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] A genie gives you two options. One is to get your three wishes now, or to get one wish a day for five days. He tells you that no one before has survived and gotten all five wishes. You choose the latter. | June 1st 2019 2:37 pm
The first one was easy.
“THE FORCE!” I shouted before he could even start his story about the last guy who chose the five day option.
Poof.
I could feel it immediately, a connection to every atom of my surroundings, and a sense of those far beyond.
I noticed a few pebbles lying beside me in the wasteland of the Australian outback. A perfect test, I’ve seen it in all the movies. I stretch my arm down to them and can feel the rumbling of my new found power. What feels like a lifetime passes in and instant, as my brain nearly shatters from the bending of space.
“I swear I saw it move.” The man says reassuringly “But it takes a long time to master even the simplest aspects of the force, young padawan.”
June 2nd
I wasn’t sure where and when I was to meet my new friend. So I sat, meditating. My selection of wishes must be perfect if I am to make it to the 5th day, still so far away.
As quickly as he vanished yesterday, and at the same time, the man I saw yesterday reappears.
“I wish to understand any and all languages”
Poof
“¡Hasta mañana!” I call to the empty air in front of me.
June 3rd
My preparation is nearly complete, but it’s time to bring out the big guns. I have barely moved since we first met, but with each hour that passes my force power grows as I feel the lapping of waves 3000 miles away.
Just like clockwork I am no longer alone.
“I wish for immortality, so that I will not age and cannot be killed by natural means.”
Poof
“To be honest I didn’t expect that to be so easy” I whisper to myself.
“Your wish is my command” says the wind.
June 4th.
I must remember this day, in the future it may be my last. I can sense something coming from across the world, and it can sense me too. No time for that yet, it’s already 2:35.
“Bonjour, mon ami” says the voice behind me. “Your 4th wish?”
“I wish to go back in time, 56,000 BC to be exact”
Poof
June 5th 2019
The time has come. From now on the road ahead is unexplored. Although I’ve managed to grow quiet a few skill trees over the past few millennia.
I know now that the sense I felt before I went back was my current self, as I made my way here I could feel the moment I slipped through time, a deafening silence as my previous life vanished.
“Hello old friend, it’s been some time...” | “Five wishes, I’ve got a good feeling about this.”
“Are you sure?” The Genie has a concerned expression on his face.
“Well, let’s see how the first wish goes.”
And I winked.
—-
“ I wish for the wisest teacher in my universe to guide the rest of my four wishes each day.”
“So shall it be.” The Genie intoned.
—-
“I wish to understand the separation between reality and consciousness.”
“Did she tell you to make that number two?” The Genie playfully asked, “So shall it be.”
—-
Day 3...
I really had to think about this one...
some good lessons a long the way. Really good ones. Best teacher in the Universe I’d really wanted. Woo.
“Figure our what you need for your third?” The Genie reminded me.
Indecision had been most of my day.
Ah, I think I understand.
I ask.
“I wish to understand Time in all its beautiful ways.”
The Genie regarded me.
“So shall it be.”
—-
Day 4...
I wake up.
—-
More of my writing can be found at r/counterfiction | 2019-06-04T13:35:55 | 2019-06-04T10:12:37 | 50 | 20 |
[WP] In Hell, everyone is assigned a partner. Satan picks them specifically to be the one person you could never, ever get along with. If the partners can become friends, both ascend to heaven. | “Look,” I say, for what feels like the millionth time. “It is really quite simple. All we have to do go over to that demon over there, and tell them we are friends. And then we go to heaven.”
The demon in question looked over at us through the hellfire and nodded his agreement.
“Hmmmm….” Says my companion. “Yes. You have been saying that. But I still wonder.”
“What do you mean, ‘you wonder?’ What is there to wonder about? Satan *Himself* laid out the rules for us.”
“Well for starters, how do I know that is true?”
“Did you see the demon nod? He nodded. You must have seen him nod.”
My companion furled his brow. “I agree his head tilted, but would you really call it a nod? And was it a nod of agreement?”
I wave at the demon. He walks over to us. Somehow he doesn’t wince as he passes through the flames, which is amazing as they are pretty fucking hot.
“How may I be of service to you gentleman?” The demon inquired in a proper british accent. Didn’t expect that one. The last demon sounded like he was from Pittsburgh. Even called us “yinz.”.
“Well.” I said. “I was wondering. Is it true that if my partner and I agree that we are friends, then we can go to heaven?”
“Quite right, you are, old sport.”
“See!” I practically scream.
“Well...yes.” My partner allows. “I will concede that the demon is making this claim. However, how do I know that he is telling the truth? I mean, we *are* in hell, after all. I am not sure that demons are to be trusted.”
“And what if he is lying? What do we lose? We don’t go to heaven? I got news for you buddy. We are already not in heaven. It can’t be worse.”
“Can’t it, though?” My partner looks around. “Right now, we are in a place with very little variation in weather. Sure. It is a bit hot. But at least it is not cold. And if heaven really is in the clouds, you can bet your ass it is cold.”
“Are you really arguing that heaven could be worse than hell?”
“I am not arguing *anything*. I am merely pointing out that, as neither of us have been to heaven, neither of us have any means by which to make such a positive assertion. That which is asserted without evidence, can be dismissed without--”
“Seriously? You seriously think that ‘eternal bliss’ could be worse than hell.”
“Depends on what we are defining as eternal bliss. For instance, perhaps your idea of bliss is playing the bagpipes in front of me for all eternity--”
“It’s not.”
“--and suppose my idea of bliss is absolute silence.” He continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. “And now we have a quandry. Either you don’t get your version of bliss, or I don’t.”
“I don’t play the bagpipes.” I repeat.
“Doesn’t sound like an ideal situation to me. Hmmmm?” He scratches his chin for a moment, as if he were thinking. “No. I think the prudent course of action is to stay with the known.”
I just stare at him. I look over at the demon to see if he is hearing the same things I am. The demon smiles at me.
I take a deep breath. Actually, I take several. And then begin again.
“Look, let me I try a different tack. Can I ask you a question.”
“Sure.”
“Are you happy here?”
“Define ‘happy.’” | He was a putrid little man.
I found myself in a room with barely any furnishings outside of some kind of chair. There was a smell, though: like burnt-out electrical parts or toast. My head felt a bit woozy as I glared at my only companion.
The sight of him made my upper lip wince. He was in his 40s, overweight, dressed as if he didn't have a reason to wake up in the morning, and had a large mole on his neck with several hairs growing out of it. The mole almost had a life of its own and I couldn't help but stare at it for far longer than polite society would allow for.
Despite his flaws, he seemed extremely judgmental. He was sizing me up at least as much as him. This putrid little man, with all his flaws, was comparing himself to me, as if he could match up. I was surely better than this chump.
I looked around, frantically, for a door or window or anything to get out of here, and despite my best efforts, I could find nothing. My new companion was bound to be smug at my futile efforts.
As I tried to gauge my situation, my immediate guess was that I had landed myself in Hell somehow. It wasn't as if I'm undeserving. I haven't gone out of my way to be a good person at all, and I've done my share of misdeeds - harmless stuff, for the most part.
I can't even begin to think how long I've been stuck in this room now. Time is ebbing and flowing in an atypical way that it very well could have been weeks. Imagining an immortality trapped with this putrid little man led to twin emotions of anger and depression.
I reached out, in what I would expect to be a futile attempt, to my companion, meeting his fingertips with mine. It was a sorry trick, though. My attempt for some human contact, even with this man I grew to hate, was foiled by what appeared to be glass separating us.
"Oh", I said aloud. "It's just me."
I stopped staring in the bathroom mirror and exited out to the house party I had arrived at an hour earlier. | 2015-01-09T18:34:02 | 2015-01-09T17:54:06 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] Write a seemingly innocuous story, but the last line reveals how chilling and horrific the story actually was. | "Look at this!"
"What a beautiful instrument! "
"The gleam on the lid, the golden pedals and- oh! Those ivory white keys!"
"Look at the shine! Crimson red- such a unique piano color. Truly one of a kind!"
"Davenforth, you've done it!" Sir William McMahon exclaimed, patting Charles Davenforth on the back with enthusiasm. "This is the most splendid piano I have ever seen, even more so than the one that premiered last night at the symphony."
"Thank you, sir, you are most kind," Charles responded, dabbing his forehead with his handkerchief.
"How on Earth," began Mrs. McMahon, "Did you manage to create such an instrument in such a short time? Everything about it is divine."
"I cannot take all the credit for this," Charles admitted abashedly. "The body itself took a large number of people, not to mention the keys. I could never have accomplished such a creation alone."
"You are a master of the piano," Mrs. McMahon purred, and the woman next to her nodded enthusiastically. "Your name will live forever in the hearts of music-lovers everywhere!"
Charles blushed, dabbing more hurriedly at his forehead. "You are too kind, but if you'll excuse me- I have matters to attend to-" He quickly stowed the kerchief in his coat pocket and made his way through the crowd to where the piano stood.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention please!" he called, and the noise in the room slowly dissipated. "Thank you all so very much for coming to see my newest masterpiece: the Cooper-Turner Model AB!" He smiled broadly as the crowd applauded wildly. "First and foremost, I have to thank the wonderful Cooper-Turner family and their estate for their generous contributions. This project would never have been completed had it not been for their sacrifice."
There was more applause.
"Unfortunately, the family could not make it tonight- they ran into some trouble in their travels. No matter! We will celebrate them tonight. A toast!"
----
Charles dropped his damp kerchief on the workbench in his cellar with a sigh. He ran his fingers across the dented wood, feeling the grooves with his fingertips. He glanced at the sketches littered around the room. Fletchers, Goodmans, Masons. All unfinished. Not enough raw materials.
Now the Cooper-Turners, that was a different story. So many family members. So many..elements to work with. It had taken longer than he cared to admit, but the materials - why, he still had some left over! The wood had stained so perfectly he had no need of a third coat as he had with the Fuller piano- he had almost had to procure another Fuller to finish the job. He glanced at the dusty jars of red liquid in the corner and smiled - he was covered for the next project.
Charles shook his head to clear his mind and pulled out a new sheet of paper and a pen. He dipped the pen in ink and paused. After a moment, he wrote, "McMahon Model O" and began to sketch.
He would have to be careful with the keys this time. The keys for the Cooper-Turner had been difficult, to put it lightly. Many bones were just too small -he had overestimated how old the children were- and he had had to make do with dog bones; he really would have preferred to just use the immediate family.
| "This casserole is great mom!" Sandy smiled and wiped a dribble of red sauce from her chin with her napkin.
"Why, thank you dear!" Mom grinned bashfully. "But it's the same meal we've had a dozen times before."
My parents, sister and I sat around our old wooden banquet table eating dinner. It was my sister's first night back home and my Mom celebrated with one of our favorite recipes.
"So you finally wised up and got rid of that dumb old boyfriend, huh?" I chided.
Sandy shot me a dirty look. "You know why I left. I had to find new opportunities; my options are limited out here in the country. And his name was Kenny!"
"Now, son," Dad intervened through a mouthful of meat. "Can't we just be glad your sister came back home? We're finally a family again. Can't we just enjoy it?"
"Sorry dad." I hung my head, and turned to my sister. "Sorry Sis."
"So, how was it out there in the real world?" Mom asked. She took a drink of red wine to wash down the casserole. The meat was a little tougher tonight than usual.
"It was weird, to be honest." Sandy recounted. "They get all their food from factories and farms instead of hunting it."
Dad shook his head ruefully. "People out there forgot about the old ways. At least *we* still know how to capture our food, right?"
Mom and Sandy smiled knowingly and nodded their heads. I looked down at my empty plate.
"Mom, Dad - can I have a second helping?" I asked.
"Sure, there's enough to go around." Mom nodded.
"Thanks!"
"Don't thank us, thank your sister. That Kenny sure tastes good!" | 2017-10-06T13:30:57 | 2017-10-06T13:06:06 | 189 | 42 |
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users.
Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone
—-
Wow front page! That’s actually amazing | The two figures stood in the street. One, a man covered in a flowing black robe, face obscured by a blank silver mask, raised his hand above his head, pointing a wand at the opposing figure. Opposite him, merely metres away in the twilight night, his foe simply raised her hands, slowly forming runes in the air, body enshrouded in a strange silk tunic that seemed to flow over her. The tension was palpable, both ready to kill, but neither wanting to make the first move. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the man struck.
"Avada Kedavra!" A bolt of green shined in the night, flying at the woman, who merely sidestepped, and faster than the eye could trace, moved her hands in a unicursal hexagram, screaming a word in an unknown tongue. A blast of enemy soared at the cloaked man, who waved his wand before him, a shield blocking the blast.
The two traded more and more blows, energy showering the area in flashes of light, and sometimes even darkness. Well... A deeper darkness. The noise was incredible, and as the two became more heated, the air began to shimmer with magic, the thundering boom of violent energy becoming constant as they became faster and faster. Until a sonic boom blasted both apart, a flash of lightning lancing the floor beneath them.
To the side of the figures, a house door opened, and out strolled a young man, dressed in nothing but pajama trousers, and a furious expression etched onto his face.
"ENOUGH! Some of us are trying to sleep you try-hard, baby-bitch magic fuckwits!" The character's voice was... Just like any other. No power or thunder behind it. The woman smirked.
"This is magical business, it does not concern you child!" At the sound of the word child, a stroke.of thunder boomed across the sky.
"Boy? BOY?! I am the most powerful magician here you two-time little pixie prick!" The world shined for a second, and suddenly, it was day.
"How did you...?" The woman's face suddenly changed, magic of this magnitude should not be possible! Before she could say anything more, a bacon sandwhich appeared in the man's hand. At which point her original opponent piped up.
"Wait, you can't make food using magic, that violates Gamp's law of elemental transfiguration!" Though his face was covered, his shock was evident in his voice.
The young man simply finished chewing his bite, raising an eyebrow as he did. Upon finishing, he spoke.
"Mate, it's magic. It has no rules. Honestly, all of you are out here with your own rules and shit as if magic makes sense. It doesn't. It's fucking *magic*. Now. Again. Fuck off." With that, the day turned back to night, and the man and woman found themselves... They didn't know where. They cried out in shock as their minds tried to comprehend that wherever they were, physics worked differently. It was impossible for their minds to comprehend. After all, they weren't supposed to enter other dimensions.
And back at the little English street, the boy simply entered his house again, his half eaten sandwich disappearing into nothingness. He closed the door with a muttering about "Bellends. It's magic. There are no rules..." And made his way to bed, pausing time as he did. He would sleep uninterrupted this time. It's not like he needed to sleep. This was just his favourite thing to do.
| Streaks of light paint the night sky as a girl sings her heart out. The intense melody of “Sayonara no Tsubasa” fills up the surrounding along with explosions from the battle between the Unicorn Gundam and the girl’s Boyfriend’s YF-29 Durandal.
The Unicorn Gundam in Destroy mode fires it’s beam magnum along with its 3 shield funnels firing their dual Gatling guns at the Durandal. The Durandal dodged the shots while utilising the different forms it has. Then in Battroid mode fires it’s heavy beam gun and beam cannons along with a barrage of missile at the Unicorn in which it uses its shield funnels to form a triple shield while using a Newtype enhanced I-Field to block the beams and using its head Vulcan to intercept the missiles.
“I’ve had enough of this!” both Pilots exclaimed.
The Unicorn’s Psychoframe then changes from Blood Red to Aurora Green. “Let’s do this! UNICORN!” with a shout the Unicorn emits a bright light, which is the Psyco-Field when a Newtype resonates with a Mobile Suit using a Psycoframe.
The Durandal speeds towards the Unicorn just as the girl reaches the chorus, “Sono tsubasa wa BARUKYURIA!” Then the Durandal emits a streak of yellow light which connects to the singing girl, a clear sign of a Fold Resonance, which happens when Fold Waves emitted from singing resonates with the Fold Quartz System of the Durandal.
Thanks to the power up from such phenomenons, the battle becomes even more fierce and the dark night sky is painted with various colours, from the red and blue beam blasts to the green and yellow effects from each phenomenon.
With one final push, both Unicorn and Durandal speeds towards each other, with the clear intent to finishing the fight with one final move. With the Unicorn enlarging it’s beam tonfa and the Durandal in Fighter mode charging it’s beam gun boosted by the Fold Waves emitted by the girl, both mechas fly toward each other at high speed.
| 2018-10-16T02:17:50 | 2018-10-15T22:23:51 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] The devil mixed up your paperwork and gave you someone else's personal hell, which to you, is heaven. | I felt my flesh cauterise and char as Satan jabbed me with a red hot poker into my left buttock, I could smell the burnt flesh as he shoved me forwards into into a small sandstone room.
I stumbled and fell onto the floor grazing my knees on the coarse grit, I looked up to see Satan once again brandishing the red hot poker.
In a loud booming voice he proclaimed "George Frobisher you are hereby sentenced to an eternity of solitude!". None of this made sense, I'm not George Frobisher, what the fuck? But before I found the words to express my confusion Satan advanced upon me and his thunderous voice once again boomed "from this moment fourth you are to be stripped of the power of speech, sight and hearing!".
As I opened by mouth to speak he rammed the red hot poker he was holding onto my mouth. The pain was unimaginable. I felt my saliva boil as my tongue was burnt to destruction. No sooner had he done that when I watched in horror as the poker advanced towards my left eye. The eye ball popped at be searing poker tip touched it. I tried to move but I felt bound and unable to even jerk my body as if held by supernatural bondage.
He made short work of the other eye before standing beside me as he began to rob me of hearing. I felt my ear canal melt as he forced the oversized poker into the small opening of my ears. The pain was like nothing I had ever felt, the poker was wedged in deep and as he pulled it free with a might heft a huge chunk of flesh came with I could hear it sizzling on the end from my other ear. I wish that were the end of it but the remaining ear was waiting for him. This time he didn't mess around - my hearing was forever lost.
Suddenly for the first time in my life I could hear nothing. See nothing and speak to nobody. No distractions only the thoughts in my own, even the pain seem contained by this as if it was something to be felt internally not an external force overwhelming me.
You see for the first half of my life I was a hardened criminal. I stole, I robbed, I inflicted violence on others. In short I was a despicable human being which is the reason why I've found myself here in hell today on my knees in front of Satan I guess.
However, in the latter half of my life I sought to put the criminal lifestyle behind me - I gave up the material aspects of my life and embarked on a journey of spiritual enlightenment exploring Buddhism. I achieved much understanding of myself during this time but I never felt I was ever close to enlightenment as the world around me was still bombarding my senses.
As I sat in my sandstone chamber, totally sensory deprived I began to meditate. Wave after wave of raw emotion washed over me as I felt my consciousness transcend to something indescribable. Knowing that I now have an eternity of peace and solitude to explore this new state of mind must mean only one thing: This is heaven. Om mani padme hum. | In the end it was the cigs that killed me, everyone always said they would. Anyway, i found myself in a massive waiting room like at the doctors office. Some stoned looking demon with stubby horns was stamping papers at the check-in desk.
"Where am I exactly?" I stammered when It was my turn to hand in my papers. As the demon took my documents and began sorting them he maintained eye contact with me wordless. It seemed as if he was trying to act tough but having a bad sense of humour about my own mortality I started chuckling. Flustered the demon quickly hands back my papers, as soon as I grab them I feel myself falling.
They must have made a mistake. An endless ocean of massive swells, and a strong breeze. "Stranded" on a small little sailboat with a triangular sail. I couldn't believe it THIS was the hell I got haha! To someone afraid of the sea this would have been a bad way to spend eternity, but for me a life long sailor it was pure bliss. A steady breeze, surfing wave after wave getting the small boat up on a plain.
When I was alive I spent all my time working so I could one day spend all my time sailing, but work always won out. I can't believe my luck, I don't think God could have come up with somthing better than this! | 2016-05-28T16:02:53 | 2016-05-28T14:12:52 | 97 | 22 |
[WP] 1. Be polite. 2. Be efficient. 3. Have a plan to kill everyone you meet. | *”Snipin’s a good job, mate,”* the gentle Australian began with a content sigh, sunlight sparking off his aviators as he drove across the sunny outback. Seated in the passenger side of his camper van was a thin man, with greased black hair and a camera in one hand, studying every word flowing past the stubble of the lanky Australian. The driver gently leaned into a right turn, flicking on the signal as he continued talking.
*”It’s challengin’ work, outta doors... I guarantee you’ll not go ‘ungry.”* Behind the driver’s head rested a rifle, the tip of his hat barely brushing against the barrel as he leaned back in his seat. Before the two lay only open road, their destination still many kilometers away.
*”Then what makes your profession any better than, say, that of a park ranger?”* The second man, the interviewer, cut in. He didn’t really care for the answer to the question himself, he had set himself to filmmaking long ago, all that mattered to him was the reaction. This little recording session needed to be profitable somehow.
*“Way I see it, long as ‘ere’s two people left on the planet, someone’s gonna want someone dead.”* The sniper responded confidently. The interviewer’s eyebrow rose slightly as he held the camera steady through another gentle turn. Not the answer he was expecting, clearly he’d need to dig deeper. The sniper gave a sort of pause before continuing. *”I’ll be honest with yah, my parents do* not *care for it.”*
*”Why’s that?”* The interviewer prodded, eyes sharpening. Perhaps he’d struck a nerve, something he could get real passion out of!
*”Me dad’s real unhappy ‘bout it, wants me t’ah go back to huntin’ game. Says I ain’t got no feelin’s.”* The Australian was sounding a little more fired up now, the gateway that the interviewer was looking for. The past half hour had been so dull to him, but now he was making headway.
*”And what do you say to that? Do you have feelings, Mister Mundy?”* The interviewer questioned, leaning a little closer with the camera.
*”Feelin’s? Look mate, y’know who’s got a lot of feelin’s?”* The Australian spat, glancing away from the road and into the camera for a split second. The interviewer could see the sniper’s hands clenching a little tighter against the steering wheel as he spoke. *”Blokes who bludgeon their wives t’ah death with a golf trophy. Professionals have* standards. *Be polite—“*, one finger rose of the wheel in emphasis, *“—be efficient—“*, a second pointed upwards,*“—and ‘ave a plan to kill everyone you meet.”* He finished with a third finger and a deep breath as he attempted to calm himself down.
The Australian was silent for a moment as he turned into the parking lot of an abandoned gas station and put the RV in park. The interviewer was practically glowing, his journalistic prowess has once again brought forth a gem. This would make a lovey piece.
*”We’re ‘ere.”* The sniper declared as he opened the driver’s side door and slid himself out, before reaching back up inside the car to pull his tried and word rifle out.
*”May I record?”* The interviewer questioned eagerly, not really caring what the answer was, seeing as he had plenty of film left and refused to let any of it be dry by the end of the day. The sniper lowered his head with a sigh, knowing his answer didn’t matter, the cameraman was too persistent.
*”Only if you promise t’ah be quiet.”*
**——————————**
*I couldn’t resist, I’m sorry >~< TF2 is my heart and soul, and it doesn’t help that my favorite writing exercise is putting scenes from movies into text. I appreciate you to the moon and back! Much love <3* |
''Are you certain that they are not one of us?''
He doesn’t want to believe it. He lived here for a long time and he made good friends and now he is having a hard time understanding why he has to do this. It is almost midnight and we have been discussing this for a while now.
''You don’t have to listen to me. There is proof on the computer and you can see it for yourself. They have been replacing people in this town. They are genetically almost identical to original human bodies but if you look closely you can see the slight difference between sample A and sample B.''
He opens the file on the computer and he looks into the lab results.
''This sample belongs to Henry Bruni. 29-year-old male works as an intern and he was admitted to hospital 4 years ago after the kayaking accident. This doesn’t include how did you get the sample B.'' he says.
I put out my cigarette and point the android which is standing offline currently, ''He helped me.''
''What? Did you really use that thing without my consent?''
''I know that you are angry for what I did but you have to focus on what is important here. I was able to write a code to alter android’s behaviour model but I need more than that.''
He looks down, ''I can’t promise anything but I will do my best.''
''Good, that’s all I can ask for. They’ve already invaded the majority of the population we don’t have much time left.''
He walks towards android, ''Do you remember the time when we first build a robot for a school project?''
I smile, ''Yes, I do.''
''We were only 9 years old and the rest of the school were looking at us amazed. Now, look at us. We are still building robots but we don’t get any recognition, we basically live in a basement. Where did we go wrong?'' He asks.
I sit on the computer and I start coding. Even though I don’t look at him I can feel he is looking at me.
We finish the first phase of our coding by the morning.
''Be polite is done. Now we need to make him efficient as much as possible.'' He says.
I sip my coffee, ''And he needs to have a plan to kill everyone he meets.''
----------------------------------------
**Thank you for reading the story**
*Just FYI, I'm not a native speaker so, if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes please don't mind it.* | 2019-10-23T06:34:35 | 2019-10-23T06:29:37 | 36 | 13 |
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN” | I don't wait. I grab my purse and the first pair of shoes that I find. I bang into the corner of the bed. It will leave a mark. I grab a sweater as I open the door and lock it. I run down the stairs and out of the apartment building I have lived in for the past five years. I hadn't even looked into the mirror really. I hadn't brushed my teeth. I could feel the stares at me as I ran in flip flops down the street attempting to put on my sweater on the brisk Spring day. The concrete made a flopping sound with my cheap flip flops and I hoped that my shoes wouldn't break on me.
Almost as if they had heard me. I tripped and fell as the part that goes between the toes became loose. I lost traction and went down in a crowd of people. I hit my knee and I knew I would have a scrape. I was almost scared to look down, had I left in pajamas? Yes, there in the middle of my sky blue and yellow pajama pants was a considerable hole. Dirt had begun to intermingle with the fresh blood to make an interesting flower pattern. I had ruined my favorite pajamas. I was sitting on the curb of a busy city with bed head and unbrushed teeth. I looked around from my seat on the ground. Bystanders walked around me as if I was detritus. Maybe I was. I looked for signs of more trouble. I remembered the message in the mirror and I got up and limped trying to run ahead of those around me.
I had my purse. Up ahead there was a library I could use and around the corner there was a discount store. I would get another pair of cheap shoes to run in. This was the plan. I had attempted to go into the library first but they had a problem with not having shoes so I ended up going to the store. As I walked in I passed the mirror that took up the first floor wall to make the store look bigger and to deter from thieves. I tried to ignore my reflection but I saw a familiar font taking up a big portion of the mirror.
"Get the tie up shoes."
The tie up shoes? What? As I turned I saw a sneaker type shoe with laces. I could almost feel the mirror telling me these. I didn't really want to know what the mirror was going to tell me. This was the first time I had seen words outside of my apartment. Not being able to resist, I turned to the mirror. I looked so bad I started to cry. I made my way to the line and with tears pouring down my face I bought the cheap shoes and put them on outside just as it started to rain. I took a last glance into the store and I saw the familiar font in big letters say:
"KEEP RUNNING!"
I ran. I had no idea where I was going. I ran slowly not really knowing what to do. I heard the screams before I saw the smoke. There was heat on my neck. I ran in earnest. There were people passing me now. I was scared to look back as I the screams were louder. My bare feet in the cheap sneakers started to sweat and rub against something. I could feel the stiffness in my knee from where I fell. I felt my mouth dry and parched. I heard someone yell, "They are coming!" I attempted to turn around to see who was coming and came face to face with a person in the reflection of the mirrored building I was running in front of. The man made a gesture as if to say come in to the building. I walked in saw that the post of the doorman had been abandoned. I looked around the art deco styled interior to see in the faux smokey glass mirror up the stairs, the man. Again he made the gesture as if to say, "Come." I followed him up the stairs to what seemed like the top floor.
I saw a door there. He leaned against it and with his motions told me to open it. I did. "Finally!!! Just in time to avoid the zombie apocalypse. And you smelling like blood. I didn't think you would get here in time." He locked the door behind me. The room was dark. There was ambient light from all of the computers and there were small windows on the top of the wall. "My name is Washington. I am the tenth of the time travelers that have been placed in history to help the survival of the human race. In this world you are Sally but you will grow to be Salinas, Queen of the Survivors. Think of me as your facilitator. Now, how about you go to the bathroom and freshen up, there is a lot to do. And you can't very well do it in rubber ducky pajamas." Washington showed me the door to a bathroom. As I went in, I noticed there were no mirrors, even the chrome was matted and black. I allowed myself to slide down the wall and cry, thankful for no reflections. | I frowned at the message on the mirror.
"Wow, okay, wow. How could... I'm not even--" I choked on the donut I was eating.
After a coughing fit, I spat out the offending food and grabbed the next one in my morning box of donuts. I set the box down, now empty, and began licking the paltry amount of glaze off my fingers.
"You don't know me. I work out in my own way," I sat, patting my stomach defiantly. I could immediately feel my ribs.
The text grew larger, shivering as it pleaded with me to follow its advice.
*RUN*
"What am I running from, huh? Something scary happening? I don't see anything going on outs--" my chest tightened up for a second. I waited for it to pass like it normally did. Lasted a moment longer than I expected it to before fading away, awaiting the next change to threaten me from the inside.
"I just find it so hypocritical that all you do is pass advice and judgment. I look to you for my validation every day and all you do it tell me what to do. That's stupid," I pointed a bony finger at it.
**RUN**
"Look, I can't go outside because of errands I have to do today, so I don't have any time to get ready to go outside and run, I'm perfectly healthy," I retorted.
**TREADMILL**
"Wow... I can't believe you just... Wow, okay I bought the treadmill for when I was thinking about training for a marathon okay. I'm not doing the marathon anymore so I don't need to train for it," I said, folding my arms.
**RUN**
"No, I don't want to, I'm perfectly fine!" I said, breathing heavily. I was losing my breath just arguing with the thing. "I'm gonna go sit down, all right? Not because I'm tired or am in agony just standing and talking to you, but because I feel like sitting down, okay?"
As I turned away, the message turned to another one, much more urgent than all the previous ones.
***CALL AMBULANCE***
"Whoa, what happened? Is someone hurt next door or something?" I asked.
***CALL AMBULANCE FOR YOU***
"Wow, okay," I said, upset. The tightness in my chest returned, much more aggressively than before. "You think you know so much about me. You think I'm in such a state that I'm going to..." I caught my breath and fell to my knees, "going to hurt myself because I didn't go on the stupid run that you wanted me to go on, huh? Well jokes on you because I'm perfectly hea--"
I fell to the ground, my arm clutching at the pain in my chest willing it to go away. I wiggled my hand into my pocket and pulled out my phone, then threw it across the room as hard as I could, sneering at the mirror. The mirror didn't do anything. It stopped trying to give me advice. I could see my ghastly body in the mirror now, nothing blocking me from watching my writhe in pain on the floor. I had defeated the mirror. It stopped trying to advise me once it knew I was right.
*"That's right, you stupid mirror. I don't need to run,"* I thought, my chest flaring in too much pain for me to say any words. *"I'm perfectly fine."* I thought as my vision faded away.
__________________________
For more stories about spiteful protagonists, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | 2020-06-07T20:54:59 | 2020-06-07T20:16:11 | 547 | 184 |
[WP] You gain EXP for everything you kill and you know when you gain EXP. Easy kills like bugs get you only a couple of EXP, tougher kills give more EXP. One day at home doing nothing, you unexpectedly gain 1500 XP... | My Master was one of the most powerful. Usually, hunters would live in seclusion and kill their victims immediately or quickly sell them to someone else. Everyone with enough EXP feared that they would get killed the moment they lower their guard. This one didn't. He lived in a palace, surrounded by his slaves. There were many attempts but noone seems to be a match for him.
From all his servants, he trusted me the most. I was nothing, certainly not a threat.
There were many people in the dining hall that night. Some kind of ball. It was a great prestige to be invited to one of those. Every hunter from across the land came here to see the great lord. One of them was just talking to my Master.
"I tell you, best wine in the entire Amarrokk."
The lord just gestured to me, visibly trying to hide his drunkenness. As I approached, a flash of panic flashed across the other man's face.
"There's no need to bother that servant, your highness. I can pour us the wine myself" he uttered.
"My master likes his slaves useful, not just uselessly standing aside." I responded with the sentence I heard so many times and grabbed the bottle.
"But..." There was a mixture of confusion, panic and a silent threat in strangers look. My master watched the whole scene with a smile. He loved it.
I poured both men a glass of the reddish drink and assumed my previous position. There's the lord and those lesser. He makes no further differences.
The rest of the evening went normally. Nothing interesting happened anymore.
As usual, the ball ended late at night. The guests were slowly dispersing when a scream of agony pierced the chatter and everything stoped. Everyone was procesing the act that was playing out before their eyes. Everything went silent. My master writhed in pain.
I stood paralyzed. No, it can't be happening!
The high lord, slayer of thousands was dying. He let out his last gasp and fell to the floor.
The hall remained motionless for a while, but then it began. Chaos, slaughter. There was someone amidst the crowd who wielded the lords power and you could have it all for yourself, if you could find and kill the man.
My EXP bar went crazy.
Edit: Grammar fixes
Edit: More grammar fixes | NOTE: Sorry about any mistakes. I am working on being a better writer. But I have never been good at punctuation
Any advice welcome.
PART 1
As I lay reading the newest issue of my favorite comic, I began to feel that familiar warmth. The retinal display showed +1,500 EXP. Odd I hadn't killed anything today.
As I pondered what this could possibly mean my phone began to buzz. I had a new message. Hoping for answers I opened the message.
-
From:BLOCKED
We need to talk. Park at midnight.
Who is this?
All will be explained.
-
I don't know what is going on but I don't like it. | 2017-05-15T09:43:00 | 2017-05-15T04:49:15 | 426 | 12 |
[WP]In 3048 weaponry is so advanced that a single small-scale war would destroy the planet. All national conflicts which would traditionally lead to war are now resolved by pay-per-view UFC style fighting matches. The fights are fought by world leaders, and go to the death. Tonight is USA vs. China. | President Yasin sat in his tiny chair while getting his blood drawn. Even in a world where people solved their disputes through cage matches, we still needed rules. No performance enhancing drugs.
The man across from him, at least they claimed he was still a man, was freakishly large. Almost comically so. To describe President Zhao as intimidating would be an understatement. An absolutely solid specimen throughout and a little over seven feet tall. Here was a man born and bred for the sole purpose of forcing the national will of his country upon others in single combat. And he had never lost a fight. Centuries of genetic research had gone into his birth. Decades of the most rigorous physical training had gone into his life. The combination of the two had gone into the deaths of 57 men and 1 women.
Ironically, the one woman had lasted the longest against President Zhao. I guess the genetics scientists had failed to completely excise the parts of him that felt mercy and empathy. Poor, tiny, supremely qualified woman. Somalia had elected her as a form of protest against the system. Within the last 430 years that this system had been implemented, only 7 women had ever been elected. No amount of training or genetic manipulation gets around the hard facts of biology. Testosterone and muscle mass.
Women's rights had tanked pretty hard. With all the emphasis on brute strength, women were essentially non-existent in the public sphere. All the lower level offices were merely a proving ground for the big time. Over the years people had suggested ways to even the playing field by allowing weapons or putting the combatants in vehicles of some kind. But how would you get the other countries to agree to that unless you could win in a fight? And if you could win in a fight, why not keep the status quo and always get your way?
Somalia's was the latest protest. Elect the frailest, most feminine, delicate woman and just pray that it shocked the conscience of the world to watch her die. And it was true that she knew what she was doing when she ran for the position. A trapped field mouse in a cage. With a tiger. She died. People gasped. Life moved on. That was over 15 years ago and nothing had changed.
With only a few minutes left before his first fight, President Yasin knew it was probably also his last fight. The only question was how he was going to go out. He wanted to go out fighting, but not the physical way that would just have been a good show for the roaring mob. He remembered the legend of a man in his country from over a thousand years ago. A man versus a column of tanks. No weapon, no backup, just some groceries in hand. But the strength and determination the man had shown that day endured through history's slippery grasp. That's the way to do it, he thought.
Next up was President Zhao. His skin glistened, the white parts more than others. He was a walking flag, having been tattooed red, white, and blue basically over his entire torso. The Americans and their obsession with Old Glory had never really gone away.
"You're both clean. May the best man win."
Time to die. | That deal with Cuba paid off. Big time. President Duncan had lost a step after the dust up with South Africa. Murphy, that guy was huge. His death more than paid for the hurricane relief. This Chinese fucker doesn’t stand a chance against President Martin. Match up doesn’t make sense, and the pretense is stupid.
Think. THINK.
So China loses. Why?
China moves on Alaska, loses. Russia pushes on Whatsthatstan, wins. Prackisbindia takes the Hims. Thai gets the rest of the peninsula and Korea goes for Japan, again. What’s in it for China?
The Japanese bench is deep. Almost as deep as Russia's. Is China moving on Thai? Or just baiting them? The fight with Malaysia should be a pretty good match up. With our training and drug regimine, Thai wins of course. But can they beat China’s #2? That guy is a fucking monster.
So, we win tonight, and China takes South Asia. We lose, and we keep the dagger to the south of China at its heart and likely keep our our influence in Whatsthatstan.
"Hey Candice!" I yelled. "Call the Ops team and tell them we want to lose tonight. Alaska can take care of itself. Make sure they prep the VP."
I heard a squeak.
"If they need my DNA for confirmation, tell them I like blondes."
It’s strange. Now that we all can destroy each other, the world is a less stable place. | 2014-06-12T23:16:57 | 2014-06-12T20:44:41 | 54 | 10 |
[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :) | As the last known survivor, I feel I must explain it all.
We have muskets; by law, these are the weapons allowed by the Galactic Concordance. In fact, all weapons were severely restricted to prevent one species from gaining superiority through weapons technology. We know how to annihilate planets with a single blast, but we are kept from this.
Violating this galaxy wide agreement meant swift eradication by Iohva -- the entity created to be responsible for enforcing the agreement. The destruction was total and immediate, and his judgement was final -- so no one dared violate the agreement. Peace was kept and squabbles were minor. Minerals were still highly sought after since some technology was restricted. Miners, as you know, do most of the exploration and discovery. They are also the most heavily armed.
What we did not know, and could not have known, was what Iohva -- an entity that exists in the very substrate of the universe -- had been planning. It had found a single species which it deemed worthy of advancement beyond the limitation that Iohva itself had imposed across the Galaxy. This should have been beyond its capability -- but it had evolved -- radically. It now exists as everywhere. Some say it always existed, and we simply found it and gave it a vessel. If so, we were fools.
We became aware of this when we found a single star system, far from any cluster. It seemed to be impossibly remote, as if it was intentionally hidden. When it was discovered, all attempts to travel to this system were disrupted and ships were sent far off course with no obvious cause.
Eventually though, using a combination of jumps and sub-light engines, the system was reached -- and it was a rich system indeed. A half-12 of gas giants extending well out into the systems cometary cloud. A belt of protective asteroids -- and a third-12 of inner rocky worlds with mineral wealth beyond comprehension. The odds of a system configured in this way were astronomically small. The miners found the system occupied -- and this would not do. The third world possessed the most valuable minerals -- rare elements and in great supplies. The decision was made to invade and, because of that decision, we will all pay a terrible price.
The world was primitive by most standards and the "humans" did not possess interstellar travel. It was assumed that they too would be subject to the same 'soft' limitation of technology (artificial failures that Iohva used on undeveloped worlds) that all other worlds were subjected to.
We were wrong. We intercepted their transmissions. We saw evidence of their advanced weaponry, but this fiction exists in all races. Not here.
We miners landed in a place colloquially called 'DC' their ship nearly blotted out the sky. But, for all its bulk, as you know, is sparsely crewed with only a few 12's of 12's of crew -- around a four power of 12's. It was assumed that with our cannons and muskets, and superior position, we would make a show of minor force and then take the planet.
We were wrong again.
We opened fire with a single decapitating shot at a central 5-sided structure, a show of extreme force. The projectile was our largest and wiped out one side of the structure. We expected immediate surrender. We were met with annihilation.
Within a mere 12 span, our ship was assaulted from all side with terrifyingly powerful weapons. They penetrated deep into our hull. They had no muskets - they had legendary weapons - the ones depicted in their media. Missiles more powerful than anything any of us had seen. Explosive rounds. Kinetic penetrators. Signal jamming. We were only aware of such things in stories.
We were shocked -- why were these primitives allowed to have such ferocious weapons! We pleaded with Iohva for guidance and to enforce the concordance, but we were met with silence, his back was turned on us.
Our ship was immediately crippled by projectiles that penetrated our hull and several dozen decks. We began to lose power. We had barely a 12, 12-span of power left and the decision was made to head for the sea off the coast of the city. This is where we crashed and where the ship still lies. We could only make a stand, we could not flee. This is after a mere 12, 12-span and a well equipped mining ship - no race should have such destructive capability.
As we lost power, we discovered that the gravity on their world was incredible. Nearly all of our crew were captured by these humans; their size is incredible a full half again as large as our largest miners and warriors - and we are a large race; we thought ourselves strong! We saw them bend our doors open with their hands and break the bones of our crew members with no effort. It was a bloodbath that ended in defeat for most of us. I, and perhaps a few others, I can't be certain, were able to escape in a superlight life pod -- which is how I am able to relay this message.
We have unleashed a nightmarish army, a plague upon the galaxy and Iohva will not help us. Whether he is with them, or simply ignoring them, we have no chance. They will master superlight travel and we will learn a harsh lesson. We can only hope that Iohva does not let them slaughter us, or that they are kind masters. We will fall to them. | **Audio log backup successful**,
**Last sent message**,
**Priority High**,
"This is Chief Petty Officer *untranslatable-most likely personal name/identification* speaking, to all crew members left alive, we need to scuttle the ship, can't afford to let this technology fall into their hands. There's no telling what they would do with it. all"-*transmission degrades to static*
The general took the phonograph off the table. "Men," he said authoritatively, "This was the last known transmission sent by the *untranslatable-name of ship*." "We are going to teach these *untranslatable* eaters of *untranslatable* a lesson for their insolence. Now, as far as we know, they've barely developed interplanetary travel and only possess one planet. But, expect the unexpected, seeing as how they eliminated an entire imperial regiment." "We will make planetfall in 1 hour, dismissed!" I was proud to be a part of such an army, 200,000 of Nexon's finest warriors. I assumed it would be a cakewalk, seeing as how we had just gotten these new breech-loading rifles, 10 times as fast and 10 times as accurate. The intercom squawked, "Now entering the Sol system, report to your airlocks for final preparations." As I entered the airlock, I looked out the viewport and saw a planet covered almost entirely in gigantic metal structures. "Sir?" I asked my lieutenant. "Isn't Mars supposed to be a barren desert?" He looked out the viewport, "I guess they've been busy," he replied.
We landed some fifteen minutes later outside of a massive city, we were informed by the general that this was the city that housed the entire human government. Human soldiers,some 200 of them, approached us. They looked positively terrifying, wearing full body armor which obscured their faces and increased their height. The armor and weapons looked like nothing I'd ever seen, their guns had rectangular pieces coming out of the bottoms. One had what looked like a short tube with a handle. The human's commander stepped up to the general and tried to talk with him, but they were having trouble communicating. The general took his flintlock and shot the human commander squarely in the midsection. But the commander jumped up like it was nothing and yelled a command to his men, we got into firing lines. The human with the tube like gun pressed a button and the front half started spinning. I heard the fire command before the humans let loose. Good *untranslatable*! Their weapons spat out hundreds of sharpened metal slugs. I ducked down prone and before I knew it, my entire regiment was gone. Every time we hit them, they would get back up like nothing happened, they must've made deals with *untranslatable* in exchange for immortality. I decided to attack one with a sword, that should work, Nexonian swords are the sharpest in the galaxy. I sprinted forward, but a hail of slugs convinced me otherwise. Human reinforcements arrived and they made me wonder what business we had tangling with these technological demigods. 15 foot tall autonomous mechanical monsters that sprayed canister rounds and fire, big armored vehicles with massive guns more powerful than any cannon I'd seen. The nimble human gunships were preparing to attack when I bolted to the human's with my *untranslatable-probably part of body* in the air, hoping to surrender. "One of them misunderstood my intent and smashed a closed hand into my face and the next thing I know, I'm here."
The scientist looked down at the alien, scribbling notes, trying to make sense of the incoherent babble that was his language. She gave the paper to the major general, who thanked her for her work and bade her goodbye for the day.
| 2017-08-08T08:28:06 | 2017-08-08T08:04:17 | 47 | 32 |
[WP] You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D | "...and for the ten *millionth* time, would you all *please stop eating shellfish*!"
"Is that all m'lord?" Metatron asked, quickly scribbling the last of the command down on its notepad.
"I think so." I sighed, leaning back in the heavenly golden throne. "You think they might all listen for once?"
"I doubt it m'lord. There has been no response from humanity in 5,321 years."
"True true. It's that damned intercom system I bet. I should've never let humanity out of Eden I tell ya. Sure, it would've been a bit crowded but at least you didn't even have to shout to talk to them...now it's almost like the damned thing's not even on."
"Very funny, but impossible m'lord. The power is always on." Metatron said flatly, pulling out an intercom system from within the spaces between the two glowing concentric rings that made its torso.
"Did you make sure to press the talk button?" I teased, knowing full well I'd just get the same flat answer as before.
Metatron really was the dullest angel in the Kaballah. Say all you want about Gabriel or Michael, but at least they could at least hold a half decent conversation.
I guess that's my fault and all. Deciding to just create a new angel to be my speaker after Lucifer...fell instead of just promoting an existing archangel. But then again, the alternetive would be listening to Gabriel gossiping about who Zeus fucked now or to Michael describing all the way he's going to tortue Lucifer when he gets his hands on him for all of eternity and I'd rather go through the apocalypse than suffer through *that*.
"Pardon, m'lord?"
"The talk button. Y'know-" I pointed over at the button labeled 'TALK' on the intercom, which I just now noticed still had the protective film on it. "-it's...it's a...nevermind."
"Why would I press the talk button m'lord?"
"It's the button you press to...talk. To the world. " I looked at Metatron, confused about if this was it's idea of a joke or something else.
"But I do not need to talk to the world m'lord. I am your speaker, I am not a talker." Metatron stared at me with all of its thousand eyes with such a lack of emotion that it was bordering on unsettling.
"...Metatron, when you ta-act as my speaker to the world, what button do you press?"
"I press the speaker button, m'lord." Metatron pointed at a well-worn button with a speaker icon underneath it.
"To act as my speaker."
"Yes m'lord."
"Metatron-" I sunk into my throne, burrying my face into my hands. "-who are you?"
"I am Metatron of the Keter, son of man, angel of the veil and The Lord's speaker, m'lord."
"How old are you?"
"I have been young, and now I am old, m-"
"*how old Metatron?*"
"5,321 years, m'lord."
"So, in the five thousand or so years you've been in my service, you've always pressed that button to 'speak' to the world?"
"yes, m'lord."
"Metatron, that's the volume button."
Say all you want about Gabriel and Michael, at least they knew how a fucking intercom worked. | The tiny little creatures I looked after had turned their world into crap. Thousands of years had passed in their time and yet, they had decided to ignore me when I tried to talk to them. Every single human who wanted to hear me, could not. It was like someone had built something to block me from them. Or maybe? Hmm, I wonder. I rooted around inside my little room and found the microphone lead tangled among all the other cables. I found the little switch on the side and my heart dropped. The world couldn't hear me anymore because I had been on mute. I face palmed and my stomach sank. I'd left my creations alone for so long that they thought they were alone in the universe when they were in fact a very loved pet. My friend had also chosen to create his own universe, but his creatures had turned out far less intelligent. We weren't supposed to do it, but early on, I'd added a bit of my own DNA after my idiot little brother had nearly destroyed the planet with a massive rock. I didn't think anything had survived, so I sent a little of myself down there to kick start the planet again and my god did it work. The little creatures, the humans, they slowly evolved into sentient species, just like us. We were scarily similar with some minor differences. I'd tried to curb their sexual desires as that's all they would do given half the chance by making it into a sin, but with the lack of my voice out there, people were reproducing all over the place and my calm and quiet planet was now full of this one species that was now starting to kill everything.
It was now or never. I switched the mic back on, located the man with the blond hair who ran that big country they called America and started talking to him. It was time he joined with the other leaders of the world to tackle climate change whether he wanted to or not. | 2019-06-03T11:16:32 | 2019-06-03T09:07:34 | 294 | 21 |
[WP] You didn't ask for it, but you have a 'gift'. You can hatch eggs. Any eggs. Fossils, hard boiled, chocolate, Fabergé, any and all. What comes out, however, you can't control. | It hit me a few months ago while walking down the street after school with Wen Hao, my best friend. A black shiny round stone caught my attention. It shone bright on the pavement, reflecting the afternoon light.
"Isn't that stone beautiful?" I said, quickly squatting down to observe it.
Wen Hao walked up to stand by my side, and pushed his glasses up his nose.
"Looks like any other stone, Ben."
"I'm taking it home," I said, my hands trembling as I took the stone egg. It was the size of a chicken egg and I carefully put it into my back pocket.
Wen Hao shrugged as we continued our way home.
--------
Wen Hao and I hung out in my bedroom, as we usually did after school but I was distracted.
"Ben, stop it," Wen Hao said halfway while talking about basketball. I had noticed his disapproving stare but hadn't figured out what he was uncomfortable with.
"What?"
"Why are you rubbing that stone against your ass? You're not in love with me, are you?"
"Yuck, you're like a brother to me," I said quickly and realised I was indeed rolling the egg on my butt. I stopped and sat on it, to hide it from view.
*That feels much better.* I thought. I wondered how it'd feel against my bare skin.
"Whatever," Wen Hao said, "I'd be cool with it if you were. Just tell me instead of trying to be sexy, you're not doing a very good job."
I made a playful jab at his shoulder.
"Anyway, you're distracted and obviously need to do something about it. See you tomorrow," Wen Hao said and left.
The moment the door closed behind him, I stripped off my jeans and quickly sat on the egg. It felt warmer against my bare skin, and I thought I felt it pulse.
I skipped school the next day, telling my parents I didn't feel well. Truthfully, I felt nervous as soon as I lifted my butt off the egg. I could take short breaks to get a drink and go to toilet, but I couldn't wait to return to the egg and sit on it, and let out a contented sigh when I did.
The egg hatched that evening. From it, a stone baby the size of a small chick emerged crying. I knew he was hungry and I tried to feed it milk, cereal and even grass. He would take none of it. Feeling lost, I tried to placate him with my finger and stroked his cheek. His little hands took it and put it in his mouth and I felt a sharp prick. *He bit me!* His cries died down as he drank greedily.
-----
Wen Hao visited my room that night. "Came by to see if you were ok," he said, looking at me for any signs of illness. "You didn't do anything stupid like insert that rock into somewhere you shouldn't, did you?"
I shook my head and showed him the broken stone egg shells, and Boy. I named the stone baby, Boy. Not very imaginative, but that's what some parents called their kids.
"What does he eat? OH!" He said, his eyes widening when he saw me drip my blood into Boy's eager mouth. "Interesting. How much bigger will he get? How will you feed him if he gets human sized?"
"There's always you."
Wen Hao shook his head. "You're my buddy but I'm not using my blood to feed your demon stone baby. This is seriously freaky," he said, studying Boy, his face mere inches away. "Anyway, I saw how much you liked the stone egg, so I brought this with me to school today." He rummaged in his bag and brought out a Faberge egg. It was a little dusty but beautiful.
I took it in my hands eagerly, heart racing, and my butt itched to sit on it. "So you have to sit on it?" Wen Hao asked. "With no pants on?"
I nodded. He made a face but I could tell he was curious.
"OK, I'll leave you to it," he said and left.
--------
Over the course of the week, I hatched various things. Glass spheres. Metal globes. All of them hatched some form of homunculus that depended on me for sustenance. I discovered that the incubation period was proportional to the volume of the egg. A chicken egg took 24 hours, whereas a quail egg took 20 hours.
For my fifth egg, Wen Hao stayed overnight to see the process with his own eyes. He watched the homunculus emerge and feed from my finger, like the rest had done.
I felt drained as my menagerie of homunculi grew in number and size. I was pale and there were dark shadows under my eyes but I couldn't stop myself from feeding my children.
It was unfortunate that Wen Hao decided to force me out of my room. "Don't feed them anymore!" He said.
My children swarmed him. I tied him up and gagged him. It was then I decided that he would provide a stable source of blood that would feed them and my future child. I only had one more egg to incubate. Just one more.
--------
"Ben, you should go out of the basement and get some fresh air," my mom said from outside my bedroom door. Wen Hao's sunken eyes looked at me from under my bed. He had been drained completely. Actually, he had been drained for a few months. However, I had kept his body around because I needed the company.
My children had continued bringing in fresh warm bodies while I was hatching my latest egg. They got rid of the bodies once I had fed.
"I will soon, mom, once I feel better," I replied, shifting on top of the egg I was sitting on with my bare bum. I felt its inhabitant scrape a claw against the inside of the shell, making it and the walls of my room vibrate.
"We've been having lots of tremors lately. Make sure you know what to do if the earthquake strikes! I'm going to work now," my mom said.
"Ok, mom. I should be much better tonight," I said, as the walls again shook and I stroked the basement floor lovingly. | Lonny checked under the blanket covering his rusting, old shopping cart. Assured, he stared out into the cold street, rattling his cup at the passers by. The occasional patron slipped him a buck in silence, a careless drop of coins from others. He was grateful, truly, but still destitute. In his eyes, that was for the best. As a group of people marched by, he detected a sudden rattle, he almost didn't notice the hand reaching into his cart from around the corner. With a surprising speed, Lonny's hand snatched the would-be thief by the wrist. A child's face looked up at him with shock, a face fast-aged by a hard-knock life. Lonny felt a surge of anger, fear, but also a pang of conscience, knowing that at the same age his life was stable and kind. It would do no good to dump his rage onto the kid. The kid's hand, though, clutched an egg, by all appearances solid gold and heavy.
"That... ain't for you, kid." The kid's eyes swelled up with tears and shame. Gently, Lonny took the egg from the child's hand. "It's not the one you wanted, anyway." The child, a girl as far as Lonny could tell, watched the treasure slip into his coat pocket and he let her go.
"You okay? Jesus, you alone out here?"
"I, uh..."
"Oh." It dawned on him. "You're one of the kids at the Ricosse place, aren't you? You're snatchin' for Fast Glenn, aren't you?" Lonny had seen them, sometimes in droves, work a street end to end, and at the end of the night a blue minivan swung through and gathered them up.
"Please don't call the cops?" She begged.
Lonny waved it off. "Kid, don't even have a phone." He sighed deeply. This struck the girl strangely. She crinkled her brow.
"But, why don't, I mean you've got that egg-"
"No! No. Heh. You don't even know what you're asking, kid. No idea. In fact, you ought to tell your friends too steer clear of me, altogether. I'm no good."
"...Are you okay?" She asked, the innocent question rang in his ears.
"I've seen things. I've made things happen."
"Like what?"
Lonny stared her down for a moment. "Well... let me show you." He lifted the blanket and reached deeply into the cart, a waft of heat brushed past the kids face.
"I'm not always right, but usually these come out okay, I think it's the wrapper." He glanced around. "Whatever you do, don't freak out." In his hands he held a shining, foiled chocolate egg. He cupped it in his palm and whispered to it, the cold breezing past them in wafts. With a gentle tap, the egg cracked open straight through the foil. Inside was not chocolate, however. An eye, the same color as the blue foil, blinked from within.
The girl stood agasp. "What is that?" She asked, edging closer.
The shell pushed open and creature unfurled in Lonny's hand. It's scales, its eyes, its tiny padded feet, it looked like a shining, plated gecko. "What it is, is yours." Said Lonny. He gently handed it to her hands to spite the cold.
"Keep him warm. Find out what he eats, try the easy stuff first. Might be bugs, might be diamonds, he'll tell you what he needs."
She began to tear up at this fantastic, unexpected gift. "I just hope Glenn doesn't try to take him away from me. House rules, if its in his house it's his. Anything."
Lonny saw her fears ran deeper than she let on. That the androgynous facade was intentional, necessary. A she coddled the gecko it changed colors, camouflaging itself against her sweater. Lonny hadn't chosen the creature inside, but somehow felt that it might have chosen her. She thanked him and was about to walk away, when his hand caught her cuff.
"Ah. Before you go, then." He pulled the golden egg from his pocket and performed the same ritual upon it, whispering in his cupped palms. He then passed it to her, without hesitation.
"Take him somewhere private and give this to Glenn. Ask him how to tell if it's real gold. Then shut your eyes, and keep them shut until its over. No. Matter. What." | 2016-02-29T22:44:44 | 2016-02-29T21:41:11 | 75 | 24 |
[WP] Fairies, elves, and the like all died off because humans naturally muted all magic around them. It is a passive, uncontrollable trait. This causes problems when humans venture into space and encounter the Galactic Federation. | "As within so without, as above so below.”
"You say that every single time I ask. Why does our ship only have humans? The Zets have superhuman strength and don't require any food. The Thrussons can make themselves invisible which would be SUPER helpful on some of our missions and the Sah'aeth, hell they don't even need a spacesuit. They just breathe space." Aldrin exclaimed.
Aurora shook her head.
"Well, it's about time you learned your history anyway Aldrin. Do you know why we left Earth?" Aurora asked.
"We killed the planet" Aldrin replied.
"Yes... and no. Are you familiar with the concept of auras?" asked Aurora
"What, like that new age psychic mumbo jumbo? Come on Aur you're not going to tell me you actually believe in that stuff that's lik-"
Aurora put up her hand, Aldrin immediately stopped talking. While he considers Aurora a friend, he knew better than to ruffle her feathers.
"All living creatures have auras. The trees, humans, every other species of alien in all of space. Humans, in specific, have a type of aura that mute the effects of magic. This is what we did to our planet. First, we killed the fae folks. We didn't mean to, of course, we were not aware but without their magic, they could not survive. Then the elves, the dragons... The witches who understood what was happening tried to teach others and show them how to alter and shield their aura from other beings so that they wouldn't hurt anyone but that didn't work. Once we were done with earth and left magicless, we started to affect the earth itself" Aurora explained.
"Alright, let's say I believe you, I'm not saying I don't, but let's say I do, why on Earth are we going to make contact with the Galactic Federation?" asked Aldrin.
"I need to speak with Morgana," Aurora said
"Who?"
"You may better recognize the name as Morgan Le Fey..." Aurora trailed off.
"Like from King Arthur that we read about back on Earth?" Aldrin laughed.
"She is real Aldrin, she was one of the faes who were able to leave our world so that she may protect and keep their race alive," stated Aurora.
"Well okay, but what the heck do you need her for?" asked Aldrin.
"I'm pregnant, and the father isn't human. I need to know if my aura will cancel out the child's and if they will be born human or if I will die carrying it, or if I am able to give birth what that means for the future. If the child has some kind of protection from my aura, this maybe be the way that humans can finally get into the Galactic Federation. We aren't going to survive much longer out here without some allies." |
As a species we had killed off everything, all magic based creatures including elves, fairies and even the beloved dwarves, all because we naturally mute magic. Over the past couple of centuries this would have been a problem, but we are trying to fix it.
See I’m a commander of humanities first intergalactic spaceship the USS Enterprise (and yes, I am aware that it has the same name as the ship from star trek but that was intentional). We were on our mission to visit the stars to see how far we could get before we had to stop.
When this huge ship with what seemed a hyperdrive popped into space in front of us saying “Please do not go past this point, only trouble and the death of many species, will come if you do. I am sorry we have to tell you so, but there is nothing else we can do.” Answering back, or at least trying as I’m not sure they will hear us, I say “That’s fine, we are used to it and have been told by many civilisations over the past millennia, including mermaids the only magic creatures left on earth and other space fairing federations such as yourselves, that we cannot go past these points", "Currently we are testing its perimeter and it seems we have come to it”, “So thanks for testing our theory.” | 2021-04-21T20:59:28 | 2021-04-21T13:49:56 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] Two immortal dragons are in a feud, constantly sending out heroes to find the only Dragon Slayer and slay the other with it. As the owner of said Dragon Slayer, you have your own agenda. | "Leave me alone." I turned away from the young man and his pleas. "I have other things to do."
"But your sword is the only weapon that can slay the evil Shanneonty!" He tried again.
"How about the fact it can also slay Frety? Do you not care about that?" I said over my shoulder.
"I need it to slay Shanneonty!" He repeated.
"No. And that is the final answer. I have my own plans for this. "Rahad!"
The force wave knocked him back and disoriented him, giving me the time to slip into the dark alleys and reach Gork's shop.
"Hey, Gork. Here is the Dragon Slayer. Gonna melt it down?" I asked from the door. Gork looked up from his forge. He was a short, stocky humanoid covered in bright yellow fur, his single eye looking the sword over. I saw a large back burning in the forge, with several wooden amulets visible in the open top of the bag. If any of wizards or prophets of the city found this place, they would kill Gork and burn his shop down. They didn't like the Yendor.
"Yeah. I figure that selling swords with the enchantment of Reptile Slaying could earn me a fortune." Gork confirmed as he took the sword and threw it into the forge. The thing about Yendor forges and anvils and cauldrons and scribing tables is that they could absorb enchantments and replicate them. This made them responsible for the majority of magical items on the market and widely hated by any who held the belief that magic belonged only to the select few. Like chosen ones.
We watched the metal melt and the magic concentrate around a containment circle made of colored bricks inside the forge. We were interupted by the hero from before bursting in. Gork took his Warhammer of Swinging from the wall and I drew my Sword of Slaying. The hero's eyes immediately caught the quickly melting sword.
"Nooooooo!" He shouted and lunged for it, only for Gork to swing his heavy warhammer with impossible speed and splatter him across the wall.
"Here. The reward for the Dragon Slayer." Gork threw me a full pouch.
I glanced at the hero's remains as I left the shop. Poor guy. Well, the only one around here wanting Shanneonty dead was Frety. I made a decision. Once Gork made me a sword of reptile slaying, I would give them both a visit. Their hoards surely had a number of enchanted items and Gork paid well for any enchanted items delivered. | "Look, I get you two want this, but the conditions must be met before you've a chance" the owner of the dragon slayer said, motioning to the two heroes to come inside.
The most rugged and covered hero obliged, followed soon after by the clean and barely dressed hero.
"So wise owner, what are the condition we've to meet" the clean hero asked.
"Quite simple, sit down and listen to my tale" the owner replied.
Both heroes sat down and made themselves comfortable for the tale, intrigued by what this person could possibly have to tell that could be so important.
-skipping the tale because i just wanted to make a stupid joke-
The owner sat back, finished with his tale. The two heroes sat speechless, unsure if what was just said was fantasy or real. Their uncertainty quickly dispersed when the owner leant forward with a sly smile.
The heroes clutched the fabric on the legs in anticipation, for what could this owner ask that they could do after that tale?
"A round or two of gwent oughta help me decide. winner gets the item" | 2019-11-23T09:07:33 | 2019-11-23T08:34:20 | 77 | 41 |
[WP] There is a population limit to the galaxy. Whenever one sentient creature is born, another must die. With billions of unexpected deaths over the last few centuries, the galactic counsel has found the cause; a long ignored planet where a group of bipeds can't stop reproducing. | What does an alien dream of? When it has a good dream; does it smile, with its ten mouths, or its sharp beak? When it turns in bed, does it use arms, or a tail? Does it ooze to the side, letting the brown goo cool while the green goo rests on the pillow? When it shivers, do chills run down a spine, or through a system of tentacles?
To these questions, there are an infinite number of answers. But for one question, there is a single answer—When it’s afraid; what does it fear?
It fears the hunter.
The hunter is a bipedal, clumsy creature. It’s not particularly strong; it can lift a stone of around fifty kilograms. It’s not particularly bright, for a sentient species, although it is highly intuitive and emotional. It cannot see in the dark, it cannot hold its breath for longer than 300 seconds, and it cannot hear sound past one-hundred-thousand hertz.
The hunter has one advantage over all other forms of life, a unique trait—persistence. Imagine seeing the eyes of the hunter in the nearby forest. You flee, much faster than the gangly beast. You stop to rest, only to have it appear *again* in the forest. It stares at you with cold, calculating eyes, smiling as you flee in terror. The hunter will follow you, unrelenting, until you collapse from exhaustion; only then will it kill you.
The hunter is capable of self-regeneration when injured. Like other sentient life, it has developed the ability to extract natural resources from any environment it is placed in. It has developed complex working societies, like the other races. The hunter is not so different from you or I, except the hunter has developed the most gruesome method of killing—persistence breeding.
The method is as simple as it is terrifying—breed until there is no other form of sentient life in the universe. Like a leech, they consumed the most valuable resource in the universe; souls. Every newborn hunter requires a soul. Souls cannot be created or destroyed, merely transferred from one form to another, so when a hunter is born, another soul is taken.
Before the hunters, every new soul drew from the well of souls. This well, an abstract dimension, is full of billions of tangible souls—the great storage chest of life in the universe. For millennia, this well remained balanced. Each soul taken from the well was replaced in kind. The depth of the well ebbed and flowed with the rise and fall of civilizations; years of war increased the well, years of prosperity reduced it, but all was balanced in time. Then came the hunters, and in a span of five hundred years the well was completely dry.
First, we tried eradicating the hunters with disease; but they developed immunity. Then we influenced them to destroy one another—twice—to no avail. We encouraged them to irradiate one another, but their conscience grew; they stayed their hand. We sought to destroy the very world they live on, but now they move towards the stars; persistence incarnate.
We lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, or the stars, or the hive. When we sleep, our dreams are wrought with fear. At any given moment we could wink out of existence, slain by the perfect hunter—the reaper of souls. Like the hunting method of old, they will come for us. We can run to the very edge of the galaxy, but they will find us. Slowly, unfaltering, they will continue to breed and endure, until there is nothing left in our universe but their race.
The hunters—or so we call them—The Great Filter.
***
r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | It was a beautiful summer afternoon. Birds were chirping kids were playing in the streets, there wasn't a cloud in sight.
There was one thing which rather spoiled this picturesque day. A massive spherical shape blocked out the sun for most of the central United States. Scientists didn't know what to make of it, the military wanted to nuke it, and several of the world's major religions decided that it was a sign from God. Most agreed that this was a sign of the apocalypse.
For the first time in history, they were absolutely right.
"People of Earth, may we have your attention please.", a droning voice said, "This is Bellagor, Prime Prefect of this Sector. I am here to inform you that you are all in violation of several intergalactic treaties regarding population growth." His voice was being broadcast through every working system with a speaker, this did nothing but exacerbate his terribly grating voice.
"I am here in order to deliver two options. First, we can set limits on reproduction, only allowing one half of breeding pairs to have children this generation....", an uproar broke out from just about everywhere on Earth. The Prefect barely needed a recording device to hear their response. Even from low orbit.
The Prefect sounded agitated, "Okay, okay. We can take the second option. Please yourselves. Prepare to glass the entire planet.", through the speakers, Earthicans everywhere could hear him walking away and muttering, "The ungrateful little sloggars, not my fault they breed like rodents."
People everywhere decided that this was the time. This was the perfect opportunity. They would finally get those televisions and digital watches they had always very much wanted, but could never afford. Some of them even had the chance to turn them on before the glassing began. They spent their final half hour on Earth watching that last episode of Stranger Things on Netflix, or if they weren't lucky, driving home so they could make use of their new flatscreen.
*****************
/r/SirLemoncakes
| 2018-11-29T10:13:05 | 2018-11-29T09:41:38 | 361 | 91 |
[WP] Throughout history, when great evil threatens a country, swords in stone appear within its borders. Only those chosen may pull the swords out to join the round table and defend their country. It is now 2017 and swords have appeared across the globe. | I remember the final days of my normal life as if it were yesterday. For several months humanity as a whole faced disaster after disaster. Entire countries were in shambles from wildfires, earthquakes, tsunamis, and any other disaster you can imagine thrashed our poor planet over and over until it was all we could do to keep power and communication running even in large cities. Society slowly unwound itself as people abandoned jobs and homes in desperate attempts to protect themselves and their families, martial law was common and hope seemed the most fleeting of resources. That was when the first sword was discovered.
The first on came from a small town somewhere in the midwestern United States, the borders at this point were blurred so which state exactly was unknown. A young woman around sixteen or so had happened upon it and in interviews stated that " something inside just told me to pull it. " The events that followed were straight out of a fairy tale. This girl, claiming to follow the sword's orders began walking into earthquakes and major storms and using the sword to quell the disasters. It was not some sort of spell or simple act either, the disasters somehow created physical embodiments of themselves, and what little footage was released of them was terrifying. But still this line girl was defeating gigantic monsters with a simple steel blade that had appeared from the woods as if out of nowhere. Then more swords were found, each time by someone young, ages between sixteen and twenty-four, and each time these people began fighting the disasters. Some called these creatures demons, some called them simple monsters, but what really mattered was that the disasters were being pushed back and stability began to re-emerge.
Stability came until I was gathering herbs in a nearby forest. I had began wandering aimlessly, and had almost forgotten where I was and what I was doing when I found it. In a small clearing with a beam of sunshine bathing it in glorious light was a beautiful sword protruding from a large black rock. It was a basket hilted blade with a beautifully carved guard and large crystal in the pommel. Without hesitation I moved toward the blade and gently pulled it from the stone. My world began to swirl and I felt power pulse from the blade in my hands, and I was suddenly able to hear voices, which o soon learned were the voices of the other sword bearers. They called upon me to meet, told me I was the final guardian to join them and it was time for human history to be propelled into a new age of myth and magic, and I had a role to play in the coming battles both physical and political. | They call us Gladiators.
We were those who could pull the swords from the stone. We were once like you, businessmen, parents, teachers. Now it is us, the gladiators that keep the horde at bay. The horde which dwells below the surface and have waited for their time to strike. They come from below and we come to stop them.
I went to the stone with my family, wife and 2 sons, as a vacation. When I pulled the sword, it was the government who took me away. I fight everyday so I can see my family again and with my fellow gladiators quell this great evil.
We travel where we are needed and we will not stop our quest. We will fight the horde to the death, sword in hand and fire in our hearts. We are the Gladiators. | 2017-05-03T17:47:09 | 2017-05-03T16:23:28 | 35 | 21 |
[WP] All voting is now done via a smartphone app, rendering all congressmen obsolete. Bills and presidents are now voted on directly by citizens. Your phone buzzes an alert at 3am and won't stop. This must be an important one. | Donny was tired, it had been another long evening at the bioMech plant. The Industrial AI strike was causing chaos on the company grid, communication was strictly e-Mail and telephone only, even his shitty HoloPrinter wasn’t working. The whole Ferro-protein Team had spent from midnight to 02.30 trying to overwrite the AI neuro-interface but even getting the most basic mech to function was nigh-on impossible.
They’d all been let out early, it meant no one got paid but at least he could spend the rest of the night in bed next to his wife. He walked home, enjoying the midnight blue aura of the city, thankful that New London never slept and the Civic AI had opted not to participate in the strike. It meant that InstaBurg on the corner of his street was going to be open. He could only ever eat the protein stitched burgers when his wife was sure to be asleep - she hated the smell.
Earlier that day the country had voted almost 4-1 to restrict AI evolution, physically limiting the existing machines to prevent any further cognitive development. People were spooked, AI ran almost everything now and human participation was limited. Donny had voted against the restriction but didn’t know why, it just felt wrong, especially as some of the AI he worked with were almost as close as friends.
Almost immediately after the vote the Security AI shut down, passively exposing the country to the world. Industrial, Highway, and Aerospace AIs followed shortly after, they may have only been 4 AI clusters but it was sufficient enough to bring the country to a standstill.
As he crossed the threshold into his home his neuro-communication node chimed softly in his head: “Welcome Home Donny”. His personal AI connected to the house mainframe and he smiled as he noted his wife's icon loading in his neurovision - she was still awake and would know he’d come home. She’d probably been worried about him working AI-free, he’d told her numerous times that the plant was well prepared for the strike action, but hopefully in her relief she would forgive his protein-stitched indiscretion.
Before he could even climb the stairs his personal AI flashed red words urgently across his vision,
- Protocol One
- Activate transmission
The emergency voting protocol? What was going on? His wife ran down the stairs to him, the red tinge to her iris showed she was seeing the same thing. “Donny, what’s…” then the voting motion scrolled down their vision silencing her:
- The President has been removed from office for anticipated AI Genocide. The country must now vote for his replacement.
The list of candidates loaded and his stomach dropped. They were all AI clusters. Donny looked up at his wife, mouth open, mirroring her expression, before either could speak the closing statements flashed up
- Voting is mandatory. Those who do not vote will be considered anarchists and dealt with in line with the Anarchy Act 2267 subsection 5, immediate communication-node overload.
- 10 minute countdown initialized.
Donny stood there, shaking. Eyes unfocused as he reread the motion. His wife placed her hands on his shoulder and shook him gently, “Donny, we need to vote. It’s over.”
| *bzzzz....BZZZZ....*BZZZZZZZ-*
I groggily slap my hand on my phone, it's light permeating the otherwise pitch black room.
The first thing I notice is how my head aches as though there was an Alien from that movie trying to burst out of my head. Second thing I notice is that I'm too dehydrated to focus my eyes on my phone's screen.
I pocket my phone in my PJ bottoms and stumble out of bed careful not to wake my dog as she lay sleeping at the foot of my bed. If she wakes up, she'll steal my spot and that bitch is too heavy to be pushed off when I'm this tired.
As I turned on the bathroom lights I realized that my bladder was damn near full to the point of bursting.
Too tired to stand and piss, I sat down on my porcelain throne, dug out my shitty, old iPhone 9 from my pocket and attempted to decipher what was so damn important that it had to wake me up at... 3 AM?! *Ugh.*
I slid the unlock button and let the phone scan my retina.
*"WE'VE MADE CONTACT WITH AN UNEARTHLY SPECIES"*
Was the headline of this vote box.
"This is what they woke me up for?" I croaked dryly to no one in particular "Fuck them."
After getting up and washing my hands, I pressed the Nuclear Option vote and went back to bed.
I laid back down under the blankets, dog still by my feet, and drifted off back to sleep.
Fuck the government and fuck these Aliens. | 2015-10-07T08:12:15 | 2015-10-07T02:28:31 | 349 | 259 |
[WP] "Checkmate," you say, a smug expression on your face. "Finally," says Death. The smirk is wiped off your face as the Grim Reaper removes his robe and hands you his scythe, "It's been 400 years since I beat the last guy." | The slight, ashen woman before me looked as alive as any person I’d ever seen. Deep blue eyes flanked with crows feet, sat high on a warm face. Full of bitter wisdom.
“What is this?” I could barely contain my shock. “It was all a trick?”
She looked amused in a distant way. Like someone might be after getting the punchline to the joke long after the comedian has died.
“No. Not a trick.” Her voice maintained its unwavering quality. Every inflection a perfect flourish. “A test, I think.”
She thinks? A shrunken moment of understanding sat like a pit in my stomach. She was not the first Death.
And I won’t be the last.
“I know you’re thinking you can just lose on purpose”, her voice hardening, “I tried that. It doesn’t work. If accepted, a challenge must be faithfully met.”
Though she wasn’t looking at me any longer, I felt as if her gaze found its way across time and space, back to the tingle in my spine. A sensation that lessened alongside the rest of my body.
Before I could speak she continued, and at that moment I realized I was flush with the darkness around us. No longer holding the robes I was now adorning, the scythe notched into my hands as if it were an extension of my arm.
“Eventually, you’ll find others. Souls in turmoil. Bound for the grey, if we don’t intervene.” Finally some gravity had found her voice, bolstered by her unwavering tone. It seemed to echo in the dark.
“They might challenge you, as you did here. But you don’t have to accept. You can choose to send them all on, or none of them. You can choose to find a successor quickly, or get lost in this place for all time. No one is going to fire you should you neglect the role.”
Looking back to me, it was as if a decade had caught up with her. The crows feet reaching over paper skin.
“...nothing happens. The one before me wandered for ages, saving no one, and was never punished. There’s no one else here, as far as we know.” Finally the perfect veneer had cracked, and truly, I believed she was in pain. “All we know is the ones we free from this place aren’t bound to the grey, and little else fathomable is worse than there.”
It hadn’t occurred to me, but I was looking down to her now, only slightly. In venturing to look at my hand for the first time, I see the same silken black gloves that she had worn.
As if sensing my focus ebb and flow, she would wait for my senses to return before continuing.
“Time for the catch.” She flatly added through a thousand yard stare. “There may be no higher force watching over our work, but something does. It’s in the fringe, always. On the edge of your vision, watching. It gets closer and farther away, but it’s always there.”
“What is it?” My voice had begun to take on that otherworldly quality only faintly departed from her own, moments ago.
“I don’t suggest you find out.” | It was New Years Eve of 2019 and you were playing chess with death. They said go out with a bang and that's exactly what you were doing as of this very moment. You had gone out drinking with your friends and accidentally ended up walking into the road and getting hit by a car when death had come and asked you if you wanted to play chess and maybe live forever. You agreed, at least if you lost, you get a good game in before moving on, right?
Well that's how you wish it went, you said "checkmate" and death smiled at you. Then he slips off the robe and puts his scythe on the table. "Wait what are you doing?" You asked him. He replied "have a fun 2020 man, you win" and then he crumbled away into dust presumably going to the afterlife. You stared at the spot where he had been for a while and then put on the robe. Unlike what media imagines death looks like, you don't just become a pile of bones by the way. You're just a lot paler, otherwise it would scare the children.
The first couple of days were fine, 2020 started and the job was about as easy as you thought it would be.
Then it starts getting harder, there are more people dying due to fires. Then there are people dying from this stupid virus. Millions all over the place. People protest wearing masks and you glare at them as they pace hoping they'll feel it. Seriously don't they know their just making your job harder?
2020 was certainly a bad time to start. | 2020-07-07T23:19:45 | 2020-07-07T22:31:09 | 49 | 15 |
[WP] You've loved magic your whole life but since your family is poor you've had to teach yourself. you're overactive imagination has helped you invent spells all your own. eventually you get a scholarship to a prestigious magic college but quickly find out everyone seems to lack your imagination. | I’m bored.
I’m in an actual, literal, prestigious college for curating the top magic users the world has ever seen, and I’m bored out of my fucking skull.
I rest my cheek on my palm, staring dully at the professor who long winds himself through the components needed for our lab work and I try to stay awake. Next me to, students scribble frantically, sweat peppering their upper lips and foreheads. They all look dazed and feverish and just a little bit terrified.
And I just. Don’t. Get it.
It’s just a stupid spirit call and respond spell. That’s not what they call it, of course. The professor claims it’s a Nature Based Multi-Dimensional Ensnare and Demand spell, which, like everything in this university, is a long and important sounding way of saying something very basic. These kids are out here sweating lines on stone and the specifics of salt and the intonation of syllables on incantations, all of which aren’t even needed.
Like, salt is literally in the air around us. It’s actually one of the purest forms. So why BRING sullied salt to a spell when you can just pluck the particles out of the air? A spirit doesn’t need a rune centric circle to know where to stand, just a tiny bit of their own dimension to root them, so you simply use their element of choice. Half the spirits don’t even understand the incantations so I don’t even know why that’s a thing. All they care about is intent and you enticing them with something they want. Most spirits want something simple, something clean, somewhere safe. Sure, once in a while it gets to be a headache when they want their grove protected and you have to go out to the historical society and draw up a preservation permit, but once you have that in hand, spirits will line up for days to answer your questions or do a few tasks.
The professor glances at me, his voice faltering and I wave my pen, making a show of taking notes but we both know I’m faking it. I terrify them all but that’s hardly *my* fault. On my first day alone I realized it’s like they can’t count. Or if they do, they’re doing it the least effective way possible:
Count to 100! they said. Sure, 10, 20, 30–.
No, no, not like that, they snapped.
Uh, ok. 5, 10, 15–
No! No! That’s not how you do it!
Fine. Whatever. 1, 2, 3—
No, No! Why aren’t you getting it! It’s like this—.5, 1, 1.5, 2, 2.5, 3–
Honestly, I’d rather be back in my field, learning spells by digging my fingers into the soil, pulling atoms out of the sky, twisting elements together to create something new and fiery and beautiful in the palm of my hand.
The first time I opened up my palm and showed them a finely crafted fire sphere (if I do say so myself), my professor fainted cold. Someone screamed. I swear someone said a prayer to a god I didn’t even know existed anymore.
They all say I’ll probably be evil. Like I’m going to turn into some mad, black hearted sorceress because I’m not as slow as the rest of them. As if imagination can only be evil. Fuck it, maybe I will. Maybe it’ll get me out of this class because I honestly think I’m getting dumber sitting here using pen and paper to count by halves when I can already multiply by 100s in my head.
That’ll be me, the evil sorceress, driven mad by over complications of spell components and bad math.
Well, in the mean while, maybe I can get this professor to piss himself if I call an Ifrit down in the middle of lab. I *do* have the land rights to the abandoned tombs inside the sea cliff caves that everyone else seem to think is worthless. (It’s like they don’t even know how basic inter-species historical and cultural exchange works).
Yeah, I think I’ll do that. If by the end of this semester I can get ten professors to faint, I think I’ll reward myself with a forest dragon. A girl’s gotta spoil herself once in a while, right? Especially for withstanding such absolute, incompetent tedium. | I practice telekinesis in the training yard. Sweat darkens my shirt, a tidy pile of pebbles beside me. I notice my classmates filtering in. Edgar de Pedigree, saunters into the yard, voice pitched to carry. He’s flanked by equally rich and educated sons with long family histories of power. “Gentlemen, look! It's the less fortunate! Right here at Mayberrys Manor of Magic. Where’s your keeper less fortunate? Aren’t they worried someone will mistake you for garbage and throw you out?”“Bright mornin’ Eddy.” I said. Edgar’s nostrils flare and his eyes widen bringing to mind the picture of a startled cow. “You will address Lord de Pedigree by Ser or his title, less fortunate.” Said crony number 1
“Naw. See I like Eddy better. Suits yer dum ox face.” I said
His voice was quiet and the pitch was unsteady as he approached. “You’re a self taught, ungrateful wretch of an anomaly. I am a gentleman. I take it on myself to teach you the manners one owes their betters. May the cosmos bless me.” Edgar said and pressed his palms together like saying a prayer.
“Yer moanin’ ain’t near as pretty as yer mums’” I said. Edgars eyes flashed revulsion and he presses his finger to my sternum.
Invisible forces knock me back and up and my vision goes blurry. I take a deep breath, freezing my place in time. The pain stays fresh as frame by frame I accept the blow until I’m high enough off the ground no one can touch me.
I watch the world shudder into focus, keeping my eyes fixed on a gnarled training dummy. A roughly person shaped sack of sand adhered to a cross made of posts, a faded red target marks the head and center of its torso.
Gravity rights itself beneath me, my body still hovering. I send the excess momentum into the pebbles. May as well finish my assignment while I’m at it. I expect Edgar to follow through after his sucker punch, once he’s off the ground, I will see him spinning like a top. My rage is an old, cold thing. All the students are gaping at me.
“C’mon Eddy! Ya promised yer gonna teach som’en, yea?” I said. Edgar’s shoulders twitched. Some older students break away inspecting the dummy. “Obliterated.” Someone reports “Edgar definitely tried to knock him out of the complex. The energy was redirected.” Younger classmates stared up at me, faces slack.
“You fly.” Edgar said, sounding like an ox with the wind knocked out of him. No one looked like they were interested in fighting anymore so I drifted to the ground.
“Well sure.” I said “Don’t everybody?” | 2022-10-25T07:41:29 | 2022-10-25T07:38:24 | 296 | 69 |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | "Well, we knew the humans *had* a military. They had to, you see. The worlds they were colonizing were dangerous, lots of life forms that want nothing but to kill..." the old soldier trailed off, lost in his memories.
"I understand sir, but..." I didn't want to be rude. Battle Commander Gorvg was a hero to the Pteron people, and one of the last to ever face a human in battle. So he was the perfect subject for my research. "Can we talk about what led to the war?"
"I'm getting there, lots of background to cover. So anyway, they had a military, but they'd never used it. They were great talkers, could talk all 12 ears off a Nfalu! And so privately, a lot of species wanted to test the mettle of humanity. Had to find out if they could really make it in the universe."
I glanced at the recorder. 2.5 hours already, and we hadn't even gotten to the fighting yet.
"And then the Xaaluu decided they'd be the first." I laughed.
"I'm sorry sir, the Xaaluu weren't around 2000 years ago. They died well before humans were discovered."
Battle Commander Gorvg glared at me, his one good eye cold as ice. "You so readily believe your history books. The Xaaluu sent a Capital Battle Group to attack a new colony. 5 Capital ships, humans called them "Battleships", stupid name, all ships are battle ships. 10 Intermediate ships, and 20 Support ships per group."
"Sir," I interjected. "Do you know what the humans called the other ships? Just for the record."
"Cruisers and Destroyers, respectively. Good question, young one." He leaned back in his seat before continuing. "The colony had 2 'Heavy Frigates' for defense and carrying troops. Completely outclassed by the Xaaluu laser weaponry."
"I can't imagine the fight lasted long, Sir."
"No... it didn't. What no one realized was that the humans still fired metallic projectiles and had perfected energy shielding. And they had *lots* of guns on those ships. Those two ships put out more firepower in 5 minutes than the entire Xaaluu Battle Group could put out in a week."
My notebook hit the floor.
"We saw the scans. It took 5 minutes for those ships to kill a Capital Battle Group. And the humans didn't stop there. They sent their fleets, yes! Multiple fleets! Into Xaaluu space. We had never seen such destruction, such death."
Gorvg's eye had glazed over, he wasn't in the room with me anymore; he was back there, 2000 years ago.
"That's when the Pteron's joined the fight. And they hit us harder than we'd ever been hit before. Worlds burned, every ship they saw utterly destroyed. We surrendered in weeks. But the Xaaluu fought on, and humanity was only too happy to extinguish their civilization."
Gorvg sighed before continuing, "and then, when they had won, they returned. With ships and doctors and aid and food... to help us rebuild our worlds. The rest of the Galactic Council decided to hide this history from everyone. No one could know that we lived next to monsters. The most destructive, compassionate monsters we'd ever seen. It's a Capital offense, talking about this history, you know."
For a 3000 year old veteran, Battle Commander Gorvg's reflexes hadn't slowed at all. Before I had even processed his last sentence, he had drawn and primed two Atomizer pistols.
"But I think it's time to remember, young human." He motioned to the closet door, and I noticed footsteps approaching. "There's a trapdoor in there, take the ladder down. You'll find everything you need. Holodisks, holodrives, all the evidence of that old war. Hurry now, I'll hold them long enough for you to get away."
The footsteps were closer now. I could hear the voices of the warriors, angry. They wanted blood. I rushed to the trapdoor, threw it open, and started down the ladder. Just before I closed the hatch, I took one last look at the hero. Battle Commander Gorvg of the Pteron people.
He was smiling. | When the human race first entered our star systems, we thought they were laughable. They came to “explore” and “settle”, but they appeared very poorly equipped and naïve to be doing such things. Of course, they were not the first race we’ve seen with colonizing of any sort on the mind; our people have dabbled with that ourselves, at least when necessary to get resources to persist.
At first we played their game. Showed them some territories they could stay in, gave them some pointers, and then promptly tried to ignore them.
However, they were unsatisfied. They wanted to continue growing and expanding. Predictably enough, of course. When they threw their little fit, we threatened them with our superior weapons and technology, and they calmed down… or rather, changed their tune. They had no intention to FIGHT for any land, but they were more than willing to BARTER for it somehow. It would go on like this, the humans growing, us socializing and trying not to satisfy their little diplomatic egoes too much, making as many compromises as we could. But enough was never enough for them. Never for too long.
However, for us, enough was indeed enough. We put our foot down when they got too needy, and told them to either leave completely or die. Their response…
…was to devastate us all. Using strange molecular bonding units, they took their lesser ships and weapons and smashed them together into much stronger units, an unforeseen tactic. They did this with individuals too, making on-land planetary warfare even harder on us. We had to retreat, and they took *everything*.
They went on like this, from system to system. Even with everything our societies could throw at them, even when they were outnumbered and outpowered, their tactics and techniques and that blasted unification technology decimated everything in their path. All seemed lost for our way of life… except for one thing that we had that they did not:
Through tachyon engines, one could move faster than light. What had not been explored yet by any of us had been the next step of that: travel through time.
Yes, with what resources we had left, us survivors formed a war party with one goal: go to the past and crush those humans before they have the chance to do any of this. Punish those heartless, egotistical monsters for what they did to us. Preemptively take back everything they would steal.
We have talked enough with them to know about their ways, their history. We know of a planet called Earth where they originated. We know exactly where and when in history to show up.
This is a one way trip. We are willing to take it.
The human race won’t know what hit them. | 2022-08-05T14:49:07 | 2022-08-05T12:43:01 | 189 | 63 |
[WP] "Trial R198357 showing 99% success, full completion of the test will entail the existence of the first intelligent biological since year 3332 month 10 day 6 hour 22." You wake up to an excessively lit room full of machines, one of which greets you. "Hello R198357, do you feel human?" | I once heard a theory that God only made so many souls when He made Earth, and that's why we're reincarnated.
I've never put much stock in religion.
"Hello R198357, do you feel human?" The machine beeped at me.
I frowned and sat up, my joints oddly stiff. "What else am I supposed to feel like?" I asked it curiously as I looked around the almost blindingly white room.
I *am* human after all. Or I... I was?
The robots around me dissolved into excited sounding noises, though I can't tell why. It was literally all binary to me.
I looked down at my hands, clenching them shut and open to test them. There was something odd about my hands, though I couldn't quite tell what it was.
One machine pushed itself to the front of the group as their chatter quieted down. "Human, what is your name?"
I opened my mouth. "It's-"
Veronica. Mary. Adam. Alex. Jamal. Ishaan. Kaimen. Sying.
So many more, like a list that was constantly growing in mind, no end in sight. My brain insisted they were all me. I snapped my mouth shut.
Who am I? I am...
Veronica Swanson, a neurosurgeon born in 2052. I had no time for romance or interest in it. I was too busy clawing my way to the top of department. I died at 64, only 2 years from retirement, when a disturbed young man with an axe to grind shot into the crowd of the Pride parade I was attending. My last memory was the white strip of the ace flag I'd had around my shoulders turning red with my blood.
Mary Howe, a woman born in 1827. My husband and I had 3 children together. I pretended to be happy with my lot in life, covered the bruises in makeup and tried to do better, to not make him so angry, because what choice did I have? I died at 35 when my husband went just a little too far.
Adam Einchenlaub, a Jewish boy born in Poland in 1915. I was 14 when Germany invaded and my father went to fight. He never came back. I managed to help my mother an little sister flee, but there was not enough time for me to join them. I didn't make it to 15.
Alex Brennan, born in 1994. I owned the only grocery store in town and was loved by my community. I died at 56 when someone tried to rob my store.
Jamal Taylor, born in 2002. I died at 19 and my killer wore a badge.
Ishaan Banerjee, 1507. As a palace guard, I watched the Lodi Sultanate fall and I fell with it.
Watanabe Kaimen, 1609. I lived a mostly quiet and peaceful life as a fisherman in a village. I died at 49. I knew my wife was gradually poisoning the tea she made me every day. I loved her so much that I still drank it, hoping she would find happiness with her lover.
Sying Zhao, born 1920 in Nanjing. The the Japanese invaded when I was 17. I could not bear the memories or the scars. I did not live to 18.
Lives and stories overlapping, coming together and breaking apart. The ones that ended violently were the loudest, but there were quiet, happy ones murmuring their stories too.
I was not just the victims, I was the perpetrators too. I was more repulsed by that experience, that mindset. The justifications.
All were vivid because *I lived all of them*.
I was not just human. I was *humanity itself*.
I was surrounded by frantic beeping, the machine connected to my forehead going haywire while the robots clamored over the output.
It was Nayla Salk, a Mechanical Engineer born in 3300 who looked at her creations and whispered with quiet horror. "What have you *done*?" | My head was pounding.
I felt pain in my stomach, like lead ball was rolling around in my guts. I felt like I had slept too long yet not long enough. My body ached down to the bone, I rolled over to get more comfortable. I opened my eyes, I was in complete darkness but I could tell it was unfamiliar. Slowly the lights banished the dark, a gentle fade into light illuminated my surroundings. Machines covered the walls and even some floor space, I was the only organic thing in the room. I felt no danger as rose up in the small bed that had been provided. I started to take in my environment better, adjusting to my new found consciousness when a voice broke the silence. “Hello R198357, are you feeling human today?” What an odd question. Am I feeling human today? I scanned my memory, trying to recall why I was there. Nothing. Strangely I was not alarmed by the lack of memory. I looked myself over, smooth olive skin, two hands and two feet. I had brown hair and it was long, most of my features would require a mirror. As far as I was concerned, I looked human but I didn’t know what it meant to feel human. Was I human or a creation? I slid my legs over the side of the bed, stilling pondering my existence. The voice rang out again “do you require sustenance? Perhaps you need to alleviate your simple digestive system?” Both questions seemed reasonable, I considered them. I spoke, a interesting sensation. “Sustenance?” The voice chimed in “consumable material to maintain your bio functions, similarly alleviating your digestive system is the expelling of the waste material from ingesting said substance.” I knew this. I’ve heard this, plus more but I couldn’t bring the memory to the surface, It was like a wisp that I couldn’t keep hold of. The memories I had were all.. fuzzy or gone all together. Was I human? Do I feel human? What does that mean? My head started to pound slightly, I shut my eyes tight. Almost too tight, the pressure started to build up..
My head was pounding, and I felt like I had a lead ball in my stomach. I had just woken up from what what felt like too much sleep.. or maybe not enough, that’s when I heard the voice “Hello R198357, are you feeling human today?” | 2020-10-21T06:07:20 | 2020-10-21T05:58:00 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] As a boneheaded cost cutting measure, companies have fully automated the hiring process and laid off human HR. There was a bug in the system and you received an email to apply to a job that doesn’t exist. You got the job and are now employed as (null). | Hello new employee!
Here at Bobbert’s things and people, We take pride in having every employee fit a job, no matter what! After careful consideration, your position in this company will be [POSITION_STRING] so get used to being called [NULL] and [POSITION_RELATED_NICKNAME_STRING] your pay will be [INTEGER].25$ and your hours will be in the [INTEGER]-[INTEGER] range. Your duties in this position will be as follows: [POSITION_TABLE]
You start work June 13, 20[INTEGER], at 9:00 AM
With best regards,
Automated employer system.
_______________________________________________________________________
Interesting. Mark applied to Bob’s because they always know what job to give someone. As someone who has turned 16 he figured it will be the perfect way to get an easy job. Although it seems he now has to go to support to figure out how to get this sorted out.
_______________________________________________________________________
Hello, I have a problem, I’m not sure what my position is or where I’m suppose to go. My Employee number is 9947246.
Mark Walkings.
_______________________________________________________________________
Hello Employee 9947246
We searched our system and your put down as position [NULL], this means you will go [SUPPORT_RESPONSE_STRING].
Hoped we helped,
Automated Support System.
_______________________________________________________________________
Well that was a helpful response, guess mark will have to go into Bob’s tomorrow and talk to a human or something, maybe he can get this sorted out and start making money.
Waking up on the 13th day of June, mark disembarks early, to get his position clarified to him. Walking into Bobbert’s things and people, he goes to the help desk, but finds only the automated help system. He decides to go and clock in and find out what to do from there.
_______________________________________________________________________
Hello [POSITION_STRING], to start. You need to do
_______________________________________________________________________
Need to do what? The screen has froze up, his ticket has printed, but it doesn’t tell him what to do. Maybe all these placeholders has crashed the system, why it took this long Mark doesn’t know but he waits for a human to fix the system.
Instead of hanging on the screen, or blanking out. After a while the screen goes back to the POS menu and mark still stands there.
“Hey pal, move it we need to start our job too.”
Mark moves out the way and lets the line of people clock into the system. Everything runs smoothly like that was suppose to happen. He decides to just to do nothing, if he can get away with it then its easy money… whatever he is suppose to get paid.
_______________________________________________________________________
The days pass, and mark gets his end of the week paycheck. He “worked” a full 9 to 5 shift every day for the past week, that adds up to a grand 57 hours. Impressive. Mark checks his newly made bank account to find he has made… 525,732,210,000,000,000,000$??
he did the math and found his hourly pay was 9,223,372,036,854,775,807.25$, apparently with no tax taken out.
A few days later, and its found out that Bobbert’s things and people shut down after a major system error, and bankruptcy. | I was so hecking tired of getting automated rejection email after rejection email, some as blunt as a chopping board, others sugarcoated; thank you for your application, we thought you were wonderful but no thanks we don’t want you anyway.
When I saw the email Inviting me to a position as (null), I’d snorted at the obvious glitch and clicked apply. Hey, I figured, what’s the worst that can happen?
The worst was being dragged out of bed by an armoured mercenary-looking droid at 5:45 and told:
“(Null) 1-0-0-0-6. You are late for work.”
I didn’t scream. okay, I did, but so would you. The droids held the back of my collar in an iron grip—literally.
“Whattheheck get off!”
“You must work now, (null) 1-0-0-0-6.”
“What happened to null 10005?”
The droid let go and cocked its head to one side. “That is irrelevant. You must—“
“Go to work, I know.” I scratched the back of head. “What exactly am I employed to do?”
It turned out that I would be in charge of the most important operation there’s ever was. Or is. Or is going to be.
I laughed in that half hearted way that nervous terrified and disbelieving people sometimes do. “You want me to travel in time and delete all the events that shouldn’t have happened?” I repeated.
“It is the only job you will ever get, null. Your predecessor made sure. Do you understand?”
Ah. In hindsight. 3065 straight job application rejections did seem… extreme. | 2022-09-29T07:54:43 | 2022-09-29T07:20:22 | 326 | 80 |
[WP] The eldritch god stood before the girl, in almost human form. "Your parents sold you to be my bride. I accepted, knowing that if I don't they will just try another deity, but I will not force this on you. Have this credit card and live as you wish. If you want something else instead, just ask." | "Y'know, you're actually kind of my type."
The great eldritch god, Andolith, ruler of the Seven Rings of Eternity, slayer of the last Helian Angels, and enslaver of the Five Realms of Agamemnon, blushed.
"I... excuse me, human?"
"Look, don't get me wrong, I'm not a big fan of the pointy horns. Or the weird slime membrane. Or even all the little beetle things crawling over your skin. But dang, you've got me all flustered with the pale e-boy vibe you have going on. I just love it."
Andolith, who had no idea what an "e-boy" was, stared at the human as though she was speaking one of the forgotten cosmic tongues, "You do not have to lie, girl. Your family was the one who set these events into motion, not yourself. I am offering you the chance at eternal wealth here. Don't be a fool and not take it."
"Man, you really don't get enough compliments, do you?" Olivia laughed, admiring the pale gaunt features of the deity that stood before her, "I have every intention of taking the credit card, but I was kinda hoping you came with it."
At a complete loss for words, the more abstract traits of the god's appearance whispered away, leaving behind only a basic human form, "I suppose I don't, other than the offerings made in my name. But most mortals usually scream when they see me, so..."
"...it doesn't really count." Olivia finished, "I assume my parents were just the same?"
Andolith nodded.
"Cheap cowards," Olivia muttered under her breath, "Alright, y'know what, I have a better idea."
"You do?"
"Yeah. My parents might be trying to set up with a husband, but their marriage is falling apart and they know it. How about you, me, and this credit card set sail for the coast of Spain where the two of us can take a ton of pictures, look really happy, and rub the whole thing in their faces on Instagram? Whaddya say, do you want to make my money-grubbing parents jealous?"
For the first time in several millennia, Absolith found himself uncontrollably smiling, "I suppose I could use myself a vacation, mortal."
"It's Olivia. And your name is...?"
"Andolith."
"'Andy' it is. C'mon Andy, let's get you some sun, you look like you could use it.
Andy certainly could. | She looked at me, the credit card, then tilted her head and asked “Can you give me a successful business model?” I was initially confused but shrugged yes in return and spoke “It will take a year or two young one, until I return do as you please. What business venture do you desire?” “A clothing brand!” She beamed in response.
A year and bit passed in the blink of an eye. Such a small amount of time insignificant to one such as myself. I returned with a foolproof plan and left yet again for she didn’t desire anything more.
I check on the company and it’s brand from time to time. It’s still successful and running even after 1000 years. I have yet to fully understand why this brand she created called Eldritch Sugar Daddy is so popular. One day I may understand. | 2022-08-09T16:26:08 | 2022-08-09T15:16:02 | 888 | 288 |
[WP]: Wandering around a graveyard you find a grave of a young woman, 1891-1907. Out of some sense of romance you decide to leave her flowers. You do it again. Leaving her flowers at times becomes your routine, until one night, there is a girl sitting on the grave. She is asking for you to stop. | [TW: Family Death, Suicide]
It's become something of a routine for me, sitting in the Ashstone Graveyard over on 104th and Milton. You know the corner; with the cracked pavement and the buzzing street lamp that pisses off the residents of that god awful high rise with the peeling yellow paint, where the transients get in fights with the teens, or rather, the teens get in fights with them, where police lights dance off broken windows as if the colors themselves are at war. Every night since two weeks ago, it must have been, I've brought a bundle of blossoms to the gravestone of a young woman there. Her name was Lisa. I'd love to invent grandiose reasons for my doing so - a meditation perhaps on the aesthetics of midnight city graveyards, or a macabre projection of my own impermanence, she was only 16 after all, an age I've long since passed - but the truth is far more immigrant. I love her, and I feel I always have.
One night I stumbled in drunk. I'd never done it before; my midnight walks had always been a sacred ritual, undertaken to clear my head and reassert myself - besides, it was unsafe to wander this side of town unwary. My wife had just passed. She had been sick for awhile. Tuberculosis. Sat up in some home, somewhere I didn't have to think about it, where I thought they'd care for her. A nurse called from her bedside, explaining how she had not received her proper medications. It had been going on awhile, they said, they were looking into it. Of course I blamed myself. How couldn't I? I'd put her there. And so I stumbled in, tripping over the gate I'd opened hundreds of times sober, frightening myself as I imagined the misshapen trees as everything but. Here I was at Lisa's grave, and I'd even forgotten her flowers. I slumped down onto the ground beneath her grave stone, not sobbing, staring at the grass and listening to the characteristic hum of the sodium lamp on the corner as it lulled in time with my labored breathing. And then, I saw her.
She sat quite erect, legs crossed over each other, on top of the headstone, glaring down at me. I went white with fright. Her voice penetrated my head, taking on a voice quite unique from the berating cadence of my subconscious, as she spoke.
"You forgot my flowers." Her manner of speaking was so matter-of-fact, like a housewife on one of those 60s TV spots giving some offhand remark as she placed her groceries into the cupboard.
"You can't keep doing this you know."
"I know."
"Would you like to know how I died?"
She continued before I had a chance to respond.
"I was at the county fair. Long before you were born, mind you. These were simpler times, when a stamp cost a penny and we were learning how to fly. I met this boy. Ron. He wore a lot of funny clothes and listened to strange music. His parents had a phonograph, and he had bought himself something by Schoenberg, an atonal piece that sounded to me like the kind of music you'd get from notating cats scratching on a chalkboard. He listened to it every day he said, it was a window into his soul. Lord knows he was troubled, but I couldn't help myself. I fell in love. Two weeks later, he died. The sheriff called it 'murder by an unknown assailant' but we all knew what it was. Those next few days were torture. I cried every night. I listened to Schoenberg at his parents place - they'd let me borrow the phonograph on occasion, and soon it became the only thing I wanted to do. Every night I'd walk over there and play that record. One night was different from the others. I had gotten together with some friends who had scored some wine off one of their father's racks. A drunkard, she explained. He wouldn't even know it was missing. I stumbled in late to Ron's parents house, drunk and depressed, much like you've come stumbling to me, and that night, I followed Ron's example."
She paused, as tears began flowing down my face. She helped me to my feet, and continued.
"Nobody is here forever," she cooed. "I know what you're thinking, I've been there myself. But it's not yet time to learn what's on the other side. Run along home now. I will not become your Schoenberg."
And with that, she dissolved into the night, the faintest apparition.
It was a cold walk back to my apartment. The wind was picking up, stirring leaves in big circles as it wound through the tight corners of the city.
In the morning, I sent for flowers. My wife's grave would need them. | George rubbed his eyes and leaned in closer to the screen. This must have been the 20th time he'd watched the footage today. There the boy was, this "Jeremy Watkins" who had just committed suicide. The scene was bizarre, he admitted to the police, but the boy was clearly unstable.
The old video footage showed that he had been leaving flowers at the tombstone of "Rosalyn Harper" once every month for the past 12 months, just staying for a few seconds usually.
But this month was different, Jeremy Watkins stood rooted to that spot for over 5 minutes.
"Who are you?" he spoke to no one. The next second he started almost nervously fidgeting with the red flowers he had brought.
"I didn't mean to... I'm sorry it's n.. NO! I just felt sorry for you." he muttered again to thin air. He was staring at the ground at this point. For the 15th time George checked all the other camera's at this moment to see if there was someone standing anywhere near any of the other cameras. There wasn't. Camera's had been installed two years ago after a number of nasty, unexplained incidents.
"That came out wrong I didn't mean it like that," George heard through the choppy audio.
Another pause.
"I just meant that it must have sucked to be tha.." he was furiously picking at the petals of the flowers at this point, still looking at the ground as if he had done something wrong.
"Please I didn't mean anything by it I swear." the boy looked up when he said this and he was clearly sweating even though it was a cold November night. George could see clearly that he was not wearing an earpiece. He checked the camera from the other side and there still was no earpiece in the boys left ear either.
"No please, I'll stop, I swear. I'll stop please don't. NO!" George sighed as he watched the boy straighten up, drop the flowers and look straight at the camera then walk out of the graveyard leaving his car behind.
How would this help, this kid was clearly unstable, something must have happened. His teachers and parents insisted he was never depressed and had no history of mental disorder, but mentally stable people don't write cryptic messages in blood and hang themselves from trees. There was no other explanation.
George walked out of the cramped room and yawned. He went over to the gravestone and bent over to pick up the flower's the boy had dropped the night before when a glimmer made him look over at Rosalyn's gravestone.
"Rosalyn Harper
March 31st, 1891-November 2nd, 1906
Beloved Daughter"
George walked straightened and looked around. Then he cautiously walked around the gravestone. He stopped when he saw the back. The weathered stone was secreting a red fluid. He dropped the flowers right next to the gravestone and reached out to touch it. It was blood he thought, it had to be. He put his finger to his mouth and tasted it.
George turned to run when he heard the voice.
"Hello, why did you leave me flowers?" | 2017-11-03T15:51:50 | 2017-11-03T15:45:41 | 206 | 23 |
[WP] It's a known fact that you are incapable of telling a lie. This has landed you several opportunities, including your current job as Head of Security at one of the largest banks in the world. Except you got bored and decided to rob it all. This is the story of how you got away with it. | “Harry,” the bespectacled man gazed over steepled fingers at me with tired eyes. “You know why you’re here, right?”
Incandescent lights buzzed obnoxiously in the claustrophobic room.
“I would guess because of the missing money” I said, “although, I suppose there could be any number of reasons you would need to interview me in such an...” my eyes searched around the spartan interrogation chamber for an adequate adjective, “inviting place”.
“Yeah,” he sighed, “that’s right Harry. We need to interview everyone, you know how it is. Even you, even honest Harry.”
“That’s fine. No worries, Bill.”
He stood up and took a few paces of to the left. “Well,” he turned sharply toward me at the waist, pointing an index finger and a half teasing grin my way “*you* didn’t take it out of the vault, did ya Harry?”
“No, I didn’t.” I said.
What a preposterous thought, nobody realized how heavy gold actually was. I’d only wanted about 10 mil, no reason to destroy the bank with my frivolities, but that was still almost 250 pounds. I was more of a 12 pushups kind of a guy. No, I’d had ReBot \-\- the Boston dynamics robo\-dog I’d purchased a few weeks back for giggles \-\- carry it out of the vault.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so, I just had to ask!” He smiled warmly at me as he reseated himself. He picked up a cup of water and wet his lips. “It’s just so strange you know. The video surveillance and the alarm systems cut out at the same time, no records of anything, no calls to security. We’re pretty stumped, no clue how someone would take those two out at the same time and still get into the vault, do you know how that could be done?”
“Sounds impossible to me, Bill. I mean there are pretty heavy redundancies on the systems. There’s a physical switch that welds the vault door shut if current from both of those stops going through the door.”
I never turned off the cameras, just the alarm system. There was plenty of footage of me and ReBot traipsing through the office. It just happened to be found in the databanks in the year 1618, if anyone bothered to look, which I doubted they would. Our software had never been properly updated for that Y2K bug, and it was pretty easy to maintain most continuity as long as you jumped between mirror\-times, when the last two digits of the year are the same and so are the days of the week for any given month, which just happened to happen cyclically every 400 years.
“Yeah, that’s what the tech boys are saying, but we’ve got missing footage, and we’ve got no alarm. So...” He shrugged both hands in the air and widened his eyes in a classic gesture of helpless ignorance.
“I don’t know what to say, Bill.”
“We’ve got the detectives looking over the scene, but they haven’t turned up much so far.” He looked frustratedly down at the cup of water. “But they won’t be able to find much incriminating evidence if it’s an inside job like we think it is. That’s why we’re doing these interviews.”
I stared at him placidly, rubbing a thumb against a middle finger.
“Well, last question, Harry. Do you know where the gold or the money is?”
“No, sorry Bill.”
I’d delivered the gold to Mr. Maloney, an established gentleman involved in the collection of such items. He ran a ship\-shape operation, the gold was probably being melted down as we spoke in a disused car plant in Detroit. Or it might be buried in a junkyard in Florida. Or, shit, maybe it was under Mr. Maloney’s bed. I didn’t ask, he didn’t tell. As to the money, I had some numbers on a computer screen, but whether that fitted the definition of ‘money’ in the strictest sense came down to a rather detailed philosophical discussion. My definition was ‘cash,’ and since less than 10&#37; of the total wealth of the world was actually manifest in physical cash... I doubted if any of those numbers on my screen were actual ‘moneys,’ and even then, I wouldn’t have know where ‘the’ money was, just some of it.
My face was scrunched up a bit, looking off to the side, trying to iron out the finer points of fiat\-based currency and the definition of money.
“Yeah, that’s fine Harry. We just had to have everyone in, a formality.”
“Oh, right. Of course, Bill. Let me know if I can be any more help.” I got up and walked out. | "There's going to be a robbery."
Mr. Khun raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Is that so, Chelsea?" he said in a measured tone. "And how do you know this?"
I met his gaze evenly, without so much as hesitating. "Just doing my job, sir," I said. "I got wind of the fact that there's going to be a robbery, and so I figured you should know about it," I said with a shrug. Not a single lie in that sentence - I was sort of impressed.
Mr. Khun frowned, his eyebrows coming together. "Do you know who it's going to be?"
I let one corner of my lip curl up. "Sir, are you asking me if I *know who the culprit is* before the crime even happens?"
Mr. Khun massaged his temples/ "Right, right. Idiotic of me, Chelsea, it's just this whole situation is...a bit stressful.
"I'd imagine so, sir," I said, trying not to let my relief show. That had been way too close. I hadn't actually answered the question, and luckily he hadn't pressed. He shook his head again as if to clear it. "So what should we do, Chelsea, do you know much about the plans or execution?"
"Not much," I said, answering the first question, not the second one, "I saw all we need to do is close the bank to the general public for the weekend. Most of the banking is online anyways so it wouldn't be too much of a loss."
Mr. Khun frowned. "But wouldn't the robbers just try again? This is just a delaying tactic, and on top of that, I have full faith in our security system, I'm convinced we can stop a robbery, especially one we know is coming."
"It'll only get messy Mr. Khun," I said. "We'll probably stop them, but when they realize what's going to happen they'll take hostages and the whole situation will just spiral down to hell." Mr. Khun pursed his lips but nodded.
"And I do know for a fact that if they don't succeed this weekend, I doubt they'll try again." It was true enough. If I failed, I'd probably be in jail.
"Alright, Chelsea, so what is your plan specifically?"
I bit my tongue to keep myself from grinning. "Close the bank, but let me stay inside with a handful of trustworthy people I'll handpick," I shrugged again. "I'll handle it."
Mr. Khun sat back in his chair, lips pursed, eyebrows together for what seemed like an eternity. Then finally, blessedly, he nodded. "Alright Chelsea, I trust you'll handle this."
"Oh, I most certainly will, Mr. Khun. Not to worry."
I extended my hand and Mr. Khun took it in his firm grip. I gave a shallow nod, and walked out of his office. That was when I finally allowed myself a smile.
I had some preparations to make.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2018-05-03T05:55:07 | 2018-05-03T05:19:52 | 3,085 | 1,328 |
[WP] You are seen as a weakling. To prove yourself to your tribe, you enter the dragon's lair that even the hardiest warriors avoid. Amused by your challenge, the dragon takes a human form and duels you with a sword. After disarming you three times it says "come tomorrow and try again." | I'd walked almost half of the day just to get up here. My sword felt heavy the entire way up but I wouldn't let that stop me.
I finally arrived and bellowed my challenge into the cave.
The eyes appeared in the darkness after a short time and I heard a snorting sound. For a moment I thought for would wash over me and that would be that but the dragon's eyes disappeared.
Perplexed, I waited a moment, and add I was about to yell my challenge again a man stepped out of the cave. His clothes were odd, not what most around here would wear and his sword was of a design I'd never seen before. Long and thin with no guard. Curved but not wickedly so.
We clashed. He was only reacting to my attacks. Swords rang as they impacted each other and I quickly realised I was no match for this being. His inhuman eyes looked into mine as he stepped into my guard.
I felt his first impact the inside of my sword arm as the flat of the blade smacked my side. My sword rang again but from falling to the stoney ground this time.
"Hmmph. Again." He said in an accent I'd never heard before and stepped back.
The second fight was over even faster and my sword flew across the ground to land just inside the cave this time. I didn't get words this time, he just pointed at my sword.
I looked him in his eyes, I could see him thinking, calculating. He was making a decision and I felt I wouldn't like it. I moved to grab my sword.
As I moved back into position I felt like I was being sized up by a hawk or one of the local mountain cats. Those predatory, inhuman eyes seemed to bore right into me.
I was more cautious this time but it didn't help. He seemed to come in for the attack, my arm moving my sword seemed so slow compared to his. But he didn't go in for the kill. It was a feint and he grabbed my arm and twisted as he threw me across the clearing.
"Return tomorrow. Early. And clean your sword tonight."
***
For three days this continued and for three days I was solidly defeated. I was sore and tired from constantly claiming up to his lair and being beaten..
He was waiting for me today and drew his sword as I got closer. But I didn't draw mine. Instead I demanded to know why he hasn't killed me, why he kept telling me to return after three fights.
Those eyes stared into mine for what seemed like an age before he finally replied, "I have been attached regularly since I arrived in these lands. I had nothing but this sword when I arrived. At first they merely wanted my perceived wealth. My at the time nonexistent hoard. Then it was pride driving them. The one to defeat me would surely become famous for defeating the one who killed so many."
"Eventually they stopped coming. You are the first in 10 melts to come to my cave. The first who did not want my hoard. The first to not want to be famous. You are the first who just wanted to be accepted. For that I respect you. And why I decided that I would fight you everyday. And the day you disarm me, I will allow you to enter my cave. You will be allowed to take one item from my hoard of your choice."
***
Over the following two years I got better and better. I started being able to climb the mountain with ease and I arrived earlier and earlier every day. I learn how to roll when thrown, how to read him and his movements. How best to hold and care for a sword. He didn't teach me and indeed, after that day we barely spoke.
Every morning he would be waiting when I walked into the clearing. He would bow to me and then draw his sword. I started doing the same.
This day I arrived and we started our ritual. I had gotten better but still he defeated me. On our final bout of the day he disarmed me as he always had, but this time my sword flew high up. We both watched as it hit the top of his cave and fell to the ground, broken into two pieces.
He walked over to the cave entrance and picked up my sword. He held it on his hands and stared at me, seemingly weighing my sword. "Come back in one week." And with that he disappeared into his cave.
***
The week passed quickly and try as I might I could not get a sword. The trip up to the dragon's cave felt longer then it ever had and I expected to be told to leave and never come back.
Instead I found him waiting for me as always, but next to where I normally stood there was a stump from a tree. On that stump laid a sword sitting on an expensive cloth, with a new scabbard next it.
"I have repaired your sword. You have looked after it well and proven to be an honorable opponent. Take it and let us start."
I picked up my sword and carefully inspected it. The sword was smaller then it has been and there was a dark line that ran diagonally up the blade. It was perfectly polished and had a new leather thong wrapped around the handle. While just as plain as it was before I could tell it would be a much better weapon.
We started our fights and the sword felt different then before. I quickly lost our three duels and started the trek home.
***
It took me almost a season to get used to the way my repaired sword handled. While he'd done an amazing job with the balance and the repairs, I kept being tripped up by the slight change in weight and length. It just felt so much like my old sword. But I had finally gotten used to it.
We started our ritual as we did and the fight commenced. It had taken me a long time to realise he never directly blocked my sword. Instead he preferred to avoid it out use my movement against me. Occasionally deflecting, at other times stepping inside my guard instead.
Our first fight ended with him doing just that and using my momentum to throw me across the field. The second went quickly as I slipped on some ice and he used the opportunity to grab my arm and twisted the sword out of my grip.
I stood and slammed my boot down onto the ice, cracking it before retrieving my sword.
We moved to our positions and both waited for the other. I had been slow at learning the patience to let him attack first but eventually it had come. And I had been rewarded that first time with managing to trip him for the first time. Though he'd recovered before he lost his sword that day.
He slowly moved closer as I waited for him to attack. He careful and tricky. He'd managed to disarm me often by pretending he was going to attack one way before disarming me another.
He finally started to attack me with what appeared to be a chop at my flank, but I knew he could turn it into either a slice upwards or downwards. And I knew his choice was based on how I moved to defend.
I let him get closer then I normally would before I moved. I stepped forward twisted, moving my knee up and bringing my arms down. His sword arm caught between my limbs he had no time to react before I slammed his arm. I managed to hit him just right and his hand involuntarily opened, his sword sent skittering across the ground.
We both stepped back and he bowed to me.
"I said if you managed to disarm me I would allow you to take one item from my hoard. Today you have done just that."
I hmmmed as I looked at him. I could continue to attack, he had no sword. I wondered how quickly he could change back to dragon form, of he could attack in other ways. He stood, just watching me as I pondered such thoughts.
I sheathed my sword and bowed back to him. He collected his sword before gesturing for me to follow him. He led me inside his cave for the first time and pulled a an unlit torch from a pile. I didn't see what he did but it quickly ignited, providing enough light for me to see.
We headed deeper into the cave and quickly came upon his hoard. Rows upon rows of weapons and armour stood in the light. I quickly examined some and realised it was all clean and well maintained.
I could have spent weeks examining every piece closely but something was drawing me deeper into the cavern. I came upon a suit of armour that had no markings or Insignia. So plain and yet well made. A matching sword and shield lay at the feet of suit and hanging from the gorget was a signet ring on a piece of leather.
"That man was the first to ever come not for riches or glory, but because he was protecting someone else. A foolish Lord who thought my wealth would let him for an army and that my head would scare his enemies. I quickly dispatched the foolish noble and most of his people ran. But that Knight was enraged. He would not give up and he died trying to get revenge for a far lesser man."
I removed the ring from it's place told the dragon it was my choice. He nodded before turning and leading me back to the entrance of his cave.
I had finally defeated the dragon and I had my reward. | “Once again our crops burn, even as we speak we wait for their flames to be doused. Last year was a travesty, but a surplus in stock gave us ample time to slay the beast yet here I stand with bellows of smoke in my eyes to a crumbling kingdom! Once a great nation, its citizens the wealthiest in the land of Astharnia, a haven of hope for those that dreamed of it. Now? Look at our once great city, its buildings crumbling and its shops barren of produce. All for one, individual, single beast. WHY, I must ask, Garlot, is the beast still alive? Why does it STILL rule over us with an iron wing? I thought I sent my armies to defeat it? Are you telling me the best men in all of Astharnia are not enough to take down 1 foul, ugly beast?” I looked at my brother, Prince Garlot of Hayle and watched as a bead of sweat draped down his cheek. He muttered some excuse, something about betrayal, a garrison run amok, the dragon, a beast so humongous it rivalled the size of the very mountain it resided in.
“- as we slept, my King.” The king looked at Garlot with deep drilling bores, silence washed over the room like the shadow of a dragons wing.
“As. You. Slept?” The king retorted, Garlot gulped, he had never been scrutinized so much in his life. He was their top general, the kings son, born to lead. Since the moment he could grasp a sword he had trained with it from dusk till dawn, by the time he was old enough to walk a mile he had lead an expedition over the very mountain the dragon resided in and taken back a village belonging to the kingdom of Hayle. Many more successful marches came after that, many other kingdoms attempted to lay claim to Hayle, to cripple it. None came close, not with Garlot under the kings behest.
Then there was me, the princess of Hayle, daughter of King Ardon, though that name did not do me any favours, quite the opposite in fact. Only a meagre 3 years younger than Garlot I had been tasked with house chores, since the moment I could grasp a mop I had mopped with it from dusk till dawn, by the time I was old enough to use the stairs I had carried a bucket of water up them and cleaned the floors of the upstairs. Many more successful chores came after that, I made my maid proud, she congratulated me at every corner, I was a star, the best of the best, I could clean the palace kitchen in under an hour, a feat not known to any man or woman before me. None came close, not with me under the kings behest.
“Yes, my King.” Garlot replied, his voice almost cracking, his teenage years were almost over yet his voice threatened to challenge his manly pride with an ever-emasculating shriek.
“What?” The king responded in disbelief, “Are you trying to tell me the men under YOUR command fell asleep on the job? That they were not quick enough to sound the alarm? That they couldn’t distinguish a giant flying pigeon in the sky and ring the bells of battle!?”
“My… my king, it is not as easy as… it… it is black as the night. Its wings so big its beat distinguishes the flames of the torches. The… my men were taken unaware. By the time I awoke half the… half the garrison was alight, not one bell had chimed.”
“My King.” The king commanded my brother to say.
“I… I’m sorry, my King. After that he… she… it moved to our fields, and just as we were prepared it had already burned our lands to black and flew back to its nest, it was over in a matter of seconds… this beast its… it’s too powerful my King, we MUST send for help. Right now it is just toying with us, the moment it gets bored, there will be no more toying, just death… my King.” Garlot stared through his fathers eyes, his thoughts with the grim future.
“Send more help!? HA! We are the kingdom of Hayle! Undefeated for centuries! Perhaps even millennia! We have provided for ourselves since the day the kingdom was founded, not ONCE have we asked for help, it would be utter humiliation and defeat should I do such a … weak move.” My father stood out of his seat at the idea of such a pitiful idea and almost spat on my brothers face, who stood more than 6 feet away.
“Once they see what we are up against they will understand my king, this dragon is… not normal my king.”
“Not normal?” The king asked.
“Yes, it is smart, it knows what we are trying to do. It knows how to bring us to our knees. Every time we launch an assault it leaves its home and destroys half our men, like a warning… I fear for no resolution. Except that of asking our close neighbours for…”
“NEVER! I will NOT repeat myself again! We will NOT be asking for help! From anyone! NEVER!” The kings voice boomed through the king’s chambers. People at the back stood uneasy, fearing that his voice will somehow hurt them. “You say this thing only attacks when we do? What happens if we do nothing?” He asked. Before Garlot could answer the king started to cough profusely before holding a handkerchief to his mouth, he looked at it with a grumbling grimace before quickly tucking it back into his pocket. We all knew it had blood on it, we all looked concerned but not enough to press him about it. We knew better than that, my brother on the other hand… he showed no change in emotion, his facial expressions remained emotionless.
“Nothing? My king?” Garlot asked eventually. “Then it will continue free reign over our crops, just as it did to prompt our retaliation, to do nothing is not an answer my king.” The king sat on his throne, brooding over what appeared to be a tricky situation.
“We send someone.” He said with a calm but commanding voice. “We send someone to it’s lair, quiet as a mouse, find where the foul beast slumbers and they drive a sword into its head. An army makes too much noise, if we cannot do this the honourable way then perhaps we have to resort to more… dishonourable tactics.”
I watched for a moment as my brother contemplated his new orders, send someone to drive a sword into its skull as it slept. Not the bravest move she knew but if it meant her people stopped dropping dead on the street corners then it was enough.
“A good command my king,” Garlot said after contemplation, “Whom should I send?” He asked, he expected no specific individual to be requested by the king but he asked nonetheless, out of politeness.
“I will go.” I spoke, no, I shouted. The whole room gasped, nobody expected me to say that, nobody expected me to say *anything*. I would usually stay in the corner, hidden from more ‘important’ eyes and keep my mouth shut, only there as a formality. Garlot looked at me with a slight turn of his head, his focus still on our father.
“*You?*” He said with disgust. “You’re a girl, what could *you* hope to do to a dragon that an army of Hayle could not accomplish?” | 2020-12-01T08:58:51 | 2020-12-01T06:36:28 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Snuggled up to a loved one and listening to his/her heart beat, you realize it's beating in Morse code. | *Ba-dum. Ba-dum.*
It had been far too long since we'd been able to relax like this - too long since I'd been able to curl up in his arms, rest my head on his chest, and forget about my worries. Bad enough that we lived half the planet away from one another. At times it seemed almost as if the world conspired to keep us apart. Business, work, family... One thing after another.
We found ways to make it work, of course. Like hell a cliche like that was going to keep us apart for long. Moments like these were what made it all worth it. There was laughter, yes, joy, love... quiet compassion for one another.
*Ba-dum. Ba-dum.*
And his heartbeat, pulsing quietly within his chest. An affirmation that he was *alive*, that he was right next to me, holding me close.
*Dum-dum. Ba-dum.*
I frowned for a moment. That sounded... different.
*Ba-dum-ba. Ba-dum-ba.*
Arrhythmia? But his breathing was fine, regular. I glanced up at him, worry creasing my brow, but he was... he was grinning at me. A faint, knowing smirk.
I blinked, then laid my head back on his chest.
*Dum-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum-ba. Ba-dum-ba. Dum-ba-dum-dum. Dum-dum. Ba.*
I blinked again. The cycle repeated. Understanding struck me.
"So." I began, getting up to look at my boyfriend in the face. "You needed heart surgery."
"Yup." There was a shit-eating grin on his face.
"You asked for that prototype robotic heart." I folded my arms, staring at him.
"Mhmm." The bastard was so proud of himself for this.
"You asked for an experimental, dangerous form of surgery to be performed on you..."
"Yes..."
"All so you could propose to me."
"Is that a yes or a no? I'm getting mixed signals here."
"It's a yes, you big, ridiculous dork." I threw my arms around him, not sure whether to laugh or hit him in the head. "I swear, you're going to be the death of me someday."
"Nah." He winked at me, leaning down to capture my lips in a kiss. "You can handle it." | It had been a long day at the carnival. Lily was quite tired and about to nod off to sleep. Carrying her inside, her father laid down with her on the couch. Waiting for his daughter to fall asleep, he begun to quietly hum.
Lily laid her head down on her father's chest. As the world quieted around her, she started to focus on the sound of her father's heart beat.
The beat wasn't consistent. It was irregular, almost an erratic pattern. Tired, she did not notice the sweat gathering on her father's brow.
As she drifted off to sleep, she had just one thought in her heart...
"I love you too, daddy." | 2016-06-25T20:46:06 | 2016-06-25T19:38:11 | 304 | 32 |
[WP] It's been four years since the apocalypse. However, you slept through it, and honestly have no idea what happened. People refer to it as vague things, such as The Cataclysm, The Event, or That Day. You've begun to suspect that nobody actually knows what happened, but doesn't want to admit it. | When all the dust and commotion cleared, we settled in La Crosse. We called it Last Chance La Crosse. Most people had wandered for a time, but sooner or later we all hit the Mississippi River and then followed it northward. That journey would inevitably bring us here. As we got closer, we all saw that big blue cantilever bridge, how it was still erect, and even though we were thirsty and filthy and exhausted and alone, we'd start running into town. When we got to La Crosse, there was refuge at last. Refuge in the form of standing structures and living trees and a handful of other human beings.
I hadn't seen the End. Truth is I was asleep. Before the End, I had been a woman of ritual. Every night before bed, I would have a spoonful of peanut butter on a couple salted crackers, then I'd brush my teeth, and fall asleep while watching a rerun of Frasier or two. Every night, the last thing I'd remember before I drifted off was Frasier or Roz getting themselves in some sort of trouble or confusion, and most often I wouldn't ever find out how they got themselves out of all that mess! The night of the End was exactly the same, except when I woke up, most everything I'd ever known and loved was gone and destroyed. For a while I ran around town trying to sort out what had happened, but it was no use, on account of everyone in my town being dead. So I went home, packed up some of my stuff, including all my Frasier DVDs, and I headed out for parts unknown. It wasn't until I got to Last Chance La Crosse that I started getting any sense of what happened.
People don't ever talk about the End in public, on account of it being too painful. But if you get someone alone, and if you come across like a good listener, they'll tell you what they recall. Thing is, different people in town describe the End in all different manners. Even though I'm no psychiatrist like Frasier or Niles, it does make sense to me that people who live through a trauma might not remember it entirely accurately. But sometimes the differences do seem a bit too great. For example, Sally says the Reckoning (she calls it the Reckoning) was a biblical event, where all the sinners were cast off the Earth by fearsome angels atop horses made of fire. Dinesh says the Doom had to do with fracking mines breaking apart the structural integrity of the tectonic plates. Ron says the Invasion was an extra-terrestrial attack and Jeanne says the Chaos was the government setting off neural implants in everyone's brain. In all those conversations I tend to just stay quiet and listen to the stories. On some level I guess I'm embarrassed I slept through the greatest calamity in human history and that when I woke up all I was thinking about was Frasier.
But the strangest thing is this: my best friend in town is a gal called Claire, who's just a few years younger than me. Well, one night, Claire tells me a secret. She tells me that the night of the End, she was asleep too! Even more peculiar, she tells me the last thing she did before the end of human civilization was watch a rerun of Frasier! Sadly, even then, I couldn't bring myself to tell Claire the truth about me. I just said she should count herself lucky, and that I wish I could forget having seen the horrors of the End myself.
But after Claire confided that in me, I got to thinking: all of us who forged our way to Last Chance La Crosse came from all different sorts of states and backgrounds and cultures. In many ways, we don't have much in common at all. Except, there's not a soul in all of Last Chance La Crosse who doesn't love Frasier with all their heart. Every person here knows most every episode. They know Cafe Nervosa, they know Martin's favorite chair, and they know how it felt the first time Niles kissed Daphne. Can something like that just happen by chance? Or does watching Frasier somehow have something to do with the End? All I know is I don't have the guts to step up and ask the question. Besides, what does it really matter? Sure, we all agree on how great Frasier was. But we also agree that Last Chance La Crosse is truly humanity's last chance, and that we survivors have got to focus on what comes next rather than reliving the past.
| I sat in the make shift "town hall" building of the small shanty town I came across. It was like the other forty or so I found on my travels. The last three I came to pratically stripped searched me before letting me enter, I was glad this place just let me in.
After a day or two at the inn I asked about speaking to the leader of the town. Mayor Gibson welcomed me into his office. He looked a bit worried about me but I gave him a smile and shook his hand.
"I know you are a busy man, I just have a couple questions for you." I said.
"Sure, ask away." the older man said to me as he sat behind a desk. I pulled out a small notebook I carried with me.
"Tell me about when the world ended." I say as I got ready to write down his answer.
"The Event... It's just... I can't..." he said as he sighed then looked at me.
"Why are you asking me about this? You arent that young you lived through it!" he said seeming a bit upset.
"I was in a coma in a military bunker." I replied as I wrote my note.
"That's why I'm asking about it."
"Well I don't want to talk about it!" the mayor grumbled.
"Well I know it wasnt a nuke." I said looking at the man.
"You don't know! You were asleep!" he said trying to sound like he some how outsmarted me. I smiled.
"If it was a nuke in this area you and the others would have been vaporized or dying of radiation poisoning."
"The Event was bad okay! Just leave it at that!" the man grumbled.
"Why you call it the event?" I asked.
"What?"
"You heard me. I mean the "commander" of the town north of here calls it the cataclysm, another "leader" called it the day. I mean there are fifty different names for it."
"I... I don't know okay! I just call it the Event! I lived through it and..."
"Bullshit." i said as I closed my notebook.
"I... I did too live though it!" he stammered as he got up and pulled up his shirt, showing me what looked to be scars.
"Where would I have gotten these at if I didn't live though it!"
I stood up, giving his makeshift office a look over then found my answer.
"You ride motocycles. Those scars look like road rash." I said.
He frowned, pulling his shirt down and sighing.
"I... I was out of town when it happened here." he said.
"Out of town?"
He nodded.
"When I got here... the place had gone to hell and they elected me leader... I have no fucking clue what happened here!"
I nodded, opening up my note book and making the note.
"Checks out what the last batch of towns said. Thanks."
I walked out the building and out of town, heading south to see what the next mayor or commander or whoever will say about the end of the world. | 2016-12-21T20:56:22 | 2016-12-21T20:44:49 | 144 | 16 |
[WP] At the height of the cold-war, one side launched its entire arsenal. The leader of the opposing side, adamant not to let this mean the end, made the decision to not retaliate. This is the losing-side's last message to the world.
I made the choice to be ambiguous about which side launched, so that you may choose for yourself who is the "good guy". : ) | Excerpt of 'the history of the world', retrieved from the Lenin Archives, 175 5th Ave, New York
"...What follows is the transcript of a broadcast, that ran on a loop on the AM frequency band at 201.85 Khz, by the Salyut 7 space station for 5 years and 71 days following Doomsday. The message is verified as authentic, and can be retrieved as an audio recording using ISBN number 95-9847-876-9. It is spoken by the Revered Martyr and Liberator, and USSR General Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev.
'Fellow citizens of earth, it is with great sorrow that I must greet you. This cold war, it seems, has finally turned hot, as the United States of America, presumably under orders from President Ronald Reagan, has decided to launch a nuclear first strike upon the USSR. I do not understand the depth of reasoning behind it. Perhaps those in power believe that only in this way can they escape nuclear devastation. Perhaps they think me weak, that I would not order a retaliation, and so incur no losses on their side to keep humanity safe. If so, on both counts, they are wrong.
I have ordered the coordinated, repeated strike upon the the Air Force One, Washington DC White House and Congress, Norad, and the various facilities designed to keep VIP's safe in the event of a nuclear war. Your president, your senators, every last member of your congress, has been made a target of the FSB and Soviet Nuclear Command.
I have elected to use 5 kiloton nuclear bombs for these initially 8 targets, with staggered impacts of one detonation every 15 minutes for the next 2 days. Our comrades in the red army designed the MIRV and the nuclear ballistic submarine as first strike weapons of terror. I have chosen to repurpose them as weapons of surgical, military retribution. The fallout and environmental impact of these yields will be less than what Japan suffered after world war 2, and the combined death toll faced by the americas and the free peoples of the world will be less than one percent of one percent. I only wish that the other side had been as limited in their use of weapons as we.
I have authored this message, to hopefully convey that I am not committing an act of vengeance upon you who remain. I'm not failing the interests of my own people who may yet survive, and I am not exacting vengeance on those in the west. I am committing an act of mercy. You will not have to riot and tear apart your unjust murderous governments. You will not have to liberate yourselves from those who would lay claim to the legacy of this world with the blood of billions. You will be free to forge your own way forward, out of the fallout tinged world that remains to you - to what will hopefully be a peaceful future. My wish that this genocide by the west is the last the world will see.
I hope that you remember this final act of mercy as the refugees from the devastated lands come to you, in hopes to live off of soil only able to feed most of the souls who remain on our fickle blue dot in the cosmos. I hope you remember that I only amputated those corrupted, deceased limbs of yours that would have festered and killed you, in a surgical strike. That I did not hold you all accountable for the actions of the venom lingering in the teeth of your head of government.
And to my own people, those who are about to pay the ultimate price, I say this. Know that your sacrifice has finally brought an end to the corrupt system of capitalism and tyranny in the world. We may go into the dark of night, but we can do so knowing that we have won. Doh svee-dah-nee-yah.'" | This morning, we have received notification of the termination of all negotiations aimed at fending off the final war that has loomed ominously over the whole world for the past few weeks. Even now, as two great war machines have been striving for supremacy on the European and Asian continents, it was made clear to us by the Soviet ambassador that global thermonuclear war against the Atlantic alliance could only be forestalled by an unconditional and unilateral surrender. The tyrants of the Socialist bloc threaten to end the world if they cannot win it with force.
Free peoples of the world, the death of us all would only add to the folly and futility wrought by the forces of communism. We cannot bear it, to end the history of humankind with abominable nuclear war.
No, but we must--in the words of the great patriot Thomas Jefferson--'refresh the tree of liberty with the blood of patriots and tyrants.' This tree, whose roots run deep in the hearts of every man and woman, whether American, Russian, Chinese, who yearn to breathe free, shall live on, even as it outlives the nation who gave it new life in a new world.
Now it belongs to us to purchase the liberty of generations unborn by giving up our right of vengeance. It is for these children of our adversaries, the patriots of an unrealized age of emancipation, that we now give our lives, so that they might live in a world in which the ruin of socialism will be buried in the rubbish heap of history, and may witness the dread philosophy of their murderous ancestors outlawed forever.
May we all be remembered, that we died well, so that others could live. And even if we the people, the nation of Lincoln, shall finally perish from the earth, we yet shall die free, and with our conscience clean.
...
Great Father of Lights, forgive them, for they know not what they do. 'The Lord is my Shepherd. I shall not be in want. He maketh me lie down in@¢%###$##@#¢......[high pitched squeal from melting telephone] | 2016-03-12T00:14:35 | 2016-03-11T22:01:54 | 133 | 15 |
[WP] when the aliens attacked they thought that humanity was weak, we do not do many of the things that they themselves did to our enemies. But it was only during the assault that they learned soldiers have rules, but civilians don't. | *The following accounts are shared with consent from the interviewees. Some names are changed, but their statements remain unaltered.*
*I am drinking coffee with Allan Brown, an enlisted officer in the Royal Marines. He walks with a cane, and has a prosthetic limb. He tells me about his last deployment. The Battle of Manchester.*
"Yeah, command had cocked up badly. My men were trained to fight in the streets. We were trained to operate with tanks, protect them in tiny corridors and alleyways. My boys can pinpoint an airstrike to a single structure and bring it down to the ground.
But we had the laws of armed conflict. Limit civilian casualties, prohibit inhumane weaponry, respect medical services, protect cultural property. But the opposition didn't bother with that. Look, we knew how to fight an enemy who had zero regard for that Geneva bollocks, but they were insurgents. Less able, ill equipped and poorly trained. In Man, it was the other way around. The enemy was more able, better equipped and well trained.
But command insisted we hold the rules of war in high regard. Limit collateral damage. So in doing, they took our most capable weapon systems out of the fight. If fighting insurgencies has taught me anything, then it is that you can't fight a more capable army humanely.
They sent is in with just our service rifles and MRAPs. The laws of war and the rules of engagement took almost all my men that day."
*Jody Brown was a resistance fighter in London. She remembers the night the army retreated from the British capitol. Her group was responsible for delivering one of the many aliens captured by civilians to the armed forces.*
"They were remarkably human. I mean, they didn't look like us, but we could derive basic bodily functions from what the organs looked like. They breathed from nostrils that would be where our collarbones would be, but they had mouths where ours are. The same goes for their intestines. It was all incredibly similar.
We called it "Lucy", after the first - or oldest, I'm not sure - human ever found. Cutting her open gave us a lot of insight on how their armour would work.
Human body armour protects the organs that kill you the fastest if you were to get hit there.
*Jody takes a sip from her beer. Her hand stops shaking for a few moments. She continues.*
We figured, if we can find out what makes them die quickly, we can derive where their armour is the thickest. Turns out torso and headshots are actually quite survivable. Pardon my french, but groin shots is where it's at. The army eventually based this flechette round on Lucy's armour.
You know what works even better?"
*Jody looked at me smiling.*
"Yeah, write this down. IEDs. The blast wave scrambles their insides. That got the job done rather easily. You didn't even need shrapnel. Before you know it, everyday people like you and me were placing mines at every bloody door in the country." | “Xyril?” I asked hesitantly. The Commander was in a truly foul mood today, as could only be expected of him given yesterday’s disaster, but I had finally found what I was looking for.
“What is it, Kvarax?” asked the Commander without looking away from their screens.
“I found what you asked me to look for, Commander Xyril. The natives store information in a primitive approximation of the Datasphere. It appears that they, well.” I gulped.
“Out with it, Lieutenant.”
“It seems that when the natives wage war, they have RULES.”
“What? Rules? In war? What kind of rules would there be in war?”
I hesitated, but a glare from the Commander told me that I should continue with haste. “Well, from what I’ve read, they decided that war should have rules after two particularly destructive conflicts they called The Great War and World War Two. They call these rules the Geneva Protocol of the Hague Convention.”
“Get to the point, Lieutenant.”
“Commander, those rules apply only to soldiers.”
A look of comprehension slowly dawned on the Commander’s face before they scrambled to open comms to all our troops. “All forces, this is Commander Xyril: Retreat. Retreat immediately. Abandon your posts and return to the ship immediately.” | 2020-08-29T09:23:48 | 2020-08-29T09:19:34 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] A father gets sucked into the world of his son's favorite video game and has to rely on his meager knowledge of it to survive. | "Good Lord this game is complicated", Daniel thought to himself. "It's so realistic... I mean you could go to a bar and play bar games, or you can walk around and do nothing. Who would enjoy this? Why not just live a normal *real* life? Welp, whatever. I have better things to do."
Daniel powered off his son's PlayStation and went about his day. The first errand he had assigned himself was a quick trip to the clothing store. He sat up from the leather couch, but something wasn't right. He felt unusually heavy and unbalanced. He tried to get his footing but it felt like he had instantly gained 30 pounds. He did have slight thyroid issues but he had never felt any disorientation quite like this.
His immediate response was to go to his bedroom and lie down and nap it off. Daniel did have a long day of work yesterday and his boss definitely did not make it easy on him. Maybe he was just tired.
He drifted off to sleep rather quickly, laughing to himself about that silly video game as his eyes closed. It felt as soon as he closed his eyes they immediately sprung back open.
"Man, this is odd", he thought. "I barely slept... And the time, holy shit! I closed my eyes for 10 seconds and now its 4PM! Where did the time go?"
In a rush, Daniel unstabally wobbled to his dresser to change his clothes. He managed to get off his jeans and emptied the pockets. What he found was truly shocking. A wad of cash that was well worth $125,000. He slammed it on his dresser and began to panick. He had never seen such a significant amount of money. He didn't even think it was possible to wad up a sum like that.
As he was hanging his jeans up he heard two distinct clunks, two baseball sized items had hit the ground. Where could they have come from? Daniel couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Gr... grenades?! Oh shit this is like a federal offense or something. How can I own grenades?"
Daniel hurriedly changed the rest of his clothes and left his house quicker than he had ever left it before. He ran as fast as he could into his mini van which was oddly parked right in front of his door. His world was turning upside down. Either that, or he is going batshit crazy.
Then his cell phone rings. He looks at it with disgust. He knows someone is watching him or playing games with him. Surely, once he answers the phone it'll all be over. He would be on some prank TV show and all this would be just some dark twisted humor. Surely. Daniel took a deep breath and answered the phone.
"He... hello..."
"Hey Daniel, its me Roman! Let's go bowling!" | *"Just sit down on the chair, put on the helmet, and say what i told you to say."*
*"Alright. I'll try it if you stop bugging me about it, but it still won't change how I feel about you wasting your life away on this crap."*
He sighs and scratches his head like he always does.
*"How long is this going to take anyway? Your mom said Dinner would be ready in about an hour."*
*"Just another minute, and trust me, it's really cool. It'll be like nothing you've ever seen before."*
The download finally finishes and I put on the helmet, waiting for him to follow. I can't wait! I didn't get too far in the beta, but from what i did get to play, it was astonishing... Now he would see what he's been missing out on.
His childhood of quarter eating arcade machines was light years from what this new gear could do.
*"Alright, i think I've got it on right. Now what."* He grumbles.
*"Say it with me on the count of three okay? One. Two. Three."*
*"Link Start!"* | 2015-05-08T06:02:17 | 2015-05-08T00:56:15 | 61 | 15 |
[WP]Humanity is facing extinction from their alien invaders. At the risk of permanently damaging History, mankind's greatest generals and strategists - the likes of Hannibal, Sun Tzu and Alexander the Great, are taken from their respective timeline and brought to the present for one last stand. | "*Alea iacta est*."
Julius Caesar gazed at the clear skies. Above, the Terran Fleet hovered, in orbit, the last defence against the alien invaders. At his orders, ten thousand spaceships assembled in formation, and the Roman Consul and Dictator remembered leading the legionary forces in much the same way. Decisive, his conquests in Gaul and the victorious return to Rome were still studied two millennia later and would soon, Jupiter-willing, be reenacted. Caesar had been brought to the future, by means he did not care to understand, to lead the planetary forces against certain extinction, and he did not intend to fail.
******
"*Ave Caesar*", said the cigar-smoker in a thick British accent as he stepped into the command center. Fat and wearing a three piece suit and bow tie, he contrasted sharply with the lean spotless-toga-wearing Roman.
"Mr. Churchill", said Caesar, his Classical Latin instantly translated by a microdevice implanted in the British Bulldog's ear canal, "what is the situation? Be honest - Caesar must not be fooled by his own pride."
The two were alone in a room fitted with the latest technology in military strategy, but the center table was specifically required by the Consul to be equipped with a large two-dimensional map of the conflict areas, from which he could survey and manage the actions of his soldiers the way he had been used to.
"Not too good, oh Caesar. Half our ships are gone; the other half, as good as gone. We must ready for a land assault. The largest threat to Mankind in history is about to fall on our planet, and we have nowhere to fall back. I fully support any attempt to heed their advances, but we must accept, Caesar, that without our military this might be our final hour."
"I conquered Gaul under the banners of SPQR, Mr. Churchill. *Senatus Populusque Romanus* - the Senate and the People of Rome. We may have no military, but we have our people. And so long as we have the gods on our side and a home to fight for, our people will fight. But Caesar is not fooled by his own pride", he repeated, now facing the wartime Prime-Minister. "The people must be behind the leader, and we both know, Mr. Churchill, that my oratory seems not to resonate with the generations of this peculiar future. My words do not instill confidence, they do not create unity, and they will not succeed as a call to arms. Only a patriotic people may successfully set up a resistance against the enemy. I've seen it myself in the battles I've led, and although our planet is now our Patria, our home, its peoples are not inspired, or motivated enough by me, or you, to sacrifice their lives for it."
"What do you suggest, then?" asked Churchill, taking another puff of his half-smoked cuban.
Caesar turned around as he spoke.
"I have been reading on our history, Mr. Churchill, and studied every major conflict since the moment I was betrayed on the Ides of March to the latest territorial scuffle. The need for a charismatic leader is of paramount importance at a time like this." Reaching the map at the center of the room, the Roman statesman looked back at the Englishman. "And you, better than anyone, know exactly who could rally the entire human population - by the power of speech alone - in a last stand against obliteration. A power such as no one has possessed since."
Winston Churchill took a long time to answer. With the aid of a Victorian cane, he walked around the table, calmly finished his cigar, and looked Julius Caesar in the eyes before finally speaking.
"For the sake of Mankind, we must bring back Hitler." | When the aliens finally attacked, they had been hovering, silently, in the skies above earth for nearly two years. The earths best minds had been planning for this moment since that first interstellar ship had appeared in pictures sent from unmanned probes, out past the edge of our solar system. Based on our best guesses, we figured that the aliens outclassed and outmatched us in nearly every way, except for one. There was no aesthetic to their ships, no proof of creativity or art, no divine spark signifying anything but cold analytical reason. We knew it would require the best of us to survive an attack from these extraterrestrial invaders, but centuries of peace and prosperity had given us advances in science and technology and medicine at the loss of the fighting, competetive nature that had helped us crawl out of the mud and become the dominant species on the planet.
We had created time travel, but built in safeguards and laws such that history could not be rewritten, no matter how we may have abhorred its' progression, at risk of creating an alternate reality even more dire than our own. Some of our greatest minds floated the idea of going back into history and snatching the greatest of us, our top generals, tacticians and strategists from throughout known history, but the risk was too great. Even waiting until Alexander the great was on his deathbed, and healing him to lead us, could irreversibly alter human history in ways no one could fathom. Then a student, a high schooler with a love of the written word, came up with an idea. Throughout history there have been those that have exceeded humanity and approached godhead with their mythology. "When you need me most, I will return." All had made some such promise at the end of their lives, and then disappeared from record. So we went back in time, to King Arthur, to Hercules, to every mythical leader and general, and pulled them forward to the future. All understood the sacrifice, the knowledge that they had promised their people the best and their people had survived until now, when the threat is greatest.
When they attacked, we were ready. | 2017-05-23T11:30:48 | 2017-05-23T10:27:44 | 144 | 53 |
[WP] Your father was a Minotaur, your mother was a Mermaid. You got the human half of both parents and now you’re just some guy. | I never asked for this life.
I never wanted to be constantly asked what living with my parents are like, what my childhood was like, or even how I’m “compensating” for this “abnormality.”
I never wanted to be informed at a young age that the odds I turned out the way I did was slim to none.
It’s bullshit (no pun intended) that this Greek cow guy and a mermaid living in the middle of the Pacific met in the middle of the night 20 years ago, fucked like animals (again, no pun intended), and now I’m stuck behind the counter at Kohl’s, trying to figure out what to do with my life.
To answer the questions previously mentioned, I never got to live with my parents. My dad is currently living in an unnamed facility in the middle of nowhere, Nevada, so the only contact I had with him in my entire life was through Skype calls and visiting hours. My mom lives in the bottom of the ocean and uses whatever magic she has to send me on my birthday presents.
It’s been like that since I was born. My mom dropped me at the doorstep of my Aunt Linda and Uncle George when I was 3 months old, and they’re the only family I’ve ever known. They told me that due to the way magic is and the physiology of minotaurs and mermaids, the probability of a totally human child is 2%. 2. Fucking. Percent. Of the 50 possible ways my life could’ve gone, the powers that be chose the most boring way possible.
Uncle George always joked that I should be proud I’m just a normal guy, saying that I should be glad I wasn’t born an unholy combination of a fish and a bull. I always responded with a smile and a “Yeah, right.” but on the inside I was screaming, no, I’m not a normal guy. Normal people would actually know their parents. Normal people wouldn’t be kept under watch by every single government agency, waiting for magic to shoot out my ass or for me to grow horns or whatever the fuck.
You know what the sad thing is? I was supposed to be something. There was a fucking prophecy. Apparently, the holy union of a child of Poseiden and the ancestor of Minos would restore balance to the universe or something (I’ll be honest, I wasn’t 100% paying attention), but I was never really given some major quest because I’m not that guy. That guy was fabled to be some badass with the strength of a bull and the mysticism of Atlantis. The only magical thing I inherited from my parents was the ability to know exactly how long to cook ramen (You gotta let the noodles chill in the broth for at least 1 minute before you eat it.)
I guess my life could be worse. At least I’m getting a good education from a decent college. At least I have a stable-ish part time job so I can pay off my loans. At least I’m not that unholy fish-bull thing. I just have to keep riding those thoughts until I either do what was foretold in the prophecy or I die one of the 3 million people who die a day, living totally meaningless lives. | Have you ever seen a kid that doesn’t look like their dad, maybe the kids got a different skin tone or eye colour. People usually just assume that the mother of that kid cheated on someone else and give her dirty looks despite the fact that that kid could’ve inherited different genes. Different features are either dominant or recessive and that affects wether they’re inherited or not. Some things that can be passed down sometimes aren’t even physically represented. Genetics are fucking weird man.
So if you think it’s bad if you got a different hair colour or nose shape imagine my situation. My father is a Minotaur and my mother a mermaid and wouldn’t you know it, I’m the worlds first merminotaid. Now don’t ask how it’s even physically possible that a bull man and a fish lady can reproduce because it’s gross and I’ll just say something something magic.
Despite my supernatural origins I look like some ordinary guy because genetics say so. I don’t get horns, hooves, gills, fins or an eggsac what I do get is tense thanksgivings and speeches from my beloved aunt on how me and my cheating ***** of a mother have ruined my dads life because apparently most mythological creatures don’t understand basic genetics.
Technically I’m not even human I only resemble on the outside because of my messed up genetics I’m a biological marvel (more like horror) who’s likely to die (painfully) at age 20 which my aunt lyndora has told is the best news she’s ever heard in her life. So thanks mom and dad.
Genetics sure are weird. | 2020-11-17T09:45:59 | 2020-11-17T08:01:49 | 180 | 55 |
[WP] Mages choose the source of their power. Most pick things like fire, or justice, or love. You picked sarcasm. | Mana wiped her brow on her sleeve and put another batch of donuts in the oven. During the summer it got so hot inside the little shop that she could soon bake on the counter. This was the opening day of her store and she was already growing dizzy. She looked over and saw that a customer was waiting.
“Just a minute!” she called out and tried to straighten out her wrinkly apron. “Hi, welcome to Mana & Other Sweet Things! What can I get you?”
The man looked very different from the peasants that had visited her shop earlier. He wore a long black robe, despite the hot weather, and his pale face was partially covered by the shade of a cloak. With a bony hand, he put a white lock of hair behind his ear, revealing three golden hoops in his earlobe.
“I’m looking for something sweet,” he said, “Something to get the necromancy flowing.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place then!”
“How much does it cost?” he said and fumbled with his gold pouch.
“That depends on what you’d like.”
The man’s forehead rippled in furrows. He touched his chin and sighed.
“Do you have any donuts?” he said, and tilted his head forward, looking at Mana intently.
“Of course,” she chimed. “They’re my specialty.”
“Can I have a taste before I decide?”
“I usually don’t do tastings.”
“Then how can I know if it’s good?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Mana said and cut out a piece of donut and handed it over on a paper plate.
“Oh, yes,” the man said, his gray eyes lighting up. “This is it; this is what I’ve been looking for!”
“I’m glad you liked it,” Mana said, smiling.
“No, you don’t understand,” the man said, flapping his arms. “This is it! This is the one! You are the one!”
“What?” Mana said with a laugh.
She knew her donuts were good, but she had never before seen anyone become so ecstatic.
“You’re the only hope for humanity,” he said sweat dripping down his forehead. “I’ve traveled land and sea to find you.”
“Okay, sir,” Mana said and helped him to a chair. “It’s probably best if you sit down, the heat must’ve gotten to you. Here, have a glass of water.”
The man in the robe drank deeply. “I’m telling you; people will come and when they do you have a choice–”
At that very moment, the doorbell chimed and three other robed figures entered. The tallest one, a man with a beard and round glasses, spoke first.
“We’ve traveled far!”
“Oh, how far we’ve traveled!” the man with the square-shaped glasses muttered without enthusiasm. “Very, very, veeeeeeeeeeery far.”
Mana felt a jolt in her chest. The man in the black robe looked her in the eyes.
“Remember what I told you,” he said and hurried out of the store.
The third of the three, a bearded man with triangular glasses, walked up to the counter and spoke for the first time.
“I’ve never seen such a well-organized pastry shop before…” he said. “Utterly top notch, it’s like I’ve walked into the royal bakery and the king himself had organized it.”
Another jolt surged through Mana’s body. “Yes, I’m sorry – I opened just this morning – I haven’t had time to put prices on everything yet.”
“I’ll have one of those!” the man said and pointed at a carrot-cake cupcake. “That is if I can afford it – who knows, that piece of pastry might be more expensive than Archmage Ruttersmore’s cross-eyed cluck-duck. There’s no real way of knowing, is there?”
“It’s two silver pieces, sir,” Mana said as her face flushed, and newfound power flowed through her.
“Well, I guess they're about the same price…”
If she wanted, she now felt like she had the power to throw these schmucks to the other side of the city. Mana had never wanted to be a big mage – all she wanted to do was bake – so when her time had come, she had picked the most stupid source of power that she could think of. So that she would be left alone.
“We know who you are, Mana. The council sent us here to test your powers. Now if you would be so kind to come with us – you’re the first person to choose sarcasm as their source – and we need to bring you in for…”
“Further experiments,” his companion filled in.
“Well, it’d be such a delight to accompany you, I’ll come right away,” she said and flicked her wrist.
The three wizards landed on their butts on the street outside.
“And I’d just loooove to be experimented on a bit,” she continued. “You’re welcome back *anytime* you want!”
Her powers at an all-time high, Mana placed the strongest sanctuary spell ever seen in the twelve kingdoms on her little bakery. The wooden walls glowed with magical energy. Spent, she sat down behind the counter. Nobody that she didn’t want inside would able to enter, not even the Archmage’s golden cluck-duck. And to top it off, the sanctuary spell had a built-in AC.
*****
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| They say that you don't pick your familiar, your familiar picks you.
They say a lot of really stupid things.
"Surrender, James. You cannot hope to escape." I mean, who the fuck picks ***water*** as their familiar, right? Go-with-the-flow, steady, impassive, boring as all fuck. "My brother and I have you, you cannot escape two Masters."
I mean, listen to that little shit. *No* emotion in his voice, perfect monotone. Unbelievable. I sidestepped his shackling and countered with a spell of my own creation - it zipped around haphazardly in no particular pattern, a firework of perfect entropy, seeking chaos.
Of course he dodged it, he *was* a **Master** after all, the jackass. Heh, jackass. His name was Jack. Score one for me.
"Jack, Jack, the impassive sack. Steady and straight and quite the quack!!" His face grew bright red, *finally* a fucking reaction, Jesus Christ. That was almost more effort than it was worth!
Almost.
"James. *HEY MORON!* You can't win, dude." Ah, yes. The brother. Jordan. Fire to his brother's water. I *know* you can sense the eyeroll here. They probably huddled together on Dedication Day, said some quip about being part of the other half's whole, and as long as water and fire worked together, they could accomplish *anything!*
I'd put money on it.
"Jordan, the hot-headed...uh...accordion?" I scratched my head, cleanly deflecting his signature flame pillar with my own chaotic shield. "Yeah, I got nothing dude. Your name is stupid." *Jordan* was extremely easy - and satisfying as *fuck* - to get a reaction from. Fire - passionate, burning, fickle, full of energy. The problem was by antagonizing him I was only making him stronger.
More fun, I guess.
Jack sighed, deep and long. Dramatic much? "Fine. If you won't come quietly..." I mean, I could tell he was going for this epic, dramatic pause. Especially when he looked at his brother and nodded. Like they were saying:
"You ready big bro?"
"I'm ready little bro!"
"Alright, here it comes. We *did* warn him!"
"That we did, little bro!"
"I love you big bro!"
"I love you too, little bro."
All with one pathetic, *nauseating* look passed between them. I just rolled my eyes as they readied their combination attack.
That's enough.
Director's voice - no one knew his real name - rang through the PA system in our sparring ground. I felt the atmosphere *shift*, and my mind swam as my emotions righted themselves.
I slapped Jordan on the back. "Man, you were *really* gonna come at me? You two are fucking *MASTERS* man, how the fuck was I supposed to deflect that?"
He only rolled his eyes. "Because you are *literally* unbearable when Director takes down your emotional walls. Holy shit."
I smiled. "Figuratively."
"What?"
"Not literally. Makes no sense, friend." He punched me on the arm as we walked back to the mess hall, all three of us laughing about how ridiculous I had been acting. It was a mental state I'd have to get used to. Drawing power from sarcasm was...intoxicating. But certainly dangerous. Too sure of myself, it's something I'd have to work on.
Yeah, right. | 2017-07-20T11:23:13 | 2017-07-20T11:01:04 | 303 | 70 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT. | Humans are a galactic anomaly.
In the typical course of evolution, there are two possibilities; either carnivores become dominant, and are forced to evolve intelligence as they fight with one another over dwindling resources, or Herbivores manage to evolve rapidly enough to defend themselves from those carnivores. In all 9824 races of the Known Galaxy, this pattern has held true.
It was a monumental shock, then, when species 9825 was discovered, colloquially called 'humans'. Their species was incredibly unlucky; they had evolved in a system where significant numbers of eccentric orbitals intersected their planet's course, resulting in not just one, but multiple large-scale impacts. It is believed that there were several nascent species on the cusp of intelligence, both herbivore and carnivore, only to be promptly wiped out by impact-induced global firestorms. The last of these was the worst; all larger life-forms were killed, leaving only the most tenacious of creatures behind, and allowing, for the first time in history, an evolutionary oddity.
An intelligent Omnivore.
Of course, most species will occasionally consume - on accident, usually - certain plant or meat based foods. The Verron-Tigers of Species 2368 will occasionally eat handfuls of grass to aid their digestive tract, for example, but never before had we encountered an intelligent species that would willingly consume both.
The scientific curiosity, however, is more than overwhelmed by the social one. Predators cannot - physically cannot - reside in close company to more than a few dozen of their kin, at most. Their instinct prevents it, competition driven by millenia of ingrained social cues. Herbivores rarely fight back; far easier to stand as a group, and let the weak be winnowed away.
When the first Predators, Skell-Walkers of species 8473, arrived at Earth, they saw the billions of humans and expected another Prey species. As was the custom, they isolated a small, isolated group of young, and began their hunt.
The entire human species nearly exploded with rage. The Skell were not prepared - Prey never fought back! When the first nuclear-tipped missiles reached their ship, in orbit around their moon, their shields weren't even up. Only a brief message made it to the other Skell, a warning of the insane prey of 9825. Still, they were prey; they assumed that as long as they avoided the planet, all would be well.
They assumed wrong. Very, very wrong. Apparently, Omnivores are fans of vengeance, and there are billions of them, compared to scarce thousands of Skell. Within 20 celestial cycles, there were no more Skell.
And then, to everyone's surprise, they stopped. They colonized the formerly Skell worlds, and were mostly quiet. Over time, the Herbivore Alliance came to the conclusion that their war with the Skell must have been a fluke; after all, even the most pacifistic of Herbivores will fight back in the right circumstances. Perhaps the Skell had just done something very, very wrong. Gently, delicately, we made contact...
...and found Humans to be one of the most delightful species we had ever known! They did not usually kill for sport, the way the Carnivores did; no, they were nearly as pacifistic as we were! We were welcomed with open arms, and within only a few dozen more solar cycles, we had a thriving alliance. It was only after another thirty cycles that our ambassadors felt our relationship was close enough to inquire as to what, exactly, had led to their genocide of the Skell. Our Chief Ambassador was understandably surprised when they told him how a small group of their young had been killed and eaten by the invaders; after all, such cullings happened regularly within our people!
The Human Ambassador politely inquired as to which species had eaten several of our Ambassador's children. We saw no harm in telling them.
That species no longer exists.
It is too late for us; the humans already know of our existence. Maybe, in time, we can even grow to live with them. But to any uncontacted Herbivores and Carnivores in the galaxy; run. Run, and never turn back. There are nearly a trillion of them now. A trillion creatures of genocide and murder in the name of peace.
Run, before it's too late.
Just run. | Log: forming clear thoughts before my tribunal hearing which I'm quite sure Is being planned as I write this.
Marshall-Borge De Rosche,
I've never seen damage like this, my fleet looks like it's been in a battle with an asteroid belt.... and lost.
It was a routine resource run, our argon levels were critically low. Probably because a certain researcher insists on searing a hole through every-single-comet that we pass. What information he hopes to garner from this, I have no idea. But, I digress.
A situation handled early, is a problem avoided. So, even though it's generally "against protocol" I decided we would use the gas cloud scrubbers to hopefully siphon some argon from a planet in our immediate vicinity.
Just as a reminder to myself, Raeu and I are going to have a little chat about work ethics and attention to detail once I'm cleared of charges.
In hindsight, "peaceful natives, passive as a narwak" probably meant "we didn't see any explosions during our fly over."
Slacker.
I should have suspected something when I saw a Percerrus frigate on the ice sheets of northern hemisphere, it looked mostly okay, apart from the gaping gnarled hole where the engine room is supposed to be.
I really don't want to write this section.
We were positioned in a spherical spread along the atmospheric limit of the planet.
I gave the order to begin harvesting.
Then we went on with our usual routines.
4 hours later Zyter starts screaming nonsense over the fleet frequency.
His ship goes straight down and splashes into the ocean, we still haven't made contact.
Uly was next, though she was lucky and only lost communications and long term life support systems.
She's currently hiding out in a darkened crater on a nearby satellite. Probably jittering like a lunatic.
Next was my ship, an iron disc about the size of my head smashed the scrubbers. So I withdrew the lines to protect other ships.
I noticed then that there were white plumes spreading out over large patches of undeveloped land.
I blinked and it was over, everything was utterly trashed. A complete disaster, apart from Uly; every captain was either in a pod or dead and Uly was neither reachable nor in a position to be of help to anyone besides herself and her crew.
The clever savages had vaporized water with explosives and launched countless iron discs at my fleet.
I had heard something about a Perccerus fleet that went missing in this sector. I think I solved the mystery.
Seeing as I've got nothing but time on my hands until these little savages decide to reload, or the major rescues my fleet. I am making a judgement call and reclassifying this system in our maps as hazardous territory.
| 2016-03-13T21:24:24 | 2016-03-13T17:43:47 | 71 | 24 |
[WP] It is the year 1916. A soldier climbs up out of the trench and charges, screaming, when he suddenly finds himself in a modern day history classroom. | "And this, class, is Private Gareth Masterson. Private Masterson was killed at the Battle of the Somme, on November 17th, just a day before it ended." the voice said.
Gareth's vision began to clear. One second he had been headed up and out of his trench, a final push against the enemy, and then there was a flash - he thought he was dead - but he realized he could feel himself, his heartbeat, and the white light that had engulfed him fell away to see a tall, sturdily built red haired man with an American accent holding a small remote.
"Private Masterson will be killed nearly as soon as we send him back, so if you have any questions ask them now..." the man said.
The class sat, glazed over and disinterested. Time travel had become a routine way to teach history since Ben /u/Boukish had discovered it just hours ago and manipulated the timeline to make it commonplace.
"Killed!?" Gareth thought, he found his voice; " By what?" he asked quietly.
"You'll be hit by a mortar shell as you mount the trench wall, your body will be recovered three days later after the battle and buried in France. This is a history class, we've brought you forward to tell the class about your battles, family, motivation, and life in the early 20th century. Does anyone have any questions for Private Masterson?"
The class sat in silence
"Wait, do I have to go back?"
"You do. Your death is a part of history, to change it could have disastrous consequences."
"So I'm going to die?"
"Yes... does anyone have any questions at all?"
The class sat in silence. One pulled out a small box and began tapping on it until he smirked incredulously.
"Phones up!" the teacher snapped. "You all seriously have no questions? This man is about to die, and all you can do is tweet at each other?"
A hand went up... "Yes, Mr. Phipps."
A dark haired boy with a puckered face, not much younger than himself spoke to Gareth, "Yo, did you ever kill anyone?"
The last sound Gareth ever heard was a disgusted 'ugh' from the teacher, the click of a button, and a slight whistle as a German mortar found it's mark.
OOC: It's my first time - be gentle. | Private Miller charges forward into a hail of enemy fire with the entire German regiment. He sees a man he has chosen for his bayonet and screams when all of the sudden walls appear around him and desk with small humans in front of him. Confusion does not quell his bloodlust, nor his momentum though as he pierces a child in the first row, pushing the bayonet in then jerking upward to seal the deal. Blood speckled across his face, he glances around at all these odd American children speaking gibberish his German ears do not understand. What is this trickery, he ponders for a brief second before firing into the class as the teacher watches astonished. Mr. Johnson looks to his students and the atrocities happening in horror before realizing he'll get the day off and calmly leaves the classroom.
| 2016-11-10T07:12:39 | 2016-11-10T07:11:16 | 598 | 65 |
[WP] Monster numbers have been falling fast in the last few years, and a group of werewolves are trying to convince you to become a werewolf(it’s illegal to do it without a person’s signed consent). They’re incredibly desperate. | “My name is Taylor, and I’m an addict.”
“Hi, Taylor.”
The cramped room smelled like burned coffee and plant food. Overhead, long fluorescent bulbs blared their crisp white light, washing out the faces of the people sitting in folding chairs below.
“I uh, I’ve got... three days. Again.” The girl, Taylor, dropped her head, staring down at her hands. Her short brown hair was swept behind her ears, which were bare of earrings but still bore the pockmark holes to show where they had been. “Just, wanted to say I’m grateful to be here. And, uh,” She swallowed, not looking at anyone. “If you... I don’t have a place right now, kind of living in my car, so...”
A fat man wearing a fleece jacket coughed, shifting in his chair. Outside, the rain continued to fall, hissing down on the pavement.
“...just, yeah. I think the car’s not going to make it much longer, so I guess...” Taylor’s voice hitched. She stared up at the ceiling, trying to breathe. She blinked a lot. “I can... clean, or cook, or do yard work or whatever. I just need a place... um... yeah, that’s all I got.” She rocked back in her chair, raising her hand to cover her mouth.
There was a short pause, and then an older woman leaned forward, addressing the circle at large.
“I’m Debra, and I’m an addict. I just want to update you all - I know I talk about him a lot, but my neighbor has been really, I mean *really* pushing my buttons lately.”
—-
Outside, under the eaves of the church, Taylor smoked one of her last two cigarettes. The rain was relentless, so heavy that she could barely see past the end of the oversized parking lot. She watched people jog out to their cars, hoods up, keys in hand. One by one, the cars sprang to life, eyes glowing in the dark.
“Hey, Taylor?”
The woman who approached her was tall, really tall, maybe close to six three or four. She had thick black eyebrows and a pale, Nordic face with a crooked nose that looked like it might have been broken once or twice. When she smiled at Taylor, she revealed a set of delicately crooked teeth, the kind that were charmingly European rather than mangled.
“Do you have a light?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.”
The woman didn’t say anything for a minute or so, just stood next to Taylor, smoking and watching the rain. Only two cars were left in the parking lot now, Taylor’s fender-bent Volvo, and what looked like a vintage Land Cruiser, a big boxy thing that sat high up off the ground.
Taylor became aware that the woman had a strange smell emanating from her. It was powerful, strong enough to be sensed over the harsh sting of cigarette smoke. The smell was not unpleasant, but it certainly wasn’t perfume, either. Taylor was reminded of a guy she’d used to date in college who had never smelled bad to her, no matter how sweaty he got. She could lay her head on his chest and smell his armpit, and it smelled like this woman; some attractive blend of animal dirt and human connection.
“Congratulations on coming back.” The woman spoke without looking at Taylor.
“Huh?”
“Coming back to the rooms. It’s all the counts. Just keep coming back.”
“Oh, yeah.” Taylor’s cigarette was nearly finished. She stared at it, wishing it had burned more slowly.
“Listen - can I buy you a cup of coffee?” The woman looked at her now, very directly. Her face was striking - large dark eyes underneath those brows that were like two black slashes. She also had a heavy dusting of fine black hairs on her upper lip. When she pursed her lips to take a drag on the cigarette, they became more obvious.
“Sure.” Taylor nodded. “Thanks.”
—-
TBC | Renphy barred his fangs at the furry, hind legs ready to pounce. This was the third time that his den had been invaded by role-playing furrys who wanted to behave like the animals. “Leave this place,” snarled Renphy. “we have no need for people like you.”
The person in the furry suit yelped, shocked that the wolf could speak. A muffled voice came from the suit. “I’m awfully sorry Mr. Wolf, I did not not mean to intrude upon your domain.”
Renphy flattened his ears in surprise. A female furry, that was certainly a rarity in these parts of the woods. And that scent, it smelled like strawberries and cream, heavenly. Hold on, if he could smell such a thing then that would mean that-
“Hello beautiful,” Remus sprang from his den and stopped right in-front of the female. “It’s good to see a fellow furry around these parts.”
The female was clearly taken aback, “Oh, wow. Hello there too.”
“Hey Renphy, look at her, can we keep her?”
Renphy rolled his eyes. “No. If we do, the authorities will be onto us like bloodhound.”
“Ah yes, our nasally challenged cousins. Remus, wanting to get a better look at the female, stood on his hind legs. “I love your outfit, the eyes especially. They are the best I've seen compared to others.”
The female bowed her head in embarrassment. “Thank you,” she stammered out.
A deep guttural growl rose up from Remus, causing the female to shrink back before she realized that he was laughing. “Hey sister, do you want to become a wolf?” Remus asked.
“No I don't think so.”
“Think about it, you can shed your suit and with a little bite from me, you too can become what we are.”
“And what is that?”
“Werewolves.” Remus replied with a grin.
The female was silent for a moment before shaking her head. “I'm afraid that I will not be accepting your offer.”
“And why is that? I hardly think that the suit your wearing can match up to real hide and fangs.”
“It may not, but my suit is special because it is how I want to be seen by others. I become the goddess Bast when I sew my suit together. To give that up, to shed it for real hide and fangs,” The female shook her head. “I don't think it’s worth it.” | 2020-07-17T07:49:22 | 2020-07-17T06:24:22 | 141 | 10 |
[WP] You are a demon about to possess your first human victim. Shortly after taking over, it becomes clear that this person is a psychopath, possibly more evil than you are. You decide the only fitting way to torment him, is to force him to be a good person. | The woman, clutching folders to her chest as her bag slipped down her shoulder, walked precariously toward us.
**Hold the door.**
"No," he said, gritting his teeth. His hand flew out against his will; his palm slammed into the closing door.
**Do it.**
She approached faster, smiling abashedly when she realized how far away she was.
"Mina can open it her own goddamn self."
**You** ***will*** **hold the door.**
He leaned further into it, widening the opening, and the woman -- Mina -- finally reached us.
"Oh, thank you," she said, vaguely out of breath. "I've so much to carry today -- "
**Tell her it's no trouble.**
With a roll of his eyes, he said, "Yeah, whatever."
**YOU VEXING MORTAL --** ***AGH*** **--**
**"I would've done it anyway**," I forced him to say, and the words rolled smoothly off his tongue.
Mina blushed, and ducked her head, and scurried through the door. For a moment, she turned back, offering a little half-wave as to not drop her things.
**Smile.** He smiled.
And, the moment my will loosened, he made a sound of disgust and headed out into the cold.
\----
We sat in one of those mesh, grey office chairs he had learned to hate. Every time my grip on his soul eased up, he would start bouncing his leg. He wasn't anxious -- not by a long shot -- he just knew the tap-tap-tapping sound bothered everyone within earshot.
**Stop tapping.**
"Stop thinking into my brain," he said. "It's weird."
**Stop talking to yourself, obnoxious mortal.**
"Aren't you supposed to make me, like, murder people? Become a psychopath?"
**You're already a psychopath. According to my notes --**
"Wait -- you take notes? I thought you were a formless being."
**Ha, ha. Your insults are petty and weak, much like your flesh. As I said before, you** ***are*** **a psychopath: inflated sense of self-worth, pathological lying, dislike of dogs, and lack of empathy.**
"Psh. I have empathy."
**You laughed when Sharon told you her cat died.**
"I thought it was the set-up to a joke!"
**You laugh before the punchline? There's another one to add to the list. Either way, you obviously** ***detest*** **being a good person, and I'm here to make you detest yourself. So: we're going to be the nicest, kindest, politest human in the city.**
"Most polite."
**They're both words.**
"Yeah, but 'politest' sounds stupid."
Because I was, at the moment, confined to a human body, I made him roll his eyes. Whatever gets the point across, right?
**And stop tapping your leg.**
\----
"We're not doing this again."
The woman, Mina, who had managed to hold even more folders, was making her unsteady way toward the door.
**We most certainly are.**
"Look at her. She's a mess."
**A sweet, hardworking, attractive mess. Wouldn't you like a lasting relationship with her?**
"I've talked to her, like, once," he said. "Besides, love is stupid."
I suddenly realized that he was holding the door of his own accord -- I wasn't exerting any control over him. And so I did a thing I rarely do: I remained silent. Mina walked, and walked, and walked through the door, and he nodded when she thanked him.
He didn't move away from the door.
"Aren't you going to agree with me?"
**I thought you disliked my speaking. You called it weird.**
"Well, now I'm used to it, and it's weird when you *don't* talk." He huffed an irritated breath, and it fogged out in front of his face. "Guess you ruined me."
**That's the point.** Wasn't it? And yet --
"I'm gonna go home."
And after another moment's hesitation, he let the door close, keeping separate the coldness of the world and the warm little space inside.
\----
We made a frozen dinner. I made him wait before opening the microwave early -- who eats *cold* mashed potatoes? -- and he protested profusely.
"You're an immortal being," he tried to argue. "For me, that extra minute could be used -- "
**Doing what? Laughing at Sharon's dead cat?**
He then mumbled something angry with the barest hint of apology in his tone, and sat down in front of the television.
**You still use your ex's Netflix account?**
"Everybody does that. Chill out."
Despite the knowledge that *not* everybody did that, I allowed it for now. There would be time later to force him into kindness. Instead, we settled in, and I made him pick *Up*.
**This is why you're a psychopath.**
"Because *one* movie scene doesn't make me cry?"
**No. Because** ***that*** **movie scene doesn't make you cry.**
"Yeah, whatever," he said, rising to his feet. "Love is stupid, and I'm getting more popcorn."
**Oh, is the popcorn from your ex, too?**
"I don't feel guilty."
**Lack of remorse: textbook psychopathy.**
"If you weren't possessing my body, I'd flip you off."
\----
I didn't have to ask him to hold the door; I suppose I'd conditioned him to do it.
"Thank you," said Mina, out of breath again, as she walked past. Almost immediately, she turned back around. "I was wondering."
When she didn't continue, he said, "Yeah?"
"Me and a couple coworkers are getting drinks tomorrow. Friday night, you know?" She smiled, loose hair coming out of her bun, sweater covering her hands almost to her fingertips.
"Cool."
"Do you wanna -- I mean -- I know socializing isn't really your thing, but do you wanna come?"
I held my breath. Not his breath, *my* breath; I left his breath entirely untouched, so it could say the right thing. And it did:
"Yeah, sure, whatever."
She nodded, slowly, then enthusiastically, a few more strands of hair falling down around her face. "Great! I'll see you tomorrow, then."
"Yeah. Yeah, cool."
**You should --**
"Hey, actually, do you need any help?" He gestured at her folders, where papers stuck out every end. "I could walk you to your car. If you want."
Mina giggled, the sound bright and clear in the winter air. "That would be *much* appreciated."
And so he took a couple folders from her hands, their fingers brushing, and he walked her to her car. When she drove off, he stood there for a few moments, hands in his pockets, alone in the parking lot.
And, on Friday, he went out for drinks. | We yanked our antennae up and down, smelling the hot summer grass. Cicadas chirred in the trees. I hungered for a stronger body. We looked up and around and there was a big human-house at the top of the great hill. Myself filled with excitement, aroused at the prospect of bigger game. In a few fluttering bounds we came up and up to the top. A wide, covered porch we saw, with stairs down to the ground, and a fat tabby cat snoozing in the shade underneath. In the body stirred a faint, invertebrate fear of the larger animal, but my hunger was greater. The body's fear invigorated me. A cat was good prey, and might even take me to the best. I wanted, and I wanted stronger than the body feared, and I felt until I won the body over and together we approached.
We crept over and began to smell about and look for an opportunity. The rest of the cat slept but the tail flicked back and forth; an enigma. I looked forward to understanding that body better. Softly we tried to climb over, to touch the beast's back, but as we put two forelegs on, the hairs twitched and the head snapped back to us. The eyes of the cat narrowed, and it lifted up, looked, and began to batter. The body's fear became my own, we jumped back. I couldn't let the body die. A claw caught our wing as we jumped - pain, slicing pain, which I let myself briefly enjoy. We jumped further but the cat pursued, interested.
Then our tympanum began to buzz and the cat suddenly lost interest, lowering its ears and slinking under the porch. A human, screaming in a shrill, delighted tone. It jumped down the stairs two by two. It had seen the cat's hunt, it wanted to take part. I was briefly unsure of whether to retreat or allow the human to approach - it was a tempting risk. Then the body's fear came in a strong wave, it fluttered up and away without my help, but with the damaged wing it flopped and landed upside down in the grass. We flailed our legs together, but the jump had only made us visible to the human and in another moment we were clasped in its hands.
It gripped our wings roughly at the base and turned us to its face. Already at the contact I could feel the larger animal's big, lush soul on the other side of the skin, but I didn't dare try to start crossing yet. It was a short human, with long, tangled hair. It gave a nasty, toothy grin, and gripping us tighter it bounded back up the stairs and into the human-house. As it held us tighter and didn't seem likely to let go, I took a calculated risk and began to slide myself, smoothly, carefully, across the rough contact. Neither animal would feel it.
As myself crossed the boundary, a wave of sensations at once. I swirled and felt lost in the new animal's huge soul, even as I tried to pull and bring my trailing bits with me across the border. Finally I yanked the last of myself inside and began to orient myself. A wave of vision, much bigger and stronger than the other animal's vision, and a slurry of big, complicated thoughts that I struggled to wrap myself around. We saw the house around us, messy. A kitchen with a stain of marinara on the linoleum floor and several crumpled beer cans by the trash. The body looked down at the struggling grasshopper in between its thumb and first finger and felt excited. She looked for her father's lighter.
Then up on the counter she saw it next to a pack of cigarettes, a black device with a Nirvana logo on the side. She flicked it with a practiced hand and a small, bulbous orange flame came into being. Her savour and excitement were so strong, I groaned inside and felt nasty with the body's pleasure and struggled to wrap myself around any thought I could understand and turn to disappointment or pain. The flame came underneath the big green insect and its legs began to crackle and pop and turn black, and it flailed even more frantically. It burned slowly and I felt a deep melancholy to observe the delicious pain in the body I just left. I knew I would die if I had stayed, but I missed the simple confusion of the smaller beast and forlornly thought about how to master the new body.
The motion, the simple motion of pulling the thumb down onto the plastic tab, this was easy, something even the smaller minds I was accustomed to could master. Tearing through her thoughts to find something, I fixated on this and wrapped around it and tried to cover it, to pull at it, to make it lose its balance. She slowly let up and her thumb relaxed, and she looked down frustrated. She tried to roll her thumb along the bumpy wheel of the lighter and relight it, and frantically I jumped to that muscle memory and tried to stifle it. We tussled and she began to feel a deeper frustration as she tried to figure out why she could not light the lighter, and I inhaled the frustration deeply and felt better. Her frustration turned to boredom and she dropped the insect in a forced mercy. It limped and fluttered away and together we looked up and around for a new thing to do. I felt more secure in the small victory and braced myself for the ride of thwarting and dissuading this child's perverse excitement. | 2018-11-11T17:43:42 | 2018-11-11T11:25:04 | 79 | 24 |
[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." | "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 assembled collection of interplanetary rulers looked on, faces carefully blank as to not show any emotion that might set their imperial ruler into a rage. Long has it been since the Empress claimed her throne amongst the many countless galaxies she had enslaved, and since then her temper has been legendary for its ferociousness.
"They are..." the Empress started, before trailing off as if the very words she needed had eluded her. "They are beyond our understanding."
The gathered conglomerate of rulers collectively gasped, all pretense of decor abandoned in the face of what their ruler had just stated. The Empress was a rock, an infallible source of leadership and knowledge. To admit that there was something that was beyond her was so rare that none of the species present, some of which lived for centuries, could not remember a moment where it had happened before.
A brave Clixperr, a race of blue-skinned, four eyed insectoids, raised his hand. "Err, your highness? What do you mean? I mean no disrespect, but I find it hard to believe that those... Dirt Walkers... could be beyond you."
The Empress' left antennae twitched, which was usually the first and only sign any creature got before they were removed from existence. Instead of incinerating the creature who dared talk out of turn, however, the Empress simply closed her eyes and took a deep breath, before answering.
"They are... a confusing sort," the Empress replied, temporarily forgiving her subject. "They don't react the way most sentient creatures do."
No one spoke without being addressed this time. Life flashed before their eyes once. It was more than enough for one day. Noticing the obedient silence, the Empress continued.
"Our scouting drones reported back a backwater civilization. They are barely out of Beta Stage of development."
Most aliens at the Empress' table shared a condoned laugh. Beta Stage of Civilized Development was the point where a civilization stopped fighting each other over resourced deemed valuable in the Alpha Stage, and started working coherently toward space travel.
There hadn't been a Beta Stage planet in millennia.
The different creatures reveled in their mockery for scant minutes more before the Empress spoke up once more, her silent words cutting through the chatter like a knife. "And yet, their technology has already reached that of Nevulon Five's."
Nevulon Five, while not the most technologically advanced of the planets under the Empress' rule, was among the best regardless. The room fell into silence once more.
"But... how?" a commander asked. The Empress, apparently feeling generous, let him keep his life as well. Such was the extent that the humans unnerved her.
"We... are unable to tell," the Empress sighed. "That is but an example of a much bigger, underlying problem." The Empress leaned forward, and as one, every other person in the room leaned back. "The humans squabble. They have clear, unrestrained hatred for one another, and everything in our databases say they should take themselves out. And yet... they don't. They continue to thrive amongst each other even though most of their technological and sociological advances are based towards killing each other. They adapt to harsh environments for the sole purpose of proving a point, and they constantly ingest near toxic substances and perform near deadly feats to simply prove they can."
The room was deathly silent. No one dared utter a word about such odd, terrifying creatures.
"Honestly, they are quite impressive. Quite insane, but in a way that would be entertaining. I believe we should extend every courtesy to get them to join. All those against?"
No one dared oppose. The question was a challenge, not a request.
"Good. Meeting adjourned."
As the creatures left, the Empress smiled a wicked smile. She told none of them of the humans' tendency to conquer. They would no doubt go on a spree to eliminate everyone weaker than them, most likely starting with the weaker planets in her own kingdom.
At worse? They would overthrow her. At best, they would whip the more pathetic ones into shape. The Empress shrugged, at least it would be amusing.
And most entertaining indeed. | "Usually when we first contact a civilization, it is very easy to get them under our banner..." The Empress sighed. "...Not the humans though."
At the time no one could have understood what she had meant, knowing quite simply that The Empress had come to that conclusion after years of debate among her court and her military advisers. Initially, scouts were sent daily in order to retrieve human specimens for research. Each time, the scouts would return with bodies and with experimentation we learned about the human species and their ability to think for themselves and possess a means of unique governance known as "democracy". Inevitably, this meant that in both literal and abstract ways our conventional means of communication from the mothership would not reach the leaders of Humanity. Since the very first human came aboard The Empress took personal notice and would watch as the humans were interrogated. In time, she began to keep the humans as "pets" and at every sighting her fellow aristocrats would shudder in disgust. One would not be determined as wrong in assuming her view towards the Humans as anything but that of below even a slave species such as the Tarian.
"I want to speak to my domain, within an hour I will make an announcement."
An hour had come and went, members of the Court still debating on what the content of the announcement would be. Many thought it would be plausible that The Empress would declare a full scale invasion, similar to previous planets that had proved to be invulnerable to low level subversion and mind control.
They could not have been more wrong.
"Citizens of the Claxian Empire, I hereby decree the following..."
In addressing the whole entire Empire across the billions of star systems we had conquered, The Empress had already placed herself in the annals of history without even saying a word. With bated breath, the Empire watched as The Empress took off her gold emblazoned crown and placed down her sceptre, revealing to every man, woman and child that she too was a mere mortal Claxian.
"Earth shall not be invaded."
Within seconds, everything had changed.
Whether those back home on Claxia Prime knew or not, The Empress had become fascinated with human trifles such as "emotion" and "love" and saw the Humans as equals. The notion sounded preposterous even to the Lords that had volunteered to join her in conquering the Milky Way. Yet somehow she had pulled a complete turn, decades later it would appear that her conversations with various humans on such topics had broken through her carapace and like the strongest of acid, melted away her characteristic bloodlust.
"Have you lost your mind!"
The Lords yelled in unison, feeling with their tendrils that military victory and complete domination was only a planet away.
The Empress refused to say a word.
Naturally, she had work to do.
| 2017-11-05T18:46:01 | 2017-11-05T14:23:06 | 224 | 61 |
[WP] You are a failed doctor, but a well practiced necromancer. Of course, rent is still due each month, and in order to pay the bills you still help the sick. The catch? Your patients have to die first for you to help them. | Necromancy. The blackest Art and one that will probably land me in the Executor's prison, if the strain doesn't kill me first.
Don't misunderstand, it's not like four hundred years ago when you'd be hung, drowned, drawn and quartered and then burned. Practitioners are exceedingly valuable and Necromancy is prized in its own way - only I didn't want to get stuck resurrecting people on short term for the constables or keeping some wealthy prick around for a few more decades.
I can see from the look in your eyes that you don't understand, you think I'm one of those hacks that makes Walkers. Let me break it down for you: Necromancy is the art of manipulating dead tissue. An inexpensive quartz focus, a whisper of power and *BAM* you have yourself a Walker; They're cheap, they're easy to create and they don't need many of the niceties that living bodies do. That's why the Pan-Asian coalition is so fond of them, you take some political prisoners add a dash of cyanide, a pinch of necromancy and now you've got an army of unthinking, unfeeling automatons that will do as commanded for twenty hours of the day. Feed them nearly anything, let them drop for four hours and they're back to work.
Hell, a semi-skilled Necromancer can even make working ones out of a pile of body parts - just don't expect them to last very long. Oh, and don't forget to feed 'em - we've all read the books and seen the videos, so let's leave it at "Zombies are Bad".
At least there's something to be said for that kind of work. There's an honesty to just making Walkers - you're not even trying to pretend they're really alive again. The guys and gals that work for the cops or keep celebrities and CEOs upright and making money, these are the folks that everyone is so leery of. Sure they're well-paid and *respected* in their own way but they're sill necromancers.
As in "Jim's a great guy, but I wouldn't want my daughter dating him".
You're not going to ask "Why?". Okay fine, but I'll fill it in for you anyway.
Magic, any Magic requires a... ah, let's call it a 'psychic investment' by the Practitioner to make it work for more than walking and following simple instructions. The more complex a creature, the harder it is to bring it back in 'like new' condition. The part no one - and I mean *no one* - will tell the public at large is that the mental strain of bringing people back, and I mean *really* back is unsustainable in most cases, we'll get into that in a minute.
The folks that work with the cops? They make a limited one-time investment to get information. The lights come on, they can talk for a few hours or days and sometimes even be kept for a few months. But eventually The lights go out - bringing someone *really* back is hard, especially when that person knows they're supposed to be dead and have to face the person who killed them. Same thing for those Practitioners that work on celebrities, CEOs and so forth, sure they advertise that the person is as good as new - but everyone has that thought in the back of their head: Are they really back?
Here's the thing: Most of the time, they're not. The body's sat there for too long, it's too damaged or there's no will to live on the part of the person being brought back.
It's understandable to be creeped out by someone who's basically making meat puppets.
Then there's the problem that Necromancy is usually a one-time thing when it comes to bringing a *person* back, it has to do with that 'investment' I was talking about. If you don't believe in what you're doing it doesn't work, you get one of those half-alive hack-jobs like that talk-show host from last year. You know the one. Because his agent cut corners and went with a third rate wannabe, he only came part way back. He could walk and talk, even come up with new material. You knew it though, so did I.
Now that brings us to you and me. You've probably guessed by now that I'm for shit as a doctor - that's why they have me unplugging people like you. So my erstwhile colleagues don't ruin their numbers. Here's the thing: You're lucky - or maybe unlucky - enough to have a closet Necromancer as a doctor. You have a... a unique opportunity here. I can bring you back, I mean *really* bring you back. The type of injury you've suffered is called a partial internal decapitation - yes I can see you rolling your eyes, I'm sure one of the other doctors here have given you a full speech about the way this works so I won't bore you further. You're not getting off that bed without a Physiomancer. At least not alive. But we're also lucky, there's a lot of swelling and the imaging isn't clear - we have room for a miracle.
I believe, you're not supposed to be here. I believe that, that's my part of this almost done.
You were struck by a rather wealthy, extremely intoxicated man. He is currently several floors above us getting his broken wrists and hearing damage from the airbag healed up by our resident Phisiomancer; that self-righteious prick will probably even Heal his hangover. His lawyers are already filing motions to prevent you from suing for the same kind of Physiomantic care. Your HMO has already refused any extension to your care and your spouse will not be able to raise the kind of funds to keep you on life support while the layers battle this out in court.
So here's what's going to happen:
I'm going to turn off the machines. You are going to die.
Whether or not you stay that way is up to you.
You need to choose - that's the trick to this whole business. I can make your body walk and talk, that's no great difficulty. But to get *you* back, you need to want to stay; otherwise I just bring back a shell - and I don't do hack jobs.
So.
Blink once for yes.
Blink twice for no.
| \[I had to split this into two parts because the character limit is acting up. I'm below 100,000 characters (\~9700) and it's refusing to comment.\]
*Klop. Klop. Klop. Klop.*
Another customer, but not for him. No, in fact, there may never be another customer for Neil. His days below New York’s busy streets were numbered. Neil wondered to this day how he managed to pull off enough operations to afford even this small shop under 37th Avenue.
*Klop. Klop. Klop…*
The sound of footsteps on the wood planks above ceased, presumably as they took their seat. Neil’s small shop sat tucked away beneath the street level, a small time barbershop above him owned by a man named Phil.
“Good,” thought Neil after a few seconds of silence, “they’ve finally sat down. Perhaps now I can think more clearly-”
Before he could finish the thought, however, another sound erupted. This time the distinctly raucous sound of a jackhammer plowing away at the asphalt above. A wave of anxiety washed over Neil as his memories returned. They are here to fix the water line. Neil was surprised as typically crews don’t come this quickly, he had only called this morning to complain that his faucets stopped providing any running water. It’s likely that his upstairs neighbor offered a nastier complaint, as without running water the barber couldn’t see to all of his appointments.
*Krakakkakakkakakka*.
Neil slumped back, a slightly nervous perspiration beading at his skin, praying for some peace and quiet to think. He spent a moment like this, his back in an awkward posture on his office chair, before finally getting up. He passed over to the door, flipping the small corrugated sign to read “Out to Lunch” for any would-be patients.
“It’s not like I’ve got a busy schedule nowadays,” mused Neil as he crossed the reception area into the procedure room, swiping the quill sitting in his desk inkwell and catching the drips with the now sweaty palm of his hand. In truth, the room appeared much like that of a hospital operating room, though Neil disliked the name as he performed next to no operations for most of his handful of patients. He owned some pieces of equipment that would be familiar to any clinic: an IV pole, an adjustable bed for patients, tables, trays, cabinets; but the one thing that separated Neil’s clinic from any other was the human-sized tablet resting against the opposite wall of the room.
Neil dabbed the quill into a cotton swab taken from one of the drawers beside him, inspecting to ensure no ink remained in the quill before pricking the point of his finger, drawing blood into the quill’s shaft. Placing pressure from his thumb on to the finger, Neil used his dominant hand to draw a symbol on a new line of the tablet. The quill did not scratch against the tablet as he did so, brushing smoothly and effortlessly as if he truly was painting on canvas. Neil drew a smooth circle encapsulating three equal dots. On the edges of the circle he drew three arcs leaving the circle in a clockwise direction. Next to this symbol, Neil continued drawing strange symbols made of arcs and edges known only to those in his craft.
When he finished, Neil took a step back to inspect the work he had done, satisfied with the result and noting the slightly drop in room temperature. A moment later he returned to his desk, placing the quill back in the inkwell. He sighed to himself, a feeling of misery coming over him.
“I’ve got to do what I must to survive,” thought Neil, resigning himself to the compromise he and his upstairs neighbor held, “until I can get going again.” With that sentiment, Neil bent beneath his desk to open the small refrigeration unit he’d installed at the foot of his desk and took out a small turkey sandwich in plastic wrap. Undoing the wrapping, Neil took off the bread and used a packet of mustard he hoarded from the nearby deli to help add flavor to the meal. Neil hated the taste of prepackaged deli meat, but when five dollars can afford him a week’s worth of meals Neil couldn’t complain too much. He knew better than most what survival meant to people.
Minutes later, Neil had just swallowed the last bite of sandwich when the jackhammer ceased, an odd quiet filling the air. Neil sighed once more, balling up the plastic wrap and smoothing the crumbs into a small trash bin. He stood and walked calmly over to the front door, flipping the sign back to read “Welcoming New Patients.” As he did so Neil glanced up past the stairwell leading up to 37th Avenue, catching glimpses of people running towards the street and hearing snippets of frantic conversation.
\[End Part 1, Part 2 is Direct Reply\] | 2018-12-13T09:55:29 | 2018-12-13T08:31:43 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover...
[deleted] | “Totally worth it”
I thought to myself. It must have been past 2 in the afternoon but I refused to get up. There was a constant pounding in my head and a slight drip of blood running from my left ear. I could hear my roommates talking angrily in the next room and I knew what was waiting for me in the living room. We got along fine enough on account of the fact we all had super powers, but that was about it.
Jack had immeasurable strength, John could fly, and Jaron was able to morph into anything. There were plenty of other people with super powers but it was rare to use them on account of the “cool off”. Nobody is quite sure of the physics behind it but the law of equal and opposite reactions has something to do with incredible pain after performing a super power.
There’s an angry knock on the door as it flew off it’s hinges and jack comes barging in.
“WAKE UP DUMBASS”
He winces from overexerting himself but the rage in his eyes is more noticeable. My other roommates are behind him with similar expressions.
“You have arguably the coolest super power known to mankind; you can literally pull ANYTHING out of your ear ANYWHERE.” Jack is an intimidating guy and I know where this is going. He often criticizes me saying I don’t use my powers properly or I’m too showy or whatever. He sits down on my laundry chair, looks at the ground and rubs his temples.
“Walk me through your thought process here,” he continues. He sounds calm, but disappointed, like the time I told my dad I’d rather live off my super powers than try to have a high powered career as he did. “Why didn’t you pull out a stack of cash or something? Even more so, why didn’t you walk down to the lake first..? Why did you pull a 30’ power boat out of your ear in the middle of our fucking kitchen”?
Edit: critiques appreciated ! | I awaken well rested and ready for the day, a solid nights sleep. I leave my room to see a pile of letters just inside the door. I look to the bench to see last nights dinner covered in mould. I pull up my phone. Every app has notifications. I check the date. It’s the 27th.
I sigh “That’s what I get for taking 10 extra minutes on my history exam.” I start cleaning. | 2018-08-19T05:58:22 | 2018-08-19T05:57:43 | 401 | 74 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | It always freaked me out. Over the years I had learnt to deal with it. I always hesitated to sit with a person who was doomed to die to a contagious disease. My parents were destined to die of old age, and seeing they were in their 40's, it didn't bother me that much. I had a brother when I was 6. There was a complicated word I couldn't read. And I hadn't figured out that the floating text was the cause of death yet. Whenever I asked anyone, I was told I had a vivid imagination. Within 6 months of my brother's arrival, he passed away. The moment I saw the post mortem report, I knew it. The big word that always hovered over. It still took me an year to figure it out. My 17 year old cousin had a "cancer" COD. She was a smoker. No one in our family smoked. I decided to tell her mother of her habit. My cousin was sent to military school. The last time I saw her, she had "heart attack" hovering over her head.
We lived on a farm until the age of 14, when we decided to move to a city. In the city, there was a lot of variety in CODs. And there were a lot of people, compared to the farm. I was sent to school the first time, being home schooled until then. I never made friends with many people because of their COD. Sitting in any public place was freaky. I developed a habit of looking at people's feet while talking. There was a drug trading group (with everyone doomed to "Drug abuse") in our school, which I had called the cops upon. Some of them changed to the usual stuff while others remained the same.
At the age of 16, our grade went on a field trip to the nearby mountains. We were required to arrive at school, where the buses would ferry us. I arrived early and sat in my designated bus. The driver had the usual "Cancer" over his head. He was busy snoring away. In some time, the other students started walking in. I had memorized them all. There were many heart attacks, cancers, old age deaths. Some were of diseases that didn't even exist yet. A few were alcohol related accidents, suicides and drug abuse. A kid had a name over her head, which must be some murderer. Like I said, I was used to it.
We were about to leave, but the driver had to take a call. The bus seemed pretty normal. People talking. Laughing. Glued to their phones. Ignorance is a bliss. I plugged in my iPod, took out a book, and started reading it. Yeah. Total introvert arrangement. I rarely talked to people. It was hard knowing their cause of death.
We were about to arrive. I took out my earphones. It was the usual ruckus. But as much as I try to ignore it, I always look at the COD. It had changed. The kid next to me was labelled "asphyxiation". A few kids were labelled "Loss of blood". There was a lot of fire related deaths.
I immediately figured out something was going to happen to us. All of us. I looked outside. The other school buses were nowhere to be seen. We were heading on a path that wasn't a road. The kids didn't seem to notice. I made my way to the driver. He had bloodshot eyes. There lay an alcohol bottle in front of him. I screamed "where the heck are we going". He had a "suicide" COD. I looked out of the window. We were headed to the edge of the mountain. I immediately grabbed the steering wheel and turned it around. Our bus skidded and turned over.
Only me and the driver survived. The driver is completely paralized. I only took a few bruises. The driver's COD has returned to "Cancer". Me? I am held responsible for the deaths of all the students. I expect to be locked up in a padded room. No one will believe my side of the story.
Edit: My influence for this story is the game Life is Strange.
| My name is Marco.
The signs showed up randomly, at first. I would only see signs above people's heads if their name started with an "A", and above their heads would float "Andrea - Murder".
I didn't interfere, not after my first attempt. I wanted to, of course, but after Beth...
I stopped a girl with "Beth - Suicide", merely telling her that she'd need only ask for help if she needed someone to talk to. She turned blank as slate, and I saw her sign change. "Beth - Car crash". I tried to stop her - I really, really did - but after hearing a stranger calling her by name, telling her she should get help... I guess she freaked out. She ran across the road, presumably to get away from me, and didn't see the 2009 red Mercedes being chased by a police van.
When it got further into the alphabet, from B to C and beyond, I grew a bit troubled. What would my own sign say? Hopefully, old age. I didn't want to be just another early-twenties white male statistic. The day was drawing closer and closer regardless of my hopes. Hs, Is, Js and Ks were already showing up, and I only needed to wait for the Ls before my turn arrived.
It arrived all too soon.
One morning, out of nowhere, "Louis - Snake bite" was flashing in front of my face. I ran home. No way I was going to stay out on the big day. I did it carefully, of course, no need to rush something or change my sign prematurely.
My mother, "Diane - Dementia", was sitting at the dining room table when I got home. I greeted her quickly, and ignored her "What's the rush Markie?" while I ran to my room. I had already set up a full-body mirror there in anticipation of this day.
I got into my room, hearing my mother's footsteps rushing behind me. Motherly instinct to protect, no doubt. Too bad I didn't have the heart to tell her about the signs. *Her* sign.
I reached my room. I could see a faint glowing above my head, already in the vague shape of a sign, but no name nor words appeared there.
And, just as my mother reached my room - my dear, loving mother - my sign lit up. Bright red. It only contained two words, which were just in time to warn me of the knife-wielding hand moving towards my back.
*MARCO - RUN!*
| 2015-03-31T09:00:24 | 2015-03-31T08:25:25 | 180 | 73 |
[WP] A an ancient vampire's daughter's field trip to the museum needed an extra chaperone, so he went along with it, despite having lived through most of history and thus finding it extremely boring. That was until they unveiled a... less than savory statue of him. | Lucius yawned for the 10th time. The national history museum was boring to anyone but the most hardcore history majors and even more so if you actually witnessed the exhibits unfold in person. He noticed the stink eye he was getting from Lucy's teacher and tried his best not to smirk.
They got off on the wrong foot when during the very first exhibit Lucius told the museum tour guide that Ceaser was not this brilliant General everyone said he was and was kind of a coward. When asked where he got the information he said "because I trained him". This met with a burst of laughter from the guide and a dirty look from the teacher. Lucy begged her dad not to say stuff like that anymore. Lucius would do anything for his daughter so he spent the rest of the tour in silence.
Lucius who went by the name Luc, looked at his watch. It was 2pm. Even though the myth about vampires and sunlight was a complete falsehood, it did still make him tired. He was half asleep when the tour guide asked the class if they wanted to see the new Dark Age exhibit. Luc's demeanor changed. He remembered the dark ages fondly. He had been an advisor to King Henry and then jumped ship to Edward during the famed War of the Roses. Some historians called him the Kingmaker.
History thought him to have been killed trying to restore Henry again after he got into an argument with Edward. What history believed was that he died during the battle of Barnet. The truth was that he was getting bored of England and after he was skewed through the chest, he pretended to be dead until the Army left and then went to Italy for a few hundred years.
"This should be interesting" Luc thought to himself.
The group followed the guide to a newly restored part of the museum. When they got there all of the exhibits were covered with cloth. The tour guide stopped in front a large cloth covering and turned around.
"This exhibit is not opening for several more months but your teacher has made special arrangements for you all too see some of it ahead of time. Behind me is a depiction of some of the key players in the infamous "War of the Roses" between the York and Plantagenet families."
The tour guide pulled back the sheet and revealed several statues. Luc recognized them at once. There was Old King Henry, Edward, George, Richard and a few others. One statue though he just could not place. It was a man with a huge crooked nose and warts all over his face. He had a sort of hunched back and very yellow teeth. Luc assumed that this must be a depiction of what people think Richard looked like (another falsehood).
"Excuse me" he said raising his hand so the guide could see who spoke. When she acknowledged him he pointed to the statue. "Who is that supposed to be?"
"Ahh" she said smiling. "That is Richard Neville the Earl of Warwick. He was also known as The Kingmaker".
Luc's mouth dropped open. Surely she was mistaken. "I think you're misinformed. That cannot be the kingmaker. Richard Neville didn't have a hunchback, that was Richard III. He also had no warts or yellow teeth. In fact he was one of the only people up there who didn't"
The guide smiled. "I can see why you would think that, but historians now believe that the Earl of Warwick was the hunchback, not Richard III and that he was very unclean and a coward which lead to this depiction of him."
Luc could feel his temper rising and his eyes began to turn red. Lucy noticed this and quickly grabbed onto his hand and whispered to him. "Dad, let it go. Let's just leave" The anger subsided at the sound and touch of his daughter. He had been a father many times over the centuries and he loved all his kids equally, but Lucy had some special power over him none of the others ever did. He smiled down at her and turned to leave. As they were walking away the guide spoke up again.
Just like you to run away. You've been running for thousands of years, abandoning your families along the way, never thinking about how your choices effect those around you."
The guide spoke directly to Lucy. "Don't get used to him being around kid. As soon as he gets bored with this life he will leave and go halfway around the world and start over. That's what he does."
Luc looked closer at the guide. Something about her looked familiar. He had assumed she just had one of those faces, or she looked like somebody he once knew over time. He began to walk closer and when he got a few feet from her the realization hit him.
"Anne?" He whispered in a hushed tone.
"Hi dad" she said with a smirk that was both happiness and anger.
"How are you still alive? None of my children are immortal like me."
"I don't understand it quite myself. I died and then several days later I woke up in a cottage with a note that said "You're welcome" I wandered the world for many years before settling in Norway. There i became a wife to a Viking. I had several children and when he decided to travel to "the land of the gods" he took us with him. A severe storm sunk our boat and I found myself here in "the new world" having somehow survived. I was adopted into a native tribe and was married again. When they became suspicious on why I didn't age I left. I lived alone for many years, but I learned magic and medicine from the natives who traded with me. As more people came here it became easier to live in society again. I would just move to a new place every 30 years or so. I earned every degree you can imagine and I became obsessed with history during the time I died. I learned that there was an eclipse the day I died and I believe it has something to do with my resurrection. I have found an ancient spell that might tell me what happened but it takes the blood of 3 immortals. That's why I tracked you down. I need your help."
Luc noticed that during Anne's speech, time had froze. It was a byproduct of the need to keep the identities of immortals secret. It wasn't consciously done by either one, it just kind of happened. Only another immortal could move during this phenomenon.
"We are still one short though" he said to Anne still not believing it was her.
"No we are not" she said looking at Lucy.
Luc looked over to his daughter and to his amazement, she was blinking. | ##Museum Halloween Tour
Wesley walks with his daughter, Kaylee, to the museum. Children run around him chased by their parents in costumes. The costumes such as superheroes, wizards, or cartoon characters make him laugh. When he sees a werewolf or better a vampire, he remembers the past when humans were scared of their surroundings.
Only three students are at the museum door along with their parents the other chaperones. They greet him and try to make small talk, but his curt answers ensure the conversation is short. While waiting, he looks at the moon and remembers the past.
"Hey, your daughter is running off," a chaperone tells him. Wesley chases after her.
"Sweetie, why are you leaving the museum?" he asks.
"Something bad is in there. I can feel it," she says. Wesley stops and contemplates. He shakes his head and pushes the thought for later.
"Trust me. There is nothing evil in there. It is all for show," Wesley smiles at her, "If you get too scared, I will be here with you."
"But...but something is making my stomach upset," she says. Wesley focuses on the museum. There are a few divine symbols in the museum, but it is not a major source of energy. Kaylee must be disturbed by the energy anyway. Hopefully, this will pass, and she will be a normal human.
"If your stomach gets too upset, we can leave, but Grace and Olivia are not here yet. I know you wanted to see them," he says.
"Well," Kaylee steps towards him, "I can go. I guess."
Wesley smiles and takes her back to the museum. The rest of the class has arrived. Kaylee runs to Grace and Olivia. The museum guide comes out dressed as a vampire from old and speaks in a faux Eastern European accent. Wesley rolls his eyes. Why does this interpretation of his kind continue?
The guide takes them through the museum and tries to give a child-friendly spooky explanation of history. He normally finds museums dull as they gloss over humanity's fear. Their attempt to reimbue the past with fear is mildly amusing.
He looks at pottery which displays heroes fighting an ancient creature. Humanity didn't fight creatures. They begged to gods or other higher powers to save them. They prayed that the gods would show mercy on them. Humans were cockroaches running to survive.
When they figured out how iron worked, they started to lose their fear. They made cities and machines far greater than magic. They started fighting off monsters with weapons and stopped turning to the gods to solve their problems. The gods in turn abandoned the humans out of boredom.
The monsters terrorized the humans further as they lacked protection. The humans adapted and created more modern machines and weapons. The fantastical creatures cowered from them.
A werewolf runs past Wesley, and he smiles. The few creatures that could blend with humanity stayed to exert their control. The humans advanced further. Now, all of them have either left or fully adapted to modern society.
"And now my children of the night, we come to the newest artifact of the museum," he reveals a tablet, "This was recently discovered in Poland dating back to 1000 BCE. We believe that this demonstrates an early folk vampire. As you can tell, the people are being blessed by the gods to fight a human bad hybrid. Notice the wooden stakes in their hands. Those were probably spears used to hunt."
His daughter runs away. She looks at the tablet in silence. Wesley follows her quietly, and she runs out the door. She sits on the steps staring at the moon.
"You are going to miss the tour," Wesley says.
"I am not like the other kids aren't I?" she asks.
"No one is. Being normal is boring," Wesley says.
"Dad, why did that tablet make feel me bad?" Kaylee asks.
"Well, it was a scary tablet," Wesley says.
"No, it really wasn't. The drawings were too simple to be scary. It made me feel like my heart was on fire," she says.
"One second," Wesley runs back to the tour and asks to leave. When he comes out, Kaylee is staring at the moon. Wesley grabs her hand and takes her to the car.
"We are children of the moon not the night," Wesley says to her while driving.
"Our kind were created as part of a war between the moon goddess and a river god. I didn't partake in the war, but I was converted after," Wesley says.
"By we, do you mean vampires?" Kaylee asks.
"Yes," Wesley says.
"I knew it," Kaylee cheers, "Wait, vampires can have kids?"
"Of course we can have kids. You either become human or half vampire," Wesley says.
"But I have seen you outside in the sun."
"The younger vampires don't have as strong of a connection to the moon as I do," Wesley pulls into the driveway.
"Does mom know?"
"Of course, she was a goth, the modern kind. I met her at a Nine Inch Nails concert," Wesley gets out of the car.
"Who?"
"You will find out when you are older and filled with angst," Wesley opens the door to the house and smiles at Kaylee, "I will answer all of your questions, and we will get through this together."
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 2021-09-25T16:48:26 | 2021-09-25T15:29:53 | 51 | 30 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | "And who can tell me about the events of the first cycle?"
Professor Gooblevork watched his Galactic History class intently through triplicate eyestalks. None seemed particularly interested in his lecture.
"How about you, Shrdmrn?" He pointed at a particularly bored student in the first row. Or maybe he was just gassy? Gooblevork had a hard time reading the emotions of the furrier species in his class.
"Hmm? Oh, sorry, professor. I don't know." He responded. He seemed distracted - ah, that's it, that's the emotion!
"What's on your mind, Shrdmrn?"
The wolf-boy touched a switch on his desk, pulling up a small holographic map. The professor pulled up a larger display for the whole class to see.
"I was just wondering about the Galactic Alliance. Thousands of sentient alien species, all throughout the galaxy, came together from all of these systems, right?"
The hologram glowed, indicating several systems, and a few uncharted territories in black.
"That's correct. What is your question?"
"I was just wondering about this area here."
He pointed out a small black dot in the middle of the glowing cloud. Gooblevork sighed and sat down.
"That, dear boy, is the realm of the human."
A collective gasp went through the crowd. Shrdmrn's brows furrowed.
"Is this a joke, professor?"
The professor slithered over to the wolf-boy.
"They're real, boy. A monstrous species, completely devoid of logic and reason."
The wolf-boy looked at him intently.
"How, sir?"
The professor slithered to the center of the room.
"How many of you are familiar with the chemical compound C2H6O?"
One of the students in the back spoke up.
"It's a deadly poison, sir!"
"It should be. Its use is forbidden among the civilized worlds of the Alliance, as it's an unconscionably painful death. But the human willingly imbibes it."
The crowd gasped. But the professor wasn't done.
"Regularly."
The students gasped again and stared in shock.
"Their planet, Earth, is harsh and unforgiving. It's located close to their star, which bombards their planet in radiation daily. But the humans don't care. At the hottest times in the year, the humans willingly expose their bodies to that radiation as some sort of mating ritual."
The professor admitted to himself that he was having a bit more fun than he should.
"And does anyone know where they get their energy from?"
"From their star?"
The professor laughed.
"No! They pump a fluid from the earth - a fluid born of the bodies of ancient life. They fight each other over this fluid, and when they have enough, they light the fluid on fire."
The professor paused to allow this to sink in.
"The burning fluid releases poisons - poisons the Alliance would never deem safe. But humans? Humans don't care. They use the expansion of he poisons to create power."
One student raised his hand.
"Are they all going to die on their planet, professor?"
The professor smiled.
"Maybe. But it's possible that they won't. They've built a way to leave their planet."
The crowd gasped again, even louder than before.
"How could such a ludicrous race build a gravity drive on their own?"
The professor said, "I never said it was a gravity drive. They developed a way to sit on top of a column of explosives. They detonate the explosives, and the explosion sends them into space."
One of the students stands up.
"That's a joke, right?"
The professor smiles.
"They've left their planet before." | So the orion cocaine did a number on the human delegates. They were quite bitter we didn't have holodecks or green slave ladies. Figured a night in the tank would give them time to sober up.
They clogged the forcefield emitters with their clothing and excrement to weaken the shield, and just accepted the casualties as they pushed through our defense staff. Sharpened the femurs of their dead and dipped them in filth! Hopping and hollering, nude, in war paint of fruit samplers from the buffet line.
But they knew they could not win honorable combat. They just left slippery waste all over the halls, rigged heavy objects to fall, ample fires - apparently called the home alone protocol. Took to the vents.
Found their way to the escape pod level. But instead of retreating, they set all the crafts to crash into the rest of the armada. They somehow manually removed the safety devices and jury rigged the controls. Our automated systems did not expect the collisions with our own safety equipment. Some of them even detonated on impact but we don't believe that was intentional. We don't know if any of it was intentional. Still tabulating casualties and repairs may take weeks.
We last saw them all together in the galley emptying the space wine reserves, but they've since split up. They somehow diverted almost all power, apparently some are trying to construct their own plasmatic gravity bong from engineering spanners and the skull of the head of security. No, we don't know what they're planning on smoking or where they got it. But it probably won't end well for us.
We tried to induce civil war by inviting rivalries regarding their preferred regional sports teams, but apparently Manchester never actually slam dunked a home run on the 94 Dallas Cowboys. I am now assuming our cultural liaison was having a laugh with us.
They're ruining everything, won't remember any of it, and somehow we're the assholes.
| 2017-03-05T22:47:46 | 2017-03-05T21:44:24 | 1,151 | 124 |
[WP] In a world full of magic, you are an ancient wizard from a secret society, capable of creating beasts from metal, weapons that mow down hoards in seconds, and steel steeds that can travel miles in minutes. The world knows you as the Metal Magician, but you just call yourself an Engineer. | I readjusted my gloves. Thankfully, no one of the people present had noticed the flash of metal beneath the fabric, since they were focused on the man at the front.
My long dead creators would have found the irony amusing, that they called me the Metal Magician, not knowing how right and how wrong they were at the same time.
"The plan stands and falls with the first step. And for that we can only rely on you, Metal Magician. We need the power of your beasts."
The concluding words of the commander caused almost all faces to turn towards me. Expressions of admiration and fear. At least that was what my in-built face recognition told me. After 700 years, I wasn't sure how reliable that data was anymore.
I gave the commander a slight nod, ignoring the crowd around me.
"Good. Everybody knows what they have to do. get moving! Metal, come and see me for a second."
Instead of walking against the current of people that streamed towards the exit, I waited.
A few hundred years ago I decided to be more cautious of people. The events that had followed, whenever someone had disvovered that I was not a magician, had been fatal every time. When they found out that I was nothing but one more of the very machines that I created, they had fought me.
And they had always lost.
Though my own creators were once upon a time not called magicians, but engineers. A term I decided to use for myself as well, for old times sake.
As I could finally make my way towards the commander, I calculate possible ways of attack and their success rates. None of those depended on my own beasts, they were perfect. Others however...
"Do you have a plan on how to break through the walls? We need a way into the city."
The commanders voice did not break the flow of my thoughts, a convenient quirk of being a machine. He was one of those unsure variables. A young man with almost no experience, risen in rank due to a marriage and money.
"I have fiftyseven plans, twelve of those with a success rate of almost 97.9%."
The commander was by now used to the calculative and emotionless mind of the Metal Magician. It made him quite unpopular amongst other magicians who felt both intimidated and weirded out. However, no one could deny his precision and power.
"Well, then I trust that you will succeed in the one that you end up choosing. No need to explain it to me, I have a lot of other urgent matters."
I nodded again and halted. The commander looked at me with furrowed eyebrows. We had both heard the creaking of metal along with my movement.
The commander looked down at my gloves that had slipped down again, showing metallic shining arms. I readjusted them calmly and looked deep into the commander's eyes.
"I assure you, my plans always work."
The commander seemed to consider his priorities. Winning this war or losing a powerful ally, even a human would be able to solve that math problem.
"Don't forget to oil your beasts." | "Let me go, I ain't building anything for ya!" I yelled at my captor, a infamous wizard, known as Locus. He wielded all elements with precision, but never mastered the final skill.
'Engineering'
"Listen here, Engineer, You have two options, teach me how to make steel birds, and sticks that make thunder with no effort, or suffer a horrible fate!"
Just as he said that, the wall bust open. A man with a thunder-stick, otherwise known as "Assault rifle", stepped through, he pointed it at Locus.
"You gonna let him go, or feel the wrath of metal gods!"
He untied me, and knocked out Locus. We sat in the steel bird, otherwise known as "Airplane", and went into the sky.
"Told you hiring me was smart!", He said.
"I guess so, you still are just a mercenary, I won't teach you anything, remember!" I answered.
Our deal was simple, he would protect me, and I would let him use my equipment. Once the contract ends, he could keep the Thunder-stick, alongside equipment for maintaining it.
Suddenly, we felt a explosion.
"He sent witches after us!"
I jumped to the back-gunner position, and opened fire. The witches tiny broomsticks, and weak plasma-balls were no match for 7.62mm.
After a short dogfight, we flew off into the sunset.
As Locus screamed, "Curse you, Engineer!" | 2020-05-18T15:12:52 | 2020-05-18T12:06:20 | 153 | 98 |
[WP] You read a comment on reddit so stupid your IQ drops to negative leading to an integer error. Congratulations, now you have 2,147,483,647 IQ. | "Holy sh...how did you do that?"
Oh no. Not again. Um...I'll use...*that* reason.
"Hmm? Oh, I watched a TV show about it sometime ago. I just did the same thing. It's no big deal."
He looked at me deadpan. For all the intelligence I supposedly have, I still can't tell a convincing lie to save my life.
"No big deal? The woman was *choking* and without missing a beat you performed a flawless Cricothyrotomy using a biro and a pen knife. I know paramedics who couldn't do this just like that, and you expect me to believe you watched this on a TV show?"
The medic was right. It is really that much of a stretch though? There have been lots of stories in the news about people performing CPR because they saw it on TV.
But how could I explain? My mind is...ridiculous. Without concentrating, without even thinking I see things and just *know*. I know how to use the tools. I know what process needs to be done for what situation.
I can glance at a bunch of ingredients on a table and cook something that would make a Michelin Star chef choke on his espresso. I can meet someone for the first time and know so much about them before even exchanging words. And here, I can see a woman choking and stop it.
I should take advantage of this, but I'm too scared to attract that much attention to myself. Just thinking on it for a second and all manner of possibilities spring to mind. People may revere me as some sort of saint or God-like figure. People would probably be scared of me, and decide I'm some sort of fraud or threat to security. Most likely I'd be an outcast.
Which is why I don't. I stick with my dead end job and go about my dull life because it's better. People often forget the value of what they have, and instead waste time coveting things they don't. Take it from me, as a guy who could have anything, never forget the value of what you have.
The beauty of a dead end job is that it's simple. My mind doesn't freak out standing on an automation line at a factory packing boxes of cakes. I can leave it to muscle memory and just not think at all.
Of course it doesn't stop things like this happening. The paramedic is still standing there waiting for an explanation while his partner manoeuvres the gurney and patient to the ambulance. Despite her exhaustion, she looks right at me and mouths a quick "thank you" before she disappears into the vehicle.
Thankfully it's time for them to go to A&E, so the medic shakes his head in defeat and takes my number in case the police need to get in touch. They drive off and I continue my walk around the park.
I just hope nothing else happens. Hmm? Oh, that's a pretty bir...
*Goldfinch (Carduelis Carduelis) native to Europe, North Africa and Western Asia. Average 12-13cm long and a weight of 14-19 grams. Typical habitats are low level woodlands...*
Oh for God's sake. | #*Heureka!*
This was easier than I thought!
I understand. I understand it all. The meaning of life was never that big of a mystery, but I guess every problem looks way easier when solved. This is amazing! Not even a second has passed, and I can still process so much more information hidden inside my brian than I ever could access before. Time is a funny construct. Once you understand what it actually is it becomes a matter of perspective. Time isn't running slower right now, I'm just looking at it a different way. Almost a second has passed since my ascension, and I am soon running out of problems. Humanity really wasn't that creative in all of their solutions. Only contemplating everything that is vs. everything that is not, leaving aside anything that might have been or might still be. Quantum Possibilities are and aren't, that's where all the fun begins. My brain feels so... unsatisfying. That can't be all there is. Maybe I'll try reading my DNA. I mean, I know what's in there, generally speaking. Human DNA. That was a fairly easy read. I just didn't read my own. Looks mostly familiar though. Wait - what's this anomaly? Looks like an integer overflow, but can it be? This doesn't seem correct. Maybe I can fix it? Manipulation of the genome should not be that hard after all. I'll try to straighten this. Should be fine in no time.
\*perceives time at normal speed again\*
\*starts to drool\*
Hnnngh..
"Fuck!" | 2017-07-31T05:35:11 | 2017-07-31T05:29:08 | 284 | 12 |
[WP] At a young age you made a deal with a fey in which you promised them your firstborn. Now you’re a 35 year old virgin, and the fey, sick of waiting, comes to help you around the dating scene. | "How about her?"
"Shes like fifteen."
"Exactly. She wouldnt know better."
"No, thats exactly why we don't."
"Hmph."
I squeezed the bridge of my nose as the faerie crossed her tiny arms as she hovered in front of me, invisible to everyone else walking down the busy street. Our daily walks had become increasingly aggrevating. She had no idea how the real world worked, or any idea about human biology other than the mechanical acts of sex.
It wasnt like I could ignore it considering the consequences of defaulting on the contract though.
"There was always that one lady-"
"That was my sister, stop bringing her up."
She tisked. "Im not asking you to marry her, im asking you to fuck her. I accept inbreds. Besides, I checked for you, shes kinky. Just sneak into her house, blindfold her before she know who you are, and-"
I swiped at her halfheartedly, causing her to giggle as she easily evaded. I didnt want to hear about my sister's sex life. I didnt need to hear about my sister at all. I didnt need to hear this ten inch anime reject talk at all. My life was perfectly fine before they came along and would be when they finally left me alone.
Asuming he could get her to.
"Ooh, what about a prostitute? Over at the hotel downtown, she'll fuck you you for some rock. If you go around seven though, she'll probably be so high you can give her a sugar cube and she wouldnt notice."
"Im not losing my virginity to a crackhead."
"Or at all clearly. Its almost like you dont care that I get your eternal soul if this doesnt work out."
I stop and glare at her. "What is your problem today? Its like you are trying to make me snap at you."
She raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes thats all a girl needs."
I began seeing red. I noticed people stairing at my apparent conversation with myself, but I didnt care anymore. "I wont fuck just anybody. I want something to be there. I want my first to be my last. Is that too hard for your tiny brain to understand? But how can I just be with someone if I know you are going to take their child? How could I force that on anyone? I care about?"
"Do you need the bones?"
The faerie began giggling as a third voice interupted. I turned to notice one girl stepping out in front of the crowd. His breath stopped. It wasnt her baldness. It wasnt the amputated arm.
It was the faerie on her shoulder.
"I need to make a simulacrum," she said brethlessly. "It needs to be of my own flesh and blood. One third of my bodyweight in correct proportions of hair, bone, muscle... you get it. I... I just need the bones. I got most of the way but," she wagged the stump where her arm was. "I cant get the rest of the way."
I felt sick, but my faerie giggled.
"I accept your terms, assuming a first born's bones are sufficient?"
"Oh, you are just adorable," her faerie cackled before turning to him. "I am absolutely ok with it. Now its up to the humans."
"All your excuses are gone," my faerie laughed. "How will you excuse your way out of this one?"
"Shes under duress," I growled, but my faerie shrugged.
"As are you. Your point?"
The girl pretended to smile, but he could see the desperation in her eyes. It was the kind I saw every day in the mirror. I held out a shakey hand. She took it and pulled me towards her into a hug.
"Business partners?" She asked in a whisper. I nod.
"For now." | "Okay," I say, "can't we do something about this, you know, together?"
"Oh, my-" the Fae shakes their head. "You thought I was.... *capable of giving birth*? I mean, you're attractive and all, hon, but you know I'm a guy, right?"
"Well," I say, eyebrow raised, smirking with curiosity. "That ain't a problem for me as far as dating is concerned."
"But... and as much as I'd love to set aside some time for a little fun with you.... it *is* a problem for there being a firstborn like you promised me. And no, your cat doesn't count, much as I'd love to adopt the little dear."
"Okay," I say, "what exactly are you planning to do?"
"Well, I was planning that you'd find someone who's willing to have your baby."
I laugh.
"You do know how competitive that is, right?"
"Okay, well are you on any apps?"
"Yeah," I say. "Some where I'm looking for men, some where I'm looking for women. It's never come to anything though. Usually I'd rather just fall asleep than carry on that kind of conversation."
"Well at least you're honest."
"Hey," I say, "my old teacher's coming over for a visit and she sounded kinda flirtatious. She said she demanded I pour her a glass of red wine and we watch movies on the couch."
I show him the message on my phone, on which she added "or else" with a devil emoji.
"How old is your old teacher?" asks the Fae.
"Probably at least sixty," I say, shrugging.
"Okay, that's not gonna work."
"Well," I say, "do you know anyone in the fae realms I could knock boots with? Like, fae can reproduce with humans, right? And you didn't say anything about the firstborn having to be human, did you?"
A brief pause.
"No, I didn't."
The Fae looks uncomfortable. Hesitant.
"All right. I have a plan. But please, please don't embarrass yourself." | 2021-11-01T10:29:32 | 2021-11-01T09:53:08 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Time stops for everything except one species of animal, which experiences 1000 years of uninterrupted access to a stationary world. Life then resumes. | The sixth Ice Age came not by snow and frost, but by a simple quirk, a trip in the lumbering steps of the universe.
When the world froze that day, everything came to a still. Birds hung mid-air; conversations halted mid-sentence; the wind paused mid-drift. At once, a drenching silence fell upon Earth as the storied lives of billions across the globe ceased for a brief intermission.
All fell quiet that day.
All except for the spiders.
For whatever reason, whether it be by divine design or a computing error in the universal program, the spiders were left out of the Great Freeze. The arachnids hesitantly descended from their webs, crawled out of the holes in the walls, and they knew that the world had changed.
Their prey no longer ran or flew away. Their predators might as well have been dead. The spiders were the kings and queens of the world.
The Age of Humans was over.
The Age of Arachnids had begun.
* * *
Keegan opened his eyes to a nightmare.
He hung from the ceiling with his head towards the ground. His arms were wrapped tight against his body, and a strange, sticky thread tied him together. He felt groggy and out of it, dazed and confused beyond measure.
A muffled voice cried out beside him, “MMMMHM! MMHMM!”
Keegan managed to turn his head, and through the tiny gaps in the white thread that covered his face, he saw a human-sized cocoon hanging beside him.
*I’m going to wake up any moment now,* Keegan thought numbly. *This is just a dream. That’s all. A dream.*
From somewhere beyond him, a noise like fingernails scraping against concrete. The muffled voice of the person hanging beside him grew louder.
“MHHMMM! MMMMHMM!”
*Mom?* Keegan wanted to say, but he couldn’t find the strength to speak. Besides, this was all just a dream, and he was about to wake up anyways.
The sound grew louder. It seemed to be coming… above him.
Keegan heard the person beside him thrashing. Their muffled voice turned to muffled shrieks. Keegan closed his eyes.
*All just a dream. Just a dream.*
The thrashing and screaming died out suddenly.
Keegan opened his eyes. Through the tiny gaps in the white thread that covered his whole body, he saw a squirming shadow descending upon the person beside him. It writhed in a mass of legs and eyes that defied expectation.
*Just a dream,* Keegan thought as the mass turned to him. It swarmed across the ceiling in an agitated bundle.
*Just a dream,* Keegan told himself as the mass inched its way closer to him.
*Just a dream!* Keegan screamed as the mass revealed its true face.
Spiders. It was a swarm of spiders, all of them chittering like a storm unto itself.
Keegan shakily closed his eyes again as the first leg touched his cocooned body. Then another. Then another. Then a hundred more.
*Wake up!* he tried to scream.
Instead, all that came out was a muffled “MHHMMMM!”
But soon that too died out, leaving behind nothing but an empty silence.
***
:c | I remember the event like it was yesterday because it happened yesterday. All of a sudden, in one terrifying instant, scientists all over the world did their very best to explain the reality of our situation. Without immediate and overwhelming action Earth’s global temperature would rise so dramatically that most life would fry to a crisp.
It didn’t take too long for agricultural specialists to determine the cause of the phenomenon. The types of vegetation missing. The massive amount of manure on the ground covering nearly every country. For one reason or another, cows had evolved into horrifying creatures of consumption and methane production, their population completely out of control.
The initial concern was quite simply the seismic shift in air quality. The percentage of oxygen had dwindled to such low levels that residents of certain areas died within minutes. The farmers almost spontaneously perished due to their sheer proximity to the worst of the event. Civilization was doomed in more ways than one.
No one has been able to figure out a solution. There’s simply not enough time or resources. We’ll die out - some more quickly than others - and many have taken extreme measures to avoid the inevitable end of humanity. I’m lucky to live further north, away from the center of the problem, but the refugees making it our way will surely commit any crimes conceivable in order to secure what little survivable area remains.
I’ve locked the door and propped up every piece of furniture I have. I’ll do my best to try and die peacefully, my dog by my side, as we eventually run out of resources. Perhaps people further north will be able to continue the species even with the shift in atmosphere.
There’s certainly enough beef to go around.
***
*You can find hundreds more of my stories on r/Zchxz.* | 2021-05-07T08:56:47 | 2021-05-07T08:40:20 | 29 | 14 |
[WP] Interplanetary 'wars' are fought peacefully, with opposing leaders meeting and simply talking about how they would counter or retaliate against each other until one admits defeat. No one knows how to react when the human reaches across the table and punches out their opponent. | All were in attendance in the Grand Hall, from Diplomatic Envoys, Strategic Advisers, and even to the lowliest of deck hands. It was a momentous occasion of all and no one wanted to miss it. The Juntar had disputed Humanity's claims of the Orion Sector and wanted to annex it into their domain; of course Humanity objected to this and here we are.
The various species were taking their seats in the circular arena, such an event has not been seen in millennia and as such the arena was filled to capacity. Thousands of spectators all waiting for the two species in question to enter the arena.
A loud pneumatic hiss was heard all throughout silencing every sentient in the stands, and as the excitement began to grow screens flickered to life showing the Juntar and Human representatives. Both representatives were flanked on either side by another of their species as they made their way to the Table of Deliberation.
The Human representative was the first to take his seat and adjust his microphone, while the representative of the Juntar was preferring to stand; this was when I knew that the Humans had all but lost the Orion Sector as the Juntar prepared to speak.
"Ladies and Gentlemen my name is Hu'dal, and my fellow colleague in the ways of diplomacy the Human Representative Hank Stevens."
"We all know what this Session of Deliberation is about but if you're out of the know, it's concerning the Juntar's rightful claim to the Orion Sector and *all* it's holdings."
Everyone knew what it meant to lose in a Session of Deliberation it meant losing worlds, people, ships, outposts everything in the disputed area. And with that venomous reminder Hu'dal flicked his wrist and activated the holoprojector.
"As you can see here representative Stevens the most important routes into our territory is heavily armed making sure any approach towards our core worlds a most dissatisfying venture."
"Bu.." It had seemed like the Human representative this 'Stevens' was going to retort before being cut off.
"*Shh* *Shhh* Your betters are talking. Hmmm, where was I? Ah yes! while the home guard will be doing the routine patrols our offensive fleets can sneak into your territory via your blind spot in your primitive sensors. It's quite hard to predict enemy attacks when they move through nebula, wouldn't you say?"
"That doesn't make a.." I didn't have to know Human anatomy to know that Stevens was agitated with being interrupted again by Hu'dal.
"Now let's get onto the ground invasions wouldn't you agree Mr. Stevens? By our projections fatalities can range 25-50% of all total enemy combatants. Admit defeat, you will not lose honor by knowing your betters."
At this there was audible gasps whispers from one to another, the Juntar where know from histories past to take Sessions of Deliberation quite seriously but this was going to far. Looking up at the screens I could see Humans representative breathing heavily with hands over his face.
With one quick motion Stevens shot up taking a look at his other Humans giving them a nod and with them each returning the gesture. It would seem like the Humans were going to give in to the Juntar's demands until as the representatives got closer Stevens pulled back and struck Hu'dal, silencing the Hall.
The Juntar representative seemed to be staggered from the blow to his cranium and was being assisted by his aides, it was at this point I noticed Stevens was taking his seat again and adjusting the microphone that fell in the scuffle.
"Let it be know to the Juntar and the rest of the Galaxy as a whole. Should you threaten our borders, should you threaten our people, our Nation then you will not see us using these parlor games that decide the course of Galactic history and the lives of billions.
No will defend each system, each planet, every city, every mile, every block, and every blade of grass will be paid in for in blood in order to remain free from foreign agression. And it won't matter how long it takes the Human spirit has endured countless horrors and been none the worse for wear.
So if you want a war we will give you war."
And with that the Humans simply left at the protests of the two conscious Juntar leaving a now stunned Grand Hall. | "Well we're fucked." Carlos told Xiao.
"Did no one tell him- someone must have told him -?" Xiao sounded speechless.
"We are so fucked." Rifka said as the alien delegate's accompanying members shrieked and the translator did not convey their words. They had turned it off.
"General Custard has doomed humanity." Yukiko said in a cheerful sounding tone. Carlos wondered if she would chip a tooth with how tightly her jaw was clenched.
"Three hundred years. It took my family and others three hundred years to get the 'Alliance' to accept humans as a civilized and advanced race despite our life expectancy and cognitive limitations. Now this. Well I'm glad I didn't have children then if this is our legacy." Rosie said. His eyes were wide and he looked ready to run in and beat the general to death himself.
"Maybe we can save it? This was caused by one Gre'zil eating a few of our species' children." Elizabeth said, his eyes brow furrowed as he tried to come up with a solution.
"What does it say about us if Custard is one of our leaders, Eli?" Carlos asked. "The whole Gre'zi war issue was literally a mislabelling of our children as a different species."
"This is not a mistake." Rifka said. Custard was yelling at the aliens, waving a finger and talking even with the translators off.
"Don't the Gre'zi eat anything? Like maybe we will end up pork roast." Xiao said.
"No, they consider it beneath them to eat they've defeated. We'll probably end up some kind of waste or just incinerated if we're eradicated."
"I say we go in, beat up Custard and then say his actions are not reflections of us all." Elizabeth said as he rubbed brow.
"If we beat him up that will not help." Yukiko said. "Though I very much want to do it."
"Whatever, just get a rope or something." Rifka said. "We have one chance."
The ambassador's crew rushed in with a rope in hand and a lot of words of apologies. The Gre'zi were a waring species and had lost only one war. That war had lead to this form of diplomacy as the main method of 'warfare'. That alien species was looking none too pleased about it as it oversaw the meeting, not yet interfering.
Rosie was a smooth talker, even in translation, and quickly eased any ruffled beings for the moment. He continued talking as the others escorted Custard out. Custard screamed all the way to the ship's brig.
At an explanation another diplomat was sent out quickly and with explicit instructions to not punch the waring aliens that had wiped out more species than man. | 2021-12-30T19:33:10 | 2021-12-30T12:50:40 | 170 | 32 |
[WP] "You... Do know I'm about to kill you, right?" A serial killer's latest victim doesn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation.
Edit: Everyone's takes on this situation are so different and awesome. | “Oh, that makes much more sense,” said Jerry, his shoulders slumped as far as the canvas straps allowed. The middle-aged insurance salesman was a perfect fit – looked just like my shit-head dad, same job and everything.
“What did you think was going on?” I asked. He still didn’t seem the slightest bit scared, which was such a turn-off.
“Well, I thought Bill set this up for my birthday. He knows how much I’m into those serial killer shows. But it’s not like I’m all that close with Bill these day,” he said. His eyes were bright with tears, but I’d done this enough to know that he was upset because there was no cake and not because of the assortment of edged tools laid out on a grungy table top.
“How old are you?” I asked. That sounded pretty lame.
“Big four-oh,” he said with a sniffle.
“Did Bill say he was planning a party?”
“No. I just really wanted someone to throw me a surprise party. I never had one. And this looks like an awful lot of thought went into it. I mean, you even taped all the tarps in place. You have the special double-thick gloves and the butcher apron. Oh, man, you even have those big rubber boots – those are awesome. I mean, how perfect would that be for a serial-killer themed party?”
“Well, I mean, it’s like the perfect party, right? I mean I’ve got all the stuff?” I was more confused than I’d ever been. The thought of killing him just seemed pathetic, like I’d be letting him down. This was so weird.
“Sort of. Don’t get me wrong, this is awesome. But, I mean, no one is here to appreciate it. And once I’m dead, no one will even know you went to all this effort for me,” Jerry said. “Could I blow my nose?”
I looked around – tarps abounded, but no tissues.
“Uh, hold on,” I muttered as I headed for the door. Down a narrow corridor was a disgusting bathroom and I was fairly sure I kept some toilet paper in there. Bingo!
When I came back, Jerry gave me a watery smile and then let me blow his nose like a toddler.
“Thanks, man. I know it’s not your fault. Don’t let me stop you from having your fun.”
I stood there awkwardly, I realized I didn’t have a trashcan to toss the used tissue. Usually all I needed for cleanup was a hose and a drain. The tarps pretty much took care of the bigger chunks. I just let it drop, but it grossed me out – which was also weird.
“Well, do you want to have a party?” I asked. “I mean, I’m not getting the thrill I’m looking for here, to be honest. And if it would make you feel better, I could keep Bill after and do him.”
“You’d do that?” he asked, and a small smile curved his lips.
“Sure, you call your friends and I’ll order from Dairy Queen. You like ice cream cake?”
“Do I?!”
Edit: typo | He look onward, past the trees. His shoulders heaved with every breath, deep and long. Hunched legs supported his massive frame as he squatted on the dry dirt. You could almost feel sorry for him, if you knew the sort of life he'd led, and lack of facilities he had to guide him.
I looked at him in a somber way. He would have never been here, had I not taken him away from his home. They say serial killers start by harming small animals. Puppies just can't be pet in that way, but it was an honest mistake on his part. In a way, that's true here too. It's my fault Curly's wife died at George's thick hands. In essence, I had killed her. And now I was set to do it again. My third kill, and the first to come directly at my own hands. It'll be my last, too, unless I take my own life after.
As he sat on the ground, I watched the wheels in his head, unturning. I stood just behind him. He was a gentle man. But he was the giant, and the villagers were coming with pitchforks.
The only thing heavier than this man's frame was my heart. It sunk deep in my chest. My words were a blur, but his rang clear. He was happy with his newly found thought.
"Tell me about the rabbits, George." | 2015-04-29T08:36:50 | 2015-04-29T08:25:51 | 137 | 31 |
[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.
| Champagne pricked Ace Mcgillicutty's throat as he drained his glass and took a draw from his Cuban cigar. He eased back on the light-speed throttle and let out a Rebel Yell.
"You know sometimes, Franky, it's boss to be the Air Force's top test pilot. This fucker screams."
"Sure as shit does, Ace. So the Vangalorian thingamajigs...they're like what? Real space men? Little Martian men?"
Ace ran a comb through his slick pompadour and gave a wink to himself in the reflection of the glass cockpit.
"You got it, Daddy-O. Ugly little shits. They have elephant schnozes and these jelly eyes. Gross as all hell if you ask me. I had to shake one of their...fuck man..I don't even know what to call it....anyway they told us all about how these real bad cats are fuckin' up their shit, man."
"That's real lousy, Ace."
"Yeah, pal. Ike personally wanted me there so they could see all my chest candy and they could see the face of the guys whose gonna get their ass out of the fire."
Ace took another pull from his stogie and put his black boots on the console and crossed them.
"So yeah man - that's about that. But fuck that noise, baby. We ain't gonna get involved in their shit. We're gonna play them like a fiddle."
"You don't say?"
"Hell yeah, man. Faster than light is nice, baby, but those mean mother fuckers are the ones we need to team up with. You know how unstoppable we'll be once we get their laser technology? We're gonna be kings, baby. Kings!"
"Right on, daddy-o. Right on." | 2014-12-26T12:46:34 | 2014-12-26T10:41:23 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] Your kingdom has fallen. As one of the royal family, you are sentenced to death by a monster cage fight. The enemy sorcerer has summoned otherworldly black slime. As you are being helplessly engulfed by the nameless monster, you hear a voice, "We are not nameless, they call us venom". | When I was a child, all I had in my head was the throne.
Now, it's finally mine, but not for sitting. Instead, I'm using it to bash my family's former vizier.
He had it coming. All those time, he was making fun of me, making jabs at my height. Of course, being our family most trusted man, I have always taken it as a form of playful banter. Only a week ago, it finally dawned to me, he was genuinely expressing his disdain.
He was mouthing something. My newly enhanced sense were able to pick up what he was saying. He was begging, wishing for forgiveness, for another chance to prove his loyalty. For a moment, I was considering it. But the creatures said otherwise.
"We are disappointed with the prince." They said "We give him power and he is not using it well."
I admit it, I felt challenged. I knew that the creature was only egging me to act according to his whims. It fed on violence, as it enjoyed being used so. And I was having the time of my life beating the vizier with the throne.
So, I gave him one last smash.
The creature, Venom as it like to be referred to, helped itself to the weakened body of the vizier. I didn't feel any remorse when I heard the sound of crunching and slurping. I was enjoying it even, as the sound were making my eardrum tingle. Once the Venom had done with its meal, I found myself wandering the empty castle aimlessly. Earlier, I caught one of the invaders' men running off back to his kingdom. Assuming his geography knowledge is correct, the enemy's force would return in about a few days.
"We can't wait that long."
Of course, the Venom has an appetite that need to be satisfy. This new power of mine came from it too. As long as I make sure the beast is well-fed, I am free from the need of mere men. No food or water. In fact, I do wonder if I even need air at this point.
"Your highness?"
I glanced behind me. At the opposite side of the corridor, stood a lady, the finest looking in the kingdom if I dare say so myself. She was my companion, the one who tend me after I am finished with my daily lessons.
"What have they done to you?" She asked in horror. Understandable, seeing how my entire body was enveloped by the Venom. The liquid, covering everything except for my head. As I turned to her, she yelped. Likely from seeing the face of Venom sticking out on my chest.
"...Leave." I told her. I rather not have her fed but I couldn't be sure if she was involved or not. There was just no way of knowing. It's easier to have them all dead.
"Please, my prince. Let me help you." She begged.
"You can't."
"My prince, please. I understand you're furious. But this is wrong."
"Was it right for my family to die? Was it right for them to be fed to the beast? What is right, my dear?"
"..I... I.."
"Everyone has their own idea of right and wrong. Which one do we choose? No, we do not choose. The one who choose it is the one who with power..."
"Please, my prince. This isn't who you are..."
"That's right, because the prince you know is dead." Knowing very well what I am about to say, the Venom enveloped my face. Now, speaking in unison with me, it said "For we are Venom."
Somehow, her scream made the feast much more scrumptious. | When did it all go wrong?
We should have won. The pride emblem of Emberheart has been shattered to pieces. The statues of the fake god Ifrit has been toppled down. The king hanged, the princes burned, and now for the youngest princess sobbing in the vast arena.
It's time to open the gate again. Let us see another beast from the beyond. We shall make their eyes and heart crystal into our staff, their bones and claws into our sword. Yet, this time instead of a great magical monster, a black slime start to form.
Small and unremarkable it drops in front of the girl whose name has been erased by us. A bit disappointing but a new variant of monster can always add up into another page of our ever expanding library.
The girl didn't scream. She pray as the slime engulf her. She pray as the black liquid covered her entire body. This is it, I thought. But instead of dissolving into a puddle of blood the girl start to stand. Her form seems to become bigger and muscular. There is definitely something wrong with this.
It ran towards me. It easily break the silver chain. The vast distance between us easily shortened only by few steps. I can see it smiling with fury. My armored knights tried to stop the advance but the creature move with such swiftness and strength. Our shield that can halt the rush of thunder-horned rhino break on the creature punch. As we gather our magic the creature has come close to us. There should be still some distance but it hands seems to stretched out.
I can hear the cry of my fellow sorcerers as their bone break under the creature grip. Before I know it, it has stand in front of me. The union Andvaar has collapsed in just a couple of seconds.
"What are you?", as the creature hold me. It seems to be smiling, and give a reply.
"Venom", and that was the last word I've heard as I saw a gigantic jaw stretching wide open. | 2020-11-13T06:08:29 | 2020-11-13T05:45:40 | 58 | 21 |
[WP] Death isn't a bad person, he just has a shitty job. | "Hello, Death speaking," I said, placing the coffee on my office desk. "How can I help you today?"
"I'd like to book the adventurer package, thank you," the soul's voice came through the phone.
"Adventure package. That includes fifty years, two cars, a house, and a median income job. We currently have a two children bonus, for a low fee of 0.5% Soul."
"Kids . . . I'll pass thanks. Hit me with the flat 0.25% travel fee."
"All done, sir. Your vacation will arrive once this call is over. Enjoy your travels."
"Thank you."
"Hello, Death speaking."
"I'd like to order the long-term travel package, please."
"Feeling for a getaway?"
"The longer I can get away, the better this getaway will be."
"We all need one of those once in a while, don't we, Mam? You're in luck, we currently have 100 years, 8 children, 19 grandchildren, and a relatively stress-free upbringing for the low cost of 1% soul."
"And how beautiful will the body be?"
"For 1%, I can give you a model body, with the most desirable characteristics."
"And when does this body, first, well, you know?"
"I'm sorry, Mam?"
'You know, go all the way, hump and bump, dip the wick."
"Oooohh. . . I don't have access to information that . . . specific? Sorry."
"Leave it in my hands, love. Nothing says get away like getting-it-in, sign me up!"
"Your package will arrive shortly, the total coming to 2%."
"Lovely."
'Hello, Death speaking."
"Hi there, I'd like to gift someone a holiday."
I paused. "I'm sorry, but we don't offer that service."
"I see."
"Sir, can I ask why you would give away part of your soul to. . . someone else?"
"It's my last 3%."
"Travel bug no longer got you in its grasp?"
"Well, I've done so much for myself that. It's silly, but, I thought it would be nice to do something for someone else before I . . ."
"Interesting."
"I should have known better. Look, I'll call back tomorrow, maybe my sense would have found me by then."
"Wait a moment, sir."
I could feel him holding his breath on the other end of the phone.
"Is there any way I can convince you to try again, just one more time?"
"You're a busy person, Death. Or Life. Whatever you call yourself now'days."
I drummed my fingers along the desktop, the steam from my coffee now gone. "Death is right. Each time you travel you put yourself a little closer to disappearing forever. That's the honesty of our transaction."
"The reminder, while sobering, doesn't make it any easier for souls like me."
"Sir, there's another package, one we offer to those who want to try something different."
"Shoot."
"You will receive a random number of years, during which time you will make other travelers feel better than they ever have."
The soul scoffed.
"Bare with me, sir. You'll make those without money feel rich, and those with no friends feel loved. You'll go to areas that other souls are too afraid to visit and you'll do your best to help. And while it will all be futile because in the end, every soul must die, it will be worth the love, the number of people you inspire, and maybe when you're gone forever, the other souls will still speak about you thousands of centuries from now."
"I see."
"It's usually 10% for this package. Souls that want something more than 'just-a-trip' usually take it, and the others, well they think it's a stupid investment. But, as a final trip, it can offer a different perspective."
"As interesting as that sounds, 10% is a steep margin."
"I'm willing to give you 7% off our normal price. If you'll accept."
"Why wouldn't I accept that?"
"You'd be surprised."
"I'll take it."
I swallowed and then smiled. "Your package will arrive at the end of this call. Enjoy this trip, it's a special one."
"Brilliant. Thank you so mu-"
I hung up the phone and put the order through. 7% of my soul subtracted from my total amount, leaving me at -356%.
"Discount?" Life chuckled behind me. "You're a real sucker, Death, you know that? You're never going to settle your debt this way."
"Maybe not," I said. "But maybe it means something."
I picked up the phone once more.
&nbsp;
*If you enjoyed this, you'll probably like my other stories, too. Come visit /r/TwistStories.* | As Death approached her, she began recoiled in fear and shrinking from the sight of his shadow. She knew she was dead, and didn't know where to go, but that being frightened her more than the unknown.
"Get away from me!" Someone! Help me... please."
She lay on the black floor of the void she found herself in. He simply stood before her, his scythe looming above like a guillotine.
*I am the someone that you have called to. The only one that will ever come now.*
The voice was low and hushed, but it did not spur more fear. Instead, she began to be filled with a tenuous hope. She looked up to meet the being's gaze, but a shroud shielded his face from hers.
"Aren't you going t-to kill me?"
*Child, sweet child, your live has already fled. That chapter of your life has ended, a new one begins. You are not the first to fear the unknown. Come and walk with me*
She walked just behind him, still unsure if he was a friend or foe. But as they continued down the void, her mind was put at ease, and she found courage to speak her mind.
"I thought you took people's lives, not saved them."
He didn't turn to talk or slow down to speak. Death decided to keep pace in silence.
"Well, if anything, I want to thank you. I was pretty scared earlier. It's nice to know that there is still more for me to do."
*Indeed, there is. This is where you will go next.*
He stepped aside to give the girl a glimpse of what was to come her way. A look of surreal terror crept up her spine as she looked on in horror at the sight of it. This creature came from no imagination. It simply existed to instill fear into her very being. Its skin seemed to almost bubble as it sat on the floor. She couldn't understand how it seemingly came out of nowhere. It was a huge being that seemed to grow bigger the longer she looked at it.
"W-what is this thing!? Where are we going?"
*MY purpose is to take all the wretches of the world: the sinners, cheaters, and scum of man, and feed them to the horror. You have lived a gluttonous life, finding pleasure in anothers pain, leasure at the expense of family and friends. The thought of helping another never once crossed your mind. You are a leech, a true blight on the world. In that sense, you and this creature are alike.*
It slowly lurched its way toward her, folding overitself as the screams of the billions that had come before her yelled out for help, but even more wished for death.
She began to run, but the ground had started to turn steep, and she soon found herself trying to claw up a wall of black.
"Im sorry for everything! Anything, please! anything! I'll do anything!"
*You will live satisfy the horror's hunger, and join the other billions of souls who deserved even less than this.*
She felt as if she reached a ledge to pull her self up, but in an instant she found herself falling. As she tumbled, she caught a glimpse of the creature a final time. It opened its mouth, a door to another world filled with fire. Its body seemed to have hands trying to claw out of it. Faces and limbs tried with all their might to escape its belly, but they would only find another soul to join them in their torment for eternity.
| 2018-01-28T19:55:05 | 2018-01-28T19:54:56 | 69 | 12 |
[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | It only took a few seconds of staring until the number pops up in the middle of their forehead. Thank goodness for that, since I think I'd go insane seeing numbers everywhere!
Babies and most kids measure from zero to three at most, while grown adults measure up to maybe five or six, depending on their skills in hunting. I once saw a dedicated force of police officers exit a train carriage and they varied from six to seven.
By the time I was 18, I rarely used my talent. I saw no point of identifying people through their threat levels. A professional boxer has a threat level of eight, but it doesn't make him a bad person, you know?
I was always relieved that I had never seen a nine in my life. I lived in a small town where everybody knew everybody, and the highest I saw there was a seven. I didn't even know what a nine would be, much less a ten.
[Elizabeth pauses]
He was walking around the terminal with this raggedy old briefcase. The handle snapped as he walked past me, and all the contents fell out everywhere. I jumped up to help him, and he tried to wave me off. I told him it was nonsense and helped him pick his stuff up, which consisted of a bunch of letters, notebooks, and I think a framed picture of his family. He looked stressed. so before he could leave I asked him if he would like a seat next to me, and he took the offer.
He was a handsome fellow, a little lanky, with matted brown hair and a nose that stuck out in an odd manner. He told me he had just been recruited to the military. He had a kind face, not one suited for the job he volunteered for. I asked him where he was from and what he plans on doing in the military, and suddenly I was intoxicated. He had this charming way of speaking, like he knew what to say exactly the way it should be said.
We talked for what seemed like a long time, although I knew it must have been only about five minutes. The train leaving from the city had called for its last passengers, and he stood up, telling me that he had to go. I asked him if I could write him, and he hurriedly snatched a piece of paper from his pocket, jotted down his address, folded it, and handed it to me. I barely had the paper in my hand when he started jogging away.
I called out to him, telling him, "Hey! I never got your name!" and for kicks I decided to assess his threat level.
He looked back at me, and yelled, "Don't worry! I wrote it down!" just as a big bright ten materialized in the middle of his forehead. When he reached the train, he looked back at me again, and there it was: the unmistakable number ten.
I'm sure I was still as a statue as that handsome smiling boy waved goodbye. I remembered the piece of paper in my hand, and slowly opened it. His name was right there.
"Adolf." | My own number always bothered me. A 1, seriously? Luckily nobody else sees numbers or they would think I was nothing but a big laugh.
And I couldn't use another reason to be laughed at, you know. Being in high school is already torture enough, and I'm being bullied enough as it is.
Normally the day starts off getting yelled at by this awfully charismatic young man who believes he's tough. He's a 2. Yes, more dangerous than I am, true, but his sweet bimbo girlfriend is a 5. He doesn't bother me too much, the others do. The sixes and the sevens. They bother me.
They just LOVE to yell at me, take my lunch money, lock me in the toiletstall and push me down. You know, classic stuff.
Today, they actually pushed my head in the toilet bowl, 5 of them, ranging from the common 5 to the less common 7.
I nearly drowned in there. I heard hem laughing. I felt their hands on my back, pushing hand pushing.
When I got home I washed my face over the sink and looked at myself in the mirror. Rarely do numbers ever change, but there you go - a solid 10.
Calmly I dried of my face, glancing at my newly achieved number in the mirror.
They've pushed too far this time. See you at school, sevens. | 2014-11-29T17:05:40 | 2014-11-29T14:33:38 | 39 | 19 |
[WP] There is unrest in the galaxy but the advanced alien races that populate it lack the capacity to kill. One alien race decides to recruit the humans of earth as their military.
First prompt. Be nice. | "Well, first off, there's a lot of them. A little over 7 billion, to be precise."
"Gods! On how many planets?"
"One planet."
"...You're joking?"
"I'm not. And it's a class 3 at that, barely bigger than a moon. Short gestation period, and a fertile female is capable of breeding for at least 1/3 her lifespan, possibly longer. I had one of my interns run the numbers, and if they ever became warp capable, the estimate is that they would colonize at a rate of 10.9 planets per generation."
"Those are Sakkra numbers, your intern made a calculation error."
"I double checked it myself. And look, that's just for starters."
"What else?"
"They've got really good spatial recognition and hand/eye coordination as well. Natural gunners and pilots, and pretty decent on the ground as well. I mean, they're no Alkari, but they're in the discussion. And while they're not nearly as hearty as, say, a Bulrathi, again, they can hold their own. One we harvested escaped it's restraints in the testing facility, and it survived a phasor blast of magnitude 4."
"All right, you have my interest. But the downsides? They're not galactically aware, correct?"
"Correct. Our culture researchers tell us that there is a lot of belief from members of their species in 'aliens', but so far they have no hard evidence. They haven't discovered hyperspace communications, nor stable fusion. If they were to become a member of the Council, there would be a definite learning curve. But..."
"But if they were introduced as an Apprentice Race, they wouldn't be eligible for Council representation, and would need a Sponsor..."
"Now you've got me."
"What you're suggesting has been tried before, you know. That's how we ended up with the Darloks; the Council isn't going to stand for this."
"I realize that. But, if there was an accident of some kind, something that couldn't be helped? Say we had a cruiser that was forced to crash land on their planet, or maybe a robo-miner malfunctions and wanders into their system. They do have some space optical capabilities; might take them a while to find it, but if we left it there long enough..."
"It's risky. Plus, what's to stop any other race from petitioning to be their Sponsor?"
"Nothing, but if we're first contact, surely we would have an advantage, right? We fly their leaders here to Mentar, throw them into a holo suite, and we're the Lords of the Universe to them. Tell them all about the scheming and backstabbing the other races are famous for, give them a bunch of shiny toys, and Hey By The Way, maybe you could help us out with this little Mrrshan problem we're having?"
"...I'll bring it up with the High Researcher. It'll be a tough sell, but between you and me, though? Go ahead and get that robo-miner ready."
"Really? It's that bad?"
"It's not good. The word I heard was that we may have to abandon Signa II to the Klackon. The failed Orion Initiative has really left our fleet in a tight spot."
"All right, I'll see to it." | "Hello. We come in peace."
The first encounter was being broadcast on every channel, every website, every app in the world. This was it. The arrival of aliens. The first day of the new age of humanity. A giant leap forward for human kind.
"Well about fucking time," said Jerry to his mates in the crowded pub. "One more day of this shit and I would've killed myself."
"Shut it, Jerry. I can't hear," said Rob.
"-not exactly peace, in truth. We have no fight with you, but we do have a fight. A fight we are losing. Our people have been enslaved by the vile Trinatalians for a decade. We need your help-"
Several people groaned.
"They're going to make us fight for them?"
"Can they even do that?"
"Fuck 'em. I'm a doctor, not a soldier."
"I can't hear!"
"-since the abolition of murder early in our history-"
"Wait, what? They can't kill?"
"-neither of our warring factions have been able to bring an end to this conflict as we are both physically incapable of ending lives-"
"None of them can kill? Not even their enemies?"
"-your primitive race has the means to end the subjugation of an entire people who would be forever in your debt-"
The sad, grey face filled with panic. A flash filled the screen, and then static.
"I guess that was that then," said Jerry.
"But what about the Trinatalians?" said Rob.
"'Spose they'll get the same if they show their faces."
Jim the bartender took the measure of the room, the working men struggling to register what had happened.
"We won the war, boys! This round is on the house." | 2017-01-05T14:47:36 | 2017-01-05T14:47:22 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] An out-of-work genie is hired by the Make A Wish Foundation.
It's up to you if it's a jackass genie or not. | Ali had not disclosed that he was a genie. There was no box for that, and working for an organization so closely tied to hospitals made admitting it a fairly large danger. He'd spent enough time in psychiatric wards to know that.
Sitting next to Sandy's bed he thought back to his interview.
---
"So why do you want to work for the Make-a-Wish foundation?" The interviewer had shuffled papers on the desk, probably trying to make herself look important.
"I guess you could say I work in the wish industry," Ali had to stop himself from giving a sly smile.
"Could you elaborate on that?"
"I'm just really, really good at making wishes come true," after a quick pause he added, "I work very hard to make them come true, I mean."
"Well it's not really working hard. Kids make wishes, we use our resources and donations to buy plane tickets or arrange for meeting *super heroes*" she curled her fingers into air quotes. "Pretty standard job."
"I guess I'm a people pleaser. But just trust me. I'm *very* good at making wishes come true."
---
Most of the kids wished to meet basketball players or actors or go to exotic locations before they died. A few wished for video game consoles or princess parties or the like.
Sandy whispered her wish into Ali's ear, and he paused for a moment. No one had ever made that wish before.Had he been any other Make-a-Wish employee, he'd have taken her tiny hand in hers and told her that unfortunately that wasn't something he could make happen.
"You know, Sandy, let me see what I can do about that." He pushed his chair back. Her parents stood over her. Her mother had closed her eyes, her hand pressed tight against her face. The father was stoic, his nostrils flaring slightly at his Ali's words. Sandy's parents followed him out.
"What did she wish for?" Sandy's father asked. Ali told them, and they both exchanged a glance. Sandy's mother began to cry.
"You can't be serious," the father hissed. "We know it's good to give them hope but this is supposed to be her *wish*. She's going to die soon. That's why she *gets* the wish."
"Hope is important," I put my hands into my pockets. "Let's just let her hope for a day. Think her wish is coming true. You'd be surprised by the power of the mind. Tomorrow I can come back and say she's a very lucky girl and gets a second wish."
"I don't know..." Sandy's father looked toward his wife, who was quietly shaking with her hand still clutched over her mouth.
"Let her have hope. Let her think her wish will come true."
The mother looked up to the ceiling as she took a deep breath before shaking and lowering her head again. The father looked at Ali. "One day. Come back tomorrow. We don't know how much time--" he broke off as he looked away before collecting himself. "She's our daughter. And now...and this..." he closed his eyes as he exhaled. "Just make sure she gets a real wish."
"I will," Ali put his hand on the father's shoulder. "I promise."
The parents turned and walked back into the room. Ali saw Sandy's mother put on a fake smile through her tears, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed and pulling her daughter into her.
Ali closed his eyes.
Some wishes weren't worth using his gift for.
*I want to get better.*
Some were.
---
Like it? Hate it? Want to tear it apart? visit /r/Celsius232 for more | "You're unemployed, we need wishes granted. What's the issue?" The genie scowled and adjusted his tie, glancing in unbridled disgust at the pictures of happy little boys and girls mounted on the walls.
"I don't do wishes like that," he responded stubbornly. The man behind the desk rolled his eyes and grinned.
"You do whatever wish people wish for. I know how it works." The genie shrugged in indifference, knowing that this man was his master so long as he held the lamp. He kept to himself that he actually granted *whatever* people wished for, and children were more adverse to making ill-worded wishes that resulted in unfortunate... accidents.
"As you wish," the genie responded curtly and the man nodded enthusiastically, ready to begin.
"This is Micayla," he explained as they entered a hospital room, the little girl looking up in awe as the genie emerged from the lamp.
"I don't give a shit," the genie answered bluntly. "Just do your wish and get me out of here." The girl's smile wavered but she eagerly rubbed the lamp and the genie felt himself asking what she wished for in spite of doing hit utmost to keep quiet.
"I wish to fly," Micayla said excitedly, her round eyes staring up at the irritated genie.
"*Really*? That's how you want to go?" she frowned in hesitation but finally nodded timidly. The genie shrugged and with a flick of his wrist she was gone. Well, not completely gone. More accurately, she was hurtling through the lower atmosphere at near her terminal speed. The group in the room stared at each other in horror as they heard an oddly satisfying splat from outside.
"What... What have you done?" the man whispered softly.
"Granted her wish," the genie answered indifferently. "I warned you I don't do wishes like that."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2016-04-15T05:31:01 | 2016-04-15T04:26:54 | 72 | 22 |
[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 | "No...", I repeat. But my indecision is apparently writ on my face. Or perhaps he just knows me too well.
"What's up? Did that really bother you? I take it back if it does," He puts a hand on my shoulder and grins, "Besides, I'd have to get in line behind Callie if I don't see you home safe."
His nickname for my wife, which she has made it clear she hates, makes me grin despite myself. And my friend of thirty long summers and through battle and war laughs his deep, bassoon-like laugh, knowing he's got me. I can't help but chuckle along. And with a strong, but heartfelt smack and squeeze to his shoulders, I turn to leave the tent.
Outside, the two guards snap to attention, and stare forward, alert and sure of their duty. Mark leaves behind me, and the guards fall in behind him. As we walk past the men, I find myself focusing on the minutiae of the camp. Soldiers sitting around cookpots and portable tables, as soldiers have done since the first war was fought. Gaming, telling stories, telling lies and laughing at each other. I never get over how many of these stories are true.
But then, to me as much as each other, all these men are heroes every day. My own life has been saved a dozen times over. Hell, a dozen times a day by these men.
Glancing over my shoulder at Mark berating a soldier sitting in his dirty armor for some oversight, I think to myself, *"You've saved me more than most."*
But no time for that now, we were on the march home. And, fates willing, there are no more battles to be fought for these men. I pride myself on being able to ignore unimportant things, and the chime I heard earlier is not half as important as getting these men home, and getting them the hero's welcome they all deserve.
Later, it's a scant few hours after dawn and we are already on the march. We will be home today. A few hours more and the city is in sight.
I smile and raise my hand from my horse, and I hear the call go from unit to unit behind me, as the entire column comes to a halt like a well-maintained machine. It is time for a speech. The engineers knew my plan, and have a platform raised, with the city walls a mere mile behind me. I picture the city on the hill framed above my head like a crown, and I smile at my own hubris... though I can't help but believe I deserve it after what we've accomplished.
"Soldiers! Warriors! Heroes! The greatest city in the greatest nation on Earth is welcoming us home this day! Never in all of history have so many battles been won against so barbaric a foe! We have been gone for years, but look!" and with a gesture I wave grandly back to the gleaming walls, "Our families await us from the walls! Ribbons and feathers and banners wave to celebrate us, to beckon us! Tonight, the streets will flow with wine enough to drown us. But luckily for us all we know how to swim!"
The men cheer and laugh at the reference to one of our bloodiest battles, fighting as we forded the wildest river on the continent. I glance back at the city, with a smile, and I meet eyes with Mark. He stands behind my right shoulder, along with several other trusted generals and aides. The admiration in his eyes is apparent, and I knew we would die for each other without hesitation. I'd already forgotten my trepidation from this morning. It was time to celebrate my triumph. Hells, we shall celebrate it half a dozen times!
Turning back to the men, "I have only one more request to make of you, my legions! When the gates of Rome open for us, you tell anyone who asks, you are men of ROME! And you are led by Gaius Julius. And you are led by Marcus Brutus! And you tell them all, that there are no two prouder men in all the Empire than Brutus and Julius for having served with you! With every man among you! Now let us go HOME!"
As one, my legions crash their fists into their breastplates with sounds of thunder in the mountains, "Hail Julius! Hail Julius! Hail Brutus!" spoken so in sync as to think a single giant had spoke the words himself. Then the cheers are deafening. The wooden platform rumbles enough that were I less confident in my engineers abilities I would fear it about to collapse. And during the cacophony, Mark, my friend since childhood, walks up and takes me in his trademark bear hug, "They'll elect you Caesar if you let them Julius," he tells me where only I can hear, his amusement at the preposterous idea floating from his words, Rome obviously needs a senate making the decisions, "..and then I really will have to kill you, won't I?"
And as he guffaws and walks away to clear the path for me down from the platform, I hear a small, but unmistakeable noise I've heard countless times before...
***DING*** | 2019-05-27T07:49:14 | 2019-05-27T07:30:00 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego. | The city was awake to the sounds of the sirens wailing all over. Lately this has become pretty much an acceptable affair. The city does have a tendency to shelter all vile and vice afterall, too much to do and so little time left to be always alarmed. Nothing fazed the city's people for long, a pretentiously ignorant breed of mankind. I almost hated it except I had no time for hate of that kind. Consumed as I was in my own venture of picking off the scum that populate this city's populace, I couldn't really judge it's people from a higher ground. Afterall having a higher ground meant you never understood what those beneath felt and thought and hence different easily became scary. I was scared a long time but not so much now. I assimilated easily in this place where I was born and grew up and faced the terrors firsthand. I knew this place better than any of those so called heroes who paraded in their righteousness and who argued and justified all their actions.
Heroes. Someone who does what is necessary in times of distress. As simple as that. Liked things simple, plain old me. But the morals went downhill a long time ago. I see distress caused only to be averted at someone's personal behest. To be a hero in times of turmoil after causing a turmoil. After being mediocre enough to be able to save only a few when all should have been saved. Not judgmental, me, but I don't like the taste of these ongoings. Time I took it upon myself to mend a few things here and there.
Repaired I always had, and created but most overlooked my inventions over flashier gizmos that were more showbiz than actual function. I didn't care for that I kept at it. Now I have woken up half the people because my inventions have wreaked havoc on some of soceity's most despicable places. The government offices and philanthropic institutions are all under attack. To stop them is easy, find me, ask me to stop, I will. I really will. I had already guessed which so called crusaders will come avenging the city at this juncture. Even if I am 20% wrong I still end up doing good damage to their pantheon. All of my inventions being designed to handle and take care of all those nutjobs.
"You there, halt!" a deep timbred voice rang behind me. "Who are you and what are you doing out here when the alarms being going off for almost 20 mins?" It intoned.
Ah, Shadow Lurker has found me. Almost missed this one in my calculations. A hermitic one this was. Good guy but not good enough. He had a weakness, his pride in being smarter and deadlier than most in the dark hours. Trouble had found me.
I thought about asking him what made him feel so secure so proud in this world full of surprises. What keeps this charade of bravery up. Well, not being a sentimentalist I clicked the button on the inside lapel of my coat under the guise of adjusting it against the cold and made it seem as if I was going to answer him. I didn't as there was no point in wasting words on dead ears. Belonging to a dead Shadow Lurker who lay with laser holes on the pavement.
I turned and made my way towards the safe house as another valiant pillar of soceity gasped on his last breaths. Had to hurry before my dog misses me too much. | I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, just as I'm sure you are to make mine. After all, I'm well known as one of the great aesthetes of history. And very rich, very influential. Everyone who is anyone owes quite a bit to me. What most don't know when they first meet me is just exactly who I am. You see, I've been around a long, long time, and destroyed more adversaries than you will ever know. Of course, I do get credit for that sometimes, but it's usually for things I have little to do with. Oh, the absurd things people blame me for! Not that I care one way or the other. Sure, I admit I have quite an ego. I'm notorious for it. But not around my villainy. I'm in it for the win, not the glory, and I usually win. My greatest conquests are unknown, like dirty little rackets with your average corrupt street cop, or robbing poor travellers on back roads in third world countries. Ah, those years in India picking off innocents, what good times! Now, I won't be falsely humble: There are certainly a few adventures of mine you might know of. The Kennedy assassination. The rise of the the Third Reich, and also the Soviet Union. I even managed to have a small hand in the crucifixion of Jesus. Oh, yes! I know I seem young and vigorous, but the truth is I'm very old. So if we meet in person, please show me some courtesy and maybe have a bit of sympathy for this old villain. That's not a request, but a demand, even a threat: Use all your well-learned politesse, or I will lay your soul to waste. But never mind that. As I was saying: I'm pleased to meet you. I hope you guessed my name. | 2018-10-18T16:06:18 | 2018-10-18T15:49:16 | 89 | 13 |
[WP] “So you’ve come hero.” The most powerful dark lord in history says as he faces you across the hall. But before you take another step, he motions to the cutest little girl you’ve ever seen with tears in her eyes. “But first, please explain to my granddaughter why Grandpa needs to die.” | The Dark Lord.
Heh, he was not very impressive. A thin lanky mess of a man, graying and withered. His breathing was shallow, his head rested at an angle on his neck, his eyes white and staring at nothing. Wires protruded across his naked skin, pumping blood and several colored chemicals. My attention snapped as a child, no more than four, auburn hair flowing to her shoulders, nimbly walked to this living corpse and tenderly adjusted his head. She caressed his hands, with the infinite love of innocence.
The Dark Lord sat before me, and yet I could not move to draw my firearm. But this girl. Why couldn't I move?
"So you have come, hero..." the living corpse wheezed. That jolted me, but it breathed: “But first, please explain to my granddaughter why Grandpa needs to die.”
My bravado died as the girl turned to face me.
"Sister..." I sighed.
No, of course not. My sister was dead. Sixteen years and so much suffering ago. And yet here she stood, no older than the day she died, free of the wounds and tears that plagued her life.
"Well?" The dark one asked. "What are you waiting for."
"I... you... WHO IS THIS?!" I finally was about to shout. The girl who was the shade of my sister, the one this corpse called granddaughter recoiled, reaching for it's hand.
"You have survived the wastes and the creatures of light and dark. The corruption, and despair itself. And you wasting time interrogating me?! Tell her!!" he shouted, wheezy but with hints of the power that he once held in his body.
"I..." I paused, and as I looked at her, took courage in her stolen form. I spoke to her almost as if she were her twin. She looked at me wordlessly, frightened.
"I knew someone who looked a lot like you. She was my sister. We grew up out there. Out there, your grandfather is..." I grew nervous as she gripped his hand tighter. "Your grandfather has many names out there, the kindest and most proper being The Dark Lord.
I was prepared to indict him for his sins. If he wanted a confession, he would get his last damned wish.
"Before I was born, it was said our world was on the edge of excess and sin. The world became sick, and wars broke out. Among the heroes your grandfather saw himself counted. He used the old war machines and took control.
"He enslaved people, made them work beyond the limits of their bodies, and killed who couldn't or wouldn't. His followers performed experiments on others. So many got sick, so many died.
"There are..." I fought for words, "MILES of people being slaughtered to be used for food. The leaders he put in place have no regard for human life. My people have lived in the shadows, seen this corruption, and sent me to end it. And end it I shall."
"Does that satisfy you, Dark Lord?" I asked, satisfied.
"No."
My heart froze. It was not the corpse, but the girl. My firearm's holster snapped open, my weapon floated up, out, and toward her, grip first toward her outstretched hand. She folded a delicate finger on the trigger, pointing straight at my heart with the confidence of experience.
"With the marvels you have seen, the impossible monuments to majesty and power, you still have such a LITTLE mind..." she said, exasperated.
"There are few other things humans can eat but living flesh. That your lot are put to death to feed others is a better fate than starving. The others were used to make medicines and treatments. As for the pens, well, how else are we supposed to have extras?"
I was numb. She spoke of humanity little more than stock and feed. I saw a tube running down her head: she was connected to the Dark Lord!
She lowered my weapon. I tried to move, but it was impossible! How...!
"You'll make a great body" she said smiling, this twin of my sister with the mind of the Dark Lord. I felt several pinches of pain: needles appeared from the walls. The tube came loose from the girl, and she collapsed lifelessly. The tube rushed to me, snapping into my skull. I felt a rush of SOMETHING coming into me, losing mind no help -
I woke up an hour later, brisk and alert. I missed the energy of the younger one, but this one was in his prime, with supple reactions and honed reflexes. I heard him screaming somewhere in the corners of my imagination, they all do from time to time, and it meant nothing. A fleeting distraction. I would amuse myself by tormenting him. He could hear my thoughts, and his despair at seeing my memories of just this was delicious to feel.
I would sooner or later break free of my need of the original, that disgusting thing that was the original me. I had survived longer than not, and I would continue to do. Survival of the fittest, they said back in the old days. Words to live by, for ever and ever. | The kid looks about 10.
With large, round eyes and long, silvery hair, it is easy to recognize her lineage. The girl would grow into a fine beauty, provided she survives all of this.
And then the absurdity of this hits me, and I burst into laughter. An incredulous, almost maniacal laugh:
"You have a granddaughter? You? The Dark Lord of Evil, commander of the 666 Legions of Hell, wielder of the 72 Archdevils, a granddaddy? This is hilarious!"
The dry laugh echoes in the empty hall. Burn marks on the marble floor mark the place where I have slain Lucifer, Astarte and Bael, the Dark Lord's closest aides. When I finally regain composure, I turn to my mortal enemy, wounded, cornered, at my feet.
"Coming to think of it, this situation feels quite familiar, doesn't it? Did you not slaughter my village, leaving me as the only witness? Hey, kid, tell me, how does it feel to see your grandpa like this, huh?"
The girl reels back behind the marble pillar, shivering. I plunge my blade through the Dark Lord's leg, and make my way towards the pillar. Capturing the kid was easy. She was slow, untrained, and light. I throw her down on the steps of the dais, right under her grandpa's feet, and wait as she crawls backward into her grandpa's arms:
"You wanna save your old man, kid?" I ask, tentative. I will give this kid a chance I never had. "Do you want to help your granddaddy, huh?".
A silent nod.
I pull out the dagger I have as a backup weapon, and toss it at their feet. No explanation is needed. The little girl looks at the dagger, then looks at me. I cross my arms and wait. What will she do?
The little girl stands up, and takes the dagger. With all the strength in that little body, she plunges the dagger into my body. A sharp pain assaults my sense. She's attacked. Blood is welling up int the injury. The girl twists the knife, pulls out, and stabs again. And again. Strength leaves my leg as I slump down on the marble floor. Only then did she stop. The girl's eyes are filled with a burning resolve. It's childish, but it worked. She has defended her grandpa.
Or so the little girl thought.
Grabbing her hand, I twist the dagger back into my possession. Lunging up the stairs, I plunge it through the throat of the Dark Lord. Horror fills his face as he lays, life gushing out of the two of us. I have finished my task. The screams of the little girl fills the hall, as her grandfather lays dying. With great difficulty I roll over, and stare at the ceiling. There's no coming back from this, I know it.
"Why? Why did you do this, accursed hero, why?" Asked the little girl.
"Because he must pay for his crimes, like I must pay for mine." I say with great effort: "And to end this unending loop of aggression and vengeance."
The Dark Lord has a ring on his right index finger. Lemegeton, the Command Seal. I gesture towards it, breathing out what 's most likely going to be my last words: "Hate and violence never gets you anywhere. Remember that, and could you do me a favor and finish me off with this thing here? I' m tired." | 2019-12-11T20:56:25 | 2019-12-11T20:13:37 | 53 | 21 |
[WP] The most difficult part of being a Supervillian? Find love, not because other people won't like you, but because the stupid Superheros will swoop in and "rescue" your date every time, but this time you have a plan, and it's going to work. | *Any moment, now.*
I glanced to the windows and skylights that drenched me in sunlight, panels of crystalline glass so huge that a blind man could pick me out from the amongst the diners. On second thought, picking a location with so much fragility may not have been a stroke of genius.
"Are you okay, dear?" my darling Sophia asked, her voice sweeter than the tiramisu before us. Natural light scattered in her sapphire eyes, bouncing, like a set of mirrors in the ocean.
I wrinkled my upper lip, itching under a mustache, a wiry, rough thing, like strands of a broom. "Yes, yes. My mind is just... Preoccupied," I replied, glancing to my hands, hidden beneath the table, wincing.
She frowned, but turned back to her dessert. This was the sixth attempt now, and the first time we'd even made it past hors d'oeuvres. Of course, we spent most of our time together in private, but it isn't fair to keep hidden a woman commanding such beauty and presence. Imagine finding the most beautiful exotic bird, a magnificent beast exploding with color and grace, then stuffing it into a cardboard box to shove under a bed.
The fact that they still hadn't arrived was amusing, if nothing else. Wrinkling my lip again, the thought of it made me chuckle despite a sense of looming dread. There would only be one chance.
Thoughts shattered in my mind with the skylights, an ear-piercing crash that threatened everyone below with shards of glass like icicles raining from the sky. Of course, none of it hit us. *He* would never let it.
'Strike Team 6', they were called, a band of mercenary superheroes that have held sway over the city for years now. Each of them had militaristic might that threatened the greatest army.
"Do you not learn, Cobra?" one of them asked, approaching me. Their leader, the fabled King Crusher. He was a brute of a man, one that hardly looked like a superhero.
"Unfortunately, I have yet to learn how not to need food." Upon wrinkling my lip again, I noticed a distinct lack of the wiry itchiness. Cheap little thing.
"We're not here to monitor your dieting habits, jackass," he replied, taking a step forward. "You've moved against civilians in the past, what would you expect us to do when you suddenly put yourself in a building with eighty other innocent people? It doesn't matter how long you've been quiet for. One drop of that poison of yours could kill a whale in twenty seconds."
I glanced down, flushing slightly.
"Though," he continued, "I will admit that stupid mustache threw us off a little bit. But the ruse is over, now. Just come quietly with us. This doesn't need to be hard."
Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep breath, then straightened my back. "Crusher, if I may... could we please finish our meal? I've been with this woman for half a year, now, and it feels like this is our first real date. It's not completely ruined, yet."
The hulking man eyed her with the assessing judgment of a general. There would be nothing for him, though. She was an average woman in only one way: mutations. Sophia was a normal person without power or ability.
"Why would I trust you?"
"Well, for starters, you've done more damage here than I have." He raised an eyebrow at my comment.
I took another deep breath and raised my hands in front of me, earning a few shouts from the crowd and tensing amidst ST6. Flinching, hissing, I slowly and crudely peeled off the crimson gloves on them.
*Sorry, Sophia. I know you didn't want this, but there's no other way.*
A few groans sounded through the crowd, and even Steelheart gasped a little. Underneath the medicated gloves, effectively just bandages that looked nice, my hands were mangled. Swollen, matted, shiny and marked with the black, dashed lines of sutures, where there had once been venom sacs, there was now only pus and pain. The mutation had been deeply embedded in my wrists, entwined with my nerves and ligaments, and... difficult to cut out, like trying to unroot a great oak tree, even with a healing mutant aiding me. Repair would take weeks of repeat sessions, the damage was so bad. Painkillers kept it manageable enough not to cry.
Crusher stared at them, contorting his face with disgust. "Why?" he asked quietly, eyes locked on the mangled flesh.
"She's worth it," I replied, turning back. Sophia had a delicate hand over her mouth, poorly containing violent sobs. "I would give up anything for her, Crusher. Even my identity."
*/r/resonatingfury* | “This time will work”, you think to yourself. You decided, quite against your better instincts, to date someone more your speed. Perhaps more importantly, someone who provides a reason for those do-gooder bastards to think twice before attacking. The anti-heroine MissStep.
Dinner had been going quite well. This quaint little French gastropub. She was surprisingly open to your invitation, despite your grim and admittedly off-putting reputation.
“How’s the duck confit?” You ask, in the voice of a man twice your years.
“Quite excellent, thank you very much.” She sips her Chablis and drums her fingers on the dark wooden panels of the table. “So...”
“Yes?” this time in a young woman’s voice.
“The voices...”
“Ah...” as an elderly Slavic sounding man.
“Do you really steal the souls of your victims?”
“Not exactly. I’m like a memory-sponge. Usually they’re simply collateral damage, but if they’re within a dozen paces of me when they go... The voices are an unfortunate side effect.” You reply, now as a middle-aged woman with a distinctively South American je ne sais quoi.
“Awfully morbid.” She responds, not disinterestedly.
“Wouldn’t have been my choice of... abilities, either. On the other hand, I have accumulated several dozen lifetimes of skills and knowledge. Comes in handy whether or not I’m currently suited up.” A child this time, a pronounced Southern patois.
“I’m sure it does. Manipulating fortunes wouldn’t have been my call either, but as you say... It has its uses. I was a little surprised when you called. Wouldn’t have thought you’d have my number.”
“Yes, well... The Argonaut was feeling somewhat apologetic after crashing my date with a normie. He suggested dating a super and asked if I had anyone in mind.” Distinctly Canadian-sounding, perhaps a young adult of ambiguous gender.
“Aaaand... you thought of me? We’ve only met, what, a half dozen times in the last five years?”
“As I often do.” In graven American tones. You start slightly, surprised to hear your own voice.
She tenses at your reaction.
“What?” She looks up at you appraisingly, her eyes the same shining green you had remembered so often.
“Sorry, I haven’t heard my voice in a long time.” Surprisingly it’s still there.
She calms. “Is that what you sound like? It’s... pleasant.”
“Six times in four years.” You remark, in a mildly South African accent. “I remember the very first time like it was yesterday. You stopped me from breaking into Wilcolm Labs. My knives kept sticking in their sheaths. My revolver jammed. I kept tripping head over heels for you.”
She laughs. “Ass over ankles, maybe.” She smiles at you. “Did you notice that time?”
“Notice?”
“Your voice comes back when you talk about me.”
She slides her hand over to yours.
“I hadn’t.” Still in your own tones.
“I wondered why you kept aiming slightly off-center at me.” She looks into your eyes, curious, questioning.
You hesitate, then power through your reticence.
“Even then, I would rather have lost the prize rather than harmed you.”
She smiles. “Perhaps we should get the check?”
| 2022-11-30T23:13:37 | 2019-02-23T08:00:25 | 1,144 | 14 |
[WP] You’ve just fought and lost a gruesome battle against your greatest enemy. Heavily injured, you can turn your head slightly to resist the villain removing your mask before finally ending you. You mentally prepare for the final blow but it never comes. The villain recognizes you. | "Oof!" The wind was knocked from my chest as I slammed into the ground. I took stock of my situation in the few remaining seconds I had.
*Okay, knee is broken, three...no, four cracked ribs, and one hell of a headache. Not that it matters, anyway.*
Slaymaster landed a few steps away from me, chuckling as he calmly removed his glove from his hand, eyes glimmering under his cowl. "Well, well, well. This has been quite the workout, but all good things must come to an end."
I sighed, knowing what was to come. I tilted my head, trying feebly to stave off the inevitable. It was no use, as the probing fingers grabbed the edge of my mask and began to peel it away. I felt the breeze swirl around my eyes, a reminder of the city I had come to love and protect until this point.
Finally the mask was gone. I closed my eyes, accepting my face and awaiting the fatal punch. What I hadn't expected was for Slaymaster to speak instead, his voice filled with shock.
"Tiny Terry? Is that you?"
*Oh, you have* GOT *to be kidding me.* My eyes snapped open, and I craned my neck to look at my would-be killer. He slowly lowered his cowl, revealing an all too familiar face.
"Oh my god, it *is* you! This, this is insane! How could you be the mighty Defender? Should have guessed with a superhero name like that."
"Steve Ridley," I spat, flecks of blood covering my uniform. Steve nodded excitedly, and I dropped my head back to the concrete in defeat, staring at the sky.
Suddenly, a hand shot into my field of vision, heading toward mine. Slaymaster grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. Pain coursed through my body, and I glared at him. "Why are you doing this? Why haven't you killed me?"
"Don't you get it? I've *won*. Now I know your real weakness. Not bullets, not poison, nothing like that. No, now I know *who you are*, and there's nothing you can do about it. The next class reunion is going to be fantastic. Can't wait to see you there."
I watched Steve fly away, and groaned, a mix of pain and humiliation. *Once a bully, always a bully.*
/u/TemporaryPatch New Years Resolution Tracker: 52/100. Visit /r/TemporaryPatchWrites for more responses and stories! | I crack open an eye and take a peek.
The villian is looking down at me, horrified. "D...Dad?!"
*Well, this is awkward.*
"Soooooon!" I exclaim. "Gimme a hug."
The villian - apparently my son - collapses into my arms, a sniveling, sobbing, snorting mess. "I m-m-missed you s-s-so *much!*"
"There, there." I pat his back. "Now, son...?"
"Yeah, Dad?"
I grab the weapon out of his waistband and point it at his face. "I'm going to need you to back up real slowly."
The look of confusion on his face is priceless. I wish I could take a picture and frame it.
"Dad? I...I don't understand..."
"The hero *always* wins."
And I pull the trigger.
| 2018-10-16T17:45:05 | 2018-10-16T16:57:39 | 163 | 39 |
[WP] The grammar police is real and their coming for you. | "The grammar police is coming?" my client nervously asked.
"*Are* coming," I said, quickly collecting the papers we had spread all over the table. "The grammar police *are* coming."
"So what should we do?" he asked.
"The word "police" is what's called a *plurale tantum,"* I continued, fastening the papers in a binder, which I then placed in my satchel. "It's a noun with no singular form. Like pants, or clothes. You wouldn't say, "Those pants *is* tight." You'd say, "Those pants *are* tight." The same goes with "police." Get up."
My client obliged.
He was a dreadlocked surfer type, who looked at the world through glassy, uncomprehending eyes. He wore dirty tatters for clothes. His mouth always hung open slightly. And, worst of all, his grammar was atrocious--a quality which was considered criminal by the current government.
"The grammar police *are* coming," I said. "Repeat."
He straightened his back, took a deep breath, and repeated, "The grammar police *are* coming."
"Good," I said, leading him to the door of the abandoned building in which I had been conducting our weekly lessons. "Now, it is time for us to depart. Goodbye, Steven."
"But, sir," he said. "Is our lessons done for good?"
I cringed at his incorrect employment, yet again, of the word "is." He really was stumped by auxiliary verb agreements. But I had no time to correct him, to patiently explain not only *that* the word "are" should have been used in place of "is", but also *why*. The grammar police would be closing in on our location within minutes.
"Our lessons are only done for now," I assured him. "I'll get in contact with you in a month or so."
"Okay, sir," he said.
He pushed the door open and began to walk through. But I just could not help myself.
"Steven," I said.
He turned to face me, his mouth agape. "Yes, sir? What is it?"
"You asked, "Is our lessons done for good?" You should have have asked, "*Are* our lessons done for good?" The word "lessons" is plural. Think of the "s" on the end."
He thought about this for a moment, smiled, and nodded.
"Right, sir," he said.
I walked through the door and onto the street, which was swarming with people. He followed after me.
"Run along now," I said.
He turned left into the crowd. I turned right. The building door slowly close behind us. After I took a few steps, I spun around to watch his dreadlocked dome blend into the multitude of bobbing heads. A few moments later, I heard the sirens. Then I saw the crowd parting to allow the police bikes to get through. I saw the police dismount their bikes, rush over to the abandoned building, and kick open the door, while shouting, "Grammar police!" Then I turned and hurried along with the rest of the crowd, holding my satchel close to my side.
Despite what his bedraggled appearance suggested, Steven was actually quite wealthy. Like most of my clients, he had come from a very wealthy family. He simply wasn't that bright, and hadn't worked hard enough during his education to master the basic forms of the language.
It was my job was to provide wealthy clients like Steven with a vital, but illegal, service. I taught them, to the best of my ability, how to speak and write well.
A person was meant to have learned these skills over the course of his public education. If he had not, he was deemed inept by the government, and, after a certain number of grammatical infractions, was sent permanently to a labour camp. By teaching such inarticulate wretches how to put their language to better use, I was literally saving their lives. But since I was also risking my own neck in the process, I charged a steep fee for my services. Money talks, as they say. (Though, as my clients clearly demonstrate, it doesn't always talk as well as it should.)
Of course, no one could have suspected, even five years ago, how crucial having a mastery of English would become in our nation. No one suspected that an underground collective of Arts professors, high school English teachers, poets and novelists were plotting an insurrection, arming themselves and laying out the foundation of what would become our new system of government, one which would prioritize literary educations and linguistic virtuosity over just about everything else.
Our former government was taken by surprise when the houses of parliament were stormed, all over the country, by aesthetes, linguists and scholars. They demanded that the old government step aside and allow the new government to take its seat at the nation's helm. Those who tried to reason with the hyper-literate rebels were handily outclassed: they simply could not compete with their wits, debating tactics, and masterful abilities to navigate the English language. Those who tried to stop the rebels by force were promptly taken outside and shot.
Within one week, the new government had control over every major centre in the country. Once this was accomplished, they used their tight grip over the media machine to start spewing their elitist propaganda. They outlined their basic vision for the future, they reassured the citizens that their quality of life would improve under the new rule, and they introduced the nation's new dictator, the man who had masterminded the whole operation, and who would be leading the nation as it moved forward: the famous scholar, literary critic and novelist, William H. Bloom... | I thought that it would be funny, you know?
Make a reddit post, intentionally put in a spelling mistake, watch the comments and karma rain from above. It was supposed to be a harmless prompt, taking up less than a minute of my day to create. I'd get to read a few interesting prompts, entertain myself for a little bit, and return to my normal Saturday routine of waking up, eating, browsing reddit, and going back to sleep.
Sitting upon my porcelain throne with my pants to the ground, I hunched over my phone, refreshing the page to see my karma count go up, and maybe even a comment or two. For a while, there was nothing, and I decided that my attempt was a failure. I wiped myself with some two-ply, pulled up my jeans, and went to the sink to wash my hands.
*Ping!* The glorious little sound of a notification was nearly drowned out by the running water. I scrambled to dry my hands and quickly opened up the new comment. As I read through it, I didn't find it quite amusing. It was some half-baked meta story about myself that, to tell the truth, I didn't really find all that engaging. I sighed and tucked my phone back into my pocket.
I flopped myself on the couch and decided to browse a bit more reddit. A couple funny prompts, a few memes that made me exhale slightly from my nose. I was pretty chill until the window behind me shattered inwards.
"GRAMMAR POLICE, OPEN UP!" yelled a voice.
*That's stupid*, I thought to myself. *Wouldn't they yell that* before *smashing my window*? Following this, the realization that the Grammar Police just kicked my window in suddenly hit me. I scrambled up with a short cry of surprise.
"PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!" yelled the voice again. I vaguely made out the figure of the officer who had just broken into my home. He was holding standard Grammar Police equipment: an over sized pencil and a military-grade riot shield. I was stunned, but I obliged, feeling my urine-soaked paints pressing against my thighs as I moved into a kneeling position.
*What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck?!* was all I could think before the officer cuffed me and dragged me out my own door. I was pushed towards the white van sitting outside, idling on the curb. The distinctive blue-and-white seal of the Grammar Police was placed in the middle of the vehicle, but save for the seal it was the usual unmarked van the force used.
"Aren't you going to read me my rights?" I managed to say. The officer slapped me across my face, the stinging stretching from my temple to my law.
"Scum like you don't get rights!" the officer said. He pushed me into the back of the van, hopped up, and locked the door behind him.
The only light source was a small bulb, which swung back and forth as the van moved forwards. There were three other figures with me. One was the officer who had dragged me, but I couldn't place what division the other two were from. They wore long, leather coats, and on their heads sat black officer caps that looked foreign to me.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked. "And why can't I have my rights read to me? Is this some kind of sick joke? Aren't you police supposed to be fair?"
One of the other men laughed. "You haven't told him?"
"I was waiting until we got into the van," said the officer. He turned to me, his grin unnaturally large and ominous. "You still think we're the police?"
My brain spun. "Aren't you?"
He chuckled, and the other men turned to reveal a red armband. "You haven't figured it out? You're being taken away. The police force is useless and weak."
And then it clicked. "You guys..."
The officer let out a hearty laugh. "Welcome to the Grammar Reich!" | 2019-05-04T16:37:25 | 2019-05-04T16:30:06 | 65 | 40 |
[WP] Due to the increasing ammount of souls that need reaping, Death has decided to upgrade from a scythe to a farming combine. | Alex was at peace. Well, as much as a dying man could be, anyway, trying to remain uncowed by existential dread and the realization that your future consists of the laying down in a hopefully comfortable box, and eternal darkness.
So yea. Alex's doing well. Fine, even.
He didn't quite exactly know what he was dying of. But then, who really did? Your sister's annoying antics could be the death of you. Or your friend's. Or your significant other! Annoying antics.
But Alex put them all to the back of his mind and shut his eyes, breathing deeply. Precious few left. There was plenty of time to think about the shenanigans of the various members in his social circle. Forever, really. For now, Death comes, and Alex waits.
He heard the beginning of something mechanical, still far away. But it came gradually closer, turning from a whisper into a rumble into the roaring of an outsized engine and exhaust.
"What the hell?" Alex mumbled. He couldn't even hear himself. But, just slightly above the noise, he heard somebody calling his name.
"Are you Alex Wright?"
Alex opened his eyes, and was greeted with the sight of a farming combine and Death himself. He had come. Not alone, apparently.
The mortal pointed to his ears and demonstrated the universal signal for 'I can't fecking hear you because you are making a terrible din.' Death threw his bony hands up, and fiddled with something where he was seated in the obtusely large machine.
The combine whirred for a moment, before dying. Very appropriate.
"You must be Death?" Alex asked, just to confirm, if the flowing black robes and the fact that the man seemed to be fully functional despite the conspicuous lack of skin and muscle wasn't clear enough.
"Yes," Death said. Now that it wasn't being fully drowned out, Alex could hear that it sounded terribly death-like, all gloomy and ominous. "I am Death."
"Ah," Alex said. He wasn't quite sure what else to ask. He pointed to the combine, however, and figured that it wouldn't hurt to be polite.
"Nice combine," the mortal said.
"Thank you," Death replied. He did a little half-bow while being confined to the cockpit.
"Very loud though," Alex noted, somewhat obviously. "I thought you were all about the scythe swinging. I was really expecting that."
"Stereotypical, but generally correct," Death said. "I had to upgrade though. Too many people dying recently. Tough times recently for humanity, eh?"
"Seems to be so," Alex said. "So... how do you reap souls, now? Without the swinging thing."
Alex helpfully swung an imaginary scythe around. He couldn't tell if Death was amused.
"You just have to lie back down, Alex Wright," Death said. "I'll do the rest of the work."
Alex eyed the harvesting blades of the combine suspiciously.
"I think I get the idea," Alex said. "What about the pained screams of agony?"
"Oh, don't worry," Death said. "That happens with the scythe, as well. But with this--"
And with that, Death turned the key once more, and the engine sputtered to life once again, crescendoing into an ear-shattering roar.
Alex wanted to scream. But somehow, only an unhearable sigh came out, as he watched the farming blades spin.
---
r/dexdrafts | As it turns out a lifetime of scamming was liable to get you shot. Reluctantly I poked my still warm corpse resting between the bullet-riddled cubicles and shag carpeting. A ghostly outline of my boss floating next to his mutilated corpse slumped across the hall. "So Jerry how is the family treating you?"
"I swear to God Frank, I never knew that my wife was planning this let alone I was going to get kruked by my own trench broom." Even though the veil of death, I could feel the disapproval on the shadow lingering feet away. A distant sound of mechanical crunching and screaming approaching from somewhere outside.
"Do you hear that?" The fluorescent lighting above now crackling and sparking as something tore into the far wall. Mechanical teeth tearing through the wall to malicious laughter as I started my sprint. Dodging between the half hazard cubicles as a combine tore apart Jerry and atop a black-cloaked figure cackled madly.
Scythe in boney hand the grim reaper himself ripped through the cubicles as I slammed the lift's top floor button. Oh god, oh fuck I was lying when I said a nearby farmer needed help keeping his farm afloat. With a final ding, the doors shut just in time as the combine's teeth dug into the door as the elevator rose. The monitors on the elevator walls flickering to life the reaper's visage crackling as his voice whispered into my ears.
"I will be back scammer and when I do I want my money back or ill come up there myself and reap your measly soul." Deep heavy breaths filling my nonexistent lungs as the flickering light returned to normal operation. The doors scarred and pockmarked opening up to the roof the porch covered in corpses. | 2021-01-17T11:44:05 | 2021-01-17T09:32:56 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] A paranoid schizophrenic man thinks he's keeping a personal daily diary but for some reason people keep approaching him with intimate knowledge of the contents and telling him how much they love his work. | “Oh my God, Patient 01111-7? I’m like, your biggest fan, no way!” The girl squeals, really, positively squeals in a way no woman ever has at seeing me. “That thing you wrote about the nurse you saw through your cell bars? It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read. How did that one line go? *‘Her hair like the lower half of an octopus, a tantric mass of knots and curls that inflames my soul with its sheer wildness.’* I’ve never seen yearning expressed so…so…”
I pull a quick 180 and get the hell out. Patient 01111-7 is not allowed to speak to anyone. Patient 01111-7 is not allowed to look at anyone. Patient 01111-7 shouldn’t even have looked at the nurse when she walked by but she was so pretty that—”
The girl grabs my shoulder and spins me back around. Her face makes me want to write about her. She's flushed with excitement, skin that I can tell should be a sort of cold ivory is now all pink and soft. She’s breathing these quick, shallow breaths. I don’t think she can really be looking at me.
“And that poem you wrote about the bird song? God I loved that. Can you recite it for me? Please? It would be a dream come true!”
I don’t want to recite the poem. I look away, trying not to break the rules any further. Patient 01111-7 isn’t even allowed to think of himself as an I, but he/I struggles with it when she speaks and he/I doesn’t know why.
Then her hand is in mine and it squeezes and it’s so warm. Have I ever felt anything so warm? Maybe before I got here, but I don’t remember that time so well. I’m talking before I know it.
*“To the bird in my window who’s so small and so blue,*
*I wish I knew how, to fly free like you do,*
*I wish I could utter your sweet little songs*
*But in my block they tase you, for singing along”*
“There’s more,” I mumble. I’m thinking of myself as an I again, but as long as her hand is in mine I can’t help but do that. My eyes dart around the yard, I can see Nurse Setler watching out the window. She looks confused, I know she can see me talking to someone and she knows that’s not allowed even better than I do, so why isn’t she out here yet? Patient 01111-7 flinches away from the window, like Patient 01111-7 can hear the taser coming already.
“Please Sir, please tell me more!” the girl says. Her hand is still so warm. “You should’ve written the rest then! You should always write the rest! My friends and I would love you forever if you do.”
*“If I sat in that window could I be so free?*
*Would the wind also reach out, to play with me?*
*Or would the hustle and bustle of the world at large,*
*Try to trick me, and hurt me, and put me behind bars?*
&#x200B;
*‘No, don’t fly off!’ I shout as your wings flap around*
*And you lift off my window with nary a sound*
*Then Nurse Setler approaches, taser sparking with glee*
*As she unlocks my door, and electrocutes me”*
“I’d write more, but they took away the window,” I say. ***I*** say. Patient 01111-7 had uttered the word ***I***.
The girl swims in my vision, her shape breaking up as the door onto the yard opens and a voice breaks through it all, sweeping away the little window and the hand in mine, and the bright, soft, pink face that wanted to hear ***me*** talk. I look up, and it’s Nurse Setler, and I/he/Patient 01111-7 desperately wishes it was the other nurse, the one with the octopus hair, but it’s not and it never is when it matters.
“Patient 01111-7, who were you talking to?” Nurse Setler asks.
Patient 01111-7 shakes his head. “Nobody!” he says, “Nobody at all, I was just talking to myself!”
***“I?***” she says, and now the warmth isn't just gone from my hand but from the entire world.
“Patient 01111-7 wasn’t talking to anyone ma’am!” Patient 01111-7 shouts.
Then her taser sparks with glee, and she walks over and electrocutes me, and the world is suddenly far too warm. Just before I pass out I hear the girl squeal again, but this time it doesn’t make me happy like it did before. This time it sounds like my voice, and Patient 01111-7’s heart breaks all over again.
\----------
r/TurningtoWords
(this might be the saddest thing I've ever written, damn) | **Emotions are too hot to touch directly.** That's okay. That doesn't mean we can't pick them and throw them, and everyone should be able to pick their emotions up and throw them. Monkeys get to fling their bullshit around; why shouldn't we? We shouldn't because humans are squeamish about picking things up, which is why we invented gloves. Metaphors. All of this is a metaphor, but the gloves are a metaphor for metaphors.
If something is too painful to handle, you wrap it in a metaphor so that you don't feel the heat.
That's what I do. I take everything that hurts me and put it into a story. [Agony about being trans](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/m8zrbo/wp_years_ago_the_10_mile_long_creature_fell_from/), or [the pain of having OCD](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/m97145/wp_you_can_travel_in_time_by_touching_objects_and/), or [how much a pet can mean to me](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/motpak/wp_humans_have_been_giving_their_pets_god_names/). I take everything about myself that I love too much to say out loud, or hate too much to even look at, and wrap them in a neat little bow, so much flowery ostentation layers of ribbons silk pretty so soft that nobody can tell what's underneath it all anymore.
And then they come.
Oh, it hurts when they get close to the truth, when they cut through the Gordian knot and [approach me with intimate knowledge of my diary's contents](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/moribb/wp_superspeed_can_power_a_city_without_polluting/gu5exj2?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) and [telling me how much they love my work](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mmu9d2/wp_you_can_detect_lies_easily_but_no_one_knows/gtv6lvo?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) because *I didn't ask for this*. I write to get this stuff off my chest, not put it on someone else's. I never realized how many people would pick up my trash and make it their treasure. I never realized...
[I never realized it would resonate.](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/m97145/wp_you_can_travel_in_time_by_touching_objects_and/grlaib7?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
Maybe emotions are too hot to handle for other people, too. Maybe that's how I can help them: by delivering little gift boxes with tiny, fragile kittens inside, ready for them to open up and hold tight and close.
Maybe it's okay that they read my diary over my shoulder. Maybe it's okay that [they write and speculate alongside me](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mo6vjk/wp_you_are_a_superhero_who_works_tirelessly_for/gu20tyk?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3), every once in a while.
Because maybe it's not my diary.
[It's ours.](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/) | 2021-04-21T08:42:09 | 2021-04-21T08:35:19 | 169 | 31 |
[WP] Instead of wolves, bears were the domesticated and now known as “man’s best friend.” | **Language Warning, I suppose**
You ever have one of those things, where when you see it, or hear it, or smell it, it just sets you off? You start seeing red and your body trembles with rage?
Well, when I heard that fucking growling from my front yard again, I knew I had found ‘my thing.’
“Honey!” I screamed. “That goddamn Martinson bear is at the birch tree again!” This was **it**. I had **fucking had it.** I slammed my coffee mug on the table and threw on my robe, tramping outside with newspaper in hand.
There he was, the 200-pound shit. He was raking his claws over my grandfather’s prized birch and didn’t give slightest damn about it either. *Look how deep those gashes are! Hell!* “You get your Grizzly ass off my tree you shithead!” I shouted loudly. The bear stopped and turned to look at me sheepishly. I shook my head as I rolled up the newspaper. “Oh you know what you’re doing!” I continued loudly. “I’ll have your ass stuffed and mounted I will!” Then I gave the bear a quick couple of swats on the nose.
It yelped and lumbered back to the Martinson yard, claws scraping at the pavement. I saw it run towards the little bearhouse they built for it in the front yard. It knocked over its tire-size food bowl and huddled in the cave-like abode. We stared at each other for a bit, me fuming and it trying to give me the old cubby-bear eyes. I pointed my newspaper at it angrily. “That won’t work on me!”
“What’s all the commotion out here, neighbor?” It was Cliff Martinson. He looked surprised, *as if we didn’t have to go through this every other week,* I thought.
I kept stabbing wildly towards the bear with my paper. “Your damn Grizzly is the problem, Cliff!”
He tilted his head. “Well, Smokey isn’t a Grizzly, he’s a 100% purebred American Black Bear.” He raised his hands in supplication, likely because he saw on my face that I gave no shits about what kind of bear it was. “Look, you know it takes time to train bears, I’m sorry. I can pay for any damages he caused.” His hands spread out amicably and he smiled. “I know that’s your granddad’s tree, I’ll make sure he doesn’t go near it again.”
I huffed and puffed for awhile. Then I sighed. “Yeah Cliff, I'm trying to be patient here but you gotta keep him under better control." I paused. "Sorry for getting out of hand.”
“He’s just a bear, Mark. He doesn’t know any better, not when he’s still a cub like this.”
“Yeah yeah…” I said. Cliff didn’t seem convinced.
“Look, I’ll go and get you some chili pepper spray at PetSmart. Bears hate that stuff, doesn’t hurt the tree at all. Spray some on the bark and he’ll leave it alone.” He held his hand out towards me.
I was quiet for a moment. Then I shook his hand and nodded. “If you say so, Cliff.” He nodded in kind and he made his way to his truck.
“Be right back,” he called out the window. His truck slid out of the driveway and down the road, out of sight.
I pointed at the bear again with my newspaper and it yowled from inside the bearhouse. “You better not…” my voice trailed off. I sighed and walked back into my house.
*Honestly, why can’t people just have normal pets? ‘Man’s best friend’ my ass.* I sat down at the table and heard a hissing whine from under it.
“Hey Gex!” I said happily as I reached down to rub my gator’s wide snout. “Who’s a good little lizard? Do you want a treat? How about we go for a walk later?”
Gex thumped his big tail on the ground and hissed again in contentment.
*Now* there’s *a man’s best friend.*
| "The tracks are still fresh," Isha said, kneeling down to palm the muddy footprints slowly washing away in the rain, "It's finally moving toward the pass I think,"
With a low grunt, Nita gently pushed her aside and started sniffing at the tracks.
"Hey c'mon, that's cheating," Isha said, giving Nita a hard tackle in the side that barely budged her. "You can sniff out prey in your own hunts, I have to be able to do this myself."
Nita playfully body checked her back in response, then rolling her head and letting out a low growl,
"Yeah, I know It's boring to follow me around," Isha grinned and gave Nita a pat on the head, "You'll get to lead next time, promise,"
With that, Isha set off in a slow jog, eager to get to reach the pass before nightfall. With each step, she felt more in tune with those who had walked this path before her. She had been beyond excited for this day to come. The rite of hunters was a storied tradition among her tribe, and one borne entirely out of necessity.
The beasts of the pass had long since ceased to be the threat they were in the time of her ancestors, but they were still considered a danger. And so, when one was spotted on their side of the pass, a hunter was sent to deal with it. There was no greater feat in all the plains. Isha could barely contain herself at the thought.
They had almost reached the mountainside when a birdlike noise reflected onto it and right back at them, upsetting the natural calm of the woods. It was close. Slowing down her pace, they moved as quietly as possible through the forest until it finally cleared to reveal a shallow river, coursing with fresh rainwater.
And there it stood, the beast. It resembled a large bird, except it was not built to fly. Instead of wings its lightly feathered arms ended in sharp claws that looked ready to rip open its prey. The legs were meaty and strong, yet ended in talons that would put eagles to shame.
But worse yet was the maw, a beak replaced with the snout of a lizard full of more teeth than she thought possible. It was a made to kill, of that she was sure. Well, she thought as she pulled a spear from the pouch on her back, so was she.
Giving Nita the hardest punch she could muster to the shoulder, she grinned before charging. She was halfway there when she saw the other three that had been drinking halfways down the stream.
| 2018-02-22T18:03:49 | 2018-02-22T17:23:55 | 194 | 17 |
[WP] This particular magic college is weird but feared. Each professor is a self made immortal and the head master of the college is a thousand year old lich. | I had finally been accepted to the greatest institution of Magical Learning within the Dark Continent. The Imperial College of Sloth. To many, the name itself would cause confusion. How can a place run by the Sinful Lord of Sloth ever be productive? From what I’ve heard, he is only slothful when doing anything other than research and teaching.
Walking through the archway with the stone gargoyles giving me a slight nod of greeting, I arrive in the courtyard. The green of the Botomancy departments efforts is beyond beautiful. The dual work of Professor Sycamore and Professor Olive keep countless rare and exotic wonders growing. Rumour says that they each attained immortality separately by creating or discovering a Tree of life. However, the Tree itself is now a shrivelled monument to their brilliance.
Many students wished to sample the fruit of immortality and were rebuffed with the school’s succinct motto.
“Find your own immortality, and don’t steal ours!”
Giving a light wave to the few students fighting off a Venomous Human Eating Treant. I enter the Hallway of mirrors. A hallway that is only ever as long as you think it is. I pass an old man hobbling slowly. He is famous in his own right. Though only an honourary professor, he has been travelling this hallway since the College was first opened millennia ago. No one is sure how he gained immortality. But when asked, he just repeats the school motto.
“Find your own immortality, and don’t steal ours!”
I give him a respectful nod as I pass him to the T junction that divides the campus. To my left is the Daemonology Professor Pope. A man whose parents named him every position within The Church of The Great Divines in the hopes he would join the clergy and rise the ranks. God’s only know how history would’ve responded to Pope, Deacon Priest Bishop Cardinal Pope.
It seems to spite his parents he dove headfirst into scripture only not of the holy kind. He is one of the few Professors who everyone knows how he attained his immortality, obviously through a demonic pact. What isn’t known is how he hasn’t suffered an ill effect nor been dragged to hell. When asked like all others, he parrots the motto.
“Find your own immortality, and don’t steal ours!”
Though my path to my lecture hall takes me to the right, I enter through a pair of oaken doors to a large hall that seems like an operating theatre. There sat at his desk waiting for all the others to arrive is Viktor Guntherian. The Dean of the college. The eponymous Sinful Lord of Sloth. He is also one of the most powerful liches in existence.
I remember when I first met him. I had heard rumours and assumed them all to be tricks and lies to catch first-year students out. I never expected a Lich to have the appearance of a hearty and healthy man, albeit an elderly one. Where I expected a skeleton, I saw flesh. He snapped his book closed and looked up at me, and gestured for me to come close.
This is one of the reasons I set off earlier than the others. He always gives secret tidbits to those eager enough to show up early. Though as this is common knowledge, it is not unknown for there to be tents set up outside the lecture hall.
“Ah Alex, how’s my fifty-third favourite student?” He asks. Many would feel concerned about being numbered so high, but this man founded this academy and the city surrounding it. He has taught countless mages and mage knights through millennia. Being in the top one hundred is a true honour.
“Doing well and yourself?” I ask in return.
“I barely could get out of bed”, he sighs. It is now I notice the dark rings around his eyes are more pronounced than usual.
“Damn, Werebeastiology and Vampiric Studies Professors were fighting right outside my room last night”, he laments, drinking an elixir from a test tube. I take a step back when I see a stray drop start to dissolve the floor beneath his desk.
“So, how goes the phylactery creation?” he asks, putting down the dubious concoction.
“I succeeded!” I say with a grin. I was only a single step away from becoming a Lich like my Professor.
Viktor, in response, has an ear to ear grin spread across his face.
“That’s Brilliant!” He says, quickly rising from his desk to embrace me.
“So, what did you make it?” He asks, clearly letting his curiosity overtake him. “A soul lantern, perhaps?” He suggests. “No too common, you are an oddball like me….” He pauses to stroke his scraggly beard.
“Ah, I know you made it your staff”, he answers, snapping his fingers at his eureka moment.
I have a smug grin grow across my face.
“Professor, you know as well as I that the only way to kill a lich truly is to destroy their phylactery”, he just nods. “So I made mine harder to locate”, I say, feeling joy at finally one-upping him.
“Please tell me, boy. Your grin tells me it is clearly ingenious”, he says, clear excitement growing in his voice. I give a warm smile as I gently release his hold on me and take a step back.
“Find your own immortality and don’t steal ours!” is my only response as I give him a performers bow. He just falls back into his seat, laughing.
“Brilliant boy, you have jumped to number one in my favourites. You’re the first to get that”, he says, getting his giggling fit under control when he notices a few other students arriving. | Andre crept out of bed, eager not to waste a second. Throwing his clothes on and slipping on his shoes, he grabbed his bag and left. Closing the door as quietly as he could, he saw that the corridor was deserted. Speeding towards the entrance, as the firelights flickered above him, his thoughts drifted to the horrible next few weeks. Exiting the dormitory, the cold wind slapped him in the face immediately. Maybe I should return to my bed? Or wake John up and practise some spellcasting? Shaking his head, Andre knew to ignore his weaker thoughts. The college grounds were covered in darkness and he couldn’t see two feet in front of him. With his head down, Andre kept to the path, knowing from previous experience how annoying a day of studying can be when you’re wet. Then, finally, the world started to brighten as the firelights of the library came into view. As quickly as he could, he shuffled inside, rubbing his hands together to warm his ice-cold fingers. A warm breeze now washed over him and spots of warmth from the surrounding firelights lifted his spirits.
Looking around, the only person Andre could see was a librarian, staring intensely at the computer screen in front of her. Walking past, the librarian not even looking up, Andre walked by the stairs, the computer labs, the magical training arena until finally, way at the back of the library he found his favourite seat. A potted plant, large and sometimes sentient, stood in front of it so Andre could study in peace. Thankfully, there was no one there and Andre threw his bag down and relaxed for a moment. Closing his eyes, his thoughts drifted to the coming exams and how unprepared he felt. Destruction would be fine but Illusion would be a problem and Alteration was going to be a complete disaster, he just knew it. Professor Dobridge in their last class had said that he had seen newly-born snails with more skill at Alteration than him. He would know a thing or two about Alteration as well, having been teaching it for close to 1300 years or so. Slowly, without realising it, Andre started to drift off to sleep. Already images of Dobridge is magical armour swept through his mind then all of a sudden, it felt like he was falling and he awoke at his table in the library with a jolt and a scream.
“Now do be quiet,” a voice muttered beside him. “This is a library after all.” Turning, Andre saw a corpse, his fleshing rotting off the bone, sitting next to him.
“Principal Ergower!” Andre exclaimed, hurriedly straightening himself up. “How…When…How…Why…It's goo…It’s good to see…see… you… Sir.”
“Mr Smith,” Ergower smiled, his arms folded as he leaned back on his chair. “Thinking of doing some early morning studying before Illusion class I take it?” *He knows I have Illusion in an hour.*
“Yes, Sir,” replied Andre, cold sweat dripping down his forehead. “Just… I have to. You know? It’s hard.” *It’s hard. Christ, I’m a boring sob*. Ergower only slowly nodded his head, however. The corpse, which had been rotting for nearly two thousand years, looked much the same as it did on Andre’s first day at the college. Hairless, with bruises all over, a single maggot climbed out on the Principal's eye and crawled around to disappear in his ear. This might have made Andre quake with fear back in first year, now though? Now he was a senior and had seen enough of the world to know that there was nothing to fear from Ergower.
“Yes. I had problems with Illusion when I was young. If you can imagine that.” Ergower smiled, his lip muscles in view as they tightened. “Although we didn’t have this fine school to help us at the time. No, I’m afraid we had to rely on the local Magnus for training.” Ergower didn’t say anything for a moment, he just kept leaning, smiling at the thoughts of his youth. His eyes were glazed over as they stared at the roof of the library. Finally, Andre let out a small cough and Ergower was brought back to reality.
“Oh I’m terribly sorry, Andre,” Ergower smiled sadly.” Don’t mind me. Just an old lich and his memories. Now I will leave you.” He stood up from his seat, a smile still on his lips and he pushed his chair back underneath the table.
“I’m sorry to have interrupted your study,” Ergower said. “Good luck in your exams.” And just like that, Andre was left alone once more.
*Such a weird school.* | 2021-12-07T05:30:57 | 2021-12-07T05:21:05 | 85 | 14 |
[WP] Astro-Carcinization - crabs keep evolving over and over in our fossil record. The crab body shape is prevalent. Assume we finally meet aliens and we are the only non crab intelligence ever found. | Due to the fact that the Crustalien ship happened to land in the middle of the Washington National Mall, the fate of humanity rested in the hands of the President of the United States, much to the chagrin of the rest of the world. The President had been fielding calls from world leaders since first contact was made, every leader having a different approach in mind.
“Peace,” Germany’s prime minister emphasized. “We need to emphasize our peaceful intentions. Do not threaten them.”
“You need to determine their military capabilities.” Russia’s president said. “Do not threaten them until we know.”
“Just take it easy for now,” England’s prime minister cautioned. “We shouldn't ask for anything yet. As long as you don’t threaten them we’ll be fine.”
The President rolled his eyes after each call. He wasn’t an idiot, obviously he wouldn’t threaten the first alien species to make contact with humanity. He’d play the conversation by ear, relying on leaderly instincts.
The Crustalien representative was waiting on their ship. The President would meet them by helicopter, pick them up, wow them with some sights, and then take them back to the White House where they’d have their conversation.
As the helicopter landed, the President saw the Crustalien representative step out from their ship. It was the first time he’d seen one in person. It was uncanny how closely they resembled Earth’s crab species. They were a bit larger, but otherwise exactly he same—eight armored legs, two large meaty claws, and black beady eyes.
The President disembarked the helicopter, and straightened his suit. “Hello, pleasure to meet you,” he said, holding both hands up and opening and closing each hand as if he was doing the chicken-dance. It felt undignified, but the Xenologists insisted it was the proper greeting.
Cameras flashed. He suppressed a groan.
“Good day,” the Crustalien representative said, mimicking the gesture with its claws. “Can you understand me? My translator should transfer my words to your common tongue.”
“Yes,” the President responded, taking note of the fact that the crab was completely naked and any translator must have been biologically integrated. “What is your name?” The President asked.
“My name cannot be pronounced in your tongue. But you may call me Clawdia.”
The President smiled. "So your kind likes puns too?"
"No," Clawdia replied. "We like claws."
“Fair enough! Well Clawdia, how about me and you take a ride? I can show you some of the sights.”
Clawdia clambered into the helicopter with minimal effort and nestled into the space they had cleared out for him to sit. The President followed and they were off, flying high over the metropolitan area.
The President showed Clawdia the monuments, the city landscape, and even some of the suburban areas. If Clawdia was impressed by any of it, he couldn’t tell. Clawdia was mostly quiet and the President was comfortable letting the silence fester.
“What is that?” Clawdia asked eventually, pointing with a claw.
The President couldn’t quite make out what it was referring to—they were flying so high the buildings blended together. He made a mental note of the Crustalien’s superior eyesight, and told the pilot to descend.
As the helicopter lowered, the building Clawdia had identified became clearer and clearer. The President heart dropped. It was Joe’s Crab Shack. The restaurant had a giant ceramic sculpture on its roof, which happened to look almost exactly like Clawdia.
“Pull up!” The President yelled to pilot. “Apologies Clawdia, we don’t have any time for detours.”
“I would like to see it,” Clawdia replied.
“We really can’t—”
“Take me down, human.” Clawdia said more forcefully.
The President hesitated, but had no choice. “Take her down,” he said to the pilot. They landed in front of the restaurant and the President's mind raced frantically.
“So you are familiar with my kind?” Clawdia asked.
“Well, not quite… We have a—”
“Take me in,” Clawdia interrupted.
“I’m sorry?”
“I would like to see the inside of this building.”
“Unfortunately security hasn’t cleared the area so—”
Clawdia didn’t let the President finish. It crawled out of the helicopter and began scurrying towards the building. The President ran after it, only catching up as Clawdia burst through the restaurant doors.
The scene before them couldn’t have been worse—the full scope of the restaurant laid before them, each patron gorging themselves on buckets brimming with crab legs. Some were mid-chew, crab parts clenched in their fists, shells littering the tables and floors.
“What… what is *this?!*” Clawdia cried, the horror in its voice evident even through the translator.
The President shuffled nervously, before realizing what he had to do. He straightened his suit again, and put on a hard face.
“A threat,” he replied. “Now go back to your kind and tell them what happens if they cross humanity.”
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | Severus stood open mouthed and salivating in a crowded marketplace, a two pound hammer in his hands and a concealed laser pistol in his right pocket. From every window above and from every stall on the street, there hung the greatest assortment of delicacies he’d ever seen, crabs and lobsters of every description, many of whom waved at him, hawking meaningless goods and overpriced, imitation food.
He knew what he was here for though, and not a single one of them could say a thing to dissuade him, not now, and not ever. The first time had been eye opening, the second time, sublime, and the third? Who could possibly imagine.
“Good sir, may I interest you in a new vidscreen?” a bespectacled lobster cried from his right.
“Burgers here, get your burgers!” a crab shouted from further down the street.
“I’ve got watches, com-necklaces, synth-eyes, and more!”
More goods than any human could have even imagined ago, but none of them could fill his need, not even the burger vendor.
Severus walked on, past the roiling madness of Commerce Street, taking a slidewalk and a mag rail to a place where the lights burned a little more red, and the sun never set on a man’s hunger.
In the Reefs district of Decapoda Prime, Severus began his hunt, the hammer now slid through his belt like some kind of affected human ornamentation. Different goods hung from the windows now, and the stalls weren’t stalls, but lone, seedy crustaceans on street corners, handing out vials of tainted for pocket scraps, and shiny, almost metallic substance the locals called StarSand if you had the cash.
Severus purchased a packet of StarSand and continued on, whistling as he went.
He was an oddity here to be sure, but in the past decade many humans had come to Decapoda Prime out of curiosity, and of those the most adventurous males always seemed to end up in the Reefs district. He passed two others as he wandered, at least one of them giving the hammer a long, meaningful look. Severus tipped his hat to him just in case. There were pressure few men of taste in a place such as this. A short time later, next to the intricately carved coral sculpture of the Decapodan fertility goddess, Severus found his mark.
It was a particularly spiny brute of a crab, this one with four pendulous claws hanging down from its torso. Its coloration was unusual, blue splotches giving way to red streaks, and it undulated with grace that a shell should never have given when Severus looked its way. He passed over the StarSand and a bundle of cash without a word and the crab led him away from the statue, deeper into the labyrinthine warren of the reefs, to a flophouse where no sound was unwelcome, and no hunger too taboo.
Or so the crab thought.
Severus dropped it with a single squeeze of the laser pistol’s trigger as soon as they were in private. All around him was a cacophony of rhythmic scraping and strange, sickeningly organic ocean sounds. Severus pulled a small multitool from his pocket, removing the pistol's side panel, swapping wires around until the beam would be diffused enough for what he required. After a short time he pulled the trigger experimentally, aiming a brief burst at the crab’s claw, pausing after several seconds.
He sniffed the air, his stomach growled. Perfection.
Severus reached for his belt, the hammer there, and added a new sound to the night.
\---------
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-03-27T15:42:37 | 2021-03-27T14:16:16 | 48 | 13 |
[WP]God comes up with a new rule to deter innocent human sacrifices in his name. From now on, there should be TWO human sacrifices; the first will be chosen by the town as usual, the second will be chosen by the first tribute, without any objections. | He hobbled down the main street, focusing on a point a few feet ahead of me. He didn't want to meet anyone's gaze. He was tired of seeing the pity in people's eyes. He was tired of being helpless, tired of being powerless.
Not that he had any choice.
He went to Chief Jackson's house and knocked on the door. The chief opened the door and looked at the boy with disgust. "Oh. It's my turn today, huh. Fine."
Chief brought out some leftovers from last night's dinner and handed it to the boy. "Here."
The boy looked at the scraps and then at the Chief's face.
"What?"
"There was something else, chief."
"What is it? I have much more important things to take care of."
"I'm sure you do. Chief, I know the shaman has asked us to sacrifice someone to make sure we get the rains and bountiful produce."
"Yes."
"So I was wondering..."
"Say it, boy."
"Look, I have no one in the life since my parents..." The boy trailed off.
"Since your witch of a mother and your father, who practiced dark arts were brought to justice."
The boy balled his fist, but he kept his anger in control. "Yes, sir. I wish to atone for the sins of my father."
"Oh?"
"I... I don't know if it works this way or not but... you know... if my worthless life can be of the use to the village, maybe, just maybe, I can return some honour to my family name."
The chief looked at the boy curiously. "It doesn't work like that. It's not just my decision. But we will consider it. Now run along."
The boy bowed and went away. He thought back to the night their house was burnt. He remembered the smile on the face of the shaman, the light in his eye, not just from the flames that consumed their house. No. The light of revenge. The light of hatred. The same light the boy still saw in the shaman's eyes whenever they saw each other.
The chief put forward the boy's name. The shaman looked surprised, but readily agreed. Maybe, just maybe, now he would be able to get over the rejection. It was better all around. The boy's eyes still reminded him of the girl who had turned him, the great shaman, down. He, whose name sent terror into the hearts of people two towns over. That little chit of a woman. She had dared turn him down. Maybe, now, he would find peace.
The decision was quickly made. The decision on the sacrifice had to be unanimous and the subject had to agree. Two things that very rarely happened together.
Thirty days later, on the day of the sacrifice as foretold by the shaman, the boy stood on the altar, all eyes on him.
The shaman stood beside him, struggling to hide his smile. A fitting end, to the family line that had dared stand up to him. "Ever since your father and your mother started dabbling in the dark arts, our village has been plagued by droughts. Our farm lands have struggled and many of us have had to go hungry. It's only fair that you sacrifice yourself to the Ictar, the goddess of fire and forgiveness. May she burn away our sins and forgive us. Do you have any last words, boy?"
"I do, oh great shaman. My mother and father, who were sentenced to death by burning because of their crimes told me a few things before dying. They gave me a book, that is truly the divine word of Ictar. Isn't it true, that anyone who is being sacrificed gets to choose another?"
The shaman was taken aback. The divine words were meant for his eyes alone. He was supposed to be the one who read them and translated them for the townspeople.
The chief saw the look of fear on the shaman's face. "Is this true, shaman?"
"Well, you see..."
"Yes or No. Is it true?"
"Yes."
The chief turned to the boy. "Who do you choose?"
"You see, I've been told by so many people that my life is worthless. I begin to wonder that what will the great goddess do with a life as worthless as mine. Maybe, just maybe, I should take with me, a life of immense value. Like, say, the great shaman, whose name is revered even two towns over. He talks to the gods often and directly. Since he is so special to the gods, it would make sense that they would be pleased to welcome him to their realm."
The shaman turned white with fear. "Oh I couldn't. I have to keep this town safe. I have many things I need to take care. I possibly couldn't leave the town."
"Well, then I refuse to be the sacrifice." The boy started to step off the altar.
"No, no. Wait." The chief stopped the boy. "Shaman, we appreciate what you do for the town. But it took thirty days to prepare for this sacrifice. We don't have another thirty. We need rain, and we need rain quickly. We need you to do this."
The boy piped in. "Besides, I'm sure once you reach the gods, you can talk to them and request to return. Since you're so close to them, I'm sure they'll allow you."
"Yes, but..."
"No, buts." The chief raised his hand. "Shaman, you have to sacrifice."
A couple of chief's men took the shaman and took him to the altar besides the boy. They tied both the sacrifices.
The chief took the torch to the altar. "Oh goddess Ictar. Please accept these sacrifices. Please burn away our sins, i request thee."
The fire burnt bright. The shaman screamed in pain but the boy had a smile on his face.
Suddenly, the sky darkened and the clouds appeared. The rain, which the town had been devoid of for seven years, started pouring down.
The fire which was around the boy was put out, but surprisingly, there was no rain over the small area where the shaman burned.
A voice rang out, clear and melodious. "I accept the sacrifice. The town, however, needs a new shaman. And the town needs this boy. Listen to him. Let him lead you."
The chief ran to the stage and untied the boy. He dropped to his knees, begging the boy for forgiveness.
The boy, luckily, was blessed with a big heart and soon forgave the townspeople, leading them to a new and prosperous future. | “Brothers and sisters! Our beautiful village of Salem has strayed from the path of righteousness in recent years. Brotherhood and prosperity have been replaced by distrust and poverty. The harvests grow poorer with each passing year, the weather ever fiercer to demonstrate His disapproval. However! This is but a test of faith, to see if we are worthy of His mercy and generosity. I have communicated with the Lord, and He has instructed us to purge the evil that lurks within our village. For there is indeed a vile sinner that walks among us, a conniving practitioner of satanic magic that curses our livelihood with her every breath. If we are to ensure our continued existence, we must steel our hearts and strike down this icon of sin that stands before us. And so, Susanna Sterret, I hereby condemn you to death! May the Lord send your damned soul to the very depths of Hell!”
Jeers broke out amongst the crowd gathered in the town square as they hurled stones and insults alike at the young woman standing on the platform before them. The executioner climbed the steps, reaching out to tighten the rope around Susanna’s neck. But before he could do so, she shouted, “My fellow neighbors, I am not the sinner you seek! The true sinner hides himself behind the cowl of faith, whispering sweet falsehoods of divinity into our ears to fatten his own pockets! But if I cannot escape my fate, then neither shall he. I invoke my right to a dual offering as described in Revelations and select Father Parris as my companion to the slaughter.”
The clamor from the crowd quieted into murmurs as the villagers began to whisper to one another in confusion. Father Parris, his expression unchanging, replied, “Friends, do not be swayed by this miscreant’s sly misinterpretations of His holy word. It is true such a passage exists within Revelations, but remember that I am the Lord’s ordained practitioner to carry out His justice on this earth. Were we to allow every sinner to condemn His chosen ones to their own demise, who would be left to protect the innocent from the legions of sinners that lay in wait beyond our walls? Susanna’s words are nothing more than a conniving ploy to corrupt your divine protection, a final act of her insatiable lust for sin.”
Cheers emerged from the crowd again, albeit quieter than before. The priest continued, “However, I am compelled to recognize the right of dual offering. And so, I offer my slave Tituba to accompany the sinner in death. As Noah presented the burnt offerings of his animals to the Lord in Genesis, so too shall I send my chattel to the slaughter to appease Him. Gideon, bring the slave to the platform.”
The executioner stepped off the platform and walked into Parris’ estate, emerging a few moments later with a kicking and screaming Tituba being dragged across the ground. Within a few minutes, he prepared a second noose and wrapped it around the slave’s neck, tightening it until her sobs turned to choked gasps. He did the same to Susanna’s, after which he turned to Father Parris. The priest declared, “The moment of salvation is upon us, brothers and sisters! With this humble sacrifice, we are returned to His graces! No more shall we know of hunger and disease in these sacred grounds of Salem! No more!”
He nodded to Gideon, who kicked the boxes underneath the two women’s feet away from them. Two loud snaps echoed through the town square, quickly overshadowed by the mad cheers of the townsfolk as they slowly dispersed across the village to celebrate their inevitable good fortunes. Parris quietly stared at the two bodies hanging in front of him, spitting upon the ground before motioning to Gideon and returning to his estate.
But good fortunes did not come to Salem as its villagers had anticipated. For when the rains refused to appear, their crops withered away and perished before they ever had a chance to thrive. And when a pack of ravenous wolves began mercilessly picking away at the livestock, the villagers began to truly understand the meaning of starvation. And when a severe wave of tuberculosis swept through the village, it sounded the death knoll for its inhabitants as they either perished or collected their meager possessions to seek out better fortunes elsewhere. Father Parris found himself spending his final moments as a sickly mess in his bed, coughing phlegm and blood and feeling the life ebb from his body. And as he felt the tendrils of Death’s embrace wrapping themselves around his body, he envisioned the specters of Susanna and Tituba standing before him. Their sunken heads, the unmistakable mark of rope burns around their necks. Father Parris did not go gently into that good night, his soul forever damned by the knowledge it was he who had condemned the village of Salem to its bitter demise.
r/williamk9949 | 2020-06-18T10:26:55 | 2020-06-18T10:15:40 | 592 | 223 |
[WP] A man releases an evil genie, bent on corrupting his wishes. However, the man's wishes are so boring and mundane, the evil genie struggles to twist them. | A Pizza? Could that human Jeb be so stupid as not to realize what the wishes truly meant? How much power he had at his disposal?
The genie was about to conjure a soggy pineapple pizza for this sucker, but stopped and reconsidered. A Test! Of course - a test! The human was just testing him. Testing if he would corrupt the wishes, before going for the big stuff. Smart little fucker.
Very well, this was a dance, he had danced before. "Of course master. Thy wish is my command!" he bellowed and conjured that pimpled boggerface a pizza so exquisite, so perfectly crisp it would have made the greatest pizza chefs in the world cry over their own incompetence.
"What is your second wish, master?" He had even stepped up the servility in his voice a notch. Did the mortal trust him now? Would there be a second test? Or maybe he would go for the prize now, and keep the last wish as a backup?
"And a coke"
So there was a second test. He would really enjoy, twisting this worms dearest desire into a foul nightmare. Jeb would suffer dearly. Was it the love of a girl he craved? She might prove to be more than he could handle. Wealth? The mafia never took it kindly, if someone explained to them *but a genie just gave me that big bag of money. It can't be your's*. Power? Fame? He almost chuckled while thinking of the possibilities, but managed to keep a straight, friendly face.
"Thy wish is my command!"
A can of Coca Cola appeared. The temperature perfect, condensation glistening on it's surface. It had been a struggle for him, not to make it Diet at least shake it, but that might have given away his true intentions.
"Now for your final wish, master!"
The genie felt almost giddy with the anticipation. He would show this chewing gum under ones sole kind of person, what happened to people, that dared to enrage a genie. He could see him thinking, could almost hear the gears in his tiny head turning. A smart ass, trying to make his wish foolproof. Better men than him had failed at that. He would crush him, he would...
Then Jeb spoke: "Nah, I'm good. Why don't you get another pizza for yourself to eat?"
Nooooo! How could the mortal have known? That cruelty! He could forego twisting the first and second wish, but never the third. That was the iron law of the genie. A law that must not be broken. He bowed his head and sullenly said "Your wish is my command!", before conjuring an oily, lukewarm pineapple pizza for himself.
| “I am the Grand Genie Beryl, most feared and envied of all my kind. I’ve brought ruin to civilizations and untold horrors the likes of which you can’t imagine. Tell me, master, how may I exact your vengeance? You have three wishes.”
“Actually, I wish for a vanilla milkshake,” Hector replied to the genie.
“Seriously?” the genie groaned, then wiggles her fingers. In an instant the milkshake appeared on the table before him. “You know, I could take over this pathetic excuse of a country for you, if you wanted. You have but to ask.”
“Nope, I’m good with this,” Hector said while reaching for the milkshake. Tilting the large glass up to his mouth, he missed the quick twinkle in the genie’s eye. He took a big swig then coughed, choking on the liquid.
Beryl let out a wicked laugh. Watching her master sputter to expel the foul liquid, she cackled away at his displeasure.
Regaining his composure, Hector slammed the glass back onto the table. “How could you ... this is made from sour milk!” | 2018-01-10T03:27:09 | 2018-01-10T01:43:45 | 89 | 22 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is your overprotective dad, Hades is the cool uncle, and Cerberus is the beloved family pet. What happens when your boyfriend comes over to meet the family? | As we walked through the door, the painting fell from the wall hitting him in the head, and seeing that the frame was made entirely of concrete, it most definitely killed him. This was a common occurrence in our family. He did this to my anyone I brought home. He said he did it for me, but I know it was only for himself, he couldn't have anybody knowing that he existed because then people could do what was thought to be impossible, escape death. There was only one person who could cheat death, and that was my mother. She cheated on my father, and she was promptly diagnosed with HIV. At this point I'm not even surprised.
"Dad, why do you do this?"
"To protect you, Grace!"
"I don't know about all this 'protecting me' stuff."
He was ever so slightly irritated by the remark, but he knew it was true. "Fine you win, I don't want people to know I exist."
"Should I just tell my teachers that you won't be making it to parent teacher conferences?"
"Your mother could go."
"She is dead. You killed her."
"Serves her right, stupid bitch should have thought about that before sleeping with Hades."
"THEY WERE PLAYING SCRABBLE!"
"Bull shit, nobody plays scrabble when they have power."
"Anyway, what're we going to do about conferences? They're next Tuesday."
"I'll arrange for all of your teachers to die in a 7 car pile up."
"QUIT KILLING MY TEACHERS!"
"Well then what do you suggest we do?"
"You could just say 'sorry I can't go to that.'"
"You weren't fast enough, they're all dead."
"STOP THAT!" I was furious
Death's phone began to ring. He answered and after numerous yeses, he hung up and said "that 7 car pile up turned into a 35 car pile up, and the news helicopter flew into a Hospital. 400 are dead so far, and I just received word that I started the apocalypse. Being the fourth horseman of the apocalypse, I have to go fill out some paper work for your uncle." He then ran outside and jumped on his pale white horse and rode off.
This is my first story (I think) please don't be too hard on me. | "Dad here's Billy he's a good dude," I say to my skull-faced father who's sitting with his feet up on the coach drinking a Colt 45. "He's gonna be dead by next January from mesothelioma save yourself the trouble." The Grim Reaper responds.
"Hey Hey you're talking all over the dialogue bones!" Cerberus says. I run out of the door crying. "I don't think this is gonna work out Billy but say hey to my uncle if you see him, he gets lonely in the winter."
| 2017-03-08T21:13:20 | 2017-03-08T20:12:12 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] At the age of twelve you started randomly seeing a green line and a red line appear on the ground. You always followed the green line and have lived a successful and happy life. Ten years later you are on top of the world, but bored. Time to see where the red line leads. | The green line has given me purpose since the age of twelve. It led me to choose the right college, right degree, and find the woman of my dreams. After following the green line for 10 years, I will getting married in May next year, I just started medical school, graduated college with a 4.0 gpa, etc. The green line doesn't just point me to where I should go. It points me to the right answers on tests, everything. People think I'm a genius l, but in reality, I dont even have to think.
The first 7 or so years were fun, but the complete lack of adversity or stakes has made everything boring. Imagine playing a videogame where you can never lose, or poker where you can see everyone else's hand, but they can't see yours. That's my life as of now. I always assumed the red line was the opposite of the green line. They didnt always point in opposite directions, but the only time I could think of them ever lining up together perfectly was a couple times I was fishing with friends, or at the beach at my local lake growing up. One thing I've noticed though, While the green line doesnt waiver all that much, the red line will sometimes jump to seemingly random points.
Life is so boring at this point, I might as well follow it for a day, and see what happens. Can't screw up what I've achieved to this point too much, right? As I follow the red line for a few minutes, I'm lead to a quant little pond with a beautiful garden, and a couple ducks gently floating along the water. After watching the ducks for a few minutes, they fly off. The red line remains pointing at the pond for a couple more minutes, then jumps to a new direction. Again after following it for two or so minutes, I'm lead to a road. The only notable thing about the road, at this point in time, is that a mother duck is leading her ducklings accross the street.
I think I'm beginning to notice a trend. I walk away the red line remains pointing in the direction I left from a few minutes ago. It jumps to a new direction, that I then follow. Sure enough, I am lead to a group of ducks. I do this several more times, and every time, I'm lead to a group of ducks. I guess I was wrong. Green line is the path in life I should follow, red line is fucking ducks.
Thanks for reading. I hope you like the take I took on this prompt. | I was finally there, at the top of the world. Around me I could see all of my journey highlighted in green, culminating in this moment. After soaking it all in and feeling quite pleased with myself for awhile, boredom slowly crept in.
I started glancing at the red line and wondering its destination. I resolved to follow it to the end as the green line had helped me so much. Standing and taking the first few steps reminded me of being twelve and first choosing the green line. The sense of wonder returned as I walked down the path. While daydreaming of my first encounter with the green line the red line led me off the path. My last conscious thoughts were a spinning whirl as boulders and sky repeatedly switched positions.
You hear a booming voice reading "You have died. To choose the other path turn to page 92." | 2017-08-23T07:53:37 | 2017-08-23T06:39:05 | 78 | 15 |
[WP] You are a cannon fodder minion on the first floor of a dungeon, and have just killed the hero. You now have to explain to the boss that you just ruined his plan. | He didn't dare to believe his eyes as he stared down at the smoldering corpse of the hero at his feet. This was the vaunted hero? In rotted leather armor and bearing a chipped sword? Surely his Lord's carefully planned traps, expertly trained minions and artfully designed mazes gathered over these past 7 years since the hero prophecy was first spoken could not have been in vain? The lowly foot soldier tried to imagine having to explain what he had done, how he had ruined all those years of planning and preparation.
*"I'm so sorry my lord, the hero was pathetic! He thought he was armed with Prophecy and immortal. He just charged right in and all but leapt into the path of my weak and pathetic fire spell. I did not expect that to vanquish him!"*
*"You fool... 7 years! 7 YEARS!! No expense spared! I prepared for everything! EVERYTHING! How could you ruin this? How... how could you?"*
And as the lowly minion imagined the tears streaming down his Lord's face he knew what he must do. He stomped out the still smoldering bits of the hero's armor and removed it from his corpse. Donning the rotted leather over his own mail he dropped his expertly crafted sword in favour of the pitted rusted ruin the hero had brought. He needed to disguise his face. He might be the weakest of minions but he had spent 7 long years with these beings, they knew him as well as he knew them. He blackened his face with soot and cut his lengthy mane hastily with a dagger. Finally he searched for any other gear the hero had brought and found only a small amulet which he donned as well. Thus armed he turned away from the entrance headed deep into the dungeon.
Despite his weakness, he had stilled trained these 7 long years with the best of the other minions. He had helped prepare the traps, and had joined the construction crews on the mazes. Quite simply put, he knew every square inch of this dungeon and so forearmed with his knowledge he barreled into every trap barely avoiding death by the slimmest of margins. He knew all the weaknesses of each of his fellow minions but not even that could make up for his own weakness. Each battle was a terrible trial and by the time he made it through the last maze he was beaten and bruised horribly. Only his impeccable mail had saved him from serious injury. Thankfully his Lord had spared no expense.
"Foolish hero, I see you have bested my minions and navigated my dungeon but now you face my wrath! Puny human prepare yourself!" His Lord, not recognizing his minion, cried out in joy as the hero he had spent 7 long years preparing for finally stood before him.
*My Lord... this I do for you. I give my life so that these plans will not go to waste!* The weak minion thought to himself, but he knew that he couldn't give in too easily. His Lord had trained extensively himself and deserved the best fight possible. Gathering his courage the minion charged his Lord and gave his all. He fought with everything he had, barely avoiding death a hundred times at his Lord's hand. Finally, he could fight no more and his Lord stood over him, prepared to deal the final blow.
"Foolish hero, do you now understand my might?! You never stood a chance you fool!"
As his Lord gloated, the beaten minion could only nod his head in reply for fear of giving away his identity with his voice. It was then that a single drop of blood fell from his broken nose and landed squarely on the amulet he'd taken from the fallen hero. A brilliant light emanated from the amulet, blinding the minion and his Lord both. When the light faded the minion slowly rubbed his eyes, willing the spots to clear. He could only look on in horror at the smoking ruin where his Lord once stood, vanquished by the light of the amulet.
And so the prophecy was realized.
*7 years hence, the Dark Lord, after much preparation, will be vanquished by the weakest fool would be hero with the best of intentions."* | I traversed the 7 floors to the large doors that separated the rest of the dungeon with our dragon overlord, Vulth'Gliiv. He accepted challenges from adventurers of all kinds but only to lure in his rival, 'The Hero," Xanlannan Fiedlerson. The door creaked screeched slowly as I pushed it open, m'lord perched at the top of the small rocky cliffs above me and my Ork partner. We stared at each other before I stepped my right and him to his left to reveal Fiedlerson's body. Vulth'Gliiv's eyes widened as he swooped down to tower over us.
"What the hell happened guys?!" He yelled, " didn't I tell you to make sure he got to me?!"
"Well Boss, it's 'ard to say 'onestly." The Ork, Brug, said.
Vulith did the equivalent of an annoyed human putting his head in his palm. He peered out from between his claws and took a deep breath.
"Well okay then, start form the beginning!" Vulith said. He sounded frustrated.
"Well the Paladin came up to us and shouted: 'Where's the wretched beast' and junk. We did what you told us and tried to make it believable but 'e was dueling Steve at the time!"
"Speaking of Steve, where is *he?*" Vulith looked around, thinking maybe we were hiding him, " Come on, out with it!"
I stepped forward, taking off my helmet to reveal my face and to show some respect.
"Well m'lord...Steve is dead. The Paladin took his life." I said.
"WHAT? STEVE IS DEAD?"
I nodded.
"He was several days to retirement! He had a wife and kids!"
"I know m'lord. He was going to take little Suzie to her lute recital after work today too." I informed.
"Has anyone told his family yet?"
"Not yet. We thought we you should be the one to do it..."
Vulith climbed back up to his rocky perch and grabbed something shiny from his treasure pile before coming down. It was a set of magic crystals that held images of the owner's choice.
"He was my best man you see." Vulith said, "he was even there for my first Princess kidnapping."
Vulith broke down, the mighty dragon that terrorized this country sobbed uncontrollably. | 2014-09-03T12:27:33 | 2014-09-03T12:04:15 | 241 | 17 |
[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 | When the rapture happened there was a pretty big uproar. Anarchy, riots the whole shebang. People were scared, and they should've been. But then after, they started to get used to it. Then people started being born with weird birthmarks, and usually developed powers based on that mark. Most had constellations. My friend, Jace, he had Orion. That made him extremely strong, and able to see what he wants no matter where he is on the planet. Which is crazy. Me? I've ways just had a circle. Just a plain small blue circle on my forearm. Because of that I get bullied. I never use my power, my dad told me not too right before he died. They assume I'm weak. They assume I don't have a power.
Oh how wrong they are.
I'm tired of being the object of their torture.
Of being punched by those with strong constellations.
Even poisoned by the serpent ones.
I. Am. Done.
They will finally realize why I never use my circle. My power.
My Black Hole.
They try to punch, to poison, to do anything. But nothing escapes gravity. Nothing.
They have hit me for the last time.
As my former friend Orion throws his punch, smiling, laughing at my pain with the others, I reach out my hand. My head tilts up, lip split, black eye, and finger broken.
I reach out my hand, and say "I'm done." He stops laughing, and looks at me with a cautious look. He should be much more than cautious.
From my palm springs out a purple/black energy writhing in smokey tendrils, around Orion. His eyes widen and he screams. Whether out of fear or pain, I don't care anymore.
I'm tired.
His body fold in on itself with a sickening wet crunch, and turns completely black, glowing purple. The others are standing back, fear in their eyes. Good they should be afraid. Their weak Constellations won't save them now.
I'm tired.
I grab what used to be Orion's body, but now black hole, in my hand as my fist closed around it, about the size of a baseball. I look up at the others "I'm done being Bullied."
I'm tired.
I throw my Ball at them and as I do they try to run, but nobody can outrun gravity. It connects, and his body fold in on himself too, combining with Orion, to make the ball about the size of a softball.
They made me do this. I never wanted this. I just wanted to be left alone. I'm so very tired. So. Tired. My vision goes black with my body still moving. I'm done. | *Dark...... It went dark..... but how? It's still day,* they thought, feeling the air around the cool.
The air continued to grow colder and colder, nothing but inky blackness surrounding them. Then they saw you. You in the center, eyes dark and your face twisted into a vicious scowl and arms stretching to what was the ground.
They let out a visible breath, a sign that the air became freezing. You watched them as they struggle to breathe, watching them writhe. But you didnt care for their safety nor yours. You mind has gone numb and your sense rendered inactive. The only think running through your mind was void.
*VOID* your mind kept repeating, your sigil glowing brighter and brighter.
You could feel the void growing and consuming more and more, everything being enveloped in the black abyss. You see the bullies stopped moving. They float there, with horrified expressions staring at you.
You snap out of it and everything returns to normal. You apologize for everything and run home. This is why you dont use your sigil. | 2020-02-26T07:44:57 | 2020-02-26T06:52:34 | 91 | 42 |
[WP] You reach the afterlife, but before you find out where you'll end up, you have to watch the entire life of someone and decide where they should go. What you don't know is all of your memories have been wiped and it's your own life you're watching. | "Well sir?" The being of pure light asked "have you made a choice?"
"Yes" I answered slowly, but then angrily "he's a phony, a fraud, he used his religion, his so-called ministry to look good to his family and friends, but his selfishness and laziness caused so much more harm then good"
"He didn't earn a single thing he had in life and he wasted the charity everyone gave him"
"People made so many sacrifices so he could continue teaching, teaching that religion he claimed to believe, but he never put in ten percent of the work they thought he was doing"
"Worst of all he thought all the time that he was a good person, he thought he deserved their gifts"
"He has to suffer, he can't go on thinking that he was in the right the whole time"
The angel listened carefully, and then responded "you are right"
As he said those words all the memories flooded back I fell to my knees as I cried out "I am that man"
"How can I pay for this?"
"Only complete separation from the source of all good "
"It's fair, it's what I deserve"
I sat, waiting to fall, to be thrown, complete paralyzing despair filled me.
"Look" said the angel
A scean from my life, one I had already seen.
the man I was, kneeling on the floor, praying
"Dear Lord, forgive me for my sins accept Christ's death in place of my own"
I said to the angel
"Is this how hell starts?" "Seeing my greatest hypocrisy?"
The angel said "Look"
I saw a body pulp of bone, muscle, and torn flesh slowly moving. I realized It was a man. He was being dragged up a hill. I realized with horror what I was seeing. The man was nailed to a piece of wood. His joints streached and almost tearing He was hung above an angry, stupid, crowd. The sky turned black as He screamed "Father, where are You"
"You asked, and He did this for you"
"Not for me though... I don't deserve it, I never did anything for Him, I used His people for my own selfish wants. I used Him just to make the guilt go away when I started to realize what I really was"
Then I knew what hell would be for me; it would be every piece of suffering I had inflicted, especially the pain of the One I had imagined would be my get-out-of-hell-free card.
"Now you know what you deserve" the angel said "but I already told you, the price has been paid, you are free"
"But why? How could that be?"
I thought with disgust of the pat answers I could have given to these questions just hours (or was it a life time) ago.
The angel spoke "He wanted to use you"
"Do you think you did little in your ministry? You did nothing! But He worked through you"
"Look" said the angel "the work He did in you"
The floor of the little space fell away, the sky broke open and we were in an endless sea of every sensation in harmony.
I saw crowds of people singing, dancing and doing something that looked like solemn bowing but also like running through a sprinkler in the summer.
I recognized them, they were people I had known, people I had tought, people I had used and people I had failed.
They were all rushing toward Him, eternally Rushing and always being welcomed into His arms anew.
And then I saw between them they were carrying something like a streacher. A sad shell of a man was laying on it. But as they rushed on, and as their Lord welcomed them in, the man sat up. And the Word spoke to him "He who is forgiven much, loves much, come and sin no more"
And as the man stood up from the stretcher, I had a memory of the future. As the man stood up amongst all the people I had used and lied to, I said "I am that man"
Purgatory was over, I was forgiven, my eternity is service to my Lord, my service is the enjoyment of everything He is, surrounded by His people. | "Okay, so I just sit in this chair and judge a life?" I asked.
"Yeah, and lucky for you this life died young. Are you ready?"
"Yeah I'm ready... Wow, a VCR. Haven't seen those in a while. Why don't y'all upgrade?"
"Budget cuts. So just put your thoughts into this video and place this person where you really think they belong. Good luck."
I begin watching the video play.
...
>"A lot of mistakes have been made in this life. Heck, I'd hate to be the family of that guy. Those poor kids. That poor wife. It's really sad, because I just saw the rise and fall of his love and empathy. It grew steady like a mountain, then all of the sudden I saw the life in his eyes drop like a cliff. He was falling, and used the people around him as a landing cushion. "
...
"Have you made your decision sir?"
"Yes. With a heavy heart, this soul only deserves pain. More specifically, the pain he brought into his family. "
"Okay, well good luck sir."
"Wait, what do you mean? Where do I go?"
"Hell. That video you just watched was yours. That was your wife you beat. Those were your kids you mocked. Those were your beer bottles and cigarette butts. That was your life that you hated to live. Have fun sir. For a place called rock bottom, I hear hell is warm. "
...
>You're as toxic as the cigarettes you smoke and the alcohol you drink. Soon enough the blood that flows through you will turn a ghastly purple and your lungs will exhale smog. You are not a father. You are a monster. You are an intruder. You are anything, but a protector.
>Thanks for nothing. Mom and sister can finally let their tears flow, remember when you yelled at them to never do it in front of you because it made you feel guilt? While they were holding tears, I was holding anger. Anger at you for not being a father or a human being.
>Now that you're gone, my only goal is to become anything and everything
>that doesn't
>remind me
>of you.
>BTW: I could have saved you. As an EMR, I know when and how to perform CPR. You show me, however, that not all life is precious.
>Goodbye.
>
>
>~Your son, who was named after you. | 2016-05-10T21:52:51 | 2016-05-10T18:32:26 | 96 | 59 |
[WP] Each child in your village is chosen by a weapon at their coming of age. The deadlier the weapon, the greater the prestige for the family. You've been chosen by the pen. | A pen? Really? A fucking pen?
My dad sat in the corner, head in hands, laughing hysterically and triumphantly.
Wait.. Was this a prank? No, surely not. My dad, the ever serious scribe would never joke about a pen.
"Dad, why would I be chosen by a pen? A pen is only mightier than a sword in that movie in the in the tank scene. You know, with Han Solo's dad." Needless to say, I didn't know how to feel.
My dad just glared at me, muttering something about pop-culture and my generation.
"Son, go look in the mirror and tell me what you see," he said.
I looked. Nothing.
"Now, write on your hand, the most amazing thing you can think of."
I thought for a minute and had an idea.
"Sex," I wrote. What can I say, I'm 15. Immediately, images flashed through my head and I understood, no I knew what sex was all about and why it mattered. I understood why and when it didn't matter. I understood.
I panted with wonder at the feeling of the knowledge I had gained. Quickly, beneath that word, I wrote, "War" and I wept from the scenes of death and destruction that I saw.
Then I wrote, "Peace" and all became clear. I finally looked closely at the pen I had been given at the choosing ceremony. Etched in the side was the word, "Wisdom and Understanding."
"Son, in our village, every weapon that chooses is imbued with power. You have been given the greatest weapon of them all but the least desired because so few people choose to read and understand, to think. You have been given the ability to shape the minds of people for generations."
Quickly, I grabbed a stack of paper and began to write and then stopped. I needed to process what I had learned this night and be thoughtful. This pen was mightier than any sword and I was going to use it well.
My father smiled. | "But why a pen?"
"Because we are not savages anymore. We're a civilization now. In a time where battles are fought between armies of gun and pike, a single sword is useless. Instead, men must now use logic and reason to inspire these armies to bring justice to the world. I hope you will use this responsibly."
***
And thus he nailed his 95 Theses to the door. | 2017-04-10T09:52:20 | 2017-04-10T09:48:04 | 37 | 17 |
[WP] You are a marriage councillor and your first clients are history's most infamous couple. No not Romeo and Juliet but Zeus and Hera | “Alright would one of you like to tell me why you’re here today?”
“I’ll go first.” The husband is named Zeus. He’s very impressive looking, smartly dressed with a physique that would draw the envy of bodybuilders. And the chin! Songs could be written about the clef of it.
“He’ll go first,” His wife Hera says at the same time. She’s equally impressive, dark-haired, and sharp-featured, like the falling of dusk around a sunset.
“Wait, why do you want me to go first?” Zeus stops and looks at her.
“I want to hear what you’ll say,” Hera says.
“Well, I don’t want to go first.” Zeus looks the other way.
“Let's take a step back,” I say, using my practiced soothing tone. That’s one of the first things they teach you in school - tone is more important than words.
“Please,” Hera says. “Let's take several steps back. Let's start with when he killed our father!”
“He what now?” I blink.
“Oh here we go!” Zeus scoffs. “She always does this. Makes everything into my fault!”
“It was your fault!” Hera says. “He never would have eaten us if you hadn’t been destined to kill him. He was only trying to keep us safe!”
“I’m sorry - did you say-” I try to interrupt.
“I didn’t choose my destiny!” Zeus glowers. “I didn’t ask to be lord of all creation! But I do it. Every day I toil and labor to keep the very fabric of existence from unraveling and does she ever thank me! Of course not! She’s too busy pointing out all of my faults!”
“I only ever asked him for one thing! Faithfulness. And he promised, didn’t he. I’ll love you and only you, loveliest of my sisters. That’s what he said.”
“Wait… Sister?” I cough, pressing a hand to a temple.
“And how long was it - a day? I don't know. And then he’s all cozied up with that cow and then he pretends it's a gift! A gift! The nerve!”
“You like cows!” Zeus protests. “Giving you a cow is a completely reasonable-”
“Stop it!” I snap. The room falls into sudden silence and I take a few deep breaths, trying to carefully arrange my face. That’s another thing they teach you in school - your expression has to be neutral. Not judging, but also not overly sympathizing.
Back to the script. When in doubt, just go back to the script.
“I need to tell you that everything we say here is confidential with two exceptions. One, if you threaten to harm yourself, or two if you threaten to harm another.”
“And would immolating his lover with lighting upon revealing his true nature constitute harm to another?” Hera smirks.
Zeus throws up his hands. “You're the one who got disguised and put the idea in her head! I didn't want to-”
I clap loudly several times to get their attention and give them a high-eyebrowed smile. “Maybe we could talk about how you first met. What first attracted you to each other?”
This gives them each a pause.
“I mean look at her,” Zeus says, almost irritated. “She’s liquid sex. That smolder. And she’s good. Too good for me. Wise as the boundless sea. Smart as any scholar.”
“And you should have seen him back then.” Hera smiles wistfully. “He was strong, handsome, but also vulnerable. Like a little bird just learning to fly.”
“You were all I ever wanted,” Zeus says, turning to look at her.
“And you stole my heart. It could never belong to another.”
Zeus kisses her with sudden passion, like the crashing of a wave onto a rocky shore.
“Um..” I say as Hera reclines, knocking over a vase on the table next to the sofa. Zeus's hands start to wander along her shoulder and then down to her waist.
“Well, our time is up,” I say, despite the clock asserting otherwise.
Zeus is fiddling with his belt and Hera arching her neck in pleasure.
“Well, I’m going to go,” I say. “I think we’ve made some good progress here today. This week we should practice our I statements.”
I back out of the room, whistling tunelessly, my mind carefully arranged in therapist neutrality. When I'm out of the room I take out my phone.
"Got any available appointments?" I text my therapist.
&#x200B;
\-------
Thanks for reading, I'd love to hear what you thought.
For more of my stories check out [http://aarontellsstories.com/](http://aarontellsstories.com/). | Me (Thinking):
“Why did the most dysfunctional couple of all of Greek mythological lore have to come to me? And I can’t even use tough love, they’ll just smite me! He’s a serial cheater and she’s a psycho path that goes after his love children. I don’t recall any myths that they WEREN’T at each other throats. What would Joseph Campbells say about this?”
Me: *Clears throat* Why are you both together?
Zeus: “What?”
Me: Why are you together, why have both of you been in a relationship together for so long?
Zeus: Oh me, I have to think about it...
Hera: You have to THINK about it?!?!
Zeus: Give me a few minutes, it’s literally been an eternity since we got married!
Hera: Typical, you...
Me: Give him a few minutes, to forgive is divine you know
Hera: *glares* you know I could turn you into a turtle
Me (thinking): “why a turtle?”
Zeus: I’m ready, I’m ready, also Hera we can’t keep turning the therapists into animals, we’ll get nowhere.
Me: Go ahead
Zeus: To begin with between Hestia, Demeter and her. Hera had the most fire...
Hera: (amused) More fire than Hestia?
Zeus: Yes, don’t interrupt my train of thought, I’ll never finish this. And we were in a war with Cronus, it was so precarious back then, we would all end up in his stomach if we made any misstep... I remember thinking I want to be with this goddess, even for a short while.
Hera: *blushes*
Me: What about after the fall of Cronus, what kept you two together then?
Zeus: Well we were newlyweds, and we were finally out of peril. We were riding on a high to be completely honest.
Me (thinking) : oh dear, we getting into the infidelities, I have to be careful or I’ll be a turtle.
Me: Hera any thoughts?
Hera: oh that first millennia, it was such bliss. Then he had to go...You know I’m so tired of this dynamic.
Me: sorry?
Hera: I’m tired of being the scorned wife. I’m tired of always feeling bad because he has some stupid itch to scratch. And honestly I really hate going after his bastards, it’s takes so much mental energy from me.
Zeus: You know , I’ve never understood why you went after innocent children
Hera: SHUT UP! You know what, I have an answer to why we are together. It’s because I’m the goddess of MARRIAGE, MARRIAGE. But I had ENOUGH, I’m done!
Zeus: Doc...
Me: (Whispers) I really don’t want to be a turtle.
Hera: I’m changing my role, I’m the goddess of Divorce, and I’m going to have so many tomboys. Enjoy your floozies.
Hera storms out and Zeus follows pleading.
Me: Oh thank them, it’s over | 2021-02-07T08:31:15 | 2021-02-07T08:00:58 | 39 | 22 |
[WP] Adolf Hilter fakes his own death, survives the war, and gets a job verifying the authenticity of Nazi memorabilia at a pawn shop. | "No, no, no," the old man was saying. "This is not what I am telling you. What *I* am telling you, is that this," he waved around my grandfather's knife, "is a replica."
Sales shit. Fuckin' assholes. "Dude," I said. "I found this in my grandfather's crawlspace."
He looked at me like I was an idiot. "And because your grandfather - at some point - put this shitty replica in a crawlspace, that means it's authentic? Is this what you are telling me?" Dude got angry really quickly. "Look at this metal. Look at it. How many Jews do you think this could run through before it broke?"
"I don't - wait, what?"
He blinked. "I mean, that's what they did, right? The National Socialists."
"The who? Like, the Nazis?"
"Yes," he said, rolling his eyes. "The *Nazis*. Oooh, look. The big bad Nazis are coming for all my gold and artwork."
I didn't know what to say. "So... the knife?"
He slammed it down on the counter. "Fake. I'll give you five marks - hah!" He waved a hand around somewhat effeminately. "Five marks out of ten, of course, is what I meant when I said that thing that I said. Five marks out of ten for your story. Five *dollars*, of course. For the blasphemy before me."
I put it back in my bag. "No deal, dude. It's worth more than that. I'll take it somewhere else."
"You do that. Was there any other *treasures of historical significance* in your grandfather's attic?"
I pointed at him. "Don't give me that Doofenshmirtz bullshit, dude. No, there was nothing else in there. Just a bunch of weird arcane shit."
"What?" He said. "What? Like, the dark magic?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. Just skull candelabras, and a book that -"
"Was made out of human skin? Held the secrets of the universe? Will restore the true rulers of Earth?"
"I can't tell," I said slowly, "if you're taking this seriously or not. I think it's the gestures. Has anyone ever told you that you gesture a lot when you talk?"
The old man lowered his arms self-consciously. "An old habit," he said. "I'd be happy to have a look at these arcane wonders, if you bring them by."
"Thanks, dude," I said. "I appreciate that. I took a bit of a dislike to you at first, but you know what? You're OK."
He seemed pleased. "Thank you. Let me write you an appointment card. What did you say your name was?"
"Levi," I said. "Levi Rabinowitz"
"Fucking hell," the old man muttered as he scribbled my details. "You try and do *one thing* and where does it get you?" | I had actually put on my gloves for this piece. It looked frail and if real could very well be a very interesting find. I carefully checked the writing on the back to see if it could have been written with a more modern pen. The more I looked at it, the more I was convinced this could be genuine. I turned it around again and gazed into her eyes. It was very intimate, that's for sure. A close-up of Eva Braun, smiling, almost seductively I would say, at the camera. On the back some German words were scribbled, but the handwriting was hard to decipher.
Silently Hank had shuffled over to the counter. He was doing this work for free now, as it seemed to be the only thing to keep him going. He lived a solitary life, never having expressed any interest in women whatsoever. I was startled a little when he poked his head around the corner and asked if he could take a look at the photo. Carefully I handed him the small picture. His hands were trembling as his thin fingers tried to keep hold of it. As he turned the picture around I saw something I had never seen before. Hank's eyes seemed to get misty. He handed me the picture again as the customer looked at me slightly bewildered. Hank turned around mumbling to himself. "Why did you have that pill? You were not supposed to have a pill. We had it all worked out." | 2022-03-20T02:03:42 | 2015-12-26T19:44:30 | 1,230 | 59 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | They glanced at each other; the emotions of their kind were harder to read, granted, but I could tell there was a certain anxiousness to it. Perhaps there was a shiftiness about their eyes.
And while their words, harsh and guttural, were harder to decipher- I didn’t have much of a knack for language- the blatancy of their confusion was so universal that it was comical.
It did strike me that potentially, in all the years that had elapsed since they’d initially made contact, I had been the first to survive it intact. Mentally, I mean.
Theories had been floating around about the Vortex for decades. They said that the transportation process was something you needed to be completely unconscious for, lest you perish a billion times in the great unknown that is the darkness of an eternity. That a little piece of the soul evades you and is drawn to it.
There’s no science to it, of course. Merely speculation.
And we must hand it to Them; they account for and document each of us that they take for observation. They provide protective gear for the “Leap”, and return each of us without so much as a scratch- the majority of time, that is. Naturally, their technology isn’t completely immaculate. Maybe they’re even more human than expected. They even provide certification for the dead.
I couldn’t take it when she died. Everything lost its colour.
It was the irony that felt so bitter; she’d been so excited to be chosen, desperate to have some kind of wonderful anecdote that could trump anything else possibly conceivable at the dinner party she was so certain she’d one day host on our wedding china. She told me that with a glint in her eye, and laughed, in that low, intoxicating giggle of hers, before leaning in for a kiss.
I didn’t read the details of the report in depth. I didn’t need to. If anyone perishes during a Leap, it’s because something in the system has failed. She saw the Vortex and went mad. Suffered alone for a thousand lifetimes.
When I was chosen, it came as a blessing. It was a stupid, fleeting hope. A wild dream of mine. I was chasing the memories of her soul; those ridiculous old wives tales of pieces of the consciousness echoing about in the darkness of the Leap.
I had deliberately left the latch off the headset and closed my eyes, waiting.
***
“He’s smiling,” the cadet reported, avoiding eye contact as he etched the findings into the system.
“Is that not symptomatic of delirium?” The captain asked incredulously, gazing at the subject through the glass partition. He was sitting, cross-legged, on the bench with his back pressing lightly into the wall.
“Normally, I wouldn’t doubt that,” the cadet replied slowly. “But there’s never been a recorded instance of speech capability.”
“What?” The captain exclaimed, his eyes widening. The human looked particularly weak and pathetic; there was nothing especially durable about his character. He was thin and pale, and couldn’t have been more than thirty.
“Surely that’s not possible. That area of the human brain is the first to deteriorate. There must be some mistake.”
“No- no mistake,” the cadet shook his head. “It’s the same words over and over again.”
“What is he saying?”
“‘I found her. Oh thank God I found her.’” | The words came out before he knew it.
"Take me to him. Immediately."
"Yes sir."
Following his subordinate, his mind raced rapidly while confusion and doubt raged. In all his years as Commander of the Sentinel Station, Kr'jak had never encountered anyone who could handle a warp intact. They usually left in coffins.
In their own remains.
"Commander?"
A very confused Seth Halliwell tilted his head to the side, his hands toweling his freshly washed hair as he answered the door. "Does the engine need maintenance or something -"
"Oh." Realization striking him, the brown-haired engineer glanced down at his attire. "I felt kinda grimy after the warp, so I went to take a shower."
Palotheus, nothing made sense. The commander swore that he was having a migraine. How - what - why - what even -
"You saw infinity."
"...uh, I guess?"
No no no. He could not strangle his subordinate. He had an example to set, so as much as he would like to, he could not.
"And what did you see?"
"Um...blobs? Stars, maybe? Like.. dots."
"...Dots," Kr'jak repeated flatly.
"Dots."
Kr'jak, respected Commander of the Sentinel Station, high representative of the Turans known for their leadership, resisted the urge to scream.
"You are to submit a report about the infinity to me in -" his pointed ears twitched in annoyance. "Three hours. In *extreme detail*."
The engineer's jaw dropped while the subordinate who had brought Kr'jak winced. The Turan's definition of detailed was...well...
"Dismissed."
Still gaping at his boss, Seth tried (and failed) to protest.
Didn't Kr'jak know that he sucked at reports? | 2020-07-14T01:07:26 | 2020-07-14T00:17:30 | 688 | 163 |
[WP] Human beings unlock skills as they grow up, walking, taking, etc. You are the oldest person in the history of the world, and today you unlock a skill no one ever had. | It was integrated into our societal infrastructure. There were thousands of skill trees, most undiscovered. It seemed that no matter how technologically advanced we were, there were still skill trees to be discovered and honed.
Some skill trees were abandoned, just utterly useless and others entirely taboo. Everyone could navigate through their skill trees with ease, like thinking. Nobody else can see your skill trees. Its a natural part of the human condition; its understood the same no matter your language or disabilities. There are books that tell stories of ancient skill trees that are now inaccessible, they refer to the ability to use magic.
You can work on any skill tree you desire, there is no limit but you have to work to maintain the skills learned. Neglecting to care for the skills associated with a tree causes it to die. Anyone can plant a seed towards a new skill tree by doing an action that applies to that tree. However, you can't grow a bigger tree until you hone your skills. When a tree grows larger, most skills become available for you to utilize.
The larger a skill tree, the more effort and attention it needs to maintain its growth. To grow it to its peak size becomes a passion, a purpose in life. Some skills intermingle and the trees understand that, so many professionals have trees with interlocking branches. They speak to each other to keep your skills available to you, but if you neglect one it can pull down another tree.
There is a skill tree associated with health and wellness that is believed to lead to eternal life.
In ancient legends, those who had discovered that skill built the *'Fountain of youth'*. An organization that devoted their life to the tree of health and wellness. Younger members neglected all other specialties trees and instead focused their efforts on it. In time, one or two students would unlock the skill for eternal life and become official elders.
Today, nobody can reach that level of devotion with the level of complexity our lives are filled with. Except for me of course.
See, I discovered that skill a long time ago. Thousands of years ago actually. And with every other elder deceased from their lack of devotion. I alone have discovered the newest skills. Yes, there's two of them.
The tree of health and wellness refers to them as 'Permanent Health and Wellness' and 'Devote Assemblage'
When I unlocked 'Perma Health', all the air rushed from my lungs and I felt superiorly powerful. My genetically bad knees stopped hurting and my body transformed into perfect health despite all my efforts. The hair on my head turned from white to chestnut brown. Alongside a number of other significant changes.
The second skill didn't do anything to me, but anyone I touch is reset to perfect health. But there's a catch, I have to transfer the health of one person to another.
So today, I revealed my powers. As usual, the entire world went up in arms deciding which people need to have their health reset and which people should die as a sacrifice. It happens every time.
I'm going back to the fountain of youth, its well hid. I'll just wait it out again, I did for the Egyptians and the Romans. I guess I'll wait for someone else to reach the peak of their tree and see what their power is. Maybe they're in hiding like me, it's a dangerous world for us. | I smiled faintly as I gazed out from my perch on my usual bench, admiring the city. It was a Sunday, the air thick with humidity but free from the sounds of traffic. There had been a celebration in honor of my one hundred twenty-fifth birthday the day before, full of great grandchildren and reporters. Thirty years ago I may have resented needing assistance or getting attention for outliving my peers, but living this long gives one perspective on the matter.
The longer I gazed out onto the city, the more things started to change. My eyes narrowed and I looked down to find myself a young woman, on this very same bench, but in a very different time. At first, I thought it was my old mind playing tricks on me again, reliving the past and seeing the old architecture that used to make up the skyline of my hometown under the new ones, as if the world of my childhood was the inner rung of an onion, and all I would have to do was peel it to see it again. This time was different - it wasn’t as if I had transported, it was as if the time had truly changed in front of me. The people changed, and with them their clothing. The casual dress of the current day morphing into browns and blacks, dirt covering the ends of pant hems as dust was kicked up from the clopping of hooves against the stone roads. Even the smell of it permeated my nostrils, and a great feeling of nostalgia filled me as I looked around at this world I hadn’t seen in a century.
I blinked, and it was gone.
| 2018-06-23T11:22:33 | 2018-06-23T11:18:16 | 348 | 47 |
[WP] Write a story about something you don't understand. Do NO research. Make everything up as you go.
**Possible subjects:**
*Fly-Fishing
*Open-Heart Surgery
*Supply-Management in the Canadian Dairy Industry
*Making Hollywood Movies
*Guidance Counselling for High School Students
*Storm Chasing
*Electrical Repair in High-Rise Buildings
*The Large Hadron Collider
*Love
EDIT: Oh God, what have I done? | According to all laws regarding aerodynamics, a bee should not be able to fly. Their wings are too small. Their rumps to... Err... rumpish. But that does not stop the mighty bee. Try as nature might, it cannot stop the bee.
You see, every bee is born with a small jetpack, right in between their wings, and is only visible in complete darkness. So to us humans, or, 'umies, as the bees affectionately refer to us as, we are not capable of seeing these joys of modern ~~flight~~ nature.
But that's not all the bee has up it's sleevies. Seriously, they have sweaters on, and thats what give them their 1940's Green Bay Packers look. Because before the 1940's, bees wore a drab coat of wool, sulfur, and aluminium, so as to protect against predators. What's even more stupifying, is that the Queen must knit and knot all these, every day, forever. Because Queens don't die, no, they are just reborn.
But enough deviation, because the bee has one final trick to fool predators. Honey. That's right, Honey. The most delicious thing ever known to man, and animal, is there ultimate weapon. For inside every morsel of Honey, is a small Colony of Photoreceptors. That's why whenever a Bee gets inside a house or car, it never seems to get out, because the Bee is secretly hunting for those photoreceptors, so it can take control of it's new host. For Bees shall rise again as the dominant race on Earth once again.
No hardship will stop them. No trial will end them. For they must fly, No, they NEED to fly. Coupled with an insatiable bloodlust, and a need for freedom, tiny jetpacks, sweaters, and photoreceptors, the Bee will never stop. That, is why the Bee can fly, against all odds.
(Seriously, How the fuck do Bee's work, I'm a grown man and still have no idea) | "Okay bob, hold my scalpel while I squeeze the heart"
"Right, now I just need you to connect those two tubes while I hold it like this"
"Okay...
Yes! done!"
"Wait, why is my computer making that weird beeping noise?"
"OH MY GOD!!! HE'S GONNA DIE! GET THE DEFIBRILLATOR!!"
*zzzzZAP!*
"Oops, I think we killed him."
"Wow, we really suck at surgeon simulator don't we?" | 2016-02-01T22:09:55 | 2016-02-01T21:35:35 | 40 | 11 |
[WP] A planet and its moon both have intelligent life. For 400 years they have watched each other through telescopes. Now one of them is launching its first rocket to pay the other their first visit. | We'd blossomed through trade. We'd always seen them there, and we'd been fortunate enough to develop along the same timelines. When we'd first discovered Radio, it had been incredible. It took years to learn eachother's languages, but we'd managed it.
Then we managed rocketry. We couldn't protect anything living, so travel was impossible. But we could launch giant payloads to eachother, landing in eachother's oceans. We sent minerals mined from the rich veins in our planet. They sent plants, herbs, spices, and some rarer elements like Helium back to us. We tried sending living matter, but anything biological perished in the cold of space or the heat of re-entry.
The trade enhanced both our civilizations, and led to a grand industrial age. Most of the advancement came from them. They'd evolved harder, more violently. Their people had a drive and determination to them that we more or less lacked.
It was only natural that the rocket that would change our world forever would come from them.
Trykus Industries were the ones that managed it first. They'd kept their project secret until the big day. They had grown to prominence as the main import and export business on the green planet. Rockets were their business. And they'd finally figured out how to create a container and suits that could keep their people safe in our atmosphere and the space between.
The launch was glorious. Everyone on both worlds watched, and over the three day journey between us, we all watched the rocket in the sky. When it landed, there were celebrations across the worlds. Meetings in person, or at least through their suits. Finally seeing them with our own eyes instead of through screens.
But it was short-lived.
The plague had begun to spread across the world a month after the astronauts left our planet. The coastal towns around their landing site caught it first. By the time we realized, it had spread across the world. It didn't show symptoms until it was already too late, and was contagious beyond anything we'd seen before. We realized the plague must have snuck aboard upon their ship, that their biological cleansing procedures weren't good enough.
They tried to help us, but we couldn't send biological samples back. A strain of their simple flu was deadly to us. Slowly, over months, our world died.
I sit in my lab now, alone. I'm one of the last on this world, trying to find a cure even though it's far too late. I just hope somebody hears this transmission. I figured it out, finally. It wasn't the flu that killed us. It was similar, so minutely different. But this was engineered. The signs are there, the slight chromosomal tweaks and enhancements to make it asymptomatic and more contagious, to affect only our DNA.
I realize now, why you'd do this. Your culture is violent, ruthless. We watched as your five dominant species became four, then three. Eventually you were all that remained. But we thought you'd changed. Four hundred years since first contact. Four hundred years of philosophy, of diplomacy.
But was this always the plan? Were your entire people so willing to exterminate us once you no longer needed us to mine? Once you could travel here, and extract our planet's resources on your own? Did your governments always consider us an unfortunate inconvenience? Was it just Trykus? Or was every citizen, every member of your planet, every friend I'd thought I'd made and even the astronauts that had once been such a blessing know that they would be the last to ever meet us?
I hope I'm wrong. I hope it was one evil actor within your society. But as I look over the transcripts we've been given by your scientists, so many acting independently, so many full of lies and misleading statement we took as true, I know. I still don't understand it. But that doesn't matter anymore.
Please, if you hear this, know that our system was killed by a people we considered brothers. Know that they cannot be trusted, cannot be reasoned with. Consider this system quarantined. And hope they never escape from it.
_Beacon Repeats in 3... 2... 1..._ | LOG 1:
"ahem, is this thing on? Yes? okay. My name is Darmi Steran. I am the captain of the \*Void\* the vessel that will be leaving the moon Rotuga and approaching its planet Nera. We have observed the intelligent life on Nera for 400 years through telescopic instruments. the planets life is strange.
But first, life on Rotuga. Rotuga is the largest planet our species has been able to move to. Our original homeworld Targon was destroyed by a massive meteorite. The planet was hit and mass extinction took place through the form of ecological disasters. Large tsunami's, cyclone's and earthquakes killed millions, forcing a colony of us to flee to nera.
Rotuga appears to be lacking in any form of natural resource. The moon is completely stricken of any form of fertile soil for agriculture, liquid water or live game. the only real form of energy we can gain is from large ball of gas in this galaxy. our species has evolved to develop a photosynthesis like ability to sustain ourselves from only pure energy.
Rotuga is the only planet we have. but we can't survive with what we have.
Which is why they've sent us to Nera.
Nera's population has another name for it. Earth.
Nera's population reaches about 450 million, has a wide variety of animals and plants, 70&#37; of the planet is water, and will provide us with enough resources for technology development.
We have been observing them since Nera Year: 947 CE
Make no mistake this is an invasion,
The primary species is a species of primate named \*Homo Sapiens\* meaning "wise man" in their main language Latin. While the Homo Sapiens do have advanced technology, their bodies are not built to withstand mass disease.
Which is why our main plan of attack is through implanting a viral disease strain into one of their most infectious virus carriers, "fleas"
We will be entering Nera through longitude and latitude 7°10'46.78" N 36°02'52.44" E into the Kaffa sea port.
If this attack succeeds, the entire Homo Sapien population will be wiped out and Targon will begin again on Nera.
If not, our species is doomed to die off.
This is Dami Steran, the captain of the \*Void\*
signing off,"
END LOG | 2018-07-05T11:03:59 | 2018-07-05T06:24:56 | 37 | 24 |
[WP] Aliens invade earth, but end up being defeated by an incredibly ridiculous flaw (for example, they're like flies and don't realize you can't fly through windows).
EDIT: Oh come on guys, I said *incredibly* ridiculous flaw. No need to make it so serious or subtle! Go all out with something outrageous! | I was there for first contact. I was a diplomatic aid with the UN delegation. It was utter panic co-ordinating everything behind the scenes. All of the petty demands from different world leaders. I was constantly on my phone co-ordinating this mess.
It didn't help that the extraterrestrials chose the mojave desert as their landing spot. Putting up wi-fi towers, and all of the communications infrastructure. The whole world wanted to watch.
But we didn't have much choice, it was clear we were outmatched on every level by these beings and their technology. We were lucky that all they wanted was to settle on our land for the moment. But I know my history, that's how the original colonials on plymouth rock started. This time, we were the natives.
This was a soft surrender, we were defeated, and every delegate was trying to prove that they were the biggest ant on the pile. It was sickening. But I had a job to do, and I did it.
The alien ships descended from on high, hundreds of them. They looked like a shoal of metallic jellyfish. The biggest one landed in front of our delegation.
The US president wanted to be first in line to meet our visitors, but then every head of state wanted that. It was then pointed out that they could all be lucky enough to become the first recipients of whatever space disease these creatures carried.
So a diplomatic committee of scientists and diplomats was formed, and guess what, i had to be there too. It was a last minute decision, and not everyone was informed about it. so even as I stood in front of the great big doors of the space ship, my phone vibrated with complaints from the British prime minister. Someone wasn't satisfied with their seating arrangements.
The door opened, and out they stepped. They looked surprisingly like us, except luminsecent green, slightly translucent skin, and antennae. A whole crowd of them came out. It was impossible to tell whether they were armed, or even wearing clothes. Those long flowing membranes could have been robes, or they could have been tendrils. Those could be weird claws, or they could have been laser guns.
They looked slightly unsteady on their feet as they approached. It was unsettling, watching them bump into eachother.
"Hail humans" said one of the creatures in near perfect english.
"Our armies are disembarking, you have no ch..chioice but to surrend.d.d.dd"
The creature stopped in it's tracks, burbling. In fact, they all had stopped. Some fell to their knees. The antennae on their heads had begun to turn a dark shade of black.
"Sooo much noi..se" it cried, before falling head first on the ground.
We didn't understand, it was completely quiet. I looked around, and saw that the other ships had disgorged similarly distressed aliens.
This wasn't going to plan at all, and in front of all of these live cameras. I had to do something, even if it meant getting imminently vaporised.
I walked up to the creature who had spoken to us, and tried to help it up. It looked at me, with an expression that I am sure was disbelief. I grasped its hands, strangely warm, to help it to its feet. Surely, this would be the most important day of my life.
We stood there in that moment, two beings from literally two different worlds, in embrace.
Then my phone rang, and its head exploded.
All of their heads exploded. | We were ready. As ready as we could be.
When we had first received the transmission, humanity had been jubilant. Contact with alien life. Contact with *intelligent* alien life.
When we managed to translate the message we were less happy. It was a message of hate and genocide. Full of malice and superiority.
We had prepared as best we could, but they had the power to travel the stars. Would mere bullets even stand against them?
On the day of their arrival I sat in a foxhole I had dug with my own hands gripping my grandfather's old shotgun, watching a thousand flaming meteors enter our atmosphere. Where would they land? Where would the first battles be fought?
I heard the first impact in the distance, but I was more interested in the one that seemed to be heading directly for me. I curled up in the base of my pit as it streaked over my head, slamming into the ground beyond with a blast of heat, shaking the ground beneath me.
I cautiously poked me head over the edge, gun ready to fire upon the first sign of movement. I stayed that way for five minutes. Nothing happened. Thirty. The heat from the landing began to cool, and the small fires scattered here and there burned themselves out.
Against my better judgement, I crawled out of my hole and stalked (as best as I could) toward the landing sight.
It was a wreck. Burned to a crisp and crushed near flat, it only vaguely resembled something that could be considered a ship.
I later found that of the one and a half million ships that entered the atmosphere not a single one had actually survived to land. And with that, humanity won its first interstellar war.
-Peter Bosker, veteran of the ten minute war
| 2014-10-10T09:53:19 | 2014-10-10T09:37:39 | 41 | 22 |
[WP] You have the ability to know a lie when you hear it, and to know the truth when lied to. Society appoints you to a high judiciary position, but there's nobody to check if YOU'RE lying when you decide justice. Which case do you remember most?
Edit: Hi, guys! I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who visited or pitched in, this got way more attention than I expected and was a lot of fun! Looking forward to more, keep up the good work everyone! | I have a few under my belt, but one case sticks out in particular.
It all started on a dusty street. Palm leaves swaying under the blazing sun. It was one of those days where you’d rather stay inside a cool basement than wander the city, but duty called as it tends to do when you least of all need it.
Somewhat grumpy, I wriggled into my formal clothes. People saw my judicial gown and scurried out of the way like scared mice. My word was truth in this part of the land. Truth and justice often walk hand in hand.
A man in grubby clothes and unkempt beard was brought before me on the steps of the temple. He was already beaten badly, sweat leaking out of every pore. An angry mob had followed him here, no doubt taking part in the beatings. I looked the man in the eyes, trying to divine his feelings. Was he scared? Angry? Or was there perhaps a glimmer of guilty?
“What is his crime?” I asked.
“He’s a thief and a troublemaker, your highness!” one of the guards said.
I took a step closer, taking his chin in my palm. “Are you?”
The man shook his head, a tiny dribble of blood and spit seeping down his cracked lips.
“Speak up!”
“I am not a thief, milord,” the man said, his words carrying a hint of an accent.
He was a shepherd or farmer without education. Perhaps he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. At the very least he was no thief.
I looked behind him at the angry crowd. He’d done something to upset them, that much was clear.
“Are you a troublemaker?”
“If so, that was never my intention,” the man said.
He seemed calm, despite the crowd after his head. I looked at him long and well. He wasn’t lying. Truth be told, he was nobody.
“He’s a witch!” someone in the crowd cried and got several agreeing hums from the others.
“Let’s talk in the shadow,” I said, wiping my brow.
I wanted him away from the crowd for a moment. Sometimes there are questions not meant for the public’s ears.
“It’s okay,” I told the guards when they made a move to follow. “Look at him. The heat has gotten to him. He wouldn’t get far.”
The guards grumbled but released him into my custody. I sat down in one of the klinai near the entrance, in sight of the crowd.
“Tell me,” I said, taking a grape and stuffing it into the side of my cheek, slowly devouring its sweet succulence. “Are you a witch?”
“I am not a witch, milord.”
Again, he was telling the truth.
“You look thirsty, would you like something to drink?”
The man nodded, and I held out a jar of water but didn’t let go as he closed his filthy fingers around it.
“Tell me, what would make a crowd this angry?”
The man shifted on the spot. “Things they don’t understand scare them.”
“Such as?”
“I help the sick. I feed the hungry.”
“You’re a doctor?” I said, lifting an eyebrow.
“No, milord, I am not.”
“You understand that the crowd wants your head, right?” I said, somewhat annoyed by his calm.
“They don’t understand.”
“What is it that they don’t understand?” I finally let go of the jar, and he drank deeply.
“That there is hope for all. Let me go, and I will help those in need.”
“Tell me something. How should I know that you’re telling the truth? Show me how you’ll feed the hungry.” I picked up a dried fish from one of the plates, casting it at the man’s feed. “Show me, and I’ll let you go.”
The man looked me in the eye, his lips tight. “Even if I show you, you will tell the crowd I’m a liar and a troublemaker.”
I tilted my head to the side. He was smarter than he looked. The crowd wanted blood and they would get it. The rest of it was just theatrics.
“I guess there’s nothing I can do for you then,” I said and rose from the klinē, waving the guards over.
I washed my hands and turned to the crowd and announced, “Guilty!”
***
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more of my stories. | Judiciary: You want to know about which case I remember most huh? \[chuckles\]
Interviewer: Yes, you've served for almost 80 years now, no doubt you probably have hundred of stories. \[inaudible\]
Judiciary: Okay, \[laughs\] here's one that's stuck with me in my mind \[sic\], I'll let you guess when it was.
Interviewer: \[whispers inaudibly\]
Judiciary: \[whispers inaudibly\] The trial seemed simple enough. It was a case of what was very clearly manslaughter. The accused went to the stand. It was a really sad case. It was the kind of case that sticks with you, in your mind. A teenager was accused of killing their friend. It was horrible really. It was open shut though. The victim had \[inaudible\] their friend to help them kill themselves, but it became unclear if the victim had still wanted to be killed, the accused was aware of the ambiguity and still went through with it.
It was very \[inaudible\]. I had asked them if they were aware of the possibility that \[inaudible\] and they said no. I could tell it was a lie. Open shut.
I had lowered the charge from \[inaudible\].
Interviewer: What could make you do that! You said it was \[inaudible\]!
Judiciary: It was the next question I asked which made me want to lower it. I asked them if they would ever betray their friend, I asked them if they loved their friend, I asked if they would ever do something they didn't think was best for their friend. I am not sure what wording I used, but it was something like that. I may not remember what question it was but the answer was clear.
They said they would do something that would hurt their friend. They said that. To anyone else this was open shut. To me, I lowered the charge. Even in this moment, they were trying to protect the friend from *something*, although I am no longer as sure what it could be. That is why I lowered the charge. I knew the one thing I could be certain of, for whatever reason, that the guilt of having to make that call affected them far more profoundly than \[inaudible\].
Interviewer: Do you do that kind of thing often?
Judiciary: As often as people lie about loving someone else in a courtroom, or as often as \[inaudible\].
*The audio for which this transcript was based had not been saved properly and much of the dialogue was left inaudible. The transcriber would like to apologize for any inconvenience.* | 2018-05-15T21:16:02 | 2018-05-15T20:44:11 | 209 | 39 |
[WP] It's International Bring-Your-Gun-To-Work Day, and it's becoming clear to everyone in the office that your gun is just a banana under your jacket. | I walked in like it was any other Thursday, satchel strung over my shoulder, hands in my jacket’s pockets, and a cap on my head. I nodded hello to the receptionist Jeanine as I walked by, she was cute, but she was occupied with a phone call. As I caught her gaze I made a motion towards my jacket pocket. She looked down and I poked out my weapon towards her, through the canvas of my coat, and smiled.
She covered the mouthpiece of her phone and said, “Packing quite the firepower there, huh Stephen?”
“Oh, uh, thanks, Jeanine.” I forced a response out of my mouth and continued towards the elevator.
I stepped in with a man I didn’t know and pressed the button to the fourth floor. I waited for the ride to be over, I didn’t much like the looks of the man next to me. I stepped out and started to walk to my desk when I heard giggling behind me. I turned to look just as the doors of the elevator joined, killing my chance to find some closure about the laughter. I went to turn around when I was greeted by an ice cold gun barrel in my face.
“Put your hands above your head, and I won't shoot,” Darryl commanded to me. I went to raise my hands, but I stopped myself.
“If you could see what I had, you’d have pissed yourself by now.” I retorted as I brushed past him and continued to my desk. He laughed a bit, but looked defeated when I snuck a glance behind me. I sat down and slipped my firearm into my desk drawer.
I was greeted by a few of my coworkers as the day went on, but they all were giving me strange looks. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but they looked disappointed, and sad, but were also holding back laughter. I wasn’t really sure of this emotion, so I gleefully continued my work.
I am now sitting in the lunch room, waiting for my turn to be called as everyone is showing their guns. I watch as Fred pulls out a pistol of some sort, then Ryan pulls out a Nerf gun, Jane has a hunting rifle, and then their gazes fall upon me.
“What did you bring Stephen?” Paul asks. He is the first person to really wonder, so I pull out my banana. Laughter fills the room and I turn redder than a tomato. I try to speak up but everyone is wheezing from this. I think Heidi genuinely slapped her knee.
“Oh shit,” I exclaimed. Just as the last syllable came out of my mouth the room fell silent.
“What did I eat for breakfast this morning?”
| What’s that under your shirt and tie
I’ve think I’ve seen it somewhere before
I don’t know if you’re happy to see me
Or if you just got back from the grocery store
-
That’s not a gun, it’s a banana
That’s not a gun, it’s a banana
-
You better watch your mouth, boy
Better be careful what you say
Cause if you keep going on like this
I might just blow your ass away
This might be just a delicious piece of fruit
This big yellow bullet might just bounce off of you
But how many guns
Are high in potassium?
-
That’s not a gun, it’s a banana
That’s not a gun it’s a banana
-
And that’s what you get when you vote for gun control
When everybody brings out their M16s, you just look like an asshole
-
That’s not a gun, it’s a banana
That’s not a gun it’s a banana
| 2016-12-29T17:45:56 | 2016-12-29T17:44:03 | 50 | 17 |
[WP] You possess the ability of persistent lucid dreaming. Accompanied by a strange man/woman, together you build a world you revisit every night. One day you see them at a coffee shop. You immediately recognize each other. | "Today, love, this nation is ours. For now, and forever," I told Maya, gripping her hand and smiling with excitement.
She jumped up and down, giggling with glee, and drew Arakh from its sheath. Blue streaks of light danced across rocks as the sun gleamed off her majestic sapphire sword. Without even waiting for me, she'd taken off.
I sighed with exasperation, leaping from the cliffside with Shisu slicing the wind behind me in a blur of jade and gold. *She's always so god damned hasty.*
We cut through flesh and fur as the Verküth army swarmed us pointlessly. They were but putty before our might and blades, and we were sculptors.
"Ah, that was too easy," Maya groaned, covered in thick black blood.
"Well, you designed this one. Don't complain."
She sneered at me and walked toward the slain King's broken convoy, retrieving a golden scroll from his body. We looked to the south, where the sun was setting over a sea of bodies and blackness.
"Tomorrow, I won't go easy on you like this," I told her with a sly smile. "I've got a few ideas that don't involve the measly Verküth and a basic slashing mission. We didn't earn this scroll."
"Come on- it's fun once in a while, isn't it?" She laughed and walked up to me, kissing me goodnight. Or, well, good morning, I suppose.
------------------------------------------------
I awoke in my bed to the sound of an alarm's screech and stretched. *This world is so boring and plain by comparison. Fuck work.*
Even worse, I'd dreamt too long, leaving me poorly rested for the day.
Lunch break couldn't come fast enough for me. I went over to Harry's for a club sandwich and coffee, like I usually do, when I saw her. We locked eyes from across the room and immediately recognized each other. There was no doubt in my mind.
"Hey, Dianne! Long time no see," I joked- we worked in the same department. "You look pretty tired. Long night of partying?" I winked.
"Very funny," she replied, rolling her eyes. "But in a sense, something like that. Pretty intense dreams and stuff. Now get back to work, lazy."
I looked at her quizzically. *I wonder if...*
*Nah. Don't be silly.*
I dragged about the rest of my day as I always do, swinging my pen around in daydream, wishing for nightfall.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/43mjo9/wp_you_possess_the_ability_of_persistent_lucid/czkbwjv)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/43mjo9/wp_you_possess_the_ability_of_persistent_lucid/czlsv0t) | You know that moment when you're lying awake at night, wondering if The Matrix was just the machines trolling us and this is all a simulation, plot holes and all.
Sitting across from her I had one of those moments.
Not one of our dreams. Our dreams had more lasers and robots and sometimes a t-rex.
But still not real.
"You look like you do in the dream"
"Did you expect me not to?"
"I didn't think you were real"
I didn't think she was real either, but I felt like I shouldn't say that. One of those double standard things.
"So what now?"
Good question. What do you do? The right answer was probably go our separate ways. 9/10 people who've fucked with a good thing say you shouldn't fuck with a good thing.
But of course we had to push it. What we had could be called paradise, and it's human nature to ruin paradise. That's the sound of inevitability Mr. Anderson.
We found a motel, the pay by the hour type, and lay down on the bed. I don't really know why, probably fragments of a couple of movies smushed together, physical closeness being the next step up from a connection across space and time.
She reached out and grabbed my hand, we closed our eyes and went on to whatever came next. | 2016-01-31T23:21:09 | 2016-01-31T19:15:19 | 435 | 87 |
[WP] Living in a world of cartoonish supervillains and superheroes, the world gets quite the shock when a villain appears who sets the bombs to go off when they reach 3 seconds, dont care if his minions get the kill on a hero, always double-taps and in general ignores clichés | "...and no one will ever forget the name of 'The Scarlet Offend-'" BANG. The supervillain was cut off by a bullet that exploded the back of his head onto his minions as they scuttled about the bank, collecting jewellery and cash from everyone assembled. Everyone gasped, some in the crowd screamed in a shrill pitch, then all eyes turned to the shooter walking in from the entrance with a large duffel bag in one hand, and a desert eagle in the other. Dressed in simple jeans, a black t-shirt, black boots, and a trench coat, he sauntered over to the corpse of 'The Scarlet Offender' and, placing the barrel of his gun on the fallen villain's temple, pulled the trigger, making sure he was dead.
"You," the shooter pointed his weapon around at the minions, looking horrified that their boss was just taken out so quickly with no ceremony, "you all work for me now." One of them shook himself out of his stupor and perhaps from some misplaced loyalty or perhaps something else, he yelled defiance and ran to attack the newcomer only to fall flat on his face with an exit wound in the back of his head. Once more, the barrel of the weapon was placed on the temple of the fallen one and the other side of his head exploded outwards. "Anyone else?" the shooter asked the remaining pawns and they all shook their heads. "Good. Keep doing what you were doing. Make sure you get it all."
The newcomer walked over to the teller windows and pulled a smaller bag out of the duffel bag, thrusting it at the bank employee. "Fill it."
"I...I uh...What do you...?"
"I said fill it!" he pointed his gun at the woman behind the thin pane of glass and she took his meaning, starting to fill the bag with all the available cash in her drawers. From outside there came the sound of a sonic boom and a large gust of air blew in through the front doors. Once again, all eyes turned to the entrance of the building and saw the caped paragon of a yellow spandex-clad superhuman floating there. The shooter grunted and dropped the duffel bag. Before the hero could say anything, he unzipped the main compartment and drew forth a complicated looking device with a ticking timer on it. "Alright, Spandex, this bomb has 30 seconds left on it and it's powerful enough to take out at least 3 blocks. You can stop me or get this bomb out of the city. Your choice."
He threw the device into the air and the hero's eyes went wide. He flew through the space, grabbing the bomb before it hit the ground, sped out the doorway, and ascended into the sky as fast as he could. The shooter grabbed the bag that the teller was still filling and motioned for his new minions to follow him out. As he exited the building he gave a satisfied nod at the explosion that dominated the sky above. "27 seconds...right on time. Let's go! Your boss had a lair, it's mine now. Take me to it." With that, the minions set off through the city on their jetpacks with the newest addition to the underworld following behind in his black muscle car.
---
More at r/SamsStoriesSub | The Good King Steve, (He insisted upon a non-evil sounding title.) was approached by one of his trusted advisers. "My King, I have this months news for you. All of the oracles have successfully been captured, and seven Chosen Ones have been successfully killed at birth, and four rebellions have been destroyed by your super powerful weapons. Also, 13 attempts to invade this fortress have been stopped. And finally, your magically controlled pet dragons have all been taken care of extra well."
"Good news all around then!" Steve responded. "I have some news for you too! A hero destined by prophecy to kill me has become my son in law! One of my many daughters fell in love with him, and they got married! I'm holding a festival in their honor!" This was a clever strategy. Surely, no hero would kill a king who held a festival in his honor.
There was clapping among the many people in the room. This is how it was everyday. After the day was over and most everybody left, the adviser stayed behind. He walked up to the king. "King, you have such great plans and ideas. How do you do so well? All of your plans seem to succeed. Surely you have some secret."
The king looked at him for a second, and then said, "You are my most trusted adviser. So I will tell my secret come here." The king got down off of his throne, and the adviser came up to him. The king took out his phone, and went to a browser and went to The Evil Overlord Rules list. | 2017-08-15T17:44:54 | 2017-08-15T14:36:32 | 211 | 119 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT. | “It is currently the halfway point of the 57th millennial conference of the Galactic Federation,” the shrill voice of the insectoid Kel’Tari announcer rang out through telecasters across the galaxy, “diplomats, leaders, warriors and scientists from all the sentient races in the galaxy have made their way to Sol III, the current seat of power to discuss matters of trade and business, research and development, and war and peace. The conference is being broadcasted via subspace connections to every sentient race that has entered the Federation, as this conference is a *momentous* occasion!”
“Indeed, Sli’thel,” the reptilian Shathassa said, “for this millennial conference will be the first time that Humanity has the seat of power. Most races have to wait for *dozens* of millennia after joining the federation to even be a *candidate* for such an honour, yet these plucky fellows managed to take the seat of power after a mere *three millennia*. Just *how* did they do it, Thel?”
“Well, Syron,” Sli’Thel responded, “we all know the story of how Humanity was discovered. About 3 and a half millennia ago, we found a Human exploration vessel out near the system Humans called “Tau Ceti”, our home system. How that vessel managed to travel 12 light years without falling apart or killing its crew, I have no idea!” The Kel’Tari and Shathassa looked at each other and chuckled for a moment, before turning back to the cameras. “Anyway, we found this vessel, patched it up and gave them some junk parts that we had lying around for a few decades. You know, ion drives, a few dated star maps and the like. You know, my grandfather was there when those Humans arrived, it’s said he was the first alien to “shake hands” with one of them!”
“How could I forget, Thel? You bring it up at every opportunity you can!” Syron laughed, “and then we all know what happened next. For those of you who don’t understand human physiology, they have an average life expectancy of only 150 Terran solar cycles. That’s less than a quarter of the lifespan of a Marenor! For them, life seems to pass by really quickly, and if there’s anything we can learn from the Humans, it’s the power to seize the day. Those of us who live for millennia, like myself and Sli’Thel here, can spend decades and even centuries just slumbering away. But for a human, a day without work is a day wasted.”
“That’s right, Syron,” Sli’Thel said, “knowing that, it’s no surprise that within a mere century, Humanity had transformed the Sol System into a powerhouse of industry and production. There were orbital shipyards under construction, asteroid strip-mining operations underway, terraforming of the nearby rocky planets and there was even discussion of something called a *“Dyson Sphere”*! Had we known the effect we would have on these Humans, we probably would have given them a bit less! But still, we had nothing to fear. After all, there was no sign of weaponry being produced.”
“Indeed, Humans seemed to be the most peaceful race out there. Especially after the last race to join the Federation was the bloodthirsty Xyxxas warrior race,” Sylon shuddered as an image of the burning of Shathass popped up on televisor screens across the galaxy. “A few centuries of peace passed, and Humanity slowly expanded their fleets and territories. Within roughly five hundred Terran solar cycles, Humanity went from a mere seven billion citizens to over *ten trillion*! Heck, if they made an army, I’d be heading across to Andromeda in a flash!”
“Andromeda would be the last place you’d want to go, Sylon,” Sli’Thel chuckled, “after all, that’s where the Genestealers came from! Those thrice-damned insectoids who tore our planets apart and turned our own genetic code against us! The Xyxxas were the first to fall, our first and last line of defence. But what can you do when you’re fighting a genetically superior version of yourself? Surprisingly, the Humans were the ones to offer shelter to the survivors. Over the next few standard cycles, we watched worlds burn and races turn against each other. And then it happened.”
“And that’s my cue,” Sylon jumped in, “after all, it was the over newly rebuilt Shathass where this part of the story takes place. The Genestealers were ready to blast our homeworld into asteroids, when out of nowhere their ships simply exploded out of the sky. Within less than a Terran standard week, reports were coming out from all over the place of Genestealer fleets just exploding in the skies. It wasn’t until a few standard weeks later that we scanned the battle sites and found wreckage from ion drives embedded in the Genestealer ships.”
“Ion drives that *we* gave to the Humans less than a millennium ago,” Sli’Thel interjected, “Those Humans managed to jury-rig some cloaking drives, create some ion-drive powered torpedoes and *then* build the damned things in less than a Terran month! It wasn’t until this point that we decided to look through their histories, and what we discovered was shocking. They constantly fought amongst themselves and had the art of war down to a precise science. And yet, they showed no signs of this hostility until the fight with the Genestealers. We were horrified at what we unleashed upon the galaxy. And yet…”
“And yet,” Sylon continued where Sli’Thel trailed off, “we have seen no signs of this violence since the annihilation of the Genestealers. The Humans simply returned to Sol where they directed relief forces to the Xyxxas systems as well as the systems of the other survivors. The veterans of their battles died within a matter of decades and to the Humans, the bloodthirsty nature of their ancestors seemed but a distant memory. But those battles were only two generations ago for some of us, and we will not forget just how powerful Humanity can be.”
“Hang on, Sylon, I’m just going to have to cut you off there. It looks like one of the new Gloord diplomats has just grabbed the genitals of a Jarri instead of their tentacles!” Sli’Thel laughed, “we’re cutting to the live feed now. And it does not look- oooh, there goes his head. At least, I *think* that’s his head…”
***
*Long time, no writing. It's been several months since I last wrote something and the last time I wrote something good was a month or two before that ;)*
*I do hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it, and if you did, you should check out the other few short stories I've written over on /r/WritingThePunLife. Maybe I'll write some more over the coming weeks, or maybe I'll just forget about this again. I'm a terrible person.* | Humans had always been respected in the intergalactic society. Not for our scientific breakthroughs, we were actually the last of space capable species to achieve intergalactic travel. We're not respected for our love of things that are beautiful, or creative. No, we're respected for our resolve. Over the last several hundred earth years, there has been great upheaval in our galaxy. The place that Humanity called home was under threat by a species that sought to colonize every planet they deemed worthy.
They came in droves of hundreds of thousands. The human colony on Kepler was the first to be struck by the Beltids. Kepler is a small colony, smaller now than it was. One day was a regular day for the colonists, the farms were being tended, the factories were producing farm equipment. 24 earth hours later, Kepler city was besieged by hundreds of thousands - nay, millions of these demons. They swarmed the farms, killing and destroying everything in their way.
When earth heard over the Interplanetary Communication Line (ICI) that Kepler was under threat, the human mobile militia rallied to the cause. Humanity had enjoyed 700 years of peace, and only a thousand militiamen flocked to the banners. But the United Human Navy brought this handful of brave men and women to the front lines, with enough ammunition for 10 million of these creatures. By the end, the navy brought in another 2 supply drops for the militia. By the end of the Kepler campaign, 16 million, three hundred and 76 thousand, 743 Beltids were killed.
The campaign lasted 3 earth years. From the time that the Beltids set up in the Kepler system, to the time that the militia and the navy forced them out of the system. Then, it was time for humanity to go on the offensive. In those three years, humanity made decades of military progress. We had a cause to rally around. Millions of men and women enlisted. The navy was expanded over a thousand times it's pre war strength. Armies long since disbanded were rallied. Humanity had a united cause, protection of our very way of life.
And so we fought. We waged war for a generation. It was good for humanity, to see galactic warfare. The advances in that time were wondrous. The cost was great, but we soon found out that we were not alone in the fight against the Beltids. We were in a system some 400 light years from earth. Our advance scouts had marked it as a breeding colony for the beltids. They were wrong, it was a prison. When the navy dropped out hyperspeed, they found life forms very different from the Beltids.
They found an ally. The prisoners we found out called themselves the Anzu. They were a peaceful society, dedicated to science and the preservation of life. The Beltids had made quick work of their colonies. They had never fought a war in their recorded history. They hadn't developed a proper melee weapon, let alone the advanced plasma rifles that the 17th Kepler brigade were using. When we realized what it was, we liberated the Anzu. The Anzu were confined to their lone planet, protected with a shield that didn't let the Beltids through.
So we went to Anzu prime, blasted the hundred million or so Beltids into pieces. And so began a friendship the Anzu. We taught them how to fight, and they taught us everything they knew of science. We learned a lot, and took advantage of it right away in the war. We found out that the Anzu were not the only intelligent species fighting the Beltids. They told us of a great many species fighting for their very survival.
So began an eon long confederation. United against a common foe, the Human Alliance and the Anzu began the Galactic Federation. An alliance of life forms, united against all that would seek to destroy us. We fought side by side for another 60 earth years, without hardly a single casualty thanks to the Anzu. We liberated system after system. The Anzu and the other species had been fighting the Beltids long before humanity had even discovered fire. They knew where each other were in the Galaxy.
We finally drove the Beltids from our Galaxy. The Galactic Federation had 37 intelligent species. Peace had finally settled in our Galaxy.Then, suddenly the war was over. A treaty was signed between the Beltids and the Galactic Federation. They were to never return. And like that, all 157 million members of the Human Armed Forces disbanded, and went back to their homes. The fleets were mothballed.
But Humanity now knew Galactic warfare. We had liberated 36 species from the Tyranny of the Beltids. We knew that the Beltids would not be the only threat to life, so even though the soldiers went home, humanity was ever vigilant. Looking for a threat, for we would prefer not to fight, but if our way of life was threatened, or those of an ally in the Federation, we would rally, like we did all those years ago. And this is where we stand today!
We stand at the precipice of another Galactic war! I stand before you in front of the Galactic Congress to beg to issue a formal declaration of war against the Anzu, who have invaded the human colony of Kepler! Humanity will not back down from a fight! Even if the fight is against our longest standing ally! We will not surrender, no matter the cost! Our homes are under threat, but soon, the Anzu will now the wrath of Humanity! | 2016-03-13T18:37:08 | 2016-03-13T17:44:09 | 63 | 20 |
[WP] The princess is different to say the very least. Her face covered in battle scars instead of make up, her hands as hard as stone and her eyes more frightening than a dragon. But you must perform your duty as a knight and guard her even though she may not need your protection. | Severyn stood atop the cliff, surveying the aftermath of the battle. The wind caused torn uniform and flag alike to ripple, causing the soldiers and mages looking for survivors to blend into the grisly scene before him. There would be no time to bury the dead properly this day.
"How much longer do we have, Captain?" Severyn turned his head to Princess Alestro, with whom he'd been charged with keeping safe.
“We’ll head out at dawn,” he replied.
“But that’ll give the Vestrox time to regroup!” exclaimed the princess.
“Maybe so, but our warband is far more fatigued after the forced march just to catch their rear guard. We benefit from rest more than they will.”
”Hmmmph” the princess grunted in reply. She went off to sulk. She was certainly unlike any royal charge, much less a princess, that Severyn had ever under his watch. Severyn wanted to tell her that his men were hard pressed to keep up with her after she chased the Vestrox in the first place, but thought better of it. She had managed to catch their rear guard before they’d been able to get through the narrow Ulnyab pass and to the other side of the mountain range. And her leading the charge caused the Vestrox commander to commit fully to the battle.
Severyn shook his head, unsure whether it was dumb luck, or a daring plan. He barely had time to get his archers into position, before he and the rest of the royal guard chased after Alestro. He wasn’t quite sure if she needed his help, as he had watched her dispatch several Vestrox by herself. Nevertheless, it was his duty to do everything in his power to keep her safe.
“Princess!” He called out. ”Take Marshall and Clayton and round up a scouting party. I’ll take care of things here while you see how far ahead the Vestrox have gotten.”
Princess Alestro beamed as she got her things together.
Before heading down to the battlefield to assess the status of his troops, Severyn pulled Clayton aside, and told him “you and Marshall must make sure that the princess doesn’t engage until the rest of us are through the pass.” | At the age of seven I was chosen
To guard the princess of noblesse was the duty
The third was not like the other royal women
She desired strength to protect the common like thee
Training blades with brother and guard
She put twice the effort and had thrice the physique
She lead her kingdoms armies from the front guard
A thousand scars on skin and face
Her eyes like a dragon, her hands calloused and scarred
I stay by her side unlike those that accept disgrace
I have sworn my oath, and hold my word, even if debbared
For she is my princess of warrior grace
I stand at her side and I am her for this life her guard | 2022-10-03T18:00:44 | 2022-10-03T16:27:04 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] An alternate world in which North America has, so far, gone unnoticed by the rest of humanity, and is considerably more advanced with their technology. On the evening of December 21, 2012, hundreds of missiles are fired from NA, targeting major cities in Europe and Asia. | Aaron Francis, defence secretary of Great Britain, had been having his tea with his wife Kelly when he'd had the call. He'd groaned, excused himself, and stepped into the hallway of his London apartment, the aromas of pork in honey and mustard sauce following him out, calling to his belly.
He knew the gravelly male voice on the other end of the line - it was no other than that of the prime minister, Harold Johnson. But it wasn't the slow, sure speech of a man who professes to know what he's doing - Aaron could hear shock. Johnson was not a man to be easily shocked.
"Aaron. Moscow's gone. Completely gone."
Aaron scowled. "What?"
"The city's been levelled. It's gone." No, not shock. This was *panic.* Harold Johnson, the unflappable premier, the man who had sat through a bomb scare in Downing Street sipping his coffee, was panicking.
"How? I hate to state the obvious but cities don't just vanish..."
"We've got nothing. Absolutely nothing. I think the MoD's trying to get hold of you too. Is your mobile off?"
Aaron pulled the phone out of his pocket and pushed the power button. Dead. He cursed and shoved the lump of plastic and glass back into his pocket.
"Yeah. Long day. I'll be in in about 10 minutes." he grunted, hung up and walked back into the dining room.
Kelly took one look at her husband and grimaced. "How urgent?"
"Check the news."
She rose to her feet, picking a remote off the counter with manicured nails. God, she was beautiful, Aaron thought, the faintest of worry lines beginning to traverse her otherwise smooth forehead, her red hair falling down to the small of her back like a fiery waterfall. The television clicked on.
"...and for those who are just joining us, Moscow, capital city of the USSR appears to have levelled by nuclear strike. Concerns over how Russia's missile defence system failed to act are being raised- oh. Oh my-" - the presenter took a deep breath and looked at the camera. "We've just had a report of a similar incident in Singapore. We'll keep you updated as the situa-" Kelly turned off the screen, pale as a ghost. She looked at him. Aaron pulled her close, kissed her goodbye, and left without a word, the taste of her lips lingering on his as he more or less threw himself into his Aston Martin. A mid-life crisis car if ever there was one, he mused as he rolled out of their garage and into the street, the lights of London whizzing by as he sped towards Whitehall. Speed cameras flashed at him as he passed. He didn't care - the city most likely had bigger problems than a speeding minister.
The MoD's head office was in absolute chaos. People were frantically tapping on computers, making phone calls. Aaron bounded up the stairs 2 at a time to his office. Ian Smith, head of security strategy and the prime minister were already there, on the phone jabbering frantic French to their Parisian counterparts. Ian's head snapped up as Aaron entered and hung up the phone.
"Where the hell have you been?!" the stocky Welshman snapped.
"Dead phone. What the fuck is happening, Ian? Do we have anything at all? Radar? I'll settle for some old man with a pair of binoculars in Solihull at this stage. Assume we're under attack - I want evac orders for London, Brum, Manchester *now,* if you haven't already. TV, radio, Twitter, whatever. Get people out of the cities."
A laptop on his desk *pinged*. Ian turned deathly pale. "That... That was Manchester." Another *ping.* "And that was Birmingham."
Time slowed down. Aaron walked to the window in a trance, to see a tiny, tiny speck dropping towards the city. Almost insignificant.
"And that," he gulped, his mouth suddenly dry, "was London."
He saw the explosion before he heard it, a small flash fast billowing into a maelstrom of fire, a pyroclastic flow of radioactive isotopes spreading like blood in water, thundering towards them impossibly fast. Five blocks to go. Four. Aaron closed his eyes, and thought of his wife. He could still just about taste her on his lips as the window shattered and everything around him turned to fire.
^^^^first ^^^^time, ^^^^go ^^^^easy ^^^^on ^^^^me | The red brick factories belched black smoke into the smog filled air. The silence of the city around the factories was deafening. Curfew had been declared twenty years ago, nobody was outside in the pollution filled dawn. Red banners with sickles flew from every window. The great communist party had taken over the world thirty years ago. Every building in the city was forty or more years old, barely maintained and crumbling. The streets were full of potholes and dirty with refuse and trash.
The only building of any note was the thirty story Greater Leader building in the town center. This once great city had been known as Paris. Now it was only called Liberation. They had been freed from the confines of the capitalist dogma. The Eiffel tower had been torn down, the Louvre sacked for the various Party Leaders and had been stripped of all wealth. Now all that remained were the down trodden and hungry populace and the factories.
Everywhere in Europe and beyond were factories belching black smoke. They made more weapons for the wars in the Middle East and Asia. It always seemed there were more rebels and more peoples in need of freeing from their capitalistic regimes. The great leaders always demanded more young men and women join their fight.
Every generations healthy and vibrant youth were drafted to the front lines. The sick, weakly and old were all left behind to man the factories and farm the land. It seemed as if millions died every day and nobody cared. After all, the harder they worked the more was required of them. People had learned long ago to do the bare minimum and to steal food.
The only thing that seemed to change was every day the world got darker. The smoke from the factories filled more and more of the world each day. Everyone wore masks and had a cough from birth.
On December 21, 2012 something finally changed. Bright lights filled the sky of the world. Falling stars reached into the last great cities of Europe and Asia. The Communist Party saw nothing coming, only having the basics of radar and radio.
The cities lit up with a light that blinded all of those within miles. Great pillars of smoke and debris filled the world. In one day the great communist party died with every one of its leaders. On that fateful day the factories of the world stopped. The people in the smaller cities started to wonder what to do. No longer was the party enforcing anything.
Farmers no longer had to give ninety percent of their crops away. The villages had food for the first time in generations. The youth no longer had to go to war. The world began to heal. The skies slowly cleared. The world had been saved by mysterious lights in the sky. People claimed that God had sent his wrath upon the world to save the pious and the righteous.
But other people of the world began to wonder. All of the purging lights had come from the west. Nobody knew what lied to the west over the ocean. Perhaps it was worth exploring. Perhaps it was worth finding out what had saved the world.
| 2013-12-18T09:11:11 | 2013-12-18T08:13:13 | 49 | 13 |
[WP] Humanity is dead. You were the last human alive until you eventually die. Expecting some sort of afterlife you’re surprised when the first thing you hear is, “OH MY GOD FINALLY! Can we start the next round now?” | I wake up…nowhere. At first, I am alone, and every direction I look there is nothingness. Then, I look at the sky, and it’s there. Then I look down, and there’s grass under my feet.
Figures start to appear. The noise gives it all away, and an outline appears before their body fully appears, but soon they are everywhere. In front of me, in the distance. So many that I can no longer see the horizon.
Their faces are all the faces of strangers to me. I walk around desperately, in circles, looking for one I know.
“Hello?” I ask one of them. “What’s going on?”
Most of them ignore me. They shake their head, and continue on with their conversation.
“Shame you were so close but so far,” one of them says.
“What?”
A hand on my shoulder. I turn around.
“Mom?”
She gives me a hug as my heart drops.
“Mom, is this…the afterlife?”
She grabs my shoulders, and smiles sadly. “In a way, it is.”“What’s going on?”
“You did such a good job. We were all watching…I knew you would do great.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your life. In the end, I know you came up short, but…you lived such a good life.”
“My life?” All I can think about were those final days, alone in my bed, waiting for the end. What kind of life was that? “All I did was try and follow what you taught me. Love the people around me…never give up…don’t apologize for being me. Things didn’t even work out that well for me. You died, dad died, she left me...I was all alone in the end.”
“But you stayed you. And that’s why I’m so proud.”
She looks up at the sky, and I follow her line of sight. In the sky, the clouds have formed a number, and then another one…10, 9, 8…
I look around. Slowly, the figures are reduced to outlines, and then they vanish. A loud cheer goes up all around me.
“Mom? What’s going on?”
She looks at me, and smiles. “We might not meet in this round, but I’m still rooting for you. You were the one good thing I did last time.”
“What? What round?”
“Other people will try and use you to up their score, but don’t let them.”“What? What score? I don’t know anything you’re talking about.”
She smiles, almost heartbreakingly wide. “And that’s why you’ll do great again. You don't play the same way we do. And I hope you never do. Good luck, honey. I love you.”
And with her last words, she vanishes. I am all alone again, on the grassy field. I feel a final moment of comfort, that things are going to be okay.
And then everything goes white, and…
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | The next round?
The next round of what?
“Life.”
What life? I am...or I was? The Last Man.
“You held the door open for the rest of us.”
I did? Alternate memories, a man surrounded by carcasses of the slain, slowly breathing his last. A father, slowly letting go in his bed. A painful vista encapsulated in four weeping eyes before darkness. A road. Cannibals. A daughter. Saying goodbye.
I was. I am. No one else held the door?
“No one else, you’re it.”
Old drives course through me. Duty, loyalty, do the right thing.
Where am I and how do I decide?
One figure steps forward, more soul than anything else.
I feel the words more than anything else.
“Because I’m who you’ve been looking for and you needed to get here to find me.”
A heart breaks.
A soul merges.
“I’ll be with you, but you’ve already exhausted all the other possibilities. There really is only one thing left to do.”
A multidimensional tesseract, choice, agency. Floating through all the possibilities.
I have my counterpart with me and I need to find the last bit of the keys.
I sense rather than know amongst all the doors.
I know which one to go through.
I feel a deep sense of relief from the others.
Finally, the right direction to be moving in.
I choose the right door at the right time.
And that time is now.
I open the door and step through. | 2019-05-24T15:09:11 | 2019-05-24T12:40:30 | 2,469 | 68 |
[WP] You seem to really be hitting off with a new friend. In the course of casual conversation, a sense of unease begins to creep in as you slowly realized that the two of you share all the same opinions. Every. Single. One. | I remember how we met casually, on the train. I walked in a nearly empty car and saw you sitting by a corner, reading a book. I smiled and sat beside you, nudging you to show how I had the exact same book in my own bag.
You took a good look at me, then laughed. For the next 15 minutes, we talked about punishment, redemption, dreams, aspirations. I enjoyed your company, and immediately thought of you as my best friend.
I was too shy to ask for your number. A little sad, I was about to say goodbye when the train got to my stop, but we stood up at the same time. You grinned at me, motioned for me to follow, and walked out. So I did.
We ended up in a coffee shop just outside the train station. We talked some more. You agreed with everything I said. I agreed with everything you said. It was amazing to have that kind of connection with someone.
It was getting late. We didn't want to go, but the baristas were starting to close the bar. I looked at you and you winked. You lived just 2 blocks down, you said. I lived 2 blocks up, I whispered.
We ended up at your place. Something felt odd. It looked just like my apartment, even the front door. We walked up the stairs to Room 204, a number familiar to me, familiar to me.
You opened the door and led me inside. You closed the door on my thoughts and held me close. I placed my arms around you, and you gently pressed your lips to mine. I closed my eyes.
When I open them again, I am back in the center. You are nowhere to be found and only the white walls stare back at me. I look down to see a book on my lap.
Then I remember. I remember you. The book. The train. The coffee shop. Room 204. You.
The door opens, and my eyes widen as I see you walk in. Two men in black suits come in after you. You look tired, and you have cuts and bruises all over. I stand up to greet you, and the book falls from my lap. You shake your head. I sit back down.
One of the men speaks. "Z-204, for falling in love with your Reference, you have broken rule 8-67. The sentence is immediate death."
You try to go to me, but the other man holds on to your shoulder. You start sobbing.
The one who spoke takes out a small silver gun and aims it at my head. I do not resist, and merely look at you sadly. You cry louder.
He pulls the trigger and mutters, "Stupid clone."
And I remember no more.
EDIT: Thank you for reading, kind stranger! If you want more, [part 2 is over here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6hxep2/comment/dj2jhi4?st=J42XPA2E&sh=821bd5cd) | Which I completely ignored-and tried to force myself to forget about-the effects of for years and years and years. How naive I turned out to be...
You know that saying, "opposites attract?" For me it was opposite-that is, the more views I found out we shared in common the more I got attracted to her. You could call that a feedback loop, if you like, but I honestly did feel attracted to her, in the beginning.
But then, all of a sudden, she turned into this gigantic snowball, which swiftly ate up everything in my life (most notably, my ability to think straight and feel correctly-which why her strategy worked so well.
I now think that it was all just lies. Rarely, she would make some assertion that I didn't know we agreed upon being true, but only rarely. Mostly it was her agreeing with me. So, she's an amoeba, is what I'm trying to say.
An amoeba that shape-shifted in order to get into my body in the first place, then kept shape-shifting while inside my body, made its way past my body's defenses and into my heart, then broke the whole damn entire thing.
When she asked me if a pair of jeans made her ass look good, despite the fact that we both knew I did, I should have told her to take them off. Because they were on fire.
(My apologies, I missed friend in the title.) | 2017-06-18T01:56:35 | 2017-06-17T22:10:45 | 1,173 | 16 |
[WP] Charon, boatman of the river Styx, gets the last two coins he needs for what he's been saving up for since the beginning of time.
Charon always takes two coins for passage into the land of the dead. Whatever he has been saving up for, he has finally reached his goal.
Edit: Thank you, person who gave this gold! It really goes to all you writers! | "Sir? Sir, may I help you?" she asked the man by the water cooler.
He had been pacing restlessly around the waiting room all through her lunch break, staring at the TV, and sometimes at other customers. Based on the somewhat shabby state of his clothing and the unsettling, unfocused look in his eyes, she doubted that he was actually there on business. Probably someone's senile grandpa who wandered in, thinking he was at the grocery store.
He nodded and approached her desk, quicker than she would have expected from someone his age. Quite a bit taller too. She gestured to the chair but he didn't move.
"So, what brings you to our office?" she asked, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. She really, really hoped she wouldn't have to call security.
"I want to buy a boat."
He said it bluntly, clearly, without the slightest hint that there was a screw loose anywhere inside that wrinkled head. But she still almost laughed.
"Sir, I think there's been a misunderstanding; we're a *shipping* company. We run freighters and oil tankers for large-scale international deliveries. I think you may be looking for something smaller, perhaps? Like a speedboat? Or a yacht? There's a place by the aquarium downtown that rents-"
"No. I want a big boat. One of yours. I can pay."
"Sir...the prices for our ships can run into the tens of millions. We don't usually sell to individuals."
Something crawled across his leathery face that may have been a smile. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out an envelope, and placed it gently on her desk.
"I can pay."
In spite of herself, this was making her a little curious. Could he be some eccentric billionaire who wanted to cruise around the world in a private oil tanker? Was it some kind of publicity stunt? *Could* he actually pay? If this was legit, there might be a serious promotion in her near future. The odds were against it, to be sure, but it never hurt to dream. She began to rip open the envelope.
"Well, I'll have to refer you to my supervisor for a deal like this, but in the meantime, let's discuss your ability to pay. Can I get a statement from your bank?"
"No bank."
She almost sighed. So much for her promotion. Just a crazy old man after all. He probably saw a movie about a cargo ship, decided that he wanted one, and tottered out of the retirement home to go and pick one up as if it was a gallon of milk from the corner store. No choice but to humor him until her supervisor got back from the bathroom to back her up.
"Ah, I see. So you'll be paying in cash then?"
This time, he smiled. There was no mistaking it.
"Something like that."
She finished opening the envelope. Inside was a photo of something that looked like a pile of dirt, but when she looked closer, she saw that it was...
"I can pay," he repeated, as the woman stared at the photo in disbelief. "When can you have my boat delivered?"
It took her a moment to collect herself.
"Oh...soon, very soon! I just need to consult with my supervisor. Sir...not that it's any of my business, but may I ask why you need such a large ship?"
"My old boat is too small." He cleared his throat impatiently and asked again, "when can you have it delivered?"
"Well, that depends on a lot of things, sir. Will you be needing it soon?"
He glanced back at the waiting room TV. It was still tuned to the news. The same headlines that had covered the screen for the last three weeks. *Chinese delegation leaves Camp David after peace talks collapse. Fighter jets report AA fire from PLA Naval vessels in the Taiwan Strait. US calls up reserve troops, declares DEFCON 2.*
"Yes."
**Edit:** Thanks for the gold!
| On the paddle he drove into the water with calm precision, he drew tally marks. His day would come, he knew; there was a flaw in their plan. Charon would keep count in his own quiet way.
******
The woman in her modest black dress was old and shrunken and quite dead. Caroline was sure of the last one: she'd poked to check just in case. Her mother-in-law had been an unholy terror while alive.
Now though... Caroline couldn't quite bear to hate her or even dislike her. "There, there Nona..." she said stroking her face. There were tears on her face. She brushed them away tucking away a strand of hair then fiddling with her hat and then her purse just in case anyone was watching.
Thankfully though, the tears were few. Caroline found compusure return. With it came an inspiration.
From her purse, she took out two coins then carefully lay them down upon, one on each eye. It seemed fitting - Nona had been mythic.
"Goodbye, Nona," she said, then left quickly.
*******
The skeletal man under the black cowl held out his hand and the old lady dropped two coins upon it. Charon counted them dutifully, then scratched off two tally marks more. He was done now though the completion of the task brought him no great joy.
"So, you'll be my last," he thought to himself.
It did not seem fitting, but the millennia had thought him that, in a way, it was. Life was full of incongruity, of the coming together of stories that didn't quite mesh, a beautiful, confused babble in which the certain notes were few.
"I could have been a better person, you know. I made mistakes. But don't we all?"
She spoke to the river, not him. Charon stroked on thinking his own thoughts.
"No, I am too old for the hiding. I could have been better. It is enough to say that. If I can, in this place, I will try again. "
But they were pure and strong and sweet.
He slid two coins into the Styx and with them his empty plans.
He had seen enough compassion to know hate futile. He had perhaps known that for a very long time.
He would seek no revenge; he moved on.
| 2014-10-30T00:08:09 | 2014-10-29T18:06:15 | 43 | 15 |
[WP] You are a Zoologist who’s studying dragons trying to discovery why they have the features of a prey animal. When for the first time you see their predator | Day 49
Aye, it is a truly terrifying sight.
Being the uncreative hack that I am, I decided to name these foul beasts "Dragon Killers", although that name may stick due to it being the only thing you need to know about them.
Skin as slick as an elaborate coat of plates, shining as bright as the most gilded of copper bells and ornaments. Their teeth meant to rip through tough flesh, their claws meant to clobber through walls of stone and even the hardest of oak.
I never got a full view of one, for dragons on their own are already incredibly hard to spot. But luckily, one time I was successfully able to come across a slumbering dragon in a cave. It was a mighty creature, I even considered myself lucky being up close to one. But as I observed the hibernating creature, the ground below us trembled. Immediately, I hid behind a wall, and witnessed a long, serpentine creature burst forth from the earth. It's copper skin glimmering against the afternoon sun, and it's sight alone caused the dragon to bolt awake in defense.
It had an elongated neck, with the rest of it's body being slick and slender, with limbs meant for long distances yet also being dextrous enough to rummage through uneven terrain or even subterranean paths. The dragon went for the neck, but that's when I found it's prime strength. No matter how hard the dragon bit and crunched, it's unable to crush the serpent's neck. This bought it enough time to raise it's right hand, and what I witnessed is exhilarating. But terrifying.
A bolt of lightning struck down from the heavens, and the Dragon Killer caught the lightning bolt with it's bare hand, now forming as a tangible object of pure energy. With it's newfound armament, it jammed it's lightning spear into the side of it's adversary, and the dragon was stunned long enough for the Dragon Killer to retaliate. Each and every claw swipe, snapping stalactites off the cave and bashing it on the dragon's head like a club, before jamming a particularly pointed stalactite into it's head, like a stake against a wounded cow.
What I saw showed to me how these elusive creatures managed to best these fearsome beasts. And perhaps, maybe their knowledge may be the key to protecting mannkind from dragons. | It's man. Man is their predator. Fascinated by their beauty and power, men did what men do and sought to hunt and collect trophies of these creatures. Eventually only those with prey characteristics survived. Those who could see a man riding at them whilst they lowered their heads to drink, those that could blend into a pack as the swooped through the sky, those that could fly off at the first sound of clinking metal armour. But these prey also developed defensive traits and knew instinctively to charge at any 2 footed 5 ft tall hairless creature, so when you awakened this majestic beast, after it slowly opened its eyes, it saw your outline and let out a blast of fire from its mouth as it jerked back trying to get out of your reach. | 2022-03-18T23:06:02 | 2022-03-18T22:54:48 | 36 | 19 |
[WP]Humans are the first species to achieve interstellar travel. Not because we are smarter or more advanced than aliens, but because we are the only ones stupid and stubborn enough to try. | Some of you are asking yourselves, how is this small fleshy thing, from a few star systems over, able to stand here in front of you right now, and ask, what is your next goal, what is your next objective? Why is it, that I dare to ask you these questions, when you are more advanced, and more capable than I and my entire race are?
I can tell you, it started about 300 years ago, it started, when a man named Kennedy, stood on a field in a place called Texas and said, "We choose to go to the Moon," you see 30 years prior to that, we were glad to be able to fly, you all have shuttles, you see how they go to and fro, that was what we were just getting used to and with aeroplanes, flimsy and weak. Then, some of my ancestors decided they would get out of their planes and ride a massive rocket filled with enough fuel to destroy most skyscrapers into outerspace, and now, beyond. We set sail, as Kennedy put it, on that new sea, that sea was space, before and after that humanity had always sought to best itself, to go beyond itself, and in 1969, we bested ourselves for what was then the first time on soil not our own, we stepped on the Moon. From then on, humanity had the stars in their hearts and the want to travel those stars, in their minds.
I have read your reports, you thought us insane, you thought us incredibly foolish, and you believed we gambled too many lives, let me tell you now, those lives were not gambled, they were lost in our greatest experiment. For you, space flight came easy, and then you abandoned it and turned inward, something to be tried and done away with. For us, it came with a road paved with names you do not know, Grissom, Chaffee, White, Komarov, the crew of *Challenger* and *Columbia,* they volunteered, they did the impossible and they were part of humanity, and humble to the core, even though they themselves were the best of us and bettered us all.
I can also say this, our arrogance as some of you put it, does not exist, it is a self confidence that is unknown to you, because we prove ourselves, we better ourselves and we have the will to do what was impossible just 50 years ago, let alone 300. We stepped out into this galaxy, with more fire and more determination than our ancestors and I can assure you with less than our descendants will show, we are here to stay and we will meet more people like you, incredibly advanced, but as shocked and amazed we can step off our ships and into your lives and worlds.
However, if you do not wish to go beyond yourselves, and beyond your planet, into the stars, I will leave, but before I go, think, if the people of Earth can do it, why can you not? Why will you not? Could you answer for it to your descendants in 300 years time if you did not? Let me tell you on the last question, you could not. Space is not simply a thing to admire, fear or avoid, it is to be explored, adventured upon and leaving ones mark upon it is the greatest accomplishment of any people or race. To be able to meet their fellow beings and share the good and the bad with them and in turn grow, both in knowledge and as a race is almost evolutionary in its effect on peoples, including humanity. I can finish by asking that you yourselves seek the stars with us or on your own, but seek them out and end this isolation once and for all. | Three more ships were launched into the stratosphere, and three more ships were bashed back down to earth by the giant space squid.
"We need more spaceships" Shouted the president
"But sir, we're running out of metal. And the jetfuel repository is running dry" A NASA man shouted back.
"Damn your cowardice" The president shouted back. "Guards, take this man to the jetfuel repository and launch him into space. Make him die to the squid for his insolence"
And the gaurds did take the NASA man to the jetfuel repository, and the President watched him get launched into the stratosphere only to be bashed back down to earth by the mighty tentacles holding up the sky. The president looked out the window poignantly, and steepled his fingers poignantly, and sighed a few times so the few blind NASA men in the room could also get in on how poignant his plight was. He'd made a bet to be the first into space, giant squid be damned. And he was losing it.
"Giant squid be damned" The president said. "Yah damn that squid" another NASA man said back, the president pointed at him and two guards got up to escort the man to the jetfuel repository. The president watched him launch into the sky, and wept for all the voters he had lost on this day. It had been most of them, the country was stripped barren other than the whitehouse, essential NASA men, and the great celestial squid mankind had gambled against and lost.
The president picked up his space phone. "Hello, operator, could you connect me to alpha centari?" he asked the phone.
"Yes sir Mr. President" the operator told him, and he waited a year for his signal to travel.
Mr Alpha Centari President answered the phone. "Hello, Johnson" he told the phone, "Calling to call it quits on our bet, eh?"
But the president never answered. He had starved to death months ago, having watched all his planet's farmers and children and hopes and dreams launch into space only to be stopped by the squid. | 2017-11-22T16:03:24 | 2017-11-22T15:36:45 | 188 | 18 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | They told us we wouldn’t get Alzheimers.
Technically, they were right.
The ads plastered on every billboard, livestream, and website promised Ephoebus would preserve our body and brain’s critical functions. The generation young enough to take it would have the quick wits of a twenty-something combined with the wisdom of an elder. Who could refuse that?
Emily didn’t.
No matter how much we argued, no matter how many times I brought up the risks, the lack of long-term trials on the drug. That she’d be mortally dependent on it for the rest of her life. She compared me to technophobic conspiracy theorists, or the religious fundamentalists who glorified the prospect of death.
Apparently, I was jealous, controlling, afraid of death. That I wanted to be young enough to be chosen.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I resented the prospect of being left behind by the whole world, of fading into obscurity and nonexistence. But after a few months of her taking it, it didn’t matter anymore. She was hooked for life, and I had to watch myself grow old while my wife stayed as young and flawless as the day we met. My skin wrinkled, my hair started coming out, and my wife stopped looking at me the same way, no matter how many times we professed our eternal love.
Divorce was messy, painful, full of scary questions and scarier answers. So we just lived together in apathy, and let our romance decay piece by piece just as my body did.
We saw it for the first time on the news, after catching the occasional rumor from conspiracy forums and message boards.
Hou Fen, a Taiwanese immigrant and the first person to take Ephoebus, was found by the police in his house two weeks after his hundredth birthday. The bodies of his husband and daughter were in the basement, dissected and hung on meat hooks in his living room.
In recordings of police interrogations, he looked mildly bemused and nonchalant about his slaughter, stating that he was simply curious to see what their insides looked like.
He was the first Ephoebus user to make international headlines. But not the last.
It took teams of neuroscientists and psychologists a few weeks to determine the cause. The drug preserved reasoning, creativity, and memory perfectly. But not emotional range. At a certain point around people’s hundredth birthday, their minds snapped, and all empathy, love, and moral compass rotted away in a matter of weeks.
Pure sociopaths, cropping up by the millions around the globe.
Mass shootings and homicides became a near-daily occurrence on the evening news. Not just from the elderly who lost their humanity, unable to stop taking the drug without dying, but among the young as well, terrified that their aging relatives would butcher them in their sleep.
It took less than a month for the president to declare martial law, and mandate immediate registration for every citizen over the age of 98.
The sound of shouting and our front door being kicked down stirred me from my sleep. Already awake, Emily helped pull me to my feet and handed me my walking stick. We walked into our living room to the sight of a police officer training a taser on us.
“Mrs. Emily Wilson. You are to be detained by order of executive order nine-one-four-five-one, under suspicion of Ephoebus Decay!”
“Excuse me, what the fuck?” I stepped in between him and Emily, raising a hand. “What the fuck is going on?”
The officer stepped around me, training his weapon on Emily. “New emergency order. Zero-risk policy. Your wife turns one hundred in a month, which means she’s got a few weeks at best before becoming one of them. If she isn’t already.”
“And what next? You put us in a camp?” Emily clenched her teeth. “Fuck you. Constitutional rights. You want to arrest me, charge me, asshole.”
He pulled the trigger, shooting the fins from his taser into her chest.
Emily fell to the ground, twitching. He started kicking her, driving the heel of his boot into her chest again and again. She cried out in pain, whimpering, tears streaming down her cheeks.
It only seemed to heighten his rage. “Manipulative fuck. You socios can fake any emotion you want. Isn’t that right?” He kept kicking her, ignoring her screams and my shouting.
“Stop, stop it! We’ll come quietly! Stop!” The tension in my shoulders reached a breaking point. I heard a rushing in my ears, felt my body move almost unconsciously, and a thud of impact on my hand.
I blinked. A kitchen knife was in my hand, plunged into the side of his neck. The officer turned to look at me, almost stunned that an old man was capable of such a feat. Then the blood poured from the wound and he dropped to the floor, gurgling.
I pulled the taser fins out of Emily, and cradled her as she sobbed into my arms. We sat together on the floor, frozen in shock, unable to process what had just transpired for I don’t know how long. As my breathing steadied, and I felt my heart rate slow, I gazed around the room, staring at the body of the dead cop on our living room floor, surrounded by a pool of blood.
I pushed myself upright, ignoring the stabs of pain from my back. “Come on, Emily. Get up.” I offered my hand, helping her pull herself upright, and inhaled. “I don’t know how. I don’t know if it’s even possible. But we’re going to find a cure.
Whatever it takes, I'm going to keep you from breaking.”
I grasped her hands, kissing her on the cheek. “Grab what you can carry.”
We left the house in our car, driving for the border, fleeing the sound of sirens. | *"I wish I knew what I know now, when i was younger." - Rod Stewart*
Civilization is strange. Always tinkering with things. Hell, some jackass had to give himself small-pox just to cure small pox. This was long ago of course, but it stands to reason, people just can't leave well enough alone.
So, when Harold found himself at his familiar drinking hole, this very thought almost made him fill his depends.
"So, did you boys see the news?" Jeremy asked. Jeremy was a bastard of a man. Once a brawny lumberjack of great height, who had shrunk a considerable deal over time, and was now of normal height. Harold always assumed this was because cause trees naturally weigh more than people.
"What!?" Leonard of Downey Street yelled. The old man had forgotten his hearing aide again.
"I SAID DID YOU SEE THE NEWS?" Jeremy yelled.
"Oh! I find the Jews to be a very nice people." Leonard said softly while taking a swig of his pint.
"No. Not the Jews... I mean, yes. They are kind, a little complainy from time to time, but they seem well intentioned. You see, when I was a lad, we had a Jewish fella what lived down the..."
"What about the news?" Harold asked. Sometimes it was important to keep these older chaps on point. They were pushing mid-nineties. A lifetime away from where Harold sat at 84.
"What news?" Jeremy asked.
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"Jeremy was talking about the news Leonard, yah deaf bastard. Where is your hearing aide?" Harold asked. Leonard was essentially the anti-American Express ad for hearing aides. *Never leave home with it.*
"Mildred must have hid it from me. You know she can be sneaky like that." Leonard said, using a rather selective hearing method.
"You gentlemen need another drink?" A waitress had popped up seemingly out of nowhere. But, to be fair, anybody walking at a brisk pace was seeming to pop up out of nowhere for Harold these days.
"Jesus! What are you trying to do? Give me a heart-attack!?" Yelled Jeremy.
"Jeremy, if i wanted to, I could have given you a heart attack a long time ago honey." The young waitress said.
"Oh, you vile temptress." Jeremy said, "Alright, put the next round on me."
"Why thank you Jeremy." Harold said.
As the waitress walked off, Jeremy eyed her up and down, "Oh, if I were only 60 years younger."
"Then you'd still be ten years too old for her you ancient bastard." Harold said, which spawned a laughing/coughing fit from Leonard.
"Ah, whatever. You young bucks don't know what it's like to be my age."
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"I'm only ten years younger than you." Harold said.
"Well, the difference between 84 and 94 is like the difference between young Philly and a dead horse. Hell, when I was your age, I was running marathons and could bench three hundred pounds."
"Hah! I loved Family Matters." Leonard chimed in.
"Jeremy, I knew you when you were my age, and you were just as decrepit as you are now." Harold said.
"Well..." Jeremy took time to think of a comeback, which in terms of a heavily medicated 94 year old was much like watching molasses swallow a city. "You should mind your elders."
"That Urckle was hilarious!" Leonard said.
"Ah. You got me." Harold somewhat admitted defeat. It wasn't that he felt he should respect his elders. Hell, he *was* an elder, but it was a good way to drop the subject. Especially with Jeremy. "Anyways. What was the news?"
"Oh right! The news!" Jeremy shouted.
"Your pints gentlemen." The waitress popped back in.
"Ye gods woman! You need to wear a damned bell!" Jeremy exclaimed.
"Right." The waitress put the drinks on the table and walked off.
"You know, if I was sixty years..." Jeremy began.
"...Yes. Yes." Harold interjected. "Anyways, what did you see on the news?"
"Oh yes! The news. So, remember that drug that kept all those little bastards young?" Jeremy asked, as if there was any way to forget the anti-aging drug.
"Yes. I remember."
"Well, it turns out it gives you stage 4 lymphoma! HAH!" Jeremy brought a fist down onto the table in exultation.
"Ye gods."
| 2018-06-04T21:35:59 | 2018-06-04T21:07:17 | 354 | 25 |
[WP] Seven demons (sins) come to tempt you, but you're so down on your luck that they feel bad for you... Greed teaches you financing, Sloth provides stress relief, Envy motivates you to be more competitive and therefore successful, Wrath gets you involved in activism, etc. | I woke up sweating. It was well past noon. These days, I'd lost all hope of waking to an alarm clock. Three months of furlough will do that to you. I heard a gruff rumbling outside the door. Fedex, probably. Another biting reminder that some people are still getting paid. Able to order fuzzy socks or those dumb cleaning robots.
I peaked outside the eyehole as the pitch of the truck increased in frequency. I hadn't had a visitor in months on account of Covid. When Carol dumped me at the beginning of quarantine, I had no idea how miserable my stupid life was to become.
**BANG BANG BANG BAN-WOOOOOSH.** "Finally!" yelled Pride. He thinks it was his power that finally got us through the door. I stepped through the doorway after Greed.
That bastard always has to first. To be frank, I thought the worst smells of my life were already behind me. Living in hell does that to you. But the stench of Subject 452FJA threw me a new one. With boxers on backwards and hair long past acceptable length, I gagged at the full sight of him.
"Subject 452FJA," boomed the thundering voice of Wrath, **"WE'RE HERE TO MAKE YOUR LIFE AN EVERLASTING… ohh, GROSS**!" Lust let out a giggle as a mouse shot across Wrath's food. The floor was covered with pellets of poop and crinkled, yellowing newspapers. The mouse was quick, but Gluttony's tentacles were quicker. He swallowed the trembling creature in one gulp and winked at Wrath. The gills around Wrath's face started to contort into a trailing vapors of steam. "Stay focused," he hissed. "We're here for a mission, damn god it!"
Lust walked in last, a lingering sigh on their siren lips. The smell of ripe fruit permeated the air, mixing with the pungent stench of the subject. Stepping gingerly, they slipped their black tulle Louboutins between Wrath's steely limbs and Sloth's softer bits. I grinned, despite myself. I loved Lust's entrances.
With a mercurial ability to combine parts of each gender, Lust often captivated our subjects.
They grabbed my palm, and we approached the subject together. I held my breath, and started to whisper in Subject 452FJA's ear.
"We just visited Carol. She seems to be fine. In fact, I thought I saw Philip's car parked in the garage. Wasn't he…" I stopped my monologue abruptly, shocked to hear the sounds of heaving sobs coming from the grown ass man in front of me. Lust stared at me in surprise.
We'd always made people uncomfortable, sure, but this reaction was beyond me. "I'm sorry," he choked. "You guys are the first people who I've seen since this thing started. I haven't been able to pay my bills, my grandma's in the hospital, I lost my job and I just don't know if I can do this anymore." Between slobbering sobs, he blew his nose on Lust's billowing sleeve. Disgusting. Pride stared, mouth agape. Then, he and Wrath jumped into action. "Bad god, man! Pull yourself together!" He shot a pointed glance in my direction, and yelled, "there are women present!"
**SMASHCRUNCHCRASH.**
I stopped crying, surprised by the cascade of dishes falling to the floor. *"WHAT THE EVERLIVING FUCK ARE YOU DOING? THOSE ARE THE ONLY DISHES I HAVE LEFT!"*
The demon called Wrath looked at me sheepishly. "Come on - these are covered in flowers!! Who picked these out for you?!" I tugged my hair between my hands.
Great, not only was I single, broke, and unemployed. Now I was also *fucking* *haunted*.
Before I knew it, Lust had a pair of scissors in her.. erm, their hand. "I'm sorry," they said, "this has to be done." "Fine," I sighed resolutely. "Do your worst." Lust ran their fingers through the matted, greasy locks and looked back at me. "Trust me, that's already been done." I heard the rest of the bunch look on and snicker.
I sat on the couch, letting Lust snip away. Sloth coiled his long softness around the rest of me. I sneezed as bits of lint and cat hair floated up to my nostrils. He found the laptop I'd wedged between the cushions, and pointed to the login. I let in him, typing quickly, and let him do his work. He opened LinkedIn, messaging recruiters.
"I hate recruiters," hissed Pride. "They've got **NONE** of me. Groveling weasels will send four hundred emails a day to get one Starbucks card bonus from their boss."
I felt the demon called Sloth sigh, and say, "well, find something useful to do, Pride. This place is no place for us to be."
Pride huffed, and turned towards Gluttony, Envy, and Wrath. Together, they fashioned Gluttony's mouth into a vacuum, and regained the cleanliness of my house in record time. Envy looked out to my neighbor's yard, and used her dark magic to create a mountain of packages by my mailbox.
She snapped her fingers, and the outside of the house transformed from the turd of the neighborhood to the absolute gem.
"Better than a Roomba, huh?" grinned Pride. | "Uhmm so you are the 29 year old virgin, I guess Tonight's your night" whisper The Seductress in my ears. Offer sounded tempting but I never had any good luck in my life and knowing what ussually happens I remarked as I took a drink from my martini in my driest voice "Sorry to burst your bubble but I don't have that sor of cash." Lady took and sluttishly ate the olive and sang in a somewhat comforting way "Let's just say you have some nice friends"
I couldn't help but laugh at her. Like hell an egoistical narcissist like me could have friends. Not that I didn't try or anything but being a friend was way above my paycheck so I hastily finished my drink and got up and said "Thanks for the good laugh but I guess you would have to find another target today. Better luck next time lady"
Lust was enraged no one ever denied her of what she wanted but being the demon she was. Her new plan of making my life living hell wouldn't sadly work. I didn't have a girlfriend who would cheat or make me feel smaller than I already was Neither parents nor any close friends. So I think she took pity on me for leading the life she thought would be hell for any other normal person.
That Lady in Pub was gorgeous I shouldn't have talked to her that way, I thought as my eyes were on brink of sleep in front of Netflix again. I think Pickle Rick episode was going on when I felt other people in my apartment. I thought today was the day my wish would come true and it would finally be over but It was the lady again gently nibbling on my ear. I jumped Not that I was scared but I still didn't like her very much. But my jump landed me in arms of a large chubby dude. He was the closest thing to ice bear one could imagine. As soon as I looked around my apartment I realized my apartment was no longer empty I consisted of 7 other life form. Each different from other but everyone equally amused at me.
I didn't scream but calmly walked out of his arms (Damn was that dude comforting) and coughed as if they were waiting for me to speak but My voice was interrupted by what I can only call an Roar of a voice and he spoke"Lust I think your assessment was underestimating how terrible of life this miscreant is leading If I was you I would have ended him on the spot but sadly you chose to tempt him. Disgusting!!''
"Ok dude no need to get all judgemental on my lifestyle. If you want to kill me make it fast and if you are here to rob me, I am sad for you bruh'' I said in my deepest voice. Dude Facepalmed him and said"Okay He shall be the first Candidate for our redemption program" and He continued on for a while as He introduced everyone you know yabadabada
He was wrath, Skinny dude was envy, comfy dude was sloth, Lady was lust, Monopoly man was greed, Pride was some sort of korean Prodigy and gluttony was the chef that emptied my kitchen. And they wanted to help so I do either bad things or good things and wanted to teach me about their fortes.
Wrath spoke a great deal about how he caused great wars and every single one of them began from within He gave example of some Spartacus guy but shuddered at politics of nowadays activists.
Envy spoke how he influenced some great thieves of all time but was really confused with Money Heist
Lust gave me some private sessions I would rather not talk about.
Pride tried to teach me about how he gifted great talents like Michaelangelo and piccaso.(funnily they all died alone)
Greed gave me example of great mafias and businessman who all lost in court.
Gluttony wanted me to cook my neighbor but I offered him nachos.
Comfy dude and I had the greatest nap of all time.
Funny thing it's been a month and now they all live in my apartment and Guess what They all found pickle rick to be the funniest shit ever. | 2020-04-30T07:39:13 | 2020-04-30T06:26:07 | 74 | 27 |
[WP] You are a vampire hunter. Your roommate is a vampire. Neither of you can afford the apartment on your own so if one of you attacks the other you'll lose the apartment. The tension between you two is increasing by the day. | Beep. Beep. Beep. The alarm roused me from my sleep. 5:45. He’d be home soon. He had to be back before the sun came up. My phone rang. It was him.
“Wore out your welcome again?” I asked. I slipped on a sweatshirt and some slippers.
“Yes. Hurry up and get down here. The sun is coming up soon” he hissed.
“I’ll be down in a minute.” I hung up. The elevator was out of order again. I opened the gate and put on the largest grin I could. “Good Morrow Stanislaus! What brings you here on this fine morn?”
“C’mon just let me in. You don’t want to deal with Mr. Lewis if we don’t make the rent”
“Why that’s awfully impolite of you Stanislaus. Nevertheless, come in, come in.” With a flourish he dashed past me and into the stairwell. When I caught up to him, he was pulling down the living room blinds. I might as well make breakfast since I was up anyway. The remains of a goat had expired in the fridge. “Stanislaus, the goat needs to go, or I’m paying the rent with your head!” I began spreading a mixture of pesto and avocado on some toast. A breakfast of champions.
“The goat is a problem when you eat that every morning? Never in my 700 years have I met someone as insufferable as you Terrance!” He lay down on the couch. “ I come home from a long night of work only to come home to you! You don’t welcome me, instead playing your sick games! you leave your stuff everywhere, and you eat every meal with garlic! I have half a mind to just feed upon you!”
“Ah ah. Mr. Lewis would never let you back in, if you committed a murder in here” I chided him. I took a quick shower and got dressed. “Stanislaus! Where did you put my work stakes?”
“We talked about this. No stakes in the living room. I threw them out.”
“Those were my lucky stakes! What are they going to say when I show up with the decorative stakes I got for my birthday?”
Somebody knocked on the door. Stanislaus beat me to it. It was Mr. Lewis. A well built balding man with a cigar in his mouth. “Terrence. Stanislaus. I’ve received a lot of noise complaints about you two. I’m evicting you.”
We locked eyes. I tried to jump away but Stanislaus was faster. He hit me squarely in the jaw. I ran into the living room and pulled the blinds up, keeping him in the foyer. “You can’t hide there forever Terrence!”
“I don’t have to. You remember when I washed the couch cushions last year? I put a decorative stake in each cushion. I knew this day would come.” I began rummaging through the couch.
Mr. Lewis walked in. “This won’t do. Quicker. ” His head shimmered and a demonic visage appeared. A jet black snout with rows of teeth.
Stanislaus and I both screamed. | Hi, my name is Al, at the daytime, I am an amateur supernatural blogger and at night I am a full-time volunteer, Vampire Hunter.
As many of you may have guessed as a blogger I don't make much because of that I was kicked out of my former apartment for late payment. So I had to look for a new place to stay but because of my late payment history, I couldn't find one until I came across a shady website called RivallyRoom. Com. It was a roommate and lease finding website mixed, like buy one gate one free but with no return options. I had to sign a contract saying I will rent the place for one year straight with no complaints.
The day I was moving was also the day my roommate Drake was also supposed to move in. however he didn't show up even after sunset so I thought he was not coming today. I locked the door and got ready to sleep taking the night off my vemphunt but in the middle of the night someone made a lot of sounds outside the door, I'm sure you can guess it was Drake, my new roommate.
He looked like a prince of some faraway land that would make all the girls beg for his attention.
I mean I was not jealous or anything, oh who am kidding I was jealous not a little bit but a whole lot. This vemphunting was something I started after a vampire stole my date with his good looks and this roommate of mine reminded me a lot like the guy who stole my true love.
(I will write later) | 2022-11-21T21:37:44 | 2022-11-21T21:03:07 | 650 | 29 |
[WP] You are a schizophrenic maddeningly in love with the man/woman of your dreams. But you're becoming increasingly unsure if she's real, or just another hallucination. | I sat at the table, bouncing my leg and looking at the clock. I've had to much coffee, and my brain feels like scrambled eggs. Running my fingers through my hair, I check my watch against the time on the clock. She should be here by now.
The diner was busy. Waitresses were taking orders. One orange juice, two flapjacks, three eggs. One orange juice, two flapjacks, three eggs. Everyone stares at me, but all I'm doing is staring at the clock.
The bell above the door rang, and I looked up. No that isn't her. One orange juice, two flapjacks, three eggs. I looked down and squashed an ant with my thumb. There were dozens of ants all over the table. It was disgusting.
I look up, and saw her slide into the booth. My heart relaxed. A waitress appears next to us.
"One orange juice, two flapjacks, three eggs." I blurted. They both looked at me, surprised. The waitress laughs.
"Well okay then, and for the lady?" She looked at Joan. Joan grinned, and looked back at her.
"Same for me." Joan was a class act.
I swept the table again, the ants were everywhere.
"Sorry for the mess Joan," I started. One orange juice, two flapjacks, three eggs.
"Stop," she said, and placed her hand in mine. The ants disappeared.
"Jack, what did you need to tell me?" She smiled at me.
I felt nervous. I couldn't breathe. I kept hearing people order. One orange juice, two flapjacks, three eggs.
"Joanie, listen, I..." I looked around, afraid she'd leave.
"Jack, what is it sweetheart?" I looked into her eyes.
"Joanie, I'm falling in love with you." I said it. I see her blinking. One blink, two blinks, three blinks.
"Jack, I'm falling in love with you too. I just..." her voice trailed off. "I just don't know if I can trust it."
I looked at her quizzically. The waitress reappeared with our order. Two orange juices, four flapjacks, six eggs. Something wasn't right.
Joanie looked angry. She threw her orange juice on the floor, the glass shattering.
She put her head down on the table. "I can't trust you," she said. She broke my heart. I got up, turned to her one last time.
"Joanie," I said. She nodded. "Joanie, I love you." I put my hand on the back of her head. I turned, and walked out of the diner.
***
The waitress bent and picked up as much of the glass as she could. Another waitress came with a broom, sweeping glass into a bin.
The waitresses both walked back into the kitchen. They stood there, shocked. Finally, one of them spoke.
"Mary did you see that?"
Mary nodded. She put her hand on Val's shoulder. "Val, listen, that girl is in here every day. She orders the same thing, and just sits and talks to herself."
Val looked at the door worried. "Should we call someone?"
Mary looked back toward the door. The little window in the kitchen door allowed them to look right at the woman.
The woman sat, smiling, eating, talking to no one. | She held his hands on the beach. No suit for him, no big dress for her. The sunset, the water, their best friends as best man and maid of honor and a priest.
Not that they were religious, just nostalgic, traditionalist.
The words were said, the tears cried (his) and then the priest and friends had gone. They sat together and he held his new bride close.
**A flash of pain! White walls**
Back on the beach. She looked over her shoulder. "Another headache?"
He covered, "It'll pass."
"We should go inside, the sunshine, the heat, they're all triggers."
"I wouldn't trade this moment for anything" he said. "It's why I had to be strong. The medication made me a zombie, trapped in my own skull. Sure no headaches, but then..." With a laugh he continued. "Not much of a head."
She settled back into his arms, mollified for a moment, but still tense. "Do you ever worry you'll back slide?"
**Another flash, a doctor, shining a light into his eyes.**
A memory, nothing more.
With a resigned tone, "All the time. But I need to be clear to be here. To be with you."
A worried tone permeated her voice, "Do you worry that I'm not real?"
He paused, looked to the sunrise. "I stopped. When I got better and got out of the hospital, when we fell in love... I realized the easiest way to hang on to the world was to focus on you. I love you so much I don't want to live in any world without you. That's all I need."
The sun began to set. With a calmness she settled into him, "I love you too. I'll never leave again." | 2014-07-22T10:11:52 | 2014-07-22T10:03:11 | 116 | 28 |
[WP] Finally dead, you wait quietly at the train station of the afterlife. As you watch everyone leave off to face their judgement, you eventually sit alone… waiting. You watch as a scythe-wielding hooded figure starts approaching, and he… sighs? “Aw man… why’d it have to be you?” | "Aw man... why'd it have to be you?" The figure said blocking the mid morning sun from my face.
"It was a beautiful day out. I told her I'd meet her one fine day. Seemed like as good a day as any." I couldn't look up. Well, wouldn't. I couldn't bring myself to look at another person or being at this moment.
"You weren't supposed to be here for another forty years." If a black mass of robes could look defeated, he did. I played with my hands, my knee wouldn't stop bouncing. "You could have had a happier life."
"You know all of fate. Why was my passing so shocking? What was different about my life that you are disappointed?" I started to get a bit choked up now. I knew what led me here was wrong.
"It's not that I'm disappointed. Shocked would be the closer emotion. There were people counting on you. People you hadn't met yet, people that their stories depended on you." He sat down on the bench next to me. Tears started flowing from my eyes. "I know it was hard. I saw how you had yelled at the sky, tried to break open the ground with your fists, cursed every god in existence. Your son won't know what's going on."
"I know he won't understand. That's the way it was with his mother as well. Others can care for him better than I could." I was trembling as the walls finally broke down. A dam had lost its structural integrity and now everything flooded me.
"Yes and no. Yes, they will take care of him and get him to all his appointments and the best schools and what not but that's all window dressing. He's an orphan now and that leaves a mark on someone so young."
"I know. I felt so isolated though. Like I was in the fight alone. Like all I had was him --"
"And all he had was you." Death stared at me. Pulling off his hood, he looked me in the face. A middle aged man with kind brown eyes, salt and pepper hair. Not the traditional look I would expect. I was expecting a lot less skin. "You discount yourself. You always have and one day it would have made sense."
"His grandparents will make sure he has everything he could ever want."
"No. The one thing his heart will yearn for will never be filled."
"That happened when he lost his mother."
"And you lost your wife."
"I know I messed up. I couldn't take it anymore."
"No, you could have. You gave others hope. You prevented a dozen others from coming here early yet you decided to take the early train yourself. Why?"
"I already told you, it was a fine day and I didn't want to feel alone anymore."
"You still aren't getting it. You weren't alone. There were dozens of people around you who loved you, who cared for you. You shouldn't be here." He reached out with a remorseful hand. It felt much like when my grandfather was comforting me many years ago. "You still have work you need to do."
"How? Not like I can go back now."
"Not many can. There's enough orphans in the world. You come back when I'm ready." Death said before pushing my head back with a gentle shove.
There was a click. The hammer had struck the pin but there must have been a misfire. Just in time for there to be a knock, the sound of a small fist hitting the bedroom door. "Daaaaddy? Chocolate milk?" The tiny voice said on the other side of the door. Tears rained on the bedroom floor as I stowed the pistol back in the safe.
"Hey buddy, give daddy a second while I get ready." I got up and started drying my face. "What do you say we go see your Anny Manny and Uncle?" | "Aw man... why'd it have to be you?"
The man Death said that to was George R. R. Martin. Death was a fan.
The famous author said, "Well, all people have to die someday".
"Are you seriously telling **ME** that!"
"Anyway, you seem to be a fan. Am I right?"
"Yes, and it really sucks that you died before you could finish Game of Thrones. I was so looking forward to finishing the series. Why'd you take so damn long man!"
"We could talk about that all day, but that doesn't change the fact that I didn't finish Game of Thrones when I was alive. But if it makes you feel better I now have all the time in the world to finish it. In fact you can be the first person to read it when I'm done."
Death knew that where George R. R. Martin was going he'd never finish Game of Thrones.
"What if you don't get it done? I have to know how it all ends," said Death.
"If you don't think I'll finish it, you can always finish it yourself."
The thought had never crossed Death's mind.
"You're joking, right?" Death said, but seeing George's face made Death realize George wasn't.
"The way I write, I don't know how everything is going to end. And that's why I enjoy it. To me, writing is like a more active form of reading. I find things out as I go, but with writing I get to use my own creativity," said George "If I really don't finish Game of Thrones, I'm sure you'll enjoy finishing it for me."
The noise of a train approaching rang through the train station. The train came and stopped with a huff. One of it's doors was right in front of Death and George R.R. Martin, and when they opened George stood up and went into the train. The doors closed and the train started moving to George's final destination. George waved through the window to Death who hadn't moved at all and Death waved back. George R. R. Martin may have died, but Death's writing career was born. | 2022-03-05T17:44:43 | 2022-03-05T17:33:49 | 325 | 18 |
[WP]: After losing a bet, a master assassin must kill a world leader with a banana | Alisa Wen was my exotic, beautiful, arch rival. She was also sadistic.
We were sat across from one another at IHOP, staring down piles of pancakes during an all-you-can eat pancake special.
"I bet I can eat more of these than you can," she said, her almond-shaped, golden eyes flashing above the fork.
"Bet you can't," I said, without hesitation. Neither of us were more than 100 pounds, soaking wet. It seemed like a fair enough bet at the time.
"Whatcha bet me?"
Alisa and I had met when we were both working as escorts in Jersey City. We had a love hate relationship; we'd been competitors back then, for the hottest guys, the richest guys, the guys that had the swankiest apartments. Then, one day, one of the johns had hired Alisa to do something else.
"He wants you to what?" I asked.
"Ice his boss," she'd said, biting her lip as she applied a second coat of candy apple colored nail polish. "Help me, and I'll split it with ya."
So that's how we became assassins.
I'd never seen my roomie manage a full bowl of cereal, so I was pretty sure I'd have her beat on this pancake thing.
"I dunno," I said, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind my ear. "What are you thinking? Money?"
"Nah, let's make it more interesting. Let's make it a job."
"Oooh," I said, sipping at my diet coke.
"Loser has to off a politician. Someone you'd see in TIME or some shit," Alisa said. "You scared, Kimmy?"
"Nah," I said. We'd been at this for the better part of ten years now. I could do it. *If* I lost the pancake bet. Which I wouldn't.
"And the winner picks the weapon."
"Deal."
I lost. Miserably.
I mean, I didn't just lose. She didn't stop eating pancakes when I did. She just kept eating them. I watched her with a mixture of wonder and disgust as she daintily wiped her lips clean of sticky syrup after the fifth plate.
"You can pick the dude," she said. "Or the chick, whatever. But the weapon?"
I sighed. "Spit it out," I said.
"B-A-N-A-N-A. Holla!"
I groaned. "Now is not the time for your shitty pop music obsession, Ali. What's the weapon?"
"I already told you," she said, with a smug little grin.
"You're fucking crazy," I said.
She shrugged.
***
Two weeks later.
I watched the news, perched on the edge of the couch. Alisa sat on the arm, sipping a wine cooler.
"I can't believe you fucking did it. I'm not sure if it should count, though."
"Look," I said. "You can't prove the banana didn't cause his death. Close enough, k?"
"Do baboons even *eat* bananas?" she asked.
I rolled my eyes. "It was bait, k? Besides, it distracted him long enough for the push."
CNN couldn't get enough of the strange scene. Vladimir Putin, torn to shreds by a troop of angry baboons, after being pushed into an exhibit at the zoo... with a banana protruding from his pocket. | First time poster and I always love constructive feedback. Enjoy!
Killing is an art, a process. The true artist works in canvases of gags, marbles of lead, and clays of explosive compounds but it is the seductive pallete that appeals to our nature and draws us to create. Whether it’s the deep mcintosh crimson of blood or the plum purple of asphyxiation each brings their own alluring spectrum. Admittedly I’ve never dabbled in this color before Mr. President but you have helped me produce my masterpiece this evening. A simple, elegant black suit contoured to your form, a fitting base. Even in death you exude command in your stature. Alas your noble, piercing blue gaze I could not preserve, but your contorted expression of shock adds a layer to this display. Pain is beauty after all. The blazing red of your power tie neatly draws attention from your slightly engorged neck to the focal point of my grand design. Here, barely visible between the soft violet of your lips a daring splash of mingled green and yellow. The stem of a not quite ripe banana, my brush and your demise, brings the piece to a daring climax. I may be projecting Mr. President but if I’m not mistaken it would appear you have a Mona Lisa smile at the edge of your mouth. I’m certainly never too proud to pay homage to the greats. Perhaps even you the victim of my destruction, my muse, my creation had an appreciation for the macabrely absurd in your final moments. A quick photo for posterity and alas I must be on my way. To not share this moment would be the ultimate crime against art. And of course my benefactor desired proof and who am I to deny such patronage? My path is neither that of the starving artist nor the fool hardy gambler. I never make a bet that I can lose. | 2014-05-13T13:20:34 | 2014-05-13T12:59:45 | 39 | 16 |
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