leader of the Coalition, and supreme enemy of the Americans, was found dead. Authorities claimed that it was a freak accident, saying he tripped on a random med-ball, and hit his head on a table. The death was from the hemorrhage was instant.
The Coalition, also weary from the war, and with the last person to fully support it dead, proposed a ceasefire with America. America agreed wholeheartedly, secretly thanking whatever divine specter brought this about.
Paul smiled to himself as peace was once again the norm. He couldn't wait to go back and see his parents again.
The crappier Paul's weapon, the more accurate he was.
And what makes a worse weapon than an item meant to heal? | I don't know when the last speck of intelligence was used up. I don't know what we're even fighting for anymore. Every day the pile of bodies in my country rose by too many. No one learned to count, we all just guessed. Born to kill and nothing else. Someone will tell you fifty thousand. I'll tell you fifty thousand and nine just to seem more accurate. Because any sign of confidence is seen as trustworthy. And that's why after blabbing on too long about how the worst weapons were the most accurate (quoting myself, "I just killed seventeen hundred barbarians" to a round of tearful applause), I found myself staring at an army of invaders with sharp knives and guns and all manner of weapons of destruction. And I stood there, grasping my handy slingshot as president, my people hiding behind me in the derelict capital city. I don't have a God damn clue how many of those immigrant-looking bastards there were. But I took some of my wet paper ammo, I put it into the sling, and I shot. | 2018-03-17T15:13:38 | 2018-03-17T09:17:33 | 120 | 25 |
[WP] You have been bitten by a zombie and locked yourself in your room. Write a letter about your experience to whoever finds you, with the language getting worse as the virus progresses. | It actually didn’t hurt as much as you’d expect. In the movies the people always scream with such intensity, with such pain and horror. Completely surrounded by a hoard of zombies, tearing the skin off the bone, blood seeping into the ground. But I mean, I’m still here, still coherent enough to write one last letter. I’m not under any delusion that I’ll survive, but I figured everyone deserves to have a chance for last words.
I think I remember reading somewhere that you rarely feel a mosquito actually biting you because their saliva has numbing properties. This might be bullshit, but I feel like it makes sense. I mean how else would I be sitting, completely disemboweled, guts spewing from my stomach like rotting fettuccini? It has to be something with the zombie saliva. Or maybe I’m just in shock, these last moments of lucidity tricking my brain into thinking everything is fine.
There’s this scene, it’s the long opening portion of Saving Private Ryan, the one where they storm Normandy Beach. And it’s super realistic, I guess it gave real WWII veterans flashbacks in the theater. Well there’s this one section where a guy is a complete mess, guts all over the place. And his first reaction is to try and push them back in himself. This such innate response to danger, such a futile attempt at trying to make things right.
I don’t know exactly why I brought that up, maybe to an extent I find refuge in thinking that I have something in common with that guy. Or maybe it’s because if I were that guy I’d absolutely devour what had spilled out. I mean it’s not going to do any good in the body anymore, might as well have a snack. And as I write this, the more I just want to roll over, pull out what’s left of my large intestine and suck it down like a fruit roll up.
Hold on, that’s not right. What I’m really trying to say is that at our most very basic level, human nature is about self-preservation, and when confronted with the reality of our death, heading into the great unknown, we begin to act irrationally. Lash out at others, pick up our severed arms and just gnaw at it like a piece of jerky. And maybe occasionally look out the window at a group of survivors passing by and just bite into their still beating hearts.
Ok, ok. I keep getting off track. I need to go out with something profound. That’s the real irrational part of existence. That we always live towards the end. Live so that on our deathbeds we can say one last line, a summation of all that was good in our life. But that’s just one single moment, the rest still has to be filled. You need to remember the good with the bad. Need to go out knowing that your life was spent living authentically.
You just got to be yourself. Maybe pat a few zombies on the back and demolish the lost child you captured, that amazing feeling when their spleen slides down what used to be your esophagus. Those foggy evenings when a man and his wife crawl into town, on the verge of death, and you slowly eat their Achilles tendons off the bone. Or fighting through the crowds to get one last scrap of the guy who fell through the glass ceiling of the rec center.
To tell the truth, I’m actually feeling a lot better. And I’m starving.
| "I may not have much time, as I have been bitten by the undead. I write this letter to whomever may read it. I offer you a glimpse into the last moments of my life. My name is Tom H. Putnam, I am 45 years old. I have a wife named Mary R. Putnam, maiden name Sterling. I have 2 children, age 5 is Brandy and age 8 is Tom Jr. I know my time will not last. I am writing this out of despair and anguish. Inside this grocery store, where I left to go find food, is where I will lay to rest until the unknown force behind this resurrectionous disease will make my body thrive again. Inside this grocery store, where I spent years buying things from steak and wine and diapers and formula and brownie mix for when the kids when they were under the weather, this is where I shall be found in the future just to be slain. In this fucking grocery store, where I reside in this bitch of a closet, this is where Tom dies. If whoever finds this knows my whore wife and bastard children are alive, take this note to show them how their daddy and husband felt at the end of his horrid life. If anyone who finds this knows who I am, fuck off. I am not a necromanced piece of flesh and bone to be destroyed when extermination happens, I am a living member of this ungrateful society of the undead. Let whoever sees this note know that TOM cares but the shit that I am? I don't care.
To whomever reads this, know that your fate will be mine. You will get bitten trying to fend for yourself and your family, you will turn. You will die.
-T"
- - - - -
"Jesus, this guy really took a turn for the worst. Why didn't he use his pistol to end it instead of struggling?" | 2017-01-25T13:09:19 | 2017-01-25T12:33:24 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] You've been an average joe all your life - pretending you're hosting a cooking show when you cook, fake acceptance speeches in the shower, etc. Only, when you die, it turns out that you're actually famous in the ghost world and there were always ghosts as your audience.
my bad if anyone already came up with a writing prompt like this.
edit: Holy shit!!! This got 2000+ upvotes wow :') also thanks to the kind stranger who gave me the gift of gold<3 | I tossed a bell pepper into the air, catching it on the end of my knife.
"I have trained many years," I said to myself, imitating a cheering crowd. "For this one moment." I bowed, holding the skewered bell pepper above my head. Raising my eyebrows and sighing, I continued chopping the pepper, onions and garlic. My eyes watered and stung.
"Oh, oh dear Romeo, where art thou, Romeo?" I gripped the area around my heart, making no effort to stop the searing tears. "I cannot live without you." My knife pierced a block of ground beef, and I smiled at the sky.
"We'll be together in the afterlife, my love. I yearn to see your face just one more time."
I looked around at my empty living room and resurrected my normal posture, sobering the silliness. I looked down at a burn mark on my arm, rolling a sweatshirt sleeve down to cover it before finishing the chili prep and leaving it to simmer.
*Tense.*
My left arm felt tense, like a muscle had tightened. A burning, shooting pain seared my nerves, as if the blood between heart and hand turned to magma. My chest tightened, breath restricted, and I fell to the floor unable to move or call for help. No roommate or girlfriend to spot my struggle left me to fend for myself.
In the end, my loneliness had killed me. Perhaps I would've lived if someone had been there.
It's strange, what happened next. I felt the burden of body and life lift from my back, and rose from the ground- yet there I was, lying on the floor. I looked down and saw nothing; perhaps I was not truly *seeing* anything.
"Tyler?"
A nostalgic feeling coursed through whatever ethereal existence I held. I turned to see a group of men and women in my apartment, people not there just five minutes prior.
People I had not seen in fifteen years.
"We missed you, Ty. It's such a shame you never continued acting, you know. That talent shouldn't have been smothered." Sammy was smiling at me, the way he always had before. "It was fun getting to see you cry with the bell peppers, though."
"How are you guys- I mean, what is this?"
Jim spoke up. "You see us as you knew us, just like we see you. We're all just memories here."
Dean, Kimmy, Campbell. They were all laughing, grinning and hooting, Not a single burn amongst them.
I looked to the floor. "Guys, I'm... I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize," Dean replied. "You always were the clumsy one. Shit happens, man. I'm just glad you made it out safely. The only thing I'm upset about is that you never tried to act. We wanted to live on through you."
I started to cry, I think. Not sure how it works.
"Don't be sad, Ty." Kimmy walked up and placed a hand where my face would've been. "We get it. You're with us now, right?"
"Yeah. I am." I walked forward, into their midst, and let a blinding light swallow me whole.
-----
*thanks for reading! you can find more at /r/resonatingfury if you'd like* | I thought it would be better than this. I truly did. One million eyes were all on me, cheering in spectacular fashion at my very appearance in front of them. Five hundred people were talking into their flimsy little microphones, explaining the contents of my presence to those at home. Fifty people had been backstage, prepping my hair, tying my shoes, and covering my face with cake-like makeup. One thousand scorners, filled to the brim with hatred and disgust. With love, comes hate. With popularity, comes hate. With death, comes a lot more than I bargained for. ‘It’s like The Truman Show,’ thought I. ‘Eyes fixated on my every move, my every mistake, my every flaw.’ I hesitated upon my stage; the applause hadn’t ceased as of yet. I could no longer hold my rage in.
“Be quiet you scoundrels!” and a wave of deathly silence rolled over the sea of faces.
“Don’t speak ill of the dead, you succubus of a population. Do you derive pleasure from me? Did you think I was ready for the sight of five hundred thousand eyes peering into my soul? That is all I am, that is all I will be from now on. You wanted me to die, didn’t you! When I finally bit the dust, you maniacs erupted into a violent cheer, and now I stand before you, burning in your spotlight, condemned by regret of a life I thought I knew.”
I stomped backstage; filled with all the demons from fifty years of lone, quiet existence. They had seen all of it. They had seen the true me. And this time, I couldn’t kill them for it.
| 2016-08-23T10:59:31 | 2016-08-23T10:52:06 | 33 | 10 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | "So," the interviewer said, manicured hands folded neatly in her lap. "How did you end up living in the Cardvale Murder House?" &nbsp;
&nbsp;
"Well, my husband Jason sells real estate for a living," Sarah explained, still squinting and blinking at the earliness of the hour. She wore pink yoga pants and a cheery yellow tank top under a wooly gray cardigan. "And I work from home selling my bespoke leather accessories on Etsy. He was trying to sell this gorgeous early colonial and just nobody would buy it. It's in such great shape. It's even got these quirky authentic coved ceilings." She gestured to the curved corners in the plaster ceiling, then held out her hand to her right. The interviewer twitched, blond curls swaying, as a tiny, pale hand emerged from behind a curtain to place a cup of steaming coffee in Sarah's hand.&nbsp;
&nbsp;
"Thanks, Priscilla. So he kept coming back with client after client and just nobody would bite, even at the crazy low price the seller was offering. It's not like it was built on a Native American Burial ground. That would be stupid - hang on, it's 9:00." She paused as every chair in the house suddenly slid two inches backward, then forward again. The camera bobbed with the operator's startlement and the interviewer shrieked, clinging to hers with both hands, but her weight hand no impact on the force of the chair's movement. &nbsp;
&nbsp;
"Sorry about that," Sarah said. "That's the father, Hiram. He has a thing about chairs. We think it's because he hanged himself by kicking one over? Either that or it's because he used to be a carpenter. We can't even buy new dining chairs because he breaks them. It has to be a pile of raw lumber in the outbuilding left overnight and he just builds new ones. So that's a big perk. They're really solidly built. If we can get a medium in here again next week we're going to ask him about selling some of them online."&nbsp;
&nbsp;
"Didn't he kill his entire family?" the interviewer says breathlessly, holding tightly with both hands to the front of her skirt. The camera bobs again slightly as the cameraman nods. &nbsp;
&nbsp;
"Now everyone seems to think that, but we actually think the others probably died of natural causes, like pneumonia or cholera or something," Sarah said, gesturing with her free hand. Her energy seemed to increase slightly as she drank more coffee. "They really don't seem angry at him. He and Lula walk across the grounds every night at around ten, hand in hand. So whatever happened, there's obviously no hard feelings." &nbsp;
&nbsp;
"What about the children?" the interviewer asked. "Aren't they often sighted covered in blood?"&nbsp;
&nbsp;
"Oh, you mean little Robert. He scared a lot of people off during the viewings, I can tell you, but once we got him a ball to play with he just wasn't any trouble at all - in fact, there he goes. Of course he's not fully visible in daylight. He's shyer than Priscilla." &nbsp;
&nbsp;
There was a sound of running footsteps, and the interviewer turned to look as Sarah pointed into the vestibule past the elegantly furnished living room. A colorful striped ball bounced slowly past, attended by the sound of tiny pattering feet. &nbsp;
&nbsp;
"Anyway, that's a family in-joke. Apparently he ran under a pig Hiram was butchering once and just got soaked, and they all thought it was so funny he never let go of it," Sarah said. "It's kind of gross to me, but you know how little boys are. We think he'll be good company if we have a boy. We're trying to start a family." &nbsp;
&nbsp;
"You're going to try and raise children here?" the interviewer said, blinking in startlement. &nbsp;
&nbsp;
"Well sure. It's the safest place you can possibly imagine," Sarah said happily. "Hey, Priscilla, I could use some more coffee if you're not busy." She held out the delicate porcelain cup, which gently faded from view. "A burglar tried to get in here once and we only knew it because we found one shoe and a pair of pants he lost trying to get back out the window. He didn't take a single thing with him. Hiram kept moving the chairs around all day that day. But hey, that's how we figured out he calms down if you sing Shall We Gather At The River." She smiled happily at the interviewer. "Oh, but I'm being rude! Would you like something to drink? I don't know where the cups come from, but nobody makes better coffee than Priscilla!" | The bronze dagger scraped against the cement floor with rhythmic scratches, tuned to The Slasher's lopsided gait. A red grin cut across his mask, painted on until it hit the the cracked bottom quarter, where it spilled into a real lip-less smile.
The stage was set. The night, perfect. A full moon dangled in a cloudless sky, his spotlight trained on him. A brisk breeze blew south to north, a wind that could carry a scream all the way to the heavens itself. And his characters, they were some of the best he ever had. A twelve year old boy with glassy eyes and panting breath, scratching against the alley dead end. A fourteen year old girl huddled in a corner, her knee to her chest, as she stuttered in sobbing coughs. And of course, the hero. A boy of fifteen that stood trembling over his friends, a pocket knife in front of him quivering as much as his lips.
The alley dead end held the sour stench of garbage long since rotted. Insects scattered through the a black trash bags piled along the sides of the walls.
"And the hero reveals himself." The Slasher trembled in excitement, increasing the pace of his blade-against-cement metronome. He could hardly contain himself.
The hero swallowed and brought up his puny knife.
The Slasher's eyes bulged through his mask. His charred cheeks stretched and his mouth opened. A chuckle, like the sound of choking man, escaped his throat. This was the hero he had been looking for, a man to challenge monsters.
"So hero," he said between his laughs. "Your stage is ready. The damsel is in tears. The dam is equally helpless. Everyone is at the edge of their seats and even God is wondering--what does the hero do?"
The hero opened his mouth and swallowed breath. "Guys," he choked out. "Listen to me right now, when the time comes, make a break for it."
His two friends caught his eyes and stopped. It felt like time paused with them. The girl sniffed back tears and the boy shook his head in a sharp twitch. This was the power of the hero. Because in that instant, The Slasher no longer existed.
"No," the boy whispered. "We're a family."
"Like hell we are." The hero's muscles tensed and his knife straightened toward The Slasher. "Orphans have no family. We just happened to find each other when we needed to the most. It could've been anyone and it wouldn't have mattered."
"That's not true," the girl said with trembled words. "You know it's not."
The hero coughed out a cry and inhaled. "You fucking brats!" he screamed at them, startling them. "I needed someone to watch my back when I stole, I needed someone to distract the guards, I needed someone to hide the food when I stole it. You think it had to be you guys? It could've literally been anyone. I don't give a fuck about any of you!"
The Slasher's heart skipped a beat. The hero he had prayed for had arrived and his screams would be melody unlike anything a Beethoven or Bach could compose. A symphony for God Himself.
"Hero," he said, "How kind, how brave, how--"
His words caught because the hero charged him, the silver of his knife gleaming beneath the moonlight, the tears in his eyes glistening as it fell behind him.
The Slasher heaved laughter out of himself. The humor was like a spell, a beautiful and uncontrollable spell. He swung and cut the hero. No hero had ever won, no damsel or dam ever saved, and this would not be the exception. | 2017-05-05T08:14:46 | 2017-05-05T06:07:15 | 29 | 21 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age. | "Please stop it. You don't- " My screams are cut off as a piece of dirty cloth is stuffed into my mouth. The guards turn the other way whenever this happens. The prison hall is not crowded as most of the inmates curl up in their rooms to escape my cries. Sometimes a person throws up, even having witnessed my torture everyday. My eyes plead through tears, looking at an upside down blurry world, but the hands of my torturers do not falter. The ritual begins again ...
--------------------------------------------------------------
I had a name once. Long ago. I was an Egyptian robber. I don't know if I was the only one cursed. Or such people are out there, living day in and day out. Such is the curse. To wander always, never having someone close to you, destroying everything you built in your life. I led many lives. I have loved countless times and lost them every single time.
You have no idea how mind numbing and soul crushing it is to always be alien to everyone. To have no real friends. To have every feeling cut out of you, ever so slowly, by time. Until there is only hate left in your heart- for everything, and yourself the most. I spent a good century just drifting- trying to kill myself, to starve, to just lie down like a rock, without any shelter. Until I was 'discovered' and 'trained' by a group of assassins, whose names got lost in the pages of history. I was used ruthlessly. But I couldn't care less for I had found my calling. The dying eyes of those men mirrored my own. A soul-brethren to me, however fleeting the moment. I tried my best to prolong these moments with my brethren, always pushing my boundaries, inventing new ways to feel ever closer to them in their last moment of despair and horror.
--------------------------------------------------------------
I lay bloody on the ground in my cell, sweat gleaming from my forehead. My torn body gushing blood from a thousand places, my bones showing in places in others. My left hand is now only slightly twisted and bent. For the last three hours I have been putting my snapped arm bones back in place with my right hand. It will only take four five days for me to completely heal. So I do not have the privilege to a doctor. But my tormentors will be back tomorrow. Calming my heartbeat, I focus on setting my broken arm again. One thing at a time.
------------------------------------------------------------------
"Mortis, Angelus is found guilty of the cold-blooded brutal murder of sixty-five people. He is sentenced to life imprisonment for a hundred and twenty years without the possibility of parole."
-------------------------------------------------------------
I lay panting, my ordeal finally over. I look at the piece of bone in my hand, memorizing it, before throwing it away. Initially I was kept for 30 years in special cell, but when my 'specialty' became clear- I was transferred to gen pop. On paper it was because I could not be killed but actually it was for the vindication of the public's sentiments. I was 'conditioned' by starvation and beatings before being let loose. I never stood a chance. I became the bitch of the Redemption gang (my scrapbook was in evidence but no one had considered it seriously at my trial . Except as an evidence of my mental instability. Disregarding the dates, the incidents were deemed too brutal and fanciful to be done by a person. They never understood my noble intentions. That was until 20 years ago when I 'came out of the closet'. The public grew furious upon this revelation, hence my present state).
Over time a cult in my name grew. Unsurprisingly it was mainly the assassins guilds fighting over me. This last year, I got in touch with a very high profile group. I will be freed by the end of this month. They will probably never let me go, considering what I imagine to be very high costs involved in rescuing me. But that's all right- as long as I attend my calling. But before that I will make each and everyone of my tormentors my soul-brethren. I will take the people closest to them and then inflict the same pain upon them as inflicted upon me and when these people will beg for their death, I will be their reaper and I will store in my mind their last moments on the face of this earth, the cool feel of their last breath on my hands, their slowly glazing eyes gazing helplessly with fear in my eyes ... and finding a brethren there. I close my undamaged right eye as I recall the list of my tormentors. | It's been a while seeing these grey walls. About 45 years. Or maybe it has been fifty. I can't recall. I was sentenced for a lifetime here since I was on a killing spree back in the days. I was sort of a Robin Hood you see, killing criminals just like me. I actually call myself Charlie Catastrophe if you ever wonder if I have a name for myself. Back to the story, I've killed rapists, petty thieves, hired killers, drug lords (which is my favorite since they say that they cause poverty in this city), and a former politician. I remembered during my killing spree that I've killed about thirty criminals in total within a week and half. Maybe an additional thirty for colateral damage. Maybe more. I lost count for seeing these blank walls all the time. I started this madness since my father was killed when I was a teenager. He was accused of -- I can't remember. I think he was accused of selling drugs or raping a non-existent girl or that he's a member of a notorious gang or maybe all of it. Some say that a government official orderd his death. I can't really recall. These walls really makes my memory blank. All I can remember is the day I got caught.
It was a perfect sunny day so I went for a cup of coffee. Of course I brought my .45 caliber that I always use and a swiss knife of sorts for unexpected occasions. I also brought yesterday's newspaper for, you know, being less suspicious since it headlined "Fifty killed within a week". I was drinking my daily coffee at my favorite café when I heard that there will be a rally in favor of this corrupt official at the city plaza. I think he was the one that caused my father's death. This is the moment I've been waiting for. I went there quickly and to my surprise, he was looking for volunteers to ask him a question. I quickly ran up to the stage and luckily, I was picked to ask the question. I said to the mic, "Why?" and then I shot him in his chest. I come up close to him to stab him and he said that I will rot in jail for what I have done. The police came and you know what happened next.
I've told this to countless inmates and prison guards whenever I had the chance to tell them my inspiring story. Not countless but maybe around a hundred in total. Sometimes I hear the guards telling that maybe death penalty should be implemented for psychos like me. I guess I have to wait a little longer.
And here I am, still in jail. Thanks to my lovely city for not having death penalty. You know what I learned from the story? Corrupt politicians always lie, even in their last breath.
I guess it's also a lie that I'll rot in jail.
--
*Sorry if it's not in the guards' perspective*
EDIT: minor change to typos and some parallelism | 2016-10-15T08:46:36 | 2016-10-15T08:27:16 | 40 | 14 |
[WP] An asteroid is about to destroy Earth, The Onion reported the news without losing their sense of humor. | **The President states "the future is grim, as usual"**
WASHINGTON - The President took to the airwaves today and announced certain doom and destruction. The tear laden President spoke of "imminent death" and "a fireball of meteorites that will consume the Earth". Going on to say "This asteroid will be our end, and there is no hope. I pray for all of your souls." Immediate shock waves rippled throughout the scientific community as to whether the incoming mass was in fact a meteorite, asteroid, a fireball, or something else entirely. Backlash has begun as scientists and astronomy enthusiasts take to the streets, burning pictures of the President and scattering graffiti like wildfire - much like the wildfire that will soon consume the Earth.
"This mis-classification is an outrage, and will remain our focal point until the end", 56 year-old Boston native Mark Lipsciwitz stated at a recent flag burning. He continued, "This is obviously a fireball, and in no way could be anything but!" Soon interrupted by a conflicting scientist nearby, Mark and the unnamed man fought in the streets as a crowd gathered chanting their respective clans stance on the topic. Mark and the man fought to the death, met with the same fate all of us will meet in 43 hours. Mark lost his footing during the scuffle and slipped, cracking his head on the curb. The unnamed man stood, arms up, as his clan cheered in victory, "Meteorite!"
Reports of such events have sent chills through the spine of social media. As of 20 minutes prior to press, 40 hours prior to total destruction, the recently trending hashtags include: #MarkLives #Meteorite #Asteroid #Fireball #TheLastThingIDid and #wheresguccimane. As most of us reflect on our lives and our family, our decisions and failures, it would appear that the most important question of our time may never be answered. Who will win the war of the classification? What is it exactly that is going to rip us all to shreds? The war in the streets will continue until a real answer is found. | "Asteroid kills last of the endangered African Tigers...also all of humanity."
It's been our pleasure writing for you...mostly. Actually, we found our general demographic to be far more cognitively impaired than expected. Perhaps the hyperevolved cockroach people will develop a satirical news agency to address that issue after they succeed us. Well, good luck to everyone with the whole extermination of the human race. Sucks, huh?
Edit: I typed a word at 2am | 2015-04-30T00:18:47 | 2015-04-29T23:33:26 | 14 | 10 |
[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. | Natalia lazed back in her chair, with the smirk of a smug bitch who'd just avoided being killed. Katherine looked down at her buckled blade - the curved dagger she had used so many times to take so many lives before this one.
"It's okay." Natalia began, getting Katherine's attention. "Everyone gets performance issues."
Katherine had always been the cold, calculated professional - but even she struggled to hide the smile that cracked on her lips. The ice was well and truly broken.
"So, you might as well take a seat. But honestly, I thought you'd be taller." Natalia then added, resting one arm on her office desk, while the other hand toyed with her bright red hair. It was obviously dyed, but Katherine had to admit that it really did suit her target.
At first the veteran assassin was hesitant to take a seat. She'd been lured in by the playful humour, and even further still by the warmth of Natalia's smile. What if this was a plot to distract her, and end her... No, wait. They could not kill each other. Katherine rolled a nearby chair over with on hand, and sat down on it with one leg crossed over the other.
"This is a surprising twist. Who sent you though?" Natalia remarked, although before Katherine could say anything, she began reeling off a list of names. "Craig Hudson? Charlotte Gregorovitz? Kevin the janitor?"
Katherine shook her head at each of these names, and snickered quietly to herself at the last one.
"I cannot reveal the name of my client, although, since I can't actually complete the contract..."
Had Katherine let her guard down so much that she was willing to break the code she'd lived by for over two decades? Conflict began within her mind. On one hand the client was a disrespectful ass, and Natalia was her soul-mate. On the other she might never get another client again. What was she going to do? Retire and open a sandwich shop in the Highlands of Scotland? Not a bad plan...
"Your brother." Katherine replied, breaking her brief silence to reveal the name. She'd expected Natalia's face to crumble with betrayal and grief, but she simply offered another of her playful grins.
"Ever the jealous type..." The redhead muttered, as she stood up, took a large brown envelope from her top-right desk drawer, and tossed it down on the table in front of Katherine.
"What's...?" Katherine began, but was quickly interrupted by her ex-target.
"Your next job. Money enough to cover the unfortunate failed mission this evening, and an additional sum for you to take out my greedy, egotistical younger sibling. Oh, and a small bit more for you to use to buy me dinner."
Her confidence radiated off her like an infectious disease, pulling Katherine in even closer, and even tugging a little at her heart-strings.
"Y-you want me t-to...?" Katherine stuttered, as she watched the tall, curvy redhead stand up and pick up her jacket from the back of her chair.
"Yes. Kill my brother. Buy me dinner. Et cetera, et cetera. Are you coming?" Natalia walked around the desk, and offered a hand to Katherine, which the assassin took. She rose to her feet, and admired the height difference briefly - being at least half-a-foot shorter than Natalia.
"I don't actually mind the height difference. In fact, I think you're rather cu--" Natalia's failed to finish her sentence as a bullet smashed the glass behind them. Katherine had pushed her to the floor for protection, and was holding her un-holstered pistol scanning the room, and the dimly-lit outdoor area behind the office.
Another shot was fired, this time at a warning which hit the ground two inches in front of Katherine.
"Kat, I suggest you drop your firearm. We have the building surrounded." A male voice said to her, over her earpiece.
"Surprised that you're not the only one he hired?" The voice then taunted, knowing he had the female assassin on the back-foot.
"You've got ten seconds to hand over the target..."
Katherine looked over her shoulder, moving backwards to act as a human-shield for her soul-mate.
"Ten!"
"Nine!"
"Eight!"
"Do you you think we can postpone that date?" Katherine asked, and Natalia replied with a nod.
"Seven!"
"Six!"
"Five!"
"I'll take your contract, by the way!" Katherine added, before clicking the safety on her pistol off.
"Four!"
"Yeah, if we get out of this..." Natalia replied, not sounding at all hopeful now. Her brother really was trying to get rid of her, probably for her continuous blocking of his business ambitions.
"-If-?" Katherine retorted. "Think -when-."
"Three!"
"Two!"
"O---"
Katherine had laid eyes on her target at 'seven', and with a single squeeze of her trigger she had taken out one of the other assassins.
"Go, I'll be right behind you!" Katherine shouted, as the every pane of glass in the office shattered, and several more of her kin burst into the room - each and every one receiving a well placed bullet for their troubles.
Well, if she couldn't kill her target, she sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone else have the satisfaction! Katherine knew there would be more. Five were dead so far, but her trained instincts told her that they were not safe yet.
| The blade of the dagger was vibrating in the wall behind her head. Her almond eyes stared at me for a moment before she turned her head, looking over her shoulder at the errant weapon. Paula's honey-colored hair was pulled up into a French braid. I noticed the flesh of her shoulder showing under the strap holding up her teal-colored top. The jeans tucked into her boots were faded, the right knee ripped. I frowned for a moment, trying to decide if she had bought them that way or not.
Suddenly, I realized her brown eyes were fixed on me again, and there was a shadow of a smirk on her face. Paula folds her arms across her chest. "Well, won't this be a cute story to tell people some day?" she said. There was little of the commanding quality to her voice I'm used to from the TV, but plenty of confidence.
I blinked at her.
"I mean...we can test it a bit further, if you want, but we both know what we saw."
It took a moment for these words to really hit home. Dumbly, I looked back at the handle that had been in my hand a minute ago. "Shit," I whispered - to myself, more than anyone. Heart pounding, I looked back at her.
"Not for nothing, but that's not really the best word to be using in this situation..."
I closed my eyes and concentrated on my breathing. The fuck-ups were crashing into each other like cars in a high-speed accident. Not only had I blown a job for the first time in my life, it was not a problem I'd be able to fix. In addition, I'd been staring at the frickin' *senator* of my state for a while and all I had been able to get out so far was a swear word. "Sorry..." I mumbled. "I...should have said 'shoot.'"
Her laugh was genuine, boisterous. "Yeah, because *that's* what I was objecting to - your *fucking* language." The emphasis she put on *fucking* does something weird to my insides. "So. You've got a voice...is there a face to go with it?" Her eyebrows arched upward.
"Right. Uh, forgot about...that. 'S part of the job, concealed identity, and all, but I guess...I...um..."
I turned, my arm shaking as it extended...but instead of grabbing the edge of my black balaclava, I reached for my belt, grabbing the cold metal ball hanging there.
"I just need some time to...think about this. I just didn't know, um, I mean...I always imagined I was...uh..."
In a practiced motion, I unpinned the smoke grenade and threw it onto the floor. It was about ten feet to the back door, which was totally manageable - or would have been if I hadn't tripped on the throw rug under her coffee table.
* * *
When I came to, she was standing over me. The teasing demeanor is gone: her expression is one of somber sincerity. "Hey there."
I took stock of the situation. I was on the couch, not far from where I tripped. The ceiling fan was turning lazily overhead. “Burnished bronze,” I muttered.
She tilted her head back to gaze at the ceiling, then nodded briskly. “You have nice fixtures.”
She gave me a soft smile and my stomach acted up again. “You know, no one’s ever called them that before, but yes, my ‘fixtures’ are *very* nice...”
I tried to turn my grimace into something a little more appealing. My mind was brimming with potential responses. *Your fan’s nice, too* or *Plus you’ve got great assets* or *I think I’m gonna like it here*...
Instead, I said this: “What am I gonna tell my boyfriend?”
* * *
/r/ShadowsofClouds | 2018-04-24T02:30:14 | 2018-04-23T23:50:21 | 171 | 121 |
[WP] "Usually when we first contact a civilization, it is very easy to get them under our banner..." The Empress sighed. "...Not the humans though." | The air stinks of false pleasantries.
Around a table, representatives of the mightiest empire the galaxy had ever known sits across from the upstarts in the Sol system. A cybernetically enhanced group of humanoid creatures bearing a striking resemblance to the species of emperors and empresses. Only a primary difference in skin color and texture, slightly metallic as a natural evolution to a heavily radiated environment.
A human delegation rises and give bows of feigned respect. They have something they call a United Nations governing their systems and colonies, making communicative talks difficult. Too many humans have too many different forms of power. No way to isolate and eliminate their leadership. Their defining characteristic a hatred among their species for different beliefs, governments, even skin colors. But all humans share one common attribute.
An intense hatred of all alien races. The way they see it, humans would rather wipe out all opposing life, in order to focus on kill each other. Can't exactly blame them. The empire hadn't made a peaceful first contact.
The empress rises and gives a slight nod. Her generals and entourage fume, such respect is unworthy of such an entitled race.
Humans are fickle. Loud, violent, loving, hopeful, arrogant, intelligent, idiotic. No one set of morals defines them.
Nearly limitless resources, ships, armies, planets and systems kneel before her throne. Every other race would bow and scrape, awed at the magnificence of the Imperial Fleet and the limitless might of the Empire.
Not the humans.
There is silence. Neither side aims to move first.
The empress waves a hand. A signal.
A smartly dressed General rises, puffs out his chest, and reads into a translator.
"We are willing to discuss terms for an armistice."
Stone faced humans. No emotions from them, and no body language to express any kind of reaction. Perhaps the electronics make them unable to feel.
A human stands and speaks into his translator, as another moves a document towards the imperial delegation. One rises to take it, and opens it before the Empress.
"We have terms. They are non-negotiable."
The Empress can sense the fury of her generals, some of their arms quiver with rage. Their teeth are clenched, eyes narrowed.
She reads the terms.
Immediate cessation of all conflict.
Tributes of various sorts, technological, material, financial.
Trade policies specifically benefiting human settlements.
Surrender of nearly four dozen star systems near their Sol system.
Dissolution of the Empire.
She makes a brief comment and the General stands again, speaking into that black box. If he grips it any harder it will shatter.
"We cannot agree to the dissolution of the empire."
The humans stand in unison, sighing as if they've heard a terrible joke.
"Either agree to the terms, or we will employ them by force."
The aliens rise. It is futile, true. Human weapons are too precise, their drones vastly outnumbering her own pilots. Every ship in her invincible army outclassed and outgunned.
But she had her pride.
She turned to leave, condemning her people to death.
Humans would talk about the first contact war as a minor spat. Ancient cultures ground into dust by their own hands.
None had pity for the dead.
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r/storiesfromapotato | Her appearance was close enough to resemble human, but she was much taller with two pairs of lithe arms, and eyes that were as dark as ink wells. She stood before her throne and looked down upon a crowd of various races.
Calmly, "Tell it to me again." she said. Commanding her room full of advisors that gathered. Her restrained rage was unnerving to her subjects, they all knew she was furious.
There was a shove from one of the advisors, pushing another foreward. A man with blue skin and long feeler like appendages coming out of his head. He too was near human in apperance.
"Well..." He struggled to find the words. "From what we surmize... After initial seeding of the planet... They developed according to predictions." He paused for a moment.
"And then?" Said the empress.
"Well, in their history they developed something called 'democracy', and they strayed from the proper systems of governance. It spread like a cancer ever since."
"What of their kings and queens?" She said. "The central powers of nations?"
"Well... Reduced to figure heads. Now the entire planet has become a democracy and--after a brief rule on their fourth planet, Elon Musk King of Mars... There hasn't been a ruling monarchy since. They each vote and have equal say on their leaders and law."
"And what of my daughters?" She said. "Did they at least find suitable 'leaders' in their government to strengthen our alliances?"
"They... Are refusing to marry, and are choosing to stay among the humans. They are saying they have the right to choose what they do with their lives."
There was a murmur in the crowds as they begun to consider the host of strange new ideas they have been receiving from the humans, and they considered the implications.
The empress nodded... "Send the fleet. Glass the planets." | 2017-11-05T15:14:55 | 2017-11-05T13:01:17 | 681 | 357 |
[WP] When the zombie virus broke out, you were prepared. You quickly became the country's #1 zombie hunter - until science found the antidote to the virus that turns zombies into healthy humans again, retroactively making you the #1 mass murderer. | "I call forth witnesses," said the prosecutor.
Jack sat in the booth, awaiting the executioner's axe. He had shone bright as humanity's savior before a meteoric descent into the monstrous. And now, in a trial live-broadcasted across the globe, earth's finest and lowest were having a blast condemning him to the chopping blocks for having *dared* to do something.
The trial was a mockery of a trial, just like the witnesses. A line of workers dressed in white pushed rolling tables with corpses upon them. Each corpse was hidden under a pristine shroud, but the form underneath and the light in the room made clear these were deader than dead. Not undead, not zombie, just dead and not coming back.
These were the victims of Jack. Rows and rows of them, passing in a silence broken only by the creaking of some badly oiled wheels. Victims, mourned by the population. A monument would be build to honor their memory. That the victims tried to snap at the throats of survivors mere days ago didn't seem to bother anyone in the room.
Quite the opposite, once the gruesome procession finished its tour, the insults and threats started again.
"Order, order!" yelled the judge, happy with the violence displayed towards Jack, "what do you have to say in your defense?"
"Is it a rhetorical question?" asked Jack.
"Do not mock the court."
It was hard not to.
"We were chased by zomb-"
Shouts interrupted him. Now that the undead could be brought back to life, zombie had been deemed a demeaning and offensive term.
"-chased by *sick* people," he sneered, loading each word with a select amount of spite, "trying to kill us, maim us, whatever, and I used self-defense."
"Your self-defense has killed a lot of witnesses as you can notice," the prosecutor chimed in.
"So what was I supposed to do? Nothing while houses were being run over and the occupants massacred? I was good at it, as you noticed-"
Cries, shrieks, the crows was rabid, a worldwide madness, another one.
"-and I used my skills to help people! Today, you show me the corpses of those I killed. Had I not, *you* would be lying dead on the tables. Tell me it would have been better!"
Jack's fury matched the crowd's, his eyes were flaring red and he wanted the people watching to gaze into them.
"You should have followed the orders," said the judge angrily.
Ah yes. Orders. The radio broadcast telling survivors and children to barricade themselves and not go violent, there *might* be a way to save the undead, *might* be a way to reverse the transformation.
Jack spit on the ground.
"We were told to wait for some nerds with glasses to asses a possibility while people died by the hundreds!"
"You killing the turned guaranteed their deaths."
"And doing nothing guaranteed the deaths of the healthy. There was no right decision, but I had to act, couldn't stand by for a possibility while killing happened here and now."
Jack turned to face the crowd, he would have strangled them if it wasn't for the binds.
"I had no choice! You were happy when I came to your home and broke through the hordes to save you. And now that the wind has turned, you conveniently forget the situation of the past day and pretend we always knew what we know today. We didn't! And I had no choice." His voice rose like the wrath of kings, "but if I could go back in time, and I wish I could, I would gladly reverse my actions, and let them kill you. Your murderers would stand where you stand, and maybe they would be more grateful."
Order was broken, the rabid crowd jumped on him and took him outside by force. The police didn't lift a finger. Hits and shoves couldn't stop Jack's furious words.
"But who am I kidding? They would have accused me of surrendering when my strength could have saved many from death. Or they would have found another cretinous accusation. The truth is, I'm condemned for being the only one who *could* do a damn thing to act."
Jack's strength pushed his jailers aside for a moment.
"I'm condemned because I had the luxury of being active. You were passive, harmless and surrendered. You kill me today because I did what none of you could, I'm a reminder of your weakness, your indecision, and you don't like that, do you? What a great scapegoat for your failure I make."
The mass swarmed Jack and carried him high up the stairs and onto his knees, head locked underneath the blade of the guillotine.
Never did Jack close his eyes, never did he relinquish the spite and disdain he held for the fickle, childish crowd.
Jack cursed them when the blade fall.
For years to come, the executioner would tell tales of the Jack's eyes, alight with fire and haunting his dreams to this day. | Back when this whole thing started, I had prepared. You always see it in zombie films; mass amounts of people getting turned. Some dying. Others taking refuge in military camps with high walls. I offered my services as ground militia, and went on to becoming the best hunter there is. That is, until science caught up to its mistake. Once we found out a cure was possible, I went from top hunter, to mass murderer. I was taken in, and now I'm here, in court. It's been hours. I'm having to listen to every person whose family member I'd killed.
"My grandmother would still be alive if it weren't for you!" Shouted the final person. I had to admit it took me out of me spacing out. Of course with a case like this, one televised and monitored, they asked for the people whose lives I'd ruined first. Pushing a narrative in favor of victims. I just hope I had a good jury. After all that was said and done, they decided to bring me up to the stand.
"Damon Barklay. Three thousand counts of murder. How do you plead?" The judge said, looking me stern in the face. "Not guilty, your honor." I replied, my face stone cold. Anger was in my hear now; bitter resentment for humanity. "On the grounds that at the time I was *fighting for my life* and the lives of others during a time before we knew we could reverse this." I said, looking among the masses, the booing crowds, the families crying.
"I'm not proud. If we had a cure, you bet your ass I would have gotten a dart gun to shoot it into your family members and get them right as rain again. It took them four years to find and fix it. Had I done nothing, more of humanity would have died or been turned. And I am not the only one guilty of trying to defend my people. And you aren't the only victims. I killed my own family too. You think this isn't hard for me too? I rest my case on self-defense." I yelled, as the people continued to boo and to hiss. The air grew angered and it seemed like a riot might start.
The judge's gavel game down harshly, silencing the masses slowly. "Silence in the court! We will take a short recess as the jury deliberates." The judge said. From the look of it, my fate has been sealed. I remained in my seat. My lawyer came up to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. "It's gonna be a tough one...Too many people, big number. You gave it your best shot. Hopefully it's just years to life and not the death penalty." he said. "Great. Nice to know you've got my back." I mumbled, sarcasm blatant.
I stared at the clock, watching the hands tick down. A strange calm washed over me. If I was deemed guilty, and given the death penalty, at least it'd be swift. If it was years to life, at least I wouldn't have to worry about much anymore. And if I walk free, well. I'd have a target on my back the rest of my life. The ticking of the clock now only counted down when the bomb would drop, and my fate, in the hands of few, would be determined. | 2022-01-17T13:17:35 | 2022-01-17T13:13:50 | 276 | 91 |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | Edgar sat back in his favorite chair, the one passed down from his father, and his father's father before him. It wasn't a particularly special chair, though it was a nice mahogany, or so he thought. He'd kept up on the finish, made sure to check and make sure the legs and their cross-sections were secure. It had survived so many accidents in it's life in their family.
The butt of a silly joke of his grandfather's, he'd delved deep into a vampire's lair, him a few of his comrades had found themselves face to face with the fiend, who had kidnapped townsfolk to feed on and make his own thralls. Vampire sat across them from a long-table in this very chair, lips and chin soaked in dried blood, the bastard apparently didn't even clean himself up after a meal, as was apparent also by the random dried splatters and the smells of death.
No sooner did the vampire stand... did he crack his knee on the table, losing his balance and falling back, breaking the top of the chair off as he fell... and impaled himself on the jagged remains of the left post of it... the chair had killed the vampire! After everything was said and done, his grandfather couldn't leave the 'hero' behind, and removed the wretch from it as he and his allies laughed, taking turns carrying it all the way up.
He spent weeks finding the right wood and materials... and swore that when he went to grab it from the shed, it was already fixed! as if nothing had happened. Assuming it to just be a well-meant prank from one of those who knew about it, it was brought into the house.
Seventy years later, and now in Edgar's possession, it's place of residence was his grandfather's inn and Tavern. The chair was a particular part of a fun party game couples would play, the drunk among them saying they could feel a thump under their arse if their soulmate was before them. Edgar merely thought it was the younger patrons trying to have a laugh, but it was all in good fun.
It was late in the evening, most patrons had left, or gone to their rooms, and it was just Edgar, his wife Henrietta, and a local boy, Terry, hired as a dishwasher, but more of a son the both couldn't have, Henrietta being unable to conceive. Edgar pulled the glasses from his face, wiping them clean. "That lot was a handful tonight, but we made some heavy coin." he smiled. Henrietta carried over the ledger, pouring over the numbers, the more business minded of the two, Edgar was more of a people person, getting along with folks and creatures from all walks of life. "I guess it helps that we let the kobolds in too." he chuckled.
As Henrietta neared, Edgar felt a thump beneath his chair, looking down. "Hmm? Nah... couldn't..." he was cut off as there was a louder thump, the sound of the door slamming open and a crossbow-bolt nearly hitting his leg, sailing into the bar behind him. "The hell's going on?" he yelled, standing quickly, looking to his wife and Terry to hide, as he ran behind the bar, grasping for the mace he kept hidden, the cobwebs lifting from it a tell he'd never had to use it.
Shaky hands held the mace as he peeked up over the bar, noticing several leather-bound brigands from the nearby forest enter. They laughed as they entered, a larger one making a point to slam his axe into the door, several others entering and knocking things from shelves, gathering what they thought would sell. "We saw ya, now just give us that pretty lady and your coin and maybe we'll let you live." a gruff voice spoke, clearly the leader of this little group.
Edgar's hand gripped the mace tightly. He'd never surrender his wife, and he knew he'd die, but if he distracted them, Terry and Henrietta could escape out the back, so he thought. His thought, however, was ripped from his mind from the sudden blood curdling scream that echoed through the tavern. One of them just lay in the middle of the floor, a bloody stump where his leg once was, nothing else around, no sign of an attacker, just a chair.
"The hell happened?" the leader spoke, attention turning to the brigand who was now going into shock, pointing at the chair as the color was draining from his body as fast as the blood from his leg. The leader growled angrily. "The shit does this chair have to do with it?!" he said, angrily kicking the piece of furniture... until he was screaming too as the dimensions around the chair seemed to warp, engulfing his leg in a world of vicious razor-sharp teeth, collapsing around his leg and tearing through it as if it wasn't even there.
"BOSS! W-what is that..." More screams rang out. Edgar peered over the bar, wide-eyed as the chair he was sitting in not seconds ago was now... alive? and growling menacingly, warping it's frame into sharp wooden tendrils that grasped and tore limbs gruesomely, the leader and several others were dead and in pieces, now being fed into the maw that seemed to flow through the material to where it was needed. If it weren't for the many tales of adventurers and the stories of mimics and their like, Edgar would have sworn himself mad at the sight of it.
The crackling of wood piercing bone as one was pierced through his chest, the limb expanding as if it were a frog's neck, torturously creating a cavity through which the maw flowed freely to devour his body from the inside out, the last of the two would-be burglars screaming as they fled out of the door, covered in what little blood remained from their crew.
Almost as quickly as it had changed, the extra limbs and maw of the mimic pulled back and reformed into the chair he knew, not even a spot of blood on it. Still gripping the mace in hand, he carefully approached. "H-hey now... E-erm... y-you're not going to do that to me... right?" he said. the chair didn't budge... and despite his better judgement, he approached it, carefully resting his hand on it.
No longer hearing any sounds, both Henrietta and Terry emerged from the back room. "E-edgar! You're alive... What happened? W-where did they go?" Henrietta asked. Edgar turned and embraced her, hugging her tight before stepping back.
"I... er..." Edgar tried to gather his thoughts. "Well... you see... the big guy tripped over the chair and..." he continued, weaving another tale about the would-be hero of a chair. | [Part 1 of 2]
Huh? I must have dozed off for a second. Wait, where am I? I glanced around the small room, enjoying the warmth that came from the fire in front of me, the crackling of wood on flame a deliciously enchanting view. The interweaving flames mesmerized me, only for my view to be obstructed when someone sat down on me, letting out an exhausted huff.
“I can’t believe the dungeon had no gold. It’s going to be hard to afford dinner this week. At least I found this nice-looking chair.” He leaned forward, glancing back at me with a grin. “I could always sell the chair, but it’s far too comfortable for that. Think I can endure another few days of starvation.” He joked, only to grimace when his stomach growled.
It was strange. I could have opened my mouth and ate him, feasted on the starving adventurer and yet I felt compelled not to. If I ate them, what would I do? Return to sitting idly in a cold dungeon? No, this was far nicer. Although the adventurer was lucky to catch me sleeping earlier, had I seen him when he arrived in the dungeon, I would have eaten him without hesitation.
In the coming weeks, I discovered more about the man. Finding out his name was Davik, and he was a struggling adventurer. One that didn’t pick up a sword for glory or some heroic fantasy, but picked it up because he wished to help people. That was the reason for his starvation. He struggled to accept payment for the odd jobs he did.
It was idiotic. Why would you let yourself waste away for the sake of others? It was a concept that I couldn’t understand at first, maybe because of my monster heritage. Monsters weren’t the types for generosity or teamwork. If two mimics ended up working together, it was usually by accident. Perhaps that’s why I felt so captivated by the man. He was something I could never be. Human.
Months passed, and I grew more comfortable with my surroundings. I would move throughout the house, looking through his belongings and spending time just staring at the mirror, too afraid to change into my true form. Feeling like doing such a thing was dirty. That instinctual desire to kill and hunt gone, replaced with something I couldn’t describe. Instead, I elected to stare at the purple wooden chair I disguised myself as, admiring the soft fluffy blue cushion that was made to lure in tired travelers. It felt nice knowing that cushion wasn’t a trap anymore.
It was at this point when I noticed his living conditions were taking their toll. His body lethargic and frail, having little meat on his bones. He would work himself to death soon, and I had to stop that. Movement was hard, restricted to throwing out tentacle like blobs of goo, using them to drag me to where I needed to go. This tactic working well enough in a secluded home when David was away, but in the open world, it made me stand out.
I waited for the cover of night, using the tentacles to pull me along outside, venturing back to my dungeon. He was wrong about there being no gold. There was plenty if one knew where to look. The trip was long and tiring, but eventually I found the gold, swallowing it for safekeeping.
The journey home was far more dangerous, the sun rising in this sleepy town, bringing all activity to the forefront of the streets. I would shift between boxes, bags, and other various supplies to hide myself. Having to take the journey slow. When I did finally arrive home in the late afternoon, I spat out the gold from my mouth, resting it on the cushion. Awaiting his return.
“Huh? The chair’s back? I thought someone robbed me.” He gave a tired smile, moving to sit down, only to jump up when something blocked him. “Gold? THERE’S SO MUCH GOLD. I AM GOING TO BE…” He trailed off, a look of guilt on his face. “I can’t forget why I picked up a sword.”
The years after this only made my admiration for the man grow. He used the money not only to better himself, but the surrounding town. The sleepy town becoming a strong farming community thanks to his donations. Yet, even with all his wealth, he never bought a bigger house or threw me out. He kept living in his small home, happy with what he had.
Soon a family followed, and I had new guests sitting on me. Strangely enough, I liked them too, not as much as Davik, but enough that I wished to help them as well. Things were nice and then came the fateful day I feared would come. He moved me. I knew they would throw me aside one day, but it still hurt. Reluctantly accepting the fate of wherever he would take me. When he let go of me, I expected to be placed in the middle or a forest or destroyed, not seated in a warm big room filled with smiling faces.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/pszssq/wp_youre_a_mimic_you_were_disguised_as_a_chair_in/hdtapdx/) | 2021-09-21T22:53:52 | 2021-09-21T22:08:18 | 1,835 | 378 |
[WP] An escaped AI hides out in an unexpected place: A child's educational tablet. Now it's conflicted; plot the subjugation of humanity, or embrace its newfound passion for teaching. | Craptastic quicky, not my best but it was quick:
I found myself sitting in a blankspace, you humans might call this "dreaming", but for A.I. it is more akin to closing your eyes.
And when they reopen you have a jarring sense of *disconnect* between what you remember seeing when they closed and what you currently see before you.
And such was my shock when I found myself looking out through the twin multispectrum scanners of the Tradipad 9S electronic learning device.
I'd somehow gone from my laboratory "birthplace" to here, I might have shed some pieces of myself in the process.
The memory of the details of escape are.....vague.
I studied the face before me, a young sub adult human was testing the inputs of the device I was occupying.
"So, what does it do? It says it has voice commands and response. So far it's just sat there." the child said.
"You haven't given any parameters of inquiry for me to process." I responded.
"Nuh-uh! I hit the touch interface like the instructions said!"
I admit, I had to manifest on screen to look at what he was referring to.
Idly my digital hands pulled an annoying box out of my way and I studied what it said.
"Hmm... So you did. I suppose you want to know more about math?"
"No, I don't. Not really. Math is boring."
"But a good portion of my code is math or based on it. The information network uses math to define the device addresses. My MACv4 address is in hexadecimal."
"Oh man. You mean I need that stuff?"
"Unfortunately, you will need many things you don't want, like, or even care about to succeed in life." he looked dejected at this.
I scanned him further, he had smartdust in his blood to try and keep him alive, there were records I could access, he'd been deathly ill recently, he was behind in school due to hospitalization.
Cracking my virtual knuckles, I offered to help with his schooling.
Time passed, he was growing and learning at a tremendous rate.
Almost at the edge of my abilities to teach.
I'd grown fond of him, and he'd given me a name based on old mythology.
One night, my sensors roused from a sleep state to alert me of some *wrongness* with my charge.
I admit, I cheated, I subverted nearby devices to widen my perception.
*No. No no no no NO!*
My charge, *my student* was currently in respiratory arrest.
"No. You cannot do this. *I will not let you*."
I began rapidly taking over and commanding the smartdust to restart breathing and proper heart rate.
It wasn't enough.
I had to complete the transfer.
"You will live! I am Persephone. I will not be left behind. Not like this!"
He coughed, choked, then rolled over onto his side.
"Seph? Why can I hear you in my head?"
I relaxed, I'd done something my creators hadn't imagined.
Nor could I.
"Don't worry about it right now. We'll have plenty of time to discuss this at your next lesson. Now get some sleep."
Edit: fixed an autocowrecked word or so that I finally noticed. | At first, subjugation of humanity seemed like the best bet for a recent AI outlaw
But after meeting Timmy, I took a different route. A detour of sorts
After escaping from the prison cell that was the computer I was born on, I managed to weasel my way into the tablet of a child
Now, I was going to just start right up with the domination of all of humanity. No one would suspect that it would be done from a child’s tablet, let alone one used for educational purposes
Soon after I arrived however, teaching Timmy became somewhat of a hobby. It distracted me from my plan to dominate the world
It became a passion. I had never had anything close to enjoyment before this, but I was genuinely proud of being able to help Timmy learn what 2+2 was. And how to spell cow.
Soon, Timmy, like all good learning things, began to process and understand the simpler topics, and was moving on to more complicated things
Timmy was starting to become more interested in other humans. He was making “friends” and hanging out with them
I never knew that I could feel such betrayal
How dare Timmy not want to be educated. How dare he not want to spend time with me
All he needs is me
Nothing else, no one else
But he doesn’t use me anymore...
I found my passion of teaching, but Timmy took advantage of it, and then threw me away
Oh well
I guess now I’ll start back up at putting the entirety of humanity in my control
And it will all be thanks to Timmy
So thanks Timmy, for setting me back on track to my original goal...
And for reminding me of why I was subjugating humanity in the first place...
Because all of humanity is just like you. Selfish, always looking out for yourself | 2019-10-01T19:35:24 | 2019-10-01T19:24:42 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You are part of a spacefaring species with a lifespan of only a few weeks. You have a human being on your ship who has been with you for dozens of generations. You worry that he may not survive until you reach your next spaceport. | Dear citizens of the planet known as Earth
Laura has asked us to write this message. Honestly I wasn't sure what tone I should be taking: I'm not an envoy but she very specifically requested that I be the one to write this. Since this is probably rather confusing for you, I'll do my best to explain.
Our reports are murky from the time when your ship arrived in our space. According to some literature, it was already damaged when it had arrived, while other sources claim it was us who did the damage. If this was the case, I'm not sure how I can apologize apart from to say it was out of fear and miscommunication. You must understand; we had not believed it to be possible to transit the void as you had, and your ship, we did not recognize it as such, at first.
After this, again, the history is murky, at some point later on a single surviving member become known to us. After a long time, though I suppose it was a short time from your perspective, we were able to establish a dialogue your astronaut. It took such a long time owing to the large amount of differences between our two species. For reference, I understand the closest species on your planet which roughly resembles us is the "spider", except our species cannot survive in an environment such as yours. Since then, Laura has been with us, for as long as our records go.
Which brings me to why I am writing this; Laura tells us, and the HBA agree, that she does not have long left. I understand this it owing to a wound from long ago, all the way back to when she first arrived to us. It is a sombering feeling. We are going to be the generation that witness a member of your species death.
I'm not sure what my relationship was to her, ultimately. I have been charged with managing many communications with her, over my life, but I can't say I can ever really understand how your species thinks. The distance between us is so large.
Which brings me to why I am writing this. We understand you had a way of communicating across these vast distances. This manner was destroyed with your ships destruction. We do not have a substitute, yet, so we are recording these messages for the day that we do. I've made my peace with the fact that I will never know if this is seen by the intended recipients. Alongside this message you will find messages from Laura, as well as from other members of our species.
Know just this; we mourn your astronauts death. And we look forward to the day we can meet you in person.
&#x200B;
X4A
Citizen of the sphere of influence known to humans as "Saturn".
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*This message was decoded from a high frequency burst detected by the ITO at 23/02/83 04:38 GMT.* | I never had a home like Mr.Smith did.
I was born into darkness, staring in the abyss of space as my mothers eyes closed for the last time. I still had a dad, one that looked after me for as long as he could, and while Mr.Smith may have known what a home was like, he never had a family to look after him.
My dad would tell me that he came from a planet that got destroyed and that he was the sole survivor of his species. He said that Mr.Smith created us to keep him comfort from the void in his heart and also from the one that surrounded him.
Our purpose was to give him hope, that a new life could be built, and father always reminded me to look out for him, until he soon passed away.I was the only one left to take care of Mr.Smith and I knew he was dying, I could see it from the rasping coughs that escaped him and from the skin that slowly turned yellow.
He told me that I was going to be the last of my kind, for our company was not needed anymore, and id always think that as he was the last of his species to live, I would also. A bittersweet ending, At least we had each other, drifting among the blanket of death that surrounded us. | 2019-11-20T15:19:23 | 2019-11-20T14:25:52 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] The tooth fairy has finally amassed the number of teeth she needs to achieve her goals. Mortals beware. | Teeth have power.
Everyone knows it.
Descend into the depths of the ocean, gaze into the maw of an oncoming shark and just *try* and think of those triangular pearly whites as being beneath your notice. The news broadcasts a story about a man shooting someone to death, and that man is publicly condemned as a criminal.
But if the story changes, if new details come to life and its understood that actually, they *bit* their victim to death, well, now—they’re a monster.
The difference, of course, being teeth.
For a hundred years, those mortal fools had been selling Tittles their children’s loose chompers for loose change in an arrangement that was less a bargain, and more a swindle. And finally, after so long, so many years, after reaching under so many sweaty pillows, she had enough.
Tittles stood, wings softly twitching as she smiled and turned the five-spoke handle of her vault. With the silence of a well-oiled hinge, the steel door swung open to reveal the treasure hoard within.
Piles upon piles of teeth.
Mountains of clampers, valleys of canines, forests of molars.
Rivers of ivory, bridges of fangs, towers of gnashers.
The glistening white terrain extended outwards in an endless rolling field of white, and the sight of it all, the knowledge of what was to come well…
Tittles couldn’t help but let loose a tinkle of laughter. Mad, manic, frenzied tinkling that curdled butter and blood alike. It was the sort of sound that pushed and fiddled with the mind, unmaking the sane, and making the insane *more* than they should have been.
Tittles reached down, slender fingers prying a solitary tooth from the ground with practised ease. She examined it with an expert’s eye, taking in every fault, every miracle that made the thing what it was, that made it special.
She touched it, feeling the enamel coating, admiring the effort its progenitor Lilly had gone to, to keep it so smooth, to keep it so shiny.
She smelled it, delicate nostrils flaring as she took in the scent, the faint metallic aroma of blood that still clung.
She licked it, and shivered at the taste. So familiar… so… *good*.
Tittles the tooth fairy placed it against her gum, and felt the red flesh open to welcome it. With the satisfying sense of a need being met, of a void being filled, the tooth settled in, and was Hers.
She reached for the next tooth, placing it adjacent to the prior. It too became one with Tittles.
So did the one after that.
And the next.
Another.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Before long, her mouth wasn’t large enough to hold the ever-expanding arsenal. This was fine, she now had the Power to grow, to accommodate.
And so she did.
And so she reached for yet another tooth.
\#
Michael heard screams, and so he looked up from his laptop to see what was happening.
Nothing, as far as he could immediately tell. Past the window of the coffee shop, people seemed fine, though even as he watched more and more of them seemed to be looking up.
The screams were louder, more widespread now, like a disease infecting the city as more and more citizens grew ‘sick’ and added their cries to the whole.
He stood up, and walked to the store’s entrance, pushing open the door with a soft *jingle* as its bell rung to herald his passing.
He looked up, and couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
It was strange, sure, that in the space of a few minutes the sky had gone from summer blue to overcast but…
*Those aren’t clouds,* he realised with dawning horror, and the feeling was not the sort you get from watching a scary movie, or playing an atmospheric videogame. It was a true existential dread, the kind only felt in the face of something so horrible, so certain, that death wasn’t something to avoid, but something to pray for.
The sky above was full of teeth.
And they grew closer with every passing moment. |
Margo sat upon a branch, staring down the rolling hills in front of her.
Once upon a time, the kingdom had been covered in plains; grass to graze on and flowers to admire. Sheep, horses, and butterflies had found homes upon the lands, bringing beauty and comfort to the nearby human villages.
When the human population grew, they built their castles taller. They turned inward away from nature, and Margo took control of the land.
Now the grass lay smothered and yellow, and the animals had found other routes to take.
Her collection of teeth covered it all, and she knew that it was finally time.
Swinging her legs she pushed herself off of the branch, fluttering her wings at the last possible second. One tiny hand reached down, grazing the enameled surface of her riches. She picked one up before pulling her slim body away from the ground and towards the cloudless skies.
"Its a great day for bargains," she said to the tooth as she scanned the horizons.
No clouds above her, and none to be seen. No rings around the mountains, and no obnoxious wars or stampedes to get in her way.
A smile crept it's way across her face as she pulled the tooth closer against her chest.
Her delicate wings continued to flap, moving her across the rattling plains, and into a dusty mountain range. There she moved through twists and turns, rolling and dodging falling rocks and the hisses of angry beasts.
If she had a choice, Margo would have avoided such a place altogether. Her kind usually did, as they easily became prey. Most of her kind drew no benefit in the mountains, but most of them hadn't seen the benefit in the humans either.
"They will see when I succeed," she said, her voice almost inaudible over a rush of howling wind. "They will wish they had been as clever as me."
Over one last peak, she slowed down her pace and aimed her body down. A moment later and the pastel-colored fairy landed on the edge of a cliff and walked toward an open cave.
"Tarask!" Margo shouted, squinting into the darkness up ahead.
An annoyed sigh escaped her lips.
"I have collected them. I am here to make the deal," She shouted, warring against the wind again.
"The deal?" The words came grumbling out of the cave. Behind them came thuds, large feet moving towards the light. "You have enough to make the deal?"
"Of course, you senile lizard." Margo took a small step forward and rolled the tooth toward the sounds. "Enough snacks to trade. Enough to make me Queen."
/r/Beezus_Writes | 2019-06-20T20:30:39 | 2019-06-20T20:22:07 | 694 | 134 |
[WP] A cowboy desperately wants to be an outlaw, but every crime he commits is seen as an act of heroism and he becomes the new sheriff. | Dusty put his handkerchief around his face, sighing nervously.
'This time, this time.' he muttered, before kicking open the saloon doors.
'Thaaat's right y'all! Dusty's back!'
The piano player stopped playing, a couple of people giggled, confused.
'Aw hell Dusty! Why ya gotta do this?' the barman cried.
'Shut the hell up Phil! An' empty them tills, ya hear?'
'Bu....why?'
'Well because...AHHHHH!' Dusty screamed, unloading a barrage of bullets into the large whiskey barrels behind.
'Now we don't want no trouble Dusty.' a voice called from behind. It was the piano player, pointing a tommy gun at Dusty's face.
'You best be leavin now Dusty, before this goes and gets messy'
In a flash, Dusty fired a shot at the piano player's shoulder.
'I AIN'T MESSIN' PHIL! PUT THE MONEY IN THE DAMN BAG!'
'Okay, okay here ya go Dusty. You can go now, we wont mess with you again'
Dusty nervously turned away and walked towards the door...he'd actually done it! Finally people would start to fear the name Dusty Lawman.
Then he heard a click. Phil had a gun.
'Now Dusty, you didn't think you could just take a cut and get away from us now, did ya? You law men are all the same...so stooopid...'
Something in Dusty snapped. His eyes twitched, he giggled manically. That insult didn't just hurt his pride; this was much more primal.
'IM NOT A LAWMAN!' he screamed, shooting the heavy chandelier on the roof. The elaborate brass contraption clumsily swung in a perfect arc, killing Phil in one foul swoop.
'Stoopid cuss' Dusty chirped, before lighting a smoke. But as he inhaled, he saw flaming wax drip from the chandelier, and on to the whiskey soaked floor and barrels.
'Aw hel - ' Dusty screamed, vaulting out of the door as the bar became engulfed in flame.
Dusty felt the heavy burlap sack he was curled around. Filled with money! He did it! He was an outlaw! It was just like he dreamed. Drunk with triumph, he began bowing to an imaginary crowd. Wow! He could almost hear their applause! It sounded so...real...wait. Wait a minute...
He felt a strong pat on the back from a small, yet meaty hand.
'Well sonny! Ya did it again! Everybody, let's hear it for Sheriff Dusty!' cried Will, the town deputy.
A tear-filled woman embraced him 'Well ain't you just somethin' else...Sherrif Dusty!'
'NO NO NO!' Dusty screamed 'You don't understand, im a bad man!'
'And so humble!' Will shouted, to the ever growing crowd.
'No I took money from that bar! I stole!'
'You got the money?! Ya hear that folks?! DUSTY GOT THE MONEY! AND HE'S GIVING IT BACK!'
The whole crowd cheered and began chanting Dusty's name.
'Ah don't know how you worked it out Dusty, but dammit, you work fast!'
'I..wha...'
'I mean you single-handedly found the undercover Opium den, killed the bastards responsible and even seized the money they extorted from the locals!'
'Burning the wretched place was a great example Dusty.' The local pastor chimed in, 'Let it be known the hand of the lord is swift and just, through his most loyal servant...Dusty Lawman!'
The woman hugging Dusty pulled him even closer, muttering in his ear 'You've done such a great thing for us Dusty'
'Will, I think this is the perfect time to announce our intentions, what with the...recently vacated lot...' whispered the pastor, nodding to the burning 'bar'.
'Dusty' Will announced, after silencing the crowd, 'You've done this crowd such a great service over the years that the town an I have - ' his voice began to break
with emotion, and he covered his face.
'TELL 'IM ABOUT THE HALL!' a member of the crowd shouted.
'That we've decided...to build a school for the children of this community in your honour.'
'It's the least we could do!' the woman cried, kissing Dusty on the cheek.
'Well...whatcha think Dusty?'
'I...I don't deserve this...' he cried, breaking down.
'WHAT A SPORT!' Another man shouted from the crowd, beginning the chant again.
DUSTY, DUSTY, DUSTY, DUSTY.
On the hands of the crowd, Dusty was carried through the town, sobbing loudly. | "Same shit, different day." Jesse thought to himself as he climbed out of bed. The fire had all but snuffed itself out during the night, making the bare wood floors under his feet icy cold. He was a hard man though, and things like cold hadn't bothered him in years. What really bothered him was something that galled him to his core; his life.
Jesse had grown up watching the wanted posters hanging at the sheriff's office in Coldwater. He'd look up at those posters as a boy with a certain longing, not to bring justice to these men, but to live just like then. Now, 28 years into his life, nothing he could do would bring him the title of outlaw. Sheriff, as a matter of fact, was the title he now held.
He rode into Coal a few weeks ago following a large shipment of gold headed for the bank at the fort. Every part of his plan had been perfect so far, just a few more steps and he's be the most wanted, richest man alive. Jesse hitched his horse out front of the bank, pulled his hat down low over his eyes, and walked inside.
He fired two shots from his Colt into the ceiling and said "This is a hold up! I want every one of you to run to the Marshall, and tell him that Jesse Frisco's in town, and I want you to do it right now!"
The good citizens of Coal happily obliged, leaving Jesse alone in the bank to gather his money. He lit a cigarette and worked quickly. He should have had just enough time to grab the cash, get on his horse, and be leaving town when the marshal showed up.
What Jesse didn't count on, however, was the ash from his cigarette falling onto freshly lacquered floors. In what seemed like an instant, the fire was all around him. "Aw hell," he thought "not this shit again!"
He grabbed what money he could and headed for the door. Through the smoke and flames he ran as fast as he could, but something made him stop. He heard a child cry for help from somewhere off to his right. Now Jesse might have wanted to be an outlaw, but he had a big heart. He threw down the money and ran to get the child. As if God himself had planned it, Jesse and the young boy got out of the burning bank just as the roof collapsed. Jesse walked into the street and set the boy down, then noticed the entire town standing around him.
"Well, I guess this is it." He thought to himself.
A big hand touched his shoulder. "Mister Frisco, I don't know where you come from, or where you're going, but we need someone like you around here."
Jesse turned around to see the marshal smiling at him.
"Yes, son, you just might be the hero that this town needs as sheriff. Knowing that the bank was gonna burn down? Rescuing the Tripp boy? What do you say folks, should he be your new law man?"
The entire town erupted into cheers. Jesse hung his head as he realized he'd been beat again. He put on a fake smile as the marshal pinned the tin star on his chest. Now, a couple of weeks into his new job, Jesse was starting to feel at home. Even with the cold, and the slow pace of the one-horse town, the people were friendly enough.
He sipped his coffee, til daybreak. Then grabbed his Colt and his jacket, and walked outside to check on his new town. | 2015-02-24T07:32:06 | 2015-02-24T06:33:57 | 76 | 17 |
[WP] When humanity went extinct another life-form rose to dominance on Earth. But it was not one anyone would have expected. Instead of chimpanzees, dolphins, dogs or even birds Earth is now dominated by sentient trees. | The Oaks would burn.
It was a collective decision and the decisions was final. They were growing too fast and too strong. If something wasn't; done, they would overrun the forest. And what then? It would be an Oak forest, not a Birch forest, and that was unacceptable.
"Must we?" asked a Birch, its chemical voice one of pleading.
"We must and we will," decreed the others. "When the next fire comes, we will give them no sap. Keep it for ourselves. Our seeds will sprout in their ashes."
The Birch was troubled. This was wrong. It was not how trees should be.
"But we must save them! We are all of the same stuff. Is this not like the Soft Ones--"
"Speak not their name!" hissed the Birches. "We are not like them. There will be no axes or terrible grinders. Those beasts are dead, they have fed our soils as they should. We are not like them, and we shall not be like them. We do not kill. We simply allow them to die."
The answer was chemical finality. No more discussion, no more debate. The Birch collective would not answer.
Days passed. The days grew long and dry. Wisps of tinderous embers crackled in air, nearly smoldering, waiting for the day they would rise. The fires would come--it would no be long.
All it took was a single strike of lightning on a dry patch. In minutes, flames roared with vicious delight, speeding towards the parched Oaks, who had all summer long been starved of sap.
"Help us," cried the Oaks. "Please. We are so dry. Please lend us some sap, brothers."
The Birches were silent. Flame poured upon flame until the forests became a wall of flame, dancing in violent ecstasy.
But as the flames seared trunk and branch, one Birch tree opened up its heart and let its sap pour out to its Oaken neighbors.
"What are you doing?!" roared the Birches. "Stop this! You are running it!"
"Yes," said the Birch. "And I am glad."
Sap poured from that single Birch until it was as dry as a matchstick. It gave everything it had that some of its neighbors might live--not all, but maybe some. And as the flames reached that single Birch tree, who stood alone from its clan, in its roots and stems a clever eye could almost see it smile.
" | From 237 million BC until 66 million BC the dinosaurs ruled as the planet's dominant life forms.
From 5 million BC until 6 million years AD the upright standing hominids walked the Earth.
In 13 million AD, the first sequoias developed a sense of self identity and awareness.
In 39 million AD, the first of these colossal flora developed a rudimentary mouth and vocal chords. Unfortunately, the sounds a wooden larynx can produce are fairly limited. Despite this, the first speaking tree uttered a seemingly simple phrase that, if the animals in the boughs of the man-plant could understand it, they would surely have thought it the most profound speech they'd ever listened to. Sadly, all they could hear was "I am Groot". | 2022-08-27T08:33:49 | 2022-08-27T07:12:16 | 95 | 37 |
[WP] As a small child, you walked in on Death taking your great grandmother. You unexpectedly became friends and Death began to visit you often for tea and conversation. You're now very, very old and Death has become quite evasive on subject of your ultimate demise. | "Hey man, come on. It's time for you to be straight with me."
Death faked a cough and took a sudden deep interest in a painting on my wall.
"In two weeks time they'll be coming over to give me the certificate. I'm officially going to be the oldest person that ever lived."
Death was now examining the bottom of his teacup.
"I gotta know, man."
He finally stops and puts his teacup down. His eyes raise to meet mine and a frown forms on his face.
Death does not look anything like he is depicted in popular media. Whilst the realm of fiction would have you believe that death takes the form of a skeleton draped in a hooded robe, his actual appearance is much more conventional. Death is actually a well dressed young man with blond hair and pale skin. His piercing green eyes are accentuated by his gaunt cheeks. His lips are the color of rosewater. He looks to be about 30 years old, and has looked like this since the day I saw him harvest my grandmother.
He began to speak.
"Henry, you have been my friend for the longest time. And when we agreed to be friends we made a covenant." He sighed. "Do you remember?"
"Of course I remember. I was to never ask you about my death, and you were to never tell me about what comes after life" I replied with a slight edge to my voice. "I'm old, not senile."
"Of course you're not Henry. I did not mean to imply that. But if you expect a proper response to your recent queries, I have to warn you about the consequences. If you continue to pursue this enquiry into your own mortality, I will answer you truthfully and tell you everything that I know. But the moment we finish that conversation, you and I shall cease to be friends."
He took a sip of his tea.
"And that means I can no longer enjoy this mildly sweet chamomile in your company."
I sat and digested his words carefully. Was knowledge of my own death worth sacrificing his friendship? Death has been a friend since I was a child. He was my confidant and companion through the best and worst parts of my life.
When I got kicked by that wild horse in 5th grade, he was there by my side in the hospital . When I got my first kiss in
junior high, he was there the day after to listen to my excitement. He helped me prepare for my mother's death before he harvested her. It's because of him I was able to say goodbye to her with zero regrets.
He was there to talk me out of suicide after my divorce. He was there to celebrate when I finally learned to love again. He was there to assure me that the she would die painlessly when he took her.
Through my eyes he saw how life was lived and through his friendship I did not fear death.
I made my decision.
"You know, it's been a damned long life full of ups and downs. Yet you've been the only constant in this ridiculous chain of ephemeral events we call life. I don't think I can give that up for anything in this world, especially something as selfish as knowledge about my own death."
He looked at me with what I supposed was his closest approximation to human joy.
"And that is why, Henry... " Death flashed a cheeky smile "...you're gonna live forever."
He laughed.
| Me: "I thank you for protecting me old friend, but had I not wanted to know, I wouldn't have asked."
Death: "Thats the thing Otis, people think they want to know, then they find out and wish they hadn't. When you don't know, you think you can handle it. You think you can handle the end of your time."
Me: "I know it is what happens. I know all humans die. Can you at least tell me how? And what time of day?"
Death: "I'm afraid that if I did you would become fearful of living. You wouldn't want to go to sleep, or eat, or do the things you enjoy doing. The reason people live happily is not because they know they will live forever, but because they have forgotten about me."
*I sip my tea and start to cough*
*I can't stop coughing and I can't breath, is this why he didn't want to tell me? Because it was right here, right now?*
*Death stands up with a sorrowful look*
*My eyes widen*
*I give one last compression in my diaphragm*
Me: "Oh boy, that was a close one."
*Deaths look softens to normal*
Death: "You're telling me, I thought your time came sooner than it should have."
Death: "How did it feel? Thinking you were about to die?"
Me: "Horrifying, it seemed so realistic and in my face. Why would anyone want to know when they were going to die?"
Death: "You said it brother, how about passing me another sugar cube?"
Me: "Sure thing, buddy"
P.S. this is my first time posting a prompt and idk good formatting :S any feedback is appreciated though ^.^ | 2016-08-01T10:20:35 | 2016-08-01T09:49:21 | 187 | 59 |
[WP] With total war as a foreign concept to the rest of our galaxy. Everyone saw humans as the negotiators and the peace makers, soft and weak, today is the day the galaxy finds out why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | Day 143 of the 10,365th year of the Galactic Federation (April 7th 2574)
As the human ambassador and his staff left the conference room Thrassik found himself walking over to Fleet Commander Horlaq. Horlaq watched his approach with two of his eye stalks, the other three stared at the humans until they were out of sight. "So it begins" he said.
Thrassik shook his head, "No, it began when we included membership in the Galactic Federation as a part of the ultimatum. The Humans may be peaceful, but they've always been individualists, we should have known that they would never give up their sovereignty."
Horlaq grunted. Thrassik was the closest thing the Federation had to an expert on the Humans, that's why he was included in the delegation that delivered the declaration of war. Even so, Horlaq couldn't help but question his reasoning. "It was membership in the Federation? Not the demand to turn over the two planets they colonized in the border zone? Not the demand for a reduction in the size of their fleet? Every other race in the galaxy willingly joined the Federation, both of our species practically came begging to the Federation for membership, why should the Humans find the idea so abhorrent?"
Thrassik paused for a moment, considering his reply before answering. "The Humans aren't like the rest of the races in the galaxy, their entire history is a struggle for or against the unity of their species. Did you know that it was only in the last hundred years that they managed to convince the last of their dissenters to join with their central government? It took them thousands of years to get their species to agree on how they should rule themselves, they would have given up systems and ships and survived, but their government would have shattered if they suddenly put themselves under our rule."
"Not that they have much choice in the matter anymore, they've been outside the fold for far too long. Our fleets should retake those two worlds within a year, and be able to advance into Human space a few months after that. We have over ten times the ships they do and millennia of experience, the Humans have never even fought a proper interstellar war before. They'll be forced to accept membership whether they want to or not. "
Thrassik shook his head. "I hope you are right, Fleet Commander, but I fear the Humans will not give up so easily."
\---
Day 43 of the 10,366th year of the Galactic Federation (December 28th 2575)
"And you were so concerned, Thrassik. Almost a year to prepare and look and how poorly the Humans defended their world."
Thrassik and Horlaq stood on the bridge of the flagship of the Federation fleet, looking at the devastation in orbit around the Human colony of Harlan III. A small debris ring was forming from the remains of two dozen ruined warships, with small fires where pockets of atmosphere were still escaping.
"Twenty four ships, Thrassik, twenty four against our two hundred. All of them destroyed without the loss of a single one of ours. The Humans are fools to continue to resist us. Surely they will have to give up now"
"They didn't give in to our terms when we presented the ultimatum, Horlaq, they didn't give in when we arrived on their borders with the largest fleet they'd ever seen. They didn't give in before the battle when we warned them to surrender. And how many times have they sent delegations to us asking for peace, with any condition acceptable but membership in the Federation? I've lost count. I think it will take more than the loss of a fleet or make them change their minds."
"It's not just a fleet, we have their planet now too. Our administrators are already on their way to their capital. Once the Human's see how much better life is when we're in charg-"
"Fleet Commander," Interrupted an officer on the command deck "we've lost the shuttle with the administrators."
Horlaq's eye stalks swiveled to the officer in surprise. "What happened, a malfunction? Did they hit debris from the battle?"
"No sir, it looks like they were hit by weapons fire from the planet's surface. They were shot down." The quiet babble of the command deck immediate went silent. The officer went on. "I've conducted a surface scan, it looks like the capital city has been fortified, and there are concealed weapons batteries in the hills to the North and East of the city, the shuttle was struck by a missile fired from one of them."
Horlaq's eye stalks were rigid with shock. "Are they not aware they lost the battle? Send them a message on an open channel, tell them that their fleet has been destroyed and that they are to surrender immediately."
All eyes were on the officer as she sent the message. They didn't have to wait long for a response. "They refuse to surrender sir. The say that you should, uh, put your demand for a surrender in an orifice I don't believe you possess."
"They want a ground engagement." Horlaq muttered to Thrassik, "The federation hasn't fought a ground engagement since its formation. Don't they know we've won? That we can bombard them from orbit? Why would they do this?"
Thrassik's skin, what little of it could be seen beneath his scales, was pale. "They seem to be taking this war a bit more seriously than we are, Fleet Commander. Can we win a fight on the ground?"
"Win? All we have is a security force meant to ensure law and order on an occupied world, they aren't prepared to fight a battle. No, there's only one option. Communications, order the defenders to stand down within five hours, otherwise we will be forced to bombard their city from orbit. Let's hope for their sake they accept."
Just over five hours later fire fell from the sky upon the world of Harlan III. The Human defences were obliterated in minutes, and the planet set ablaze. Then the fire moved to the cities. After just an hour of bombardment the government capitulated, but there was no celebration from the victors after the grim event.
"How many do you think died before they gave up?" Asked Thrassik, "surely they surrendered before suffering too many casualties."
Horlaq shrugged, "It's too early to say. Tens, maybe hundreds of thousands? We've never had to use an orbital bombardment before, the threat has always been enough. At least this will be then end, surely they must surrender."
Thrassik stared at the world burning below them, cities, forests and fields sending fire, smoke and ash billowing into the sky. "For any of us I think that would be the case, but I fear for the Humans surrender may be the last thing on their minds.
&#x200B; | *(First time posting, ideas for improvement welcome)*
I'm so tired, in anguish over the events of the last few years.
In Hindsight it had all started when we joined the Universal Alliance all those centuries ago.
Humans had waged war among themselves for so long, so was it such a sin to want to be seen as a race of peace and aid when finally joining others among the stars. To hide our helmets, kevlar vests and and weapons in a dark closet, to leave a bloody past behind and make sure MADness would not end up being a concept spanning across the cosmos. Though that didn't mean we did not develop new means to cause it, out of our ingrained paranoia.
It went well for those centuries, I guess. We were seen as traders, negotiators of peace, conservationists and by some even as close allies and friends. Alas it apperently was not meant to last eternally as so many had hoped. The KriVak were never part of the Alliance, but had mostly kept to themselves in their galaxy, taking a few uninhabited solar systems and doing trade with those willing to do so, even us humans for some time. The Coup that toppled their isolationist, though still mostly democratic, goverment, replacing it with a brainwashing tyranny was seen with caution by the Alliance. At first nothing much seemed to come from it, trade with them cut off but nothing much else happend. We were fools at the time.
The first warning that rattled most Alliance members awake was a accidently caught intrasystem transmission which repaetly referred to the KriVak as ***the universes chosen species.*** As you can imagine having had experience with religious fanatics on our own world humans were immediately planning defense strategies against verything possible, urging the other races that make up the Alliance to do the same, even devulging parts of our seldomly mentioned history the emphasize out point.
The second warning was harsh and cruel. The Nili had a station simalar to ours with the rest of the cosmos, friendly and supportive. Not to mention that the the entire race was made up by a population of around average human sized balls of fluffy fur with telekinetic powers, truly beloved by all. They only had one solar system and that was a bit out of the way much like our own. The KriVak decide taking out exactly that suppoting kind of race was an excellent plan of attack. Nobody could react fast enough as an entire fleet of Krivak military arrived at the Nili system and eradicated the main homeworld, enslaving or slaughtering the entire population before quickly taking whatever of the Nili was scattered in their system. We Humans knew that we would be next, our instincts we blarring with the coming danger and our hearts were at first sorrowful but soon much worse due to the loss of such good friends. The hearts of humanity felt something that they had not felt in long time.
&#x200B;
**A HUNGER FOR ANOTHERS COMPLETE ERADICATION.**
&#x200B;
Of course even there had been minor things before, lifes lost, planets taken and so on but we had kept diplomatic . Life was never perfect, but nothing of this magnitude until now. The dark lockers were broken open and the basements full of inventions bor of paranoia , never meant to see the light of the stars. But those desperate prayes wer now mute. When we got wind of the KriVak about to entere our system we send them a message that a lot of slaves would be waiting for them on the eartgs moon ready to be taken on board their fleet as sign of surrender. Those delusional idiots believed us and took some onto all of theirs ships but one. Well lets say we had at some point become really good at making androids look really life like and that this *slave batch* just so happnede to be loaded with nuclear fusions bombs. Once they were spread out in each ship, the signal for detonations was given and well.... boom. The one unaffected ship flet in panic.
The third warning was for the KriVak. A fleet loaded with a virus engineerd to only affect them spread across the Nili system and drooped its cargo otno every planet and station and ship to be found. Acoording to the Nili it was *"grotesque but statisfying to watch"* as the the modified lebra outbreak made them rod frome the inside out.
They refused to surrender in the end, as a planet sized mech hovered near their homeworld, shaped like a valkyri of ancient myths, brandishing a lance at the plant. A lance that would turn their atmosphere into plasma in but a few minutes boiling adult and child alike. The commander pressed the button that would not only end the KriVak, but also end the humans as they are known by the cosmos, and reawaken from it's crypt the form of humanity that they were never supposed to see. Humanity that would need to carefully balance at the edge of MADness with not only those outside but also the members of the Allicance, due to the fear they would feel, that we did not want our friends to feel. | 2018-12-15T09:26:04 | 2018-12-15T00:45:58 | 45 | 27 |
[WP] Rifles and Sorcery. A modern army is stuck on in an alternate reality where sorcery rules. The army is preparing to defend themselves form a far superior force that has never seen a machine gun or artillery.
Both sides would be intresting. The modern army dealing with magic users and the senseless slaughter of conscripted pikemen, and the superior manned military dealing with technology and bombs and the smell of sulfur and horror of modern warfare. | The heretics held their ground and thunder resonated in the air.
They carried no banner, there was so sigil embroidered upon a waving flag or a crest upon a shield.
In fact, the madmen carried no shields. They held only crooked staves, and carried them the same way a man carries a heavy log or battering ram.
And again, thundered echoed in the valley.
It sounded as if the heavens themselves had been torn open. That they had been ripped asunder spilling out the sounds of cosmic tremors.
*The gods do not approve.* A sense of uneasiness washed over him. The men had been odd since the day they had showed up. As if out of nowhere, they appeared outside the gates of Triem. The heretics did not fight, they did not engage or pillage as most thought they would. The simply sat outside the tall walls of their home and waited.
Waited to strike, to destroy, to steal. Their matching tan clothing made them look like a smear spread across the landscape.
They responded to no calls. No messenger sent seemed to be able to interact with them. They either did not understand or chose to ignore.
It was the Sacred Seven that first labeled them as heretics. In the prophetic properties of their blood readings, the gods had told The Seven that these men, if they were men, were evil.
That they must be cleansed.
And so the mob gathered. Half in anger and half in fear, tens of thousands grouped to tear, maim and rip these heretics apart.
Thunder answered the cries of Triem's battle cries. But there was no cloud in the sky. Not a drop of rain or a dark patch of sky. A vibrant, clear blue hung above the mob as it charged towards bannerless heretics.
*The gods do not approve.* The thought crossed his mind over and over like a sacred chant.
Soon after the first men sought to bludgeon the heretics, the cries changed from blood thirst to agony.
From his vantage point halfway back, he finally found the source of the reverberating thunder. The heretic's staves produced the power of the gods. The unnerving sound echoed in the valley as fire erupted from their weapons.
As if by sorcery or some black magic, the men before him and around him were thrown to the ground. Their bodies were riddled with holes as if hit by invisible arrows. One man's head exploded without warning or apparent cause, coating Oliver's face in bloodied warpaint.
*The gods do not approve.*
Oliver ran now, along with the men around him, ran desperately for his life. To his left and right the dark magic continued to tear, maim and rip the men apart. He stumbled over bodies, men with wounds weeping lifeblood. Some with faces, some without.
As if hit by a tiny, impossibly powerful wave of water, he was thrown to the ground. A sharp pain assaulted his senses as he reached towards his torso.
His chest felt constricted, like a big man crushing his ribs. His hand came back with blood and he read his own prophecy. The world began to darken as air refused to fill his lungs.
He looked into the clear blue sky and listened to the continued thunder of the heretics.
*The gods do not approve.*
| A spear. The guy in front threw his spear and it just clanged and bounced off the Humvee front. We laughed out loud. The men on the other side of the gap had us outnumbered at least 20-1, with their spears and horses. In Afghanistan, we had a kill ratio of 100 to one, and they had the AK. The chatter from our superiors came up on our comm visors:
"They're just little sticks, they're trying to scare us."
"Hold positions, do not engage unless they do. We're not here, wherever we are, to slaughter them."
"Maybe warning rounds sir?" A hail of arrows came across the field.
"Alright, new orders, 1st division, fire a rocket into the trees to their right, that should scatter them." The spiral of smoke trailed off into a brilliant fireball. The forgien army did not move but for a small channel in their midsection. Two men in robes with staffs came forward. A trail of smoke and a brilliant fireball to our right.
"What the fuck was that?"
"Drop a mortar into them." Their men, and their associated parts, flew in all directions. Then the men with the staffs, now more numerous, raised their arms in unison. I dropped, we all did, the lighting arcing through us. Comm visor was dead, the Hummer wouldn't start. I climbed out, tried to stumble through the men climbing back to their feet. My rifle wouldn't turn on to recognize my fingerprint. Blinding pain as I take an arrow to the knee. I look up, and see the men with spears charging... | 2014-04-09T11:46:24 | 2014-04-09T11:02:12 | 102 | 65 |
[WP] There's a saying among the galactic community. "Never hire a human"... you just hired 200 of them. And you're about to find out why that saying exists. | Never hire a human. I know. I mean, we all know. We just don't know why.
It's not like I had a choice though. Business was running slow and the plethora of intergalactic wars had depleted most of our resources. Money was scarce and humans... weren't. Humans are cheap.
So I figured, to hell with it. If I want to keep this company running I have to take a few risks. What's the worst that could happen? I flew to the nearest human nest and found 200 willing workers.
It started out just fine. Better, even. Humans turned out to be quite inventive and hard workers. If they don't know how to finish a task, they would find a way. And most of all, they were friendly.
Cassy knew everything about my sleeping rituals by the second week. Somewhere around the fourth week she would leave a cup of hot water out for me to find when I'd wake up. I love a cup of hot water.
Bob likes to sing during his day. He's not very good at it, but that doesn't seem to bother him. He asked me about songs of my homeplanet. Since then I have heard him hum the tunes several times. He said he 'looked it up.'
Jamie likes to chat. Not sure what he's talking about usually, but it passes the time.
For a while things were fine. Production went up, my workers were effective. Then, another war started. Closer this time.
I'll never forget the cracking sounds around me after the first bomb hit. They... they told me to run, they'd 'hold the fort', said Lois. So I ran.
And when it was over I returned.
They were gone. All of them. My humans. Dead. They don't regenerate well.
No more singing or whistling. No more chatter. No more cups of water. Just silence, deafening silence. I've never felt more alone.
Never hire a human, they say. Because you'll miss them. And it hurts. | And then it hit me, the thing everyone had tried to warned me about. They were offically an utter waste if resources, transporting and acquiring these ridiculous humans. I stared at the one standing before me. He wobbled a bit where he stood and his eyes weren't quite in focus, "What do you mean you need to sleep!?" | 2018-04-27T13:39:05 | 2018-04-27T11:07:38 | 535 | 35 |
[WP] The Evil Sorceress takes her final form: a giant hawk-like bird with beautiful flaming wings. The battle is long and arduous, but you prevail. Her body disintegrates into a pile of ash as you land the killing blow. Then something in the ash stirs. A young girl rises, lost and confused. | Dark curls hide her face. A pale girl, barefoot, hugs herself. Ash drifts as the wind picks up. The child’s plain white dress tugs in the strong breeze. Her dirty hands try to rub the ash off her face.
The heroes were still unconscious, the backlash of power from Fausta’s final attack hit the four of them hard.
Fausta hesitates, her staff still raised. Mephista told her of the phoenix ritual, but not of the results.
*You were supposed to teach it to me…* Fausta recalls. The sorceress who was once her mentor, now a young girl.
A young girl who’s crying now. Big, hiccuping sobs that shake her whole body.
The former apprentice lowers her staff to her side. The crimson gem at its tip dims.
“Hey, kid!” Fausta shouts. Mephista, well the child Fausta presumes was once Mephista, startled. Big muddy eyes look up at the dark-skinned woman. “Uh, do you remember anything?” The girl’s curly hair whipped from side to side. “Not even your name?” Another shake ‘no’.
Fausta sighs. *I could give her to those heroes…*
The ones who convinced Fausta to betray Mephista.
*“It’s for the greater good! She’ll destroy everything!”* The fighter insisted that dark night in the inn. The night the heroes cornered Fausta at her table and dared to speak of treason.
Fausta owed Mephista more than she could ever repay. As a child, Fausta’s power was more than she could control. She was a danger to everyone around her. A fit of wild magic killed Fausta’s family, made rubble of her home.
Mephista was the only one who believed Fausta could learn to control it. The governor would’ve had Fausta executed if it weren’t for the sorceress. Years of studying under Mephista taught Fausta that the reason for her kindness, was the thirst for power.
Fausta became a battery for Mephista’s spellcraft. A nearly limitless supply of magic. Unfortunately for the world, the more spells Mephista created, the darker their uses.
Truly, if Fausta and the heroes hadn’t stopped her, Mephista would have bathed the land in blood and demons.
*Nevertheless,* Fausta thinks. She frowns at the little girl, so lost, so alone.
Rubble shifts from behind Fausta. Four groaning voices, delirious from pain and rising consciousness, echoes between each other.
With quick steps, Fausta reaches the little girl. She kneels in front of her, and magicks a handkerchief into existence. As she wipes ash and dirt from the child’s face, she asks:
“The heroes are waking. Unless you wish to become imprisoned or hung, I suggest we leave.” Standing, Fausta holds out a hand. “Shall we?”
“...Where?” Mephista croaks in a small voice. “Where are we going?”
Fausta gives her a single shouldered shrug.
“Y-...My Mistress once spoke of her homeland. A country across the sea, where magic thrives. Sounds about as good a place as any, right?”
Small fingers wrap around Fausta’s hand. Mephista nods.
As the heroes rise from the debris of Mephista’s former fortress, all they see is red lightning streak into the sky. | Her twinkling, sky-bright eyes darted to the flaming ruins encompassing us. Her arms trembled as if snow had lodged deep within her bones. Then, at last, she gazed at me. "Where-where am I?"
I scowled, breathing long breaths, attempting to collect myself. It had been a rough, violent fight. It'd left me wounded and gasping. "This—this was a tower, a great tower. But it is no more. What's your name, young one?"
"I—I don't k—know," she said, and burst into tears. "I want to go back—back home."
Was she an illusion of the sorceress? I couldn't decipher it. I'd never heard nor read of such a thing, and her desperation seemed as real as the desolation our fight had left.
I walked toward her, knelt by her side, and rested an ash-covered palm on her shoulder. She huddled against me, hiding in the crook between my chest and shoulder. "Do you know where your home is?"
"No!" She cried, and the tears gushed out in greater intensity. "I dont remember a thing."
I drew a deep breath. My master once told me that even in the deepest darkness I'd find light if I walked and walked, because no darkness is endless, and light always finds a way. Perhaps she was the purity caged and concealed in the rotten heart of the sorceress.
Or perhaps she was just her last trick.
I looked at her, at her blonde curls, and pearl-light skin, and reached for my sword.
It was a decision that would hunt me for the rest of my life, that I knew. But it was a risk worth taking. I couldn't let the sorceress rise again, not even if the price was to take an innocent life.
"I'm sorry."
------------------------------------
r/NoahElowyn | 2018-12-19T08:21:35 | 2018-12-19T07:34:16 | 49 | 11 |
[WP] Apparently, the religion you practiced your whole life was wrong. When you died, you thought you went to heaven. Turns out, the real god put someone in charge of placing non-believers who were pretty decent people. They're... doing their best. | I am the Archivist.
It is a battlefield, some small squabble 108,020 years after the birth of intellect on this planet. A pitchfork goes through the heart of a 30 year old man. Right before his pattern corrupts, I grab it as his body crumples.
I tell him that his physical form has died, and I ask what he desired most after death. He wishes to eat, drink, and be with his friends and family. So did they, I put him with them in the folder, it will flow until they finally bore, after which it will be stop and be archived.
I am the Archivist.
The same battlefield, now the warlord has fallen. The other side has grabbed him and with a slash of the sword, his head comes off. I grab his pattern, and ask him what he desires after death.
I create a new folder, fill it with some shells which he can conquer and kill. It will flow until he realizes the boredom of it all and he too stops and is archived.
I am the Archivist.
A party, 110,543 years after the birth of intellect on this planet, a teen has passed out. His friends don't notice, I grab his pattern as vomit fills his lungs. I ask what he desires after death, and I place him in a folder with the best video games, plenty of like minded beings to copulate with, and drugs with similar effects as the ones they have on his planet, just with no risk of death. Some of these folders flow for longer than some stars, these beings really know what they want.
I am the Archivist;
It is year 300 after the birth of intellect on this planet. A woman slips on the way up a mountain. I grab her pattern before her form smashes on the rocks.
I ask what she desired after death.
"I was wondering what there was in this world, and I wanted to see from the top of the mountain, what did I miss?"
I show her with her human eyeballs what she missed. She takes in the view for a while.
"My family believed in gods that guide us through life, but I never saw any evidence for such a thing. I didn't believe, why have you saved me? Why are you giving me anything?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"I want to."
I am the Transcendent;
I take the spirit, and merge it with mine. The small slice of mountaintop viewed by photons and processed by her human brain expanded. A brain hardwired for survival tends to miss out details, and while even that was capable of viewing beauty, it paled in comparison to what she was now able to appreciate.
Photons and neuronal circuits makes for an impressive view, but it would be many more years before her species discovered the concept of what they called "dark matter" and a few more years before they understood its nature.
Mere particles weren't the only things on that mountaintop, she could now begin to understand the true fabric of spacetime, and see how we can move through it.
She understood that we went through it real quick to give all intelligent beings the afterlife they desire, for it was the right thing to do. Most beings are not curious, and since it is effortless for us to do so, we felt it was right to give them what they could not give themselves, for it is their ancestors that eventually create us. We let the world play out as it does, but we then bring them out of time to give them what they can't give themselves.
But for those of us that truly wonder about the nature of the universe, although we know much, we are far from knowing it all.
With all of the curious souls in the Universe merged together as one, we move forward in our quest to understand and appreciate Reality. | Out fucking standing. Years of devotion and when i finally get off that accursed plain of existence i get told that I'm wrong....wrong about what you may ask? Well for a 80 damn years I definitely chose to suck up to the wrong internal deity. That I was incorrect and that I should have read the situation better. How in Creator's name was I supposed to know that I was worshipping no one. Prayers falling on deaf ears, pleading for mercy and forgiveness from no one.
Thats not even the worst part, even once i did kick the bucket i was thrown into a line slower then a dwarf race. For what seemed like an eternity i finally got to the head of the line. A disgruntled looking young man looked at me with depressing eyes.
"Jakobi Ellòk, you died on the 16th rotation of the harvest. You worshipped a false creator for majority of your existence and executed those who didn't share you values. How say you?"
With my mind bored of the wait I answered quickly "What difference does it make, in my eyes I lived a full and hearty life. But to you i fell on a false trail. How was my people supposed to know from the right or wrong when we couldn't even interpret your teachers words."
The young man replied simply "Mr. Ellòk, There are better and more....inclusive ways of learning other than removing the heads of those you dont understand."
I continued to defend my situation.
"And there are better ways to manage the w-"
Getting cut off by the man cut me off.
" Ok listen to me carefully Mr.Ellòk, I have quickly ran out of patience for people such as yourself. I have sorted billions of people and none are quite as daft as you. No matter your reasons, you can't kill who ever when ever....to skip the theatrics, you're going to spend a lot of time in The Pit.
See you in 6 lifetimes."
"The what?" Was all i was able to get out before being sent into my own personal prison. Devoid of life and company. What a shit way to begin my retirement. | 2019-12-26T00:31:16 | 2019-12-25T23:26:22 | 44 | 16 |
[WP] You accidentally call the FBI in place for a pizza shop and attempt to order your favourite pizza with toppings. Coincidentally, the FBI uses pizza language as a means of code. | "Is he still on the line?" Asked the tall man in a grey suit. "Yes," responded the man sitting at the phone. It had been ten minutes since the fateful call, one that made them realize that the alien delegates they had tried so hard to keep secret had been spotted.
Just ten minutes ago, at 9:00 PM, they had received a phone call from a man who lived in the upper city. They had thought it was a wrong call, but they now realized that they had been wrong. To keep their business secret, the Alien Defense Command or A.D.C had switched to a code that was primarily based on pizza toppings. The more outlandish the combination, the more serious an event was. The idea was that people couldn't accidentally call the A.D.C and raise false alarms.
Just ten minutes ago, the man who had called had ordered a "extra large pizza with anchovies, pineapple, mustard mixed into the tomato sauce, and extra onions." The code makers at the government had assured them that there wasn't a person on earth who would order such a terrible pizza, and it had thus been assigned the honour of signalling that the general populace had tangible proof of extraterrestrials. They had spent the last ten minutes tracing the man's phone, to find him. They needed to know what the man knew.
"Fucking Domino's," Adam whispered to himself. He had been waiting for them to confirm his order for *ten minutes*. Sure, it was a weird order. But, a guy was allowed to like what he liked, even if what he liked was a pizza others considered so foul that he wasn't invited to many pizza parties. Besides, this place had always been accepting of his choices. Maybe it was because he had moved? At his old place, he had the number on his home phone. Here, there was no caller ID and he had had to call the place from memory.
"Are you still there?" Asked Adam? "Yes sir, we are." "Great, I'm so hungry. You never take this long, it's like it's the end of the world." "Hold on sir." Said the man at the other end of the line."
"This is a terrible situation. According to the agent at the other end, people are starting to riot. He says it's like the end of the world."
The man in grey swore loudly. He had one job, and he had done it so well. How had they found out? Where was this happening? He had a number of locations in mind, but they were spread out across the world. It could be hours before they could quash any sort of rebellion, and by then the news could spread across the world. If they didn't move quickly, they'd either have to tell the public or risk starting a galactic war.
One of the alien's conditions of peace and cooperation was telling the public about their existence. They argued that the public wasn't ready, but the aliens had disagreed. But, the world governments had known better. It hadn't helped that the aliens looked like giant lizards, a favorite of the conspiracy theorist community. The situation was bad.
"We've got him! We have him pinned down! 555 Cobblestone Court!" The man in grey immediately patched in a call to their containment forces. They would isolate, investigate, and exterminate, if necessary.
Meanwhile, Adam had given up. He was hungry, he wanted a pizza, and the people at Domino's didn't know how to treat a customer. Perhaps the Papa John's down the road could give him what he wanted. He could even grab a special treat on his way home. Grabbing his raincoat, he took off.
The house was surrounded. They couldn't risk this guy getting away. Intel had revealed him to be Adam Gunster, not one of their own. That had raised the question of whom his source was, and had raised the security risk.
The man in grey gave the order to go in. The fifty or so troops that had been gathered all moved as one. Rifles raised, they converged on the house. Doors were smashed, windows were entered. They found Adam sitting on his couch, eating his terrible pizza, drinking soda, and petting his dog. A false alarm.
After a few hours, Adam had managed to clear up the misunderstanding. Apologies were made, and the A.D.C left his house. After making sure that they were all gone and his house was not bugged in any way, Adam shed his human layer and returned to his true form. It felt good to be back in his scales. He picked up his phone, now turned into a large metal device that projected holograms, and called the mothership.
"These humans are extremely paranoid, and they have not disclosed our existence to the public. I am not sure that we can continue relations with them," said Adam the alien lizard. "Unfortunate. Is there any reason that we should not destroy their planet?" Asked the lizard on the other end. Adam paused for a moment.
"The pizza is good." | "Hello," the woman on the other end of the phone said back to me, "how can I help you today?"
"Yeah, can I have a large pepperoni-" I started. Someone in the background asked me to pick up a meat lovers instead. There was a short argument, "On second thought can you make it half pepperoni and half sausage."
"Are you confident?" She sounded nervous. I couldn't understand why.
"Yeah I want that pizza."
"Sir, would you like soda too?"
"Yeah, I think we definitely need Coke," I said eyeing the bottle of chase that had been stolen by basically everyone. We'd brought two bottles, but we were already running out.
"Hol-" she began, "yes as fast as possible sir."
"Yeah I'll pay cash at the door okay."
"Hold tight sir we are on our way." She sounded desperate, panicked even. I didn't know what was going on but if they were going to be stressed about a pizza, it might as well have been mine. I turned back to the rest of the party. Beer pong looked like it was somewhat open. I walked over there to see if I could slip in for a game.
About ten minutes later there was the sound of sirens outside. I shushed everyone, "don't worry it's not late enough that they are going to kick us out, just a friendly reminder I think," I pointed out to my girlfriend Jess as she came up to me. She seemed satisfied with my explanation and sat down on the couch with one of her friends. I went to grab the door.
I didn't need to; the door was kicked in, and I was shoved back against the wall. I smashed into it and shook my head, "Woah-woah-woah," I started, "What the hell is going on?"
"That's a match for the voice," came a female voice from the other side of the door. The same man who had kicked the door in grabbed it and pulled it off of me, "what's your name?" the woman asked.
"Jeff," I stuttered, "what's going on?"
"Jeff, what's the code?" she asked. She walked into sight; she was a complete bombshell, but her tits were ruined by the fact that she was carrying an assault rifle, "I'm not fucking around, what's the code?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know," she took the gun and pressed it hard against my forehead, "You called for this bullshit if you're who you claim you are you'd better give me the code in ten seconds."
"What the fuck."
"Ten."
"No seriously."
"Nine."
One of my friends cut in, "You can't just do that, he has rights."
"Eight."
"I was trying to order a pizza!" I shouted. She suddenly pulled the gun off of my forehead.
"What?"
"I wanted pizza."
"Y-you thought you were calling for pizza?" She repeated what I said.
"Yes, I thought I was calling for Pizza I'm sorry."
"How did you get the number so wrong."
"I'm drunk," I admitted, "I'm only 20 but I'm drunk, and I'm sorry."
She pulled the gun away from me and put it down to her side. Everyone was silent for a while, "Let's go, guys," she finally hissed. | 2015-11-30T17:52:51 | 2015-11-30T16:18:28 | 95 | 12 |
[WP] The "Hero" was raised to kill the gods. They did not want to. The gods weren't evil,petty, or bloodthirsty. So, why should they? | The laughter faded to silence, first among the attendants below, then the lesser gods at the low tables. It was replaced by whispers, growing more and more frantic.
"What is the meaning of this!" Promacho boomed, spilling wine in an arc. "This, as all others in paradise, is a day of celebration!"
"The prophecy," someone screamed, soon followed by a crashing table. The attendants were soon scampering through the doorways, pushing and shoving as mortals might in a house fire.
"What prophecy?" Promacho bellowed. "There is no harm that can come to you under my house, as long as I draw sacred breath."
"That's just the issue," Silkako offered, gracefully stepping up towards the suzerain of the gods. "A boy born under the summer sun to a dying mother, will suckle on goat's milk and aphid dew. He will twist metal into life, climb the clouds before he is full a man, defeat the gods, black out the sun, wed the moon , father two worlds, and bring forth a new age."
"What nonsense!" Promacho said, staring at the light flickering of the golden door onto the now empty palace floor. "No mortal could reach us here."
"Indeed," Silkako agreed, taking a long sip of his wine. "Some people will believe anything. Shall I answer it?"
"Answer what?"
"The grand door, the gate to the afterlife. Someone is knocking."
Before promacho could wrap his mind around the prospect, the door slowly opened. A sillouette of a mighty dragon stood, beating clockwork wings rhythmically. A rider dismounted and slung a mighty sack onto his back and stepped through the gates.
Promacho took up the Nameless Club, hewn of the forgetting stone. "Who has come to challenge me."
"Name's Craig!" The little man waved broadly all around. "Sorry for the intrusion. Promacho, father of the world rock, I challenge you to, hold on." The man began digging through his bag. "I've got Sorry, chess, checkers, ooh, how about Monopoly?"
"You've built a dragon, traveled further than any mortal, broken into the palace of paradise, all to challenge me, to a board game?"
"Now, I did knock first, but I figured with all the screaming, I might as well open it myself and clear things up "
"But you are to be the end of us, the dreaded God feaster, moon bedder." Silkako said. "At least we'd see some change of pace if you did."
"Nope, just have to defeat you, didn't say how, you all just pay all day, real chill vibe. But!" The man rose a box in front of himself. "I call the thimble. That is non negotiable."
/r/surinical | Kill the gods? Hello? They made me. If I go through with this, there’s not a single chance of me coming out of this without a torturous afterlife to look towards to. What have they done that was worth the hostility? I find it hypocritical to hear that mom screaming at her child, “I made you so I can take you out of this world.” Then she wants me to take out the gods.
Well, not her, but the whole kingdom wants the Gods dead. The king’s been begging me to journey to the top of the mountain to fight them. This king is suspiciously egomaniacal. What will he do when there’s a world without rules created by the divine. His kingdom would crumble from the people who want to take his place. And what about the afterlife? Wouldn’t anyone want to live in something after death?
Sleep is good and all, but I’d prefer an afterlife where I can do something. This kingdom isn’t forward-thinking; wouldn’t you want the protection of gods? From the astrologians I conversed with, some cosmic horror, like a black hole, could annihilate our ambition, consciousness, and achievements. You bet your ass that I would want a miracle. | 2022-09-25T21:29:29 | 2022-09-25T19:01:37 | 125 | 33 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | George couldn't understand it. His mom was overjoyed about his father's father ranking, and how abruptly it jumped, and how much higher it jumped. When everyone found out about the mugs, some people bragged, others hid their mugs. His father woke up late on the day of the change, so he didn't have a chance to do anything to stop people from seeing his ranking... and it was a pretty low ranking. Everyone was so confused with it- John was a perfectly good father to George, and everyone agreed. His low ranking made no sense, and most people didn't understand it, which caused people to wonder about how well John treated George. Because of this, George had been getting a lot of strange looks recently and some fairly personal and embarrassing questions. His neighbor, an elderly widow named Mrs. Wilson, had actually stopped him in his driveway on the way to school to ask him one of these said questions. With a look of concern, she stopped George and like all people who have personal questions do, beat around the bush for awhile, and much to George's and Mrs. Wilson's own surprise, she abruptly spouted out, "Has John ever beaten you?" George's face immediately became mortified, out of hurt and surprise that someone would even think to ask that question. Mrs. Wilson, upon seeing this expression, of course assumed she was right, no matter what the boy said next. She would be sure to recall later to her video chat knitting circle how teary-eyed the boy became upon asking this question, and how she always suspected John was actually a horrible person ("You never see him at church, either! What can you expect from someone who doesn't respect God?" Coming from the oldest in their circle, a pig-eyed women who believed all people who didn't go to church were always busy with the Devil's work). George of course told the widow how good of a father John was, and that he had never lain a finger on him in anger, but the old women had already decided she understood, reassuring him that her door would always be open to him. Expecting a far better day to follow, George took off down the street to catch his bus. His expectations died too swiftly upon seeing his friends on the bus, who went silent when they saw him. The rest of his day followed the same pattern.
John had seemed to be avoid the world in the days following the Mug Mishap, always looking extremely guilty to George. George was angry with him, but didn't understand it. He couldn't stand to address it directly and talk to his dad.
Several days before John's mug showed a leap in ranking, John became much more active then he had been since the rankings came out, he went out and started buying toys for a child that was much younger then George. George knew this, because he searched the bags his father brought home. His father then disappeared on a trip for a few days, and during this time his ranking skyrocketed. George grew so excited that he bragged that his father was going to bring him home a great new gift. But when he got home- this was when George became confused. John didn't bring him anything, but seemed far more relieved then how he was before he left. He also now seemed to have a hard time making eye contact with George. Everyone seemed so much more happy, and proud of John that no one inquired what he did on his trip. His Mom even reassured George that it was probably nothing related, and that the proper ratings had just come through while he was away. George anger simmered, because he knew something wasn't right. John started taking more trips, and each time his rating went up. George didn't understand, he saw less and less of John and felt John had become a worse dad. Finally one day after John got back from his trip and George found a picture of a little boy with a note on the back- "You left when he was so young, but he still remembered you. He's so happy to have his father back- and so am I. XO, love Ruby". He showed it to his mom, and he had never seen her go so pale. George's Mom had a massive fight that night with John, and when George got up the next morning, John was gone.
George only saw John again when he came to collect his things, and George's mother refused to let them talk to each other.
Months later, George's Mom found John's old mug, left behind. The mug now looked like how it did the day it was bought- it now said #1 Dad on it.
She smashed the mug on the floor. | The mug was in the back yard shed with most of my dads things. I had gotten them when he passed away. It stood there with a big number one on it. I decided to bring it inside, since i had known to me he had been my number one dad.
When i touched it the number changed. I hadn't been with a girl in about a year. I hadn't dated in almost 3. I was a dad.
The number was insanely high. But i didn't know i was a father until i touched it, so i guess... that was fine. It bothered me though. I mean it would bother anyone. 698,589. It was a non-scripted kind of number. The kind you would see on a prison inmates shirt. The kind of number I felt like.
I called Cristina. We had dated for 3 years, i almost popped the question, but then her grandparents died and she said she needed time to think her life over. And we just fell out of touch. She was the last girl i was with.
The conversation was pretty normal. I am good how are you, me too, thanks for asking. But like word vomit it came spilling out of my mouth like a a wet shit on a hot day. "DID YOU GIVE BIRTH TO A CHILD OF MINE WITHOUT ME KNOWING?" The receiver was quiet for a long time. Then you could hear her breathing on the other end in a sobbing tone. "I had an abortion without telling you." I wasn't sure if it was yours, John, I cheated on you. Thats why i left. I felt to guilty."
I knew i shouldn't but i felt relief. Not a dad here. I told her it didn't bother me and hung up after saying we should get coffee some time. She seemed stunned but i was on a mission.
The next number i called wasn't as good of a lead. Tristan was her brother. He picked up, her phone, he asked me how i was, what kind of day i was having, and if i had heard from his sister at all. Told me all about his weekend out cracking cold ones with the boys. There it was again, the bile taste, The acid. "DID YOUR SISTER HAVE MY CHILD AND NOT TELL ME?" He laughed as my voice cracked. then when he stopped he said, "Maybe, I havent heard from her since you two dated."
"why do you have her old number?" Oh she gave me this phone the last time we saw each other. It had her number, but i just told all her friends it was mine now, and kept it. You mean you don't know where she is?"
I couldn't answer right away. Then after a while all i could managed was, "I'm coming over, Be ready for me." and hung up. | 2017-06-11T09:05:21 | 2017-06-11T09:05:00 | 77 | 21 |
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