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[WP]In order to integrate humanity into the Galactic Community, The Federation has sent diplomats from species they deem most similar to Humanity. It is not what Humanity expects. | Tessa blinked at the computer screen.
"THESE are the beings I have to teach our ways?" She swallowed hard, trying to keep the judgement out of her voice as she spoke. As head of the research team that first made contact with extraterrestrial beings, she had been charged with facilitating a connection with the intergalactic council. She had the most contact thus far, and she had convinced the earthen governments not to take the project away from her. Now, looking at the beings she would be meeting with, she wondered if that decision had been a mistake.
"'Teach' is perhaps the wrong word." Her host answered from across the room. "You must explain your existence and justify your government's request to join the galactic alliance."
"Are they safe?" Tessa's gaze ran over the three profiles on the screen.
"The chosen emissaries were deemed closest to humanity and thus the most compatible for a beneficial relationship with your race. They will not harm you so long as your kind does not give them cause."
"Closest to humanity?" Tessa gasped. "In what way are those creatures anything like humans?" Her host did not seem surprised or bothered by the question. She… it… reached out a long finger to touch the screen and select the first profile. The photo showed a creature that looked to Tessa like a hot air balloon. It's large body, or head, Tessa wasn't sure which, seemed to float above rigid tentacles. She couldn't make out any kind of facial features.
"The Dgifu race is made almost entirely of organic material. They synthesize terrestrial gasses similarly to yourself. They also descend from a planet far removed from the rest of universal society. They will be the most empathetic to the hardships of living on such a primitive world."
Tessa bristled at the use of the word 'primitive' but said nothing as her host navigated to the next profile. The next creature on the screen looked like an oversized insect. She was relieved to find that she could recognize a set of eyes and a mouth on it's angled head, but the rows of elongated teeth gave her pause. She shuddered as she also noticed the tips of it's many clawed hands appeared to be made of sharpened iron.
"The Sarnot race has advanced on a similar technological timeline to your kind, though much more rapidly. They also descended from a barbaric heritage of weaponized conflict, so they will be best able to assess the role humans will be suited for within the alliance."
"I see." Tessa answered, schooling her expression to hide her offense. Her host moved on to the final profile. There were no words to accurately describe the creature that appeared on her screen. She was relatively sure she could distinguish a head and body, but arms emerged from every angle on both. Some ended in hands similar to her own. Others terminated in strange shapes that Tessa could not begin to guess the functions of. This was, by far, the ugliest of the three beings.
"And finally, the Gok are the most similar to humans in genetic composition. From the samples you sent, we have determined that their genetic coding matches yours at 72%. They will have the most insight into your kind's medical anomalies."
Tessa grimaced at the idea that those creatures were the closest to humans. But she was a scientist. She had trained herself to put biases aside and concentrate on her work. Though she had never expected to encounter something like this.
"And what about your kind?" Tessa asked. "You were the first to make contact. Shouldn't you be one of the emissaries assigned to humanity?" She glanced up hopefully at the elongated humanoid sitting several feet away. Her host was direct, but she had already grown more comfortable with her than she expected she would with the other emissaries.
"Oh no dear. My kind are always the first to make contact, but my race is nothing like yours. I may appear to be of similar composition, but that is because this is the only form that your feeble human mind can detect. If you really saw me as I am, your consciousness would shatter. It is best that I spend as little time in your presence as possible."
"Very well." Tessa breathed out her disappointment and steeled herself for what was to come. "When does the ship arrive?"
"In 72 hours. You have until then to gather all of humanity's history and knowledge for our assessment."
"That might take a little longer than 72 hours." Tessa answered.
"Oh, I highly doubt that, dear." | As the Ambassador stepped into the Torture Room (*technically a translation error, but given that such meetings drag exponentially, the phrasing remains*) aboard the Nyar Kholein III, her guard simmediately reached for their Disintegrator pistols. A quick hand stayed their actions, but the Ambassador was disturbed by the three diplomats seated before her.
The first of the races was almost identical to her, save for two critical features - the face and tail of a tigon; and six eyes the red of arterial gore. It stood and shook the Ambassador's hand in a clawed hand with retractable joints. The tail swished languidly, curled as it was. It spoke with a serpentine voice. "It isss nicssse to meet anoththther Deaththworlder." The hand (such as it was) was softly padded on the palm and fingertips, and felt like a supple leather. "I am Neuter Dessstriaaaa, from the Sssserian racssse."
The Ambassador smiled politely, as Destria nuzzled her; a sign of friendship, according to the Intelligence docket. She showed jo fear, but her guards were still on high alert, awaiting the next danger to pass.
The second was essentially eyeballs on a shifting series of circles attached to a pair of wings. She spoke with a choral hive of voices, giving the impression of harmony within itas she surrounded the Ambassador, taking a memorial imprint to pass through the hive. It spoke in an imaginary boom of prophecy and angels. *BE NOT AFRAID, MORTAL HUMAN! I AM HIVE'SORA, THIRD OF THE DIPLOMATIC CORPS OF THE PHARES III NEBULA. I SEE YOU ARE KNOWN AS A NAME THAT IS NOT AMBASSADOR.*
The Ambassador paled for a few seconds, before speaking in a haze of hallucination. "Yes, I am Ambassador Kari Nwanu, of the Terran Alliance."
But it was the third race that made the humans worried, for this alien looked like a giant moth attached to a human-like body. A series of translucent veins traversed the being's entire body as it hovered in the air. It spoke in a high-pitched squeak, even through the translators, and there was a tension there as she sped towards Kari, stopping nose-to-nose with her.
"Hi! I'm Niff'tie!" The being dusted in front of Kari, a kaleidoscope of colour and heat surrounding her. "Why do you look like the Daemon race?"
The other aliens groaned, and Desria's tail swatted at Niff'tie. "We sssaid not to talk about ththossse!"
Kari nodded, her discomfort distracting her from the task at hand. "We need to talk about those later. For now, let us have a discussion about what to do now." | 2022-09-16T07:22:43 | 2022-09-16T04:04:47 | 932 | 266 |
[WP] The Apocalypse begins, and the Four Horsemen ride out leading an army that will depopulate Earth. But the old pagan deities of Earth do not consent, and side with humanity. | The land wept where he walked, shivering and roiling beneath his tread. Green grass turned brown then disintegrated in his presence, trees lost leaf and branch before becoming dull husks. Animals wasted away, those that didn’t run immediately from him. He didn’t mind, this was his gift after all.
He walked with a slow and methodical gait, seemingly healthy amid the scarcity. Long slim fingers adjusted a finely cut suit, forest green eyes peering out a chiseled face at his work around him. A smile, not cruel but professional graced his lips, the smile of satisfaction from work well done.
A chuckle, again oddly rich, fell from his lips as he stopped in a field. Bodies lay in positions of violence, eyes still wide from pain and rage. Guns and even blades littered the field like fruit from a tree. The man shook his head amused. “Oh Brother, your Mark is everywhere these days. So bold and unsubtle.” He continued to walk, the bodies emaciating rapidly as he did. The field turned brown, stinking. Even the metals of the weapons grew weak and brittle, losing shine and strength.
The man followed the tracks of large lumbering beasts, buffalo or some wild charger. He could see them in the far distance, a large herd led by a curious white one. So far they have avoided his touch but he didn’t mind, he was tireless and they couldn’t escape. He followed them inexhaustibly, relentlessly.
They led him to a grove, dull brown earth transitioning into rich healthy land. He walked in, admiring the tall trees that blocked the beating rays of the sun. Even his eyes widened at how fresh and sweet the fruit looked. “Almost a pity,” he whispered as his hand touched a rosy red apple. At his touch it started to wilt, growing rotten. Without another glance he walked on, waiting for that juicy splatter of fallen fruit to follow.
It never came. He turned, curious. The fruit still sat on the bough as red and delectable as before. A furrowed brow and he approached it again, hand outstretched. The fruit degraded within seconds before his eyes but the moment he let go it recovered just as swiftly, no even faster. Even the ground seemed to repulse his aura. The ground immediately beneath him the typical deviation of life but where he was looked untouched.
“Greetings stranger.” His head turned at the voice, a sweet tone warm and inviting. His eyes peered into the gloom of the forest, eventually making out a woman making her way to him. She was slight, thin yet healthy. Old fashioned coveralls hung from her frame, a broad straw hat sat on bright red hair. Her eyes...disturbed him. They were blue like the sky, innocent yet not, young yet old.
He nodded back, pointing at the tree. “Your work I assume?”
She curtsied lightly, a smile growing on her tanned face. “It is, blessings of the land with hard work.”
He snorted, touching the apple again and watching it rot and revitalize in moments. “More than hard work I think. More ‘blessings’.” He turned and pointed an accusing finger. “Who or what are you?”
Her eyes narrowed, the kind look turning hard. “Well that’s a rude thing to say to a woman.”
He scowled, hand working at the tie around his neck. “I care not. Women nor men matter not at all. All fall before me. So...what are you?”
She crossed her hands before her, looking blandly at his expression of displeasure. “I am the land, the land is me. You are not welcome here.”
He laughed mockingly and shrill. “Again, your protestations do not matter to me. I go where I please. This is the end times, the world is my domain and I am unleashed to do my work. I am punishment.”
She laughed back at him, a sweet and bright sound that shocked him. “How quaint. The end has come and gone many times on this world. You are not the first. You will not be the last. For every end there is a beginning, it is a cycle. You cannot stop it.”
“How dare you!” His skin grew pale and he glared at her. The aura of dearth spilled from him and more of the surroundings wilted. “I am punishment from a higher power! I will take from the land and empty it! You cannot stop me!”
She smiled and grew. Her coveralls fading into robes, her slight form growing robust. Red hair turned green and her hat transformed into a plain circlet. “I think not,” her voice reverberated deeply and richly. “I am Gaia, earth Mother. I will always protect the land and you are nothing but a phase, a temporary thing. Greater powers than you have tried you child of an upstart power. Even now you garb yourself in borrowed finery. You will not defeat me.”
A wave of her hand and the man stumbled. His suit fell away into rags, his skin turned sallow and thin. His eyes still blazed defiantly and he howled. The sound shook the trees and the sky, echoing faintly in the distance. “You are old and nothing! My brothers come and we will lay waste. I am not alone.”
Again she smiled. The white buffalo approached her side, eyes glinting intelligently and her footsteps echoed like many drums. A length of vines grew thicker and fuller beside her on a tree, a wet growl came from behind her coming from bright yellow eyes.
“Neither am I.”
Edit: Thank you so much for the gold. I am always happy to see people enjoy my writing. I posted more stories below as responses to this one. Please enjoy. | John, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocolypse, pulled up aside a large mutated army standing at the precipice of a large city. “General, why are our troops not raping and pillaging the human city?”
Terry, Carl and Ragnath’or pulled up beside John.
“What’s happening, John?” asked Carl.
“I will dine on the splendour of the human soul,” said Rahnath’or.
“For fucks sake, chill out, Ragnath’or,” ordered John.
“The Gods have opposed us, sir. They are blocking our assault worldwide,” answered the General, his voice wavering as he delivered the news.
“Surely this cannot be true,” muttered Carl.
The Four Horsemen rode across the now desolate land in front of them; eventually reaching seven God’s who stood next to a large building with one solitary human in tow.
“Deities, why would you halt proceedings?” shouted Terry across the land, his horse kicking up dust as it came to a stop. “Answer us.”
“Yes, answer us or we shall drink the fluid of your brains,” said Ragnath’or.
“Jesus, Ragnath’or. What have we said?” pleaded John.
A caped God peered towards the horsemen, the other deities remaining in discussion with the human.
“The apocalypse must be stopped,” said the deity.
“And why is that?” asked Terry.
“Because season 2 of Westworld just came out and it’s fucking incredible.”
“Wait, what?” asked Carl.
Another deity emerged from the group huddled around the human and paced towards the horsemen. “It’s true. It’s simply insane.”
“Tell us, Gods,” said Carl, “you have not fallen for another television series.”
A voice came back across towards the horsemen, “You speak as if you have not seen season 1, horseman.”
Carl made eye contact with other horsemen, hoping one of them would know what was going on. “I haven’t.”
The deity looked back towards the group of Gods, “Anubis, tell them how sick season 1 of Westworld is.”
Anubis’ head popped in to sight, his jewellery glistening as he turned towards the horsemen, “Yeah, it’s pretty sick, like.”
“Tell me, horsemen, do you doubt Anubis? He is from Egypt,” said the God.
Ragnath’or ducked his head and began to whisper, “He is from Egypt, there’s no denying that.”
“Ragnath’or, I swear I am this close,” said Terry, holding his hand up to illustrate to Ragnath’or just how close he was.
“That human there,” said Carl, riding closer to the deities. “Who is she? Is she the one who has poisoned your minds and convinced you of this foolery?”
“This is Lisa Joy,” muttered one of the group, his face hidden behind his white hood. “After watching season two episode four, we believe she may well be one of us.”
Terry rode beside Carl and shouted, “What if she is a false prophet?”
“Blasphemy,” barked back one of the deities.
“What if she is just another Damon Lindeloff?” asked Carl.
The deities did not bark back.
“I beg of you: Remember LOST. We have all fallen for this before. A super legit TV show comes along and takes all of our nipples for a spin. We give our hearts, souls, and super cool fan theories to it only for the humans to stab us in the back when we least expect it.” Carl pointed at the hell, fire and brimstone that engulfed the landscape. “Remember what all of this is for. February 2nd 2010. The day we all decided revenge must be taken against the humans. The day we swore we would make them pay. The day of the LOST season finale.”
Carl had the attention of all the deities, their immortal eyes peering over towards the horseman. Odin emerged from the gathering of Gods.
“I know but this show has robots. Like, at least a million robots or something."
****
I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement | 2018-05-17T07:38:22 | 2018-05-17T07:22:47 | 415 | 116 |
[WP] you have the ability to hold full conversations with plants. you’ve only ever spoken to civilised pot plants living in houses or cafes. out of curiosity, you decide to speak with a lonely weed living in a dark alleyway. | It was late. The alcohol in my system thrummed in my head, and the exhaustion of the solid two hours of dancing of which I had just partaken had begun to envelop me. I’d gone out the back entrance of the club to avoid the crowds, and shivering, I burrowed deeper into the fluffy-edged faux fur coat I wore. My heels ground on the wet concrete beneath them, and I perilously wobbled as I lowered myself to the curb.
I messaged a friend to come pick me up, but I wasn’t going to wait out the front of the club, not yet. I moaned through another wave of drunkenness, a thought slowly swimming through my poor head - I was lonely. And far too drunk.
Normally I would talk to a plant. Sometimes they spoke back. Geraniums were friendly and down-to-earth, they’d talk to anyone. Roses were sweet and not as snobby as you think they’d be. I quite liked cactuses, they were straightforward and didn’t say much.
I couldn’t always talk to plants, but once I started, I couldn‘t really stop. Normally I did it in compete seclusion. On this particular evening, I was too drunk to care about that. I was in a dingy, dark alleyway, very drunk, I had fifteen minutes to kill and I still felt the dying embers of sociability before I was to stumble off for home.
Sighing, I looked around, head swaying in uncoordinated turns as I squinted and scanned my surrounding. And there it was.
Across the alleyway, growing out of a crack that ran from the concrete on the ground, up into the wall of the building in front of me, was a single, solitary dandelion. The round, yellow bloom, like sunshine caught in a jar, was striking against the battered, brown wall behind it. It caught the light of the glowing signage above the back door behind me, and in a light evening breeze, it shuddered and swung in a delicate loop.
I smiled, eager to hear the thoughts of such a sweet little bloom in such hopeless darkness. Huddling in my jacket, I looked to the flower.
”Hey-“
”Piss off!”
There was no arguing with the rage of a weed. I nodded and pulled my phone out of my bag. I discovered there was nothing more awkward than sitting alone in the dark with a dandelion that hated you. | [Poem]
A dark night sky
So late I wander
I spot a plant
Leaves droop with somber
I wander close
I whisper near
To this plant
Only I can hear
I ask him quietly
And hush my tone
"Do you know what it's like
To feel alone?"
He sways solemnly
In the cool breeze
He turns to me
And in his leaves I see
A shadowy glimpse of reality
As he speaks to me
"What the f*** kinda philosophical bullsh*t is that?!"
I take a pause
My eyes go wide
I hide a blush
And cry inside
I dash away
Into the night
Now knowing that plants arent always so nice :(
Edit: sorry about the formatting! On mobile. | 2020-02-18T07:55:31 | 2020-02-18T06:45:11 | 91 | 14 |
[WP] As it turns out, aliens all have aphantasia. This makes Humans the only species capable of imagining images in their heads. This greatly confuses alien telepaths, who report seeing “constantly shifting landscapes of alternate realities” when peering into human minds | "Remarkable," Zh'rf whispered inwardly, as they studied their instruments. "Come. Notice this, Grh'll."
Zh'rf sensed movement and a rising interest from their shipmate, as Grh'll settled their mass beside Zh'rf.
A few moments of focus passed silently between the xenobiologists as Grh'll parsed the live data feed streaming from the water-covered planet below.
"Remarkable." Grh'll concluded. "This species has evolved functional quantum processors from *protein*. They can shift their perspective between spatial dimensions without the need of an external processor."
Zh'rf silently acknowledged the assessment.
The two continued studying the data stream in silence.
"Odd," Grh'll mulled. "The information they have encoded in their electromagnetic emanations suggests they believe their lives to be entirely linear in nature."
Zh'rf bristled, "Do they not understand the physical nature of reality? How is it possible that creatures who can selectively move their perceptions fluidly between 5th dimensional space are unaware of their ability to do so?"
"They *are* low-band sensory animals," Grh'll proposed.
Zh'rf considered for a moment. It was logical. Creatures who perceived the universe primarily through a small subset of vibrations would necessarily have a limited scope of perception. "Fair," they concluded.
"Regardless." Grh'll stated. "We should report this. Cross-discipline study seems warranted."
"Agreed," Zh'rf affirmed. "Shall we take a sample as evidence?"
"Yes. That would be prudent." Grh'll approved.
Grh'll moved their mass back towards the research vessel's command interface and quickly targeted a particularly active quantum signature for temporary extract protocol.
At Grh'll's command, the research vessel folded 3rd dimensional space, warping the targeted specimen into the containment facility.
With the specimen secured the two Xenobiologists returned home.
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Zh'rf's people learned much in the intervening passage of time. Zh'rf's prediction--based on the quantum wavelength collapse patterns Zh'rf and Grh'll had perceived above the water-covered planet--proved true. The subject's "brain", as the specimen itself had termed it, was indeed a remarkably efficient quantum processing unit, albeit unorthodox in construction. Those of more technically focused disciplines had found--through admittedly embarrassing trial and error--how to best interface with the specimen's "brain". What they found was nothing short of perplexing.
This species, "homo sapien" they termed themselves, was not as unperceptive as Zh'rf and Grh'll had first postulated. They merely did not understand their perception of space outside of the 3rd dimension. Their "brain", very strangely, contained a thin module they termed a "claustrum" which worked to filter all sensory information--including input received from 4th, 5th, and higher dimensional space--in a way optimized for navigating the 3rd dimension.
As a result, to them, as to Zh'rf's species, life seemed a straight line. But unlike Zh'rf's species "homo sapiens" possessed the unique ability to not only view multi-dimensional information--through modeling processes they term "inspiration" and "imagination" which displayed information internally as a 3rd dimensional projection--but to literally shift their attention and perception between timelines, *without* using an external interface. Naturally, the "claustrum" selected for timelines that on immediate observation did not disagree with existing protein markers--which the specimen internally refers to as "memory".
These findings suggested that the primary perception of this species would inherently opt for a timeline in which their lives continued entirely as expected. What this meant, was that--theoretically--as far as the specimen was concerned, they had never been collected at all. Of course, some physicists proposed that a handful of specimens may perceive the collection process and pursuant experiments as a "dream" or "hallucination" and that there may not be a reasonable point along the 4th dimension that allows for continuity of perception, which would obviously result in perceived loss of time. But this was just theory, no one knew for certain.
Not yet, anyways.
Other research vessels had already begun returning to the planet to collect more samples to verify findings and to perform further experiments. Zh'rf themselves had just received an assignment indicating they and Grh'll, alongside a pair of Xenoanthropologists, were to return for continued observation of the planet.
But something bothered Zh'rf.
Zh'rf knew, as all their kind did, that the universe existed within a self-simulating strange loop. Every moment perceived was itself the totality of existence. Zh'rf existed because perception itself demanded it to be so.
But this species. They perceived, within their minds, entire timelines, entire universes unto themselves.
Zh'rf wondered: "What happens to these universes when these marvelous creatures stop paying attention? When they forget the worlds and the individuals they created through their collective focus?"
Zh'rf pondered this for a long time.
And then the model reached its end. | With a shiver and a start, the boy awoke, sitting bolt upright.
Desperately he had tried to cling to his sleep, but a foreboding feeling in his gut had torn him from his dream. Reflexively, he looked around him, expecting to find himself still wrapped in his bedsheets.
What he did see, however, promptly alarmed him.
Inexplicably, he was surrounded by a vast expanse of white. Nothingness. Maybe he had hit his head on the bookshelf above his bed.
He blinked a few times to see if that would help. It didn’t. A shiver ran up his spine.
Then he looked up.
An enormous eye hovered in the bleached landscape, towering over him. Its iris seemed to be every color all at once, and very intently fixated on the tiny figure below. Unsettlingly, its multicolored eyelashes were moving independently of one another, wriggling in a way that deepened the pit in his stomach. The eye did not blink.
The boy, frozen in fear, returned this stare. He tried to move, but could not - so awed was he by the eye’s colossal appearance.
A strange sensation brushed against the forefront of his mind. Then again, stronger. Suddenly, he heard a voice, echoing dissonantly within and between his ears. *Awake*.
A wave of curiosity washed over him; after a moment he realized it was coming from the Eye. It completely overrode his fear, and he found himself equally curious. His throat was still dry, but he choked out, “What are you? What do you want with me?”
The Eye was closer now, so large it blotted out perception of anything else. *Collecting*. It seemed to ignore the first question.
“Collecting what?”
*Dreams*.
“Why?”
Curiosity flowed from the creature again, co-mingling with a spray of jealousy. *You see. I see. But I do not remember.*
An eyelash snaked towards him; he was still rooted firmly where he sat, watching helplessly. The tentacle gently touched his temple and changed color to a brilliant, glowing blue before snaking away. The massive sclera and iris morphed: an image of cloudless skies and a palace of ivory on shifting sands appeared, as if on a movie screen.
“That was my dream,” he murmured.
*Beautiful*, echoed the Eye wistfully. The image faded; the iris stared down at him once more. *Mine, now*.
Irritation welled up in the boy with a ferocity that seemed to surprise the creature; it clearly sensed that. “You have no right! You’re a thief! Be happy with your own dreams, leave people to theirs!”
The Eye seemed to move ever closer, until he was staring directly into its black pupil. It was as tall as he was. A mixture of exasperation and a sharp sadness overcame him. *I cannot*.
“Then leave me be!”
*As you wish*, the Eye intoned mournfully. Its pupil was even closer now.
“How do I know I’m not dreaming right now?” he spat, his anger bringing him to his feet. He could see his reflection in the pupil now; his own thin little face glared at him spitefully.
Without warning, the pupil swallowed the boy, heaving him into pitch-darkness. He *felt* rather than saw the massive eyelid shut. As unconsciousness enveloped him, the Eye’s disembodied voice rang in his head one last time, melancholy in every syllable.
*You will remember*. | 2022-03-03T11:19:30 | 2022-03-03T10:31:26 | 145 | 22 |
[WP] You are a villain famous for “killing” heroes. In reality, heroes come to you to fake their deaths. | My clients are charged with the Sisyphean task of protecting the world from all that would threaten it. Sleepless nights and limitless sacrifice are the jewels which adorn the crown that weighs heavy on the hero’s head.
My job is simple. I relieve them of that burden.
“I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. It never ends. I save a group of school children and get blamed for not stopping a bank robbery on the other side of town. I save the world from an Alien invasion and do I get a break? No. The fucking bastard Dr. Rock decides he’s going to explode a fucking volcano. I’m blamed for collateral damage left and right. I just want to rest. I just want to enjoy my family while I can. I want to live a normal life.”
I nodded at the hero and gave him my best look of understanding. “I know, I know. The world is selfish. I liken it to a petulant child with the survival instincts of a gerbil. What an exhausting experience it must be to protect and serve such a fragile organism.”
The hero pointed at me, and nodded his head. “Yes! That’s exactly it. How is it that the world would fall apart without me? How did it survive without me in the first place?”
“Look, Dave. May I call you Dave? The hard truth is that the world would and will get along just fine without you. I’ve heard this story innumerable times at this point. The hero’s messianic tendencies serve only to deliver suffering and despair squarely upon the head of the hero and the public the hero claims to serve.
“And, listen, the truth of the matter is that whatever void you leave by disappearing will take no time to fill. The fact of the matter is this: hero’s are are dime a dozen. It sounds harsh, but you will not be missed—at least not in any sense that matters.”
“You’re a real gem, you know that? If this arrangement doesn’t work out you’ve got a future in motivational speaking, Doc.”
“I’ve never claimed to provide emotional support to my clients. Only relief.”
“Sure. So how’s this going to work exactly?”
“We stage your death. You will confront me and attempt to thwart my plot in progress. We’ll escalate things to such a point that we attract media attention. I’ll use my telepathic abilities to influence every person watching. I’ll make them think they saw you die a very public and gruesome death. You’ll gain a forever grateful public without ever having to serve them again. They’ll erect statues of you. Meanwhile, you and your family will be halfway across the world, on a beach somewhere, going by different names.”
“That all sounds reasonable. It’s just—how do you know it will work?”
“You’ll be the 15th hero whom I’ve helped disappear. It has worked every time before. There’s no reason to believe it won’t work again.”
“Ok. I’m in,” said the hero with a smile, the first he’d cracked since he entered my offices. I saw hope wash over his face like the potential waves in the island paradise I was sure he was picturing in his mind’s eye.
“No so fast,” I said as shifted the paperwork on my desk. “I haven’t accepted the job yet. There’s one question you must answer correctly before I’ll accept the case.”
The smile faded from the hero’s face. “Ok, ask away.”
“Why?”
“Why? Why what?”
This was my favorite part. I just stared at him, just as I’d stared at every hero before him. He shifted in his chair.
“Why do I want to leave it all behind? I’ve already answered that. I’m tired of the burden of it all.”
I just stared.
“Why did I become a hero? Is that what you want? I became a hero because I thought I could make a difference. I lost my parents at a young age; I swore that no child would feel my pain if I could help it. I thought I could do something that other people couldn’t do: I could make the world a better place through my abilities.”
The most common case in my tenure: a narcissist with a messiah complex. I veiled my disdain with a forced smile. “Isn’t that what we’re all after?”
“Well sure. But how much can I be expected to give? How much more can I offer? How much will be enough? Will the world not be satisfied until I’ve given it everything?”
“That’s precisely the point. The world will never be satisfied until it sees you martyred in its honor.”
“Then I want out! I need out!” Pleaded the hero.
I had heard all I needed to hear. He was no different from any of my other clients, fit my modus operandi to a tee. Burdened, skilled, oblivious, selfish, reckless. He was clueless to the fact that everywhere he went he inspired new villains. Every kid he failed to save spawned a vengeful parent. Every parent he failed to save spawned a vengeful child. He was blind to the pain and suffering—collateral damage in the hero’s words—he begot.
The hero does not protect the world. No. The hero endangers it.
I knew it was time. I must relieve the hero of his burden. I must relieve the world of its burden.
I smiled at the hero as charmingly as I could muster. “Ok, Dave. One final question.”
“Shoot,” he said.
“Any last words?”
He laughed.
I stared.
“What the fuck are you—“
I shot him through the head. A crimson stream carried the hero’s weight from his mind and pooled it on my desk.
“Marty, can you come clean this up?”
I stared outside my window. Another one down. Another would take his place before long. Another boulder to roll up the mountain. It never ended, but that was my burden to bear.
Heavy is the head of the hero.
_______
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, please check out r/InMyLife42Archive | The door bell chimed and a tall man walked in, his hoodie pulled up. Dark shades and a blue mask obscured his face. The waitress walked up to him asking if he needed a seat. He said something and then looked around, I smiled and waved at him and the waitress walked him to my table.
"Hey Max, how's it been. No long time no see" I shook his hand and did a little fist bump like we old college friends.
"Can I get you something?" The waitress asked him, taking out her tablet to send the order.
"Just a cafe latte please"
"Alright I'll be back"
"Uh.. Jess can I get a double chocolate carrot cake please" It was the code to tell her not to bother us and to leave the tables near us empty. I have had prior arrangements with the cafe owner and we have come to an understanding.
Two seconds of silence passed as we took in each other. The man sat Infront of me was no other then the well known metahuman hero PowerShot. Invulnerable to all known weapons, unnaturally strong, shoots laser blasts from his fists and he can fly too.
"So why here?"
"Let's wait for your coffee before we talk business." I took a bite of my pain au chocolat. "You should try the pastries over here they're incredible."
"Maybe I should"
Jess came by and placed a cup of steaming cafe latte for PowerShot. " And your double chocolate carrot cake" She put down a croissant sandwich on the table
"Ham?"
"Tuna." She smiled at me.
"I was hoping for ham"
"Well its a busy day. if you came in on Tuesday we might have had the ham"
"Alright thanks Jess." She left us alone and we to greet the new customers that's just walked in.
"We have 10 minutes. I was hoping for at least an hour but you heard what she said. So how you want it to be?"
"Big blast in downtown at midday? Make it flashy"
"Pfft. You kidding? People still remember the Atomaton thing. A big blast would be suspicious. It's gotta be something you are weak to"
"I can't tell you my weakness. What if somebody gets to it. How do I know you won't tell anyone?"
"Really? Have you considered what you are asking me to do here and how ridiculous it is? Nobody gonna know you are still around after this. We have to make it real. So that everyone, and I mean everyone knows you are out of the game. And you must be out of it, no coming back even if you see the sky is falling down in pieces. Because if you come back then I am going to be in trouble. So it's a two street here. You want to do this or not. If you don't trust me, then do it for Lisa"
He sighed, he stared at me. Although I can't see his eyes under the shades but I knew he was thinking of Lisa and the baby they're going to have. He's gonna have a family soon and he can't risk them by being PowerShot, he needs to be nobody just another civilian on the street. It's not the first time I've done this nor will it be the last time. I was a hero too, I know how hard and tiring it could be. Some people just want out, or to take break, else you gonna have more villains than heroes. That's why I do this, deep inside I'm still a good guy. So far no one has figured it out yet, plus me being a multidimensional parahuman means no one has cause to doubt me.
"Acetaminophen" he suddenly said
"What?" I was caught off guard by what he said.
"I'm allergic to it. Always have been. It wont kill me outright but it will knock me out for a few hours."
"You mean all this while all it would take was a little pain killer and it would finish you off?!" I was stunned.
"Yeah funny isn't it, turns out I am just human. I wanna live like other people too and I can't do that while I am what I am. So how's it gonna go?"
"Let me worry about that, it's gonna be sudden but you're gonna know it. You just worry about Lisa and your new life"
Jess came around. "So how will you settle the bill?" | 2022-12-22T20:29:22 | 2022-12-22T19:39:14 | 314 | 217 |
[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. | "A long time ago, before we were slaves to the Sura, before we taught other species to travel the stars, before The Age of Other Suns, our people were a desperate, lost species."
"What happened?"
"A lot of it is sort of myth now. It's difficult to know exactly. What we do know is the Earth became unlivable. And it was our fault. People back then, they had no hope. Their accounts are of melting roads, power failures, rising oceans. Entire cultures were lost underwater, apparently."
"These oceans?" Raziel placed a finger on the globe on Zhuge's dresser.
"The very same, larger of course. Anyway, we had nowhere to go, and even though we could travel to Mars at the time, there really wasn't anywhere to go locally. So our people rallied together to find a way off of the Earth."
"Seems so strange now. We can get across the galaxy in a few hours."
"But anyway, the ships were too heavy right, so we had to find a way to get them some lift. Supposedly when we came back to the Earth some centuries later the remains of destroyed and failed ships were still there collecting dust. But we persisted."
Raziel sat on Zhuge's bed, thumbing through an ancient tome about something called "flyfishing."
"They couldn't have known they'd succeed. Why keep trying instead of trying to save the planet?"
"My dad liked to say it was because we were strong-willed, and had a desperate need to explore. But I think--"
"Hey Zhuge, you see these, what are these, pictures of some kind? They aren't 3D! And what are these people wearing anyway? Where is this?"
"--we were too stubborn. A lot of books I read from that time talk about space. Lots of em. I think we were just stubborn ya know? We wanted to prove we could do it. It was not about saving us, it was about giving the universe a middle finger."
"But what about the pictures, Zhuge?" | 2017-11-22T16:03:24 | 2017-11-22T15:51:46 | 188 | 54 |
[WP] After North Korea declares that they will start a nuclear war if a single bullet is fired The Us military goes medieval | Not a bullet was the rule. The rules would be followed. Not a bullet.
A 60 meter long, 1 meter wide metal rod is not a bullet. It is not fired from a gun, nor does it use a shell. A thin core of ferrous titanium alloy, surrounded by layers of steel, coated with a sheet of radar scattering ceramics, and tungsten to take heat. Not a bullet by anyone's definition.
The orbital platform was most definitely a gun, however. A 300 meter long railgun, the third most expensive project ever created by a world's military. It could only ever fire a few times, lest it fly off out of orbit. Any analyst would have said it was a waste, but the pentagon loved it. It was constructed in secret, launched amid hundreds of other launches from 30 brand new spaceports around the country, a single warship in a fleet of cruise ships. The public reveled in the joy of a new space program and stood in awe as they saw the wonders built upon the moon. No one saw the platform, and no one saw the rocket that loaded the rod onto the platform.
The North Koreans laughed, unaware. They readied missiles, and they dug tunnels. Who would dare attack them? The platform was finished, the calculations done. The rod would hit true and it would hit silent.
The platform shuddered on a sunny November morning, swinging over Europe. Something flashed east over Russia, arcing past China. A astronomer in Poland frowned in curiosity as a satellite spun strangely through his telescope's view. A handful of american tourists wondered why the state department had called them back - what was going on? A guard in pyongyang picked up a radio.
The rod touched the ground, and the world shook. A trillion tons of igneous rock melted, and 2 million people died. A palace where a dictator slept crumbled to gravel, and filled with flames.
Not a bullet was fired | I'm sharpening my knives mom sent me from back home in Kansas while pulling guard in the war room, thousands of miles away from home, missing my girl and thinking about muscle cars when suddenly, the radar picks up 3 blips coming from the North at ballistic speeds.
*The end.* | 2017-03-19T08:27:42 | 2017-03-19T07:18:14 | 35 | 19 |
[WP] A suicide hotline operator realizes that the person he's talking down really should kill themselves. | “Hello, this is suicide assistance. My name is Frannia, how can I assist you today?” It was my first day on the job as a suicide prevention operator. In fact, I was just hired, but, not wanting to reveal my novelty, I kept a steady pitch and waited patiently for the caller to speak.
“Um… my name is Shizo. I need help.” Finally came a reply.
“How can I be of service, Shizo?”
“Look, I killed my entire family yesterday. It was an accident. I have a horrible disorder that sometimes I can’t control my consciousness. I can’t forgive myself but I didn’t do it on purpose. I just need someone to tell me that it’s okay, that I deserve a second chance, that even a killer can be forgiven.”
A long pause ensued. My eyes teared up with hatred. “Sorry Shizo, I can’t help you. My family was murdered by a psychopath yesterday as well. I can’t forgive a killer.”
“I just need someone to tell me it’s okay. Just one person who believes in me.” The desperation in his voice was as strong as my hatred.
“Sorry, I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. I know it’s not your fault, but I just can’t forgive you.”
“PLEASE. Lie to me! You’re a suicide prevention operator for god’s sake! You’re suppose to convince me that my life is worth living. It’s like the opposite right now…” The caller started sobbing intensely, his words unclear but the meaning still understood.
I’m sobbing too now, “I’m sorry. I can’t. I just can’t. I wish I can, but I can’t. People like you… You are dangerous. You killed my family and you don’t deserve to be part of society! YOU SHOULD JUST DIE!”
For a second, nothing happened. Then it was clear the message got across when a deathly gun shot was heard by neither party.
In the middle of the room was Shizo Frannia with two phones, a gun, and a bullet in his head. | Not to get in the way of people being creative but there is Never a time where a Crisis line operator would think this. It goes against everything they are trained to do, the person on the other end of the line is looking to you for help. Unless you've been in that situation, you really have no idea how invested these operators get in trying to preserve another person's life. Also, we make a professional point not to judge anyone who calls into a crisis line, to pull a 180 would go against literally everything they stand for. Suicide is never the answer | 2013-12-23T15:47:58 | 2013-12-23T14:21:09 | 179 | 10 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus inside every single human. Centuries into the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don’t stay dead easily. | We don’t usually turn anymore. It’s a rare occurrence. When we die, or when there’s a chance of us dying, we get put into a Z-Ward.
Z-Wards are like a sort of hospice, except from the outside they look like a prison. Guards on watchtowers, 15-foot high cement walls lined with barbed-wire, and massive metal doors built into the foundation. When they know you’re about to die, they kill you. Now I know that sounds bad, but the alternative is the downfall of civilization. They make it nice, you can be asleep or awake if you want. A quick stick in the back of the head and it’s lights out, no pain. That way we don’t come back.
Sometimes small outbreaks happen, say someone dies in the woods or alone at home. But it takes a full day, sometimes up to 30 hours before they wake up. We usually find them and call the Zetas.
The Zetas show up, clear the area for more bodies, roamers, or bitten, and then you’re fine. Most people haven’t even seen an actual zombie, save for some Zeta squad members. It’s been so long since we passed the Bill of the Dead that now we just accept our new way of life and most people don’t turn.
All these checks, all these precautions we took, and eventually we reclaimed the entire world. No one turns unless they die and rot alone, which in the modern world is rare.
Until of course, the coming.
Zombies, okay. We’ve seen the movies, we know to shoot for the brain and abound bites. We know that bodies will turn unless their brain is destroyed. Half the people who watched movies had a baseball bat or a tire iron handy in case the zombies came.
But aliens, we weren’t prepared for aliens. They were bigger than us, stronger than us, and smarter than us. They came with superior numbers and technology, more than enough to wipe out an entire race. When they landed their ground-assault crafts all over the world in every major city, people were shot down in droves by lasers and explosions. Bodies littered the streets of every continent, and the aliens set up a home base in the center of every city. We fought them to no avail, and for the first 24 hours it appeared that humanity would soon be gone.
Then, the dead awoke once again. But this time, their enemy wasn’t prepared. They had no knowledge of zombies, no concept of the living dead. The aliens with all their might and prowess were torn apart by the masses. Though they were immune to the disease being that they weren’t carbon based life forms themselves, they unwittingly turned every fearful citizen into a soldier that would refuse to go down. Even the children and the elderly tore into the aliens, consuming their flesh and pushing into their landing crafts, killing billions of them in the span of a few hours. Only 2 ships were able to leave the earth, and in the past 180 years they haven’t been back.
You know, cleaning the world of zombies a second time is much easier when you’ve just been given access to unlimited renewable energy sources and weapons capable of burning through armor. Turns out the only thing limiting the aliens was their own fear and lack of preparedness, because we found their technology was particularly useful against zombies.
We fought the zombies, and they gave us a gift that saved our species. We fought the aliens, and they gave us a gift that propelled our species into the future.
Now, we’ve figured out technologies that those aliens couldn’t ever have dreamed of, a perfect fusion of biology and technology. The newest invention, an inhibitor chip that stops you from turning. Every human is set to have one installed, and it can be turned on and off.
We’ve also perfected the technology of wormhole travel, and we plan on paying those aliens a visit. A shame they left some of their navigational data, because now we know just how to find them. And when we do, we’ll invade them right back. Should they succeed in defending against our numbers, we’ll flip the switch on our inhibitors and see if they can do it again a second time. | You should have seen the arrogant bastards!
Yes, they took out our satellites and air defense in seconds upon arriving in orbit. Yes, they fired precision strikes agianst key military positions from orbit, destroying our infrastructures before they even made planetfall. But we were here to give our lives and blood for this planet
I'll give them this, when they came into our cities they came in themselves. They didnt pull none of that sci-fi mech warrior bull crap, or War of the World's alien tripods things! They rolled up with infantry, personnel vehicles, and close air support. But God were there thousands of them!
My reserve unit had fortied a main road in Houston when the aliens started to make landfall. Preparing for an alien attack was remarkable similar to preparing for dealing with the Z's, so we did just like in the training drills.
Then the bastards hit us. Flooding the streets just like the Z's did 20 years ago! We fought hard and killed as many of them as we could before we were given the order to fall back.
All over the world nations were confronting the alien menace, throwing there nations patroits and heroes at the alien threat, only to be killed by the enemy. Humanities armies would then retreat to underground bunker and safe areas to allow their fallen dead to enact phase 2 of the plan.
It was hypothesized by the egg heads that the alien's biochemistry was similar to ours. This would explain why their entire species was migrating to our planet to take it over. And hopefully not only were the aliens similar to us, they could catch our diseases.
After 2 days of laying low in a destroyed building, enduring bombing run after bombing run, me and my men realized we hadn't seen any of the alien infantry attack in over 8 hours.
"Sgt, I got contact by the van," one of my men told me. I grab his binoculars and looked out down the crater marked street.
Out of the smoke and dust I could see the flat black armor of our enemy, but it was stumbling. It came closer wobbling from side to side. But now it was followed by more of its kind. They all began to amass together in the open!
"They are infected!" I heard my Corporal say. We all cheered at this and called it in.
Soon after that orders came in to reclaim our cities. This virus is a bastard and it will probably mutate on all us. The infected aliens could decide they want to start eating humans too. Oh well, at least we all in the same mess together.
Whats that Will Smith line? "Welcome to Earth" | 2022-09-14T05:30:54 | 2022-09-14T02:09:33 | 77 | 31 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | My wedding was the event of the century.
Our people had waited for a queen for such a long time, and I was the first female born into the royal family in close to 200 years. 200 years without a woman of royal blood on the throne had meant 200 very hard years. It is well known among my people that there cannot be prosperity without one. I was born into a country run ragged by war, famine, and misery.
At my birth, there were festivals. Even now, the shops close down that day every year, and the whole kingdom celebrates. When my 18th birthday arrived, the festivities around my Summoning lasted an entire week.
That day will always stand out in my memories. I was so nervous—the object a person summons shapes the rest of their lives. I knew, standing shaking on a high tower above the castle, looked on by thousands of my people, exactly who I needed to be. Who I needed to marry. As I stood with my hand outstretched, I felt ready to be sick. All I had to do was summon the wrong object, and the entire kingdom would be crushed.
There was a crash from below, a window breaking. The crowd before me cried out, able to see what was coming for me before I could. I couldn’t tell if it was joy or horror. I started feeling faint. I closed my eyes.
I have never in my life felt the kind of relief that I did when I felt my father’s crown places itself gently into my outstretched hand. This was my life. To be a Queen. To serve my people. This was all I had ever wanted.
According to tradition, a queen cannot take the throne until her consort has been chosen, and with my mother gone and my father growing more frail every day, my wedding was set for a year later. In truth, getting to marry Jack was one of the greatest gifts of my high birth. I had known him since I was too young to remember anything, and identified him as my chosen husband before I was old enough to consider that I might want to think about marrying anyone else. There had been some raised eyebrows when I announced to my father and to the court that I had decided to marry him, but I was their first queen in 200 years. I could marry anyone I liked, even the son of the blacksmith. I loved Jack with every part of me. There wasn’t anyone else in the world I would like to have next to me on the throne. He had a calm, gentle strength, and a quick mind. I often thought that, really, he would be a better ruler than I. At his Summoning, he’d brought forth a pen—a common item, but one that often came to those of sound judgement.
Preparations for the wedding began in earnest more than a month before the day, and as there began to be signs of the day approaching, the celebrations began as well. There was scarcely talk of anything else. Finally, the moment arrived that everyone had anticipated since my birth—I would take the hand of my consort and ascend to the throne.
I was wearing most of the jewels in the royal treasury. I had never felt more at peace than I did, standing next to Jack at the alter, ready to step into my destiny. As the High Priest began the wedding rites, I felt so calm I thought I might just melt away into the floor. I closed my eyes, taking it all in. It was as if I was the only thing in existence. The world fell silent, peaceful. I took a deep breath. Somehow, inside the great stone cathedral, I could smell the summer breeze. I could hear the call of a bird. I felt a hand on my shoulder. Must be Jack. Pulling myself back to reality, I lazily opened my eyes.
The hand did not belong to Jack. I was no longer in the great cathedral.
Bewildered, I looked around to find myself at the edge of a field. There was a small cottage nearby. I was at the smallest, humblest party I’d ever attended. My heart began to pound as I saw the decorations and emblems around me that declared exactly what sort of party this was—a Summoning Celebration.
I looked at the hand on my shoulder, followed the arm up until it connected to a girl of 18. Her face displayed equal parts confusion, horror, and happiness. I felt sure that there was a similar look on mine. It had been so long since someone had summoned their soulmate that the possibility was widely believed to be a myth. Nobody spoke. Probably, nobody breathed.
She was quite beautiful. The girl.
The longer I stared at her, the more I felt something shift inside me. Something deep, fundamental.
A queen on the throne meant prosperity for a kingdom that had been suffering so long. Two of them would probably mean the greatest age of prosperity anyone has ever seen. And if we hurry, we probably won’t even have to plan a new wedding. | —disclaimer—
English is not my first language. And i am purely on my mobile. So any typos and stuff, please report them below. Thank you.
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It was my 18th Birthday after all. Everybody in my whole family has distinctive remembrance of the day they turned that age. It is the day, you can summon for the first time in your life. Some people summon other people and find their Soulmate. Others pull objects out of thin air and they will become their destiny in life. My brother summoned a wrench and got mechanic in the shop down the road. No engine in the world, he can’t fix. My mom had a syringe. Guess what. She is a doctor.
Today it was my turn. Sure, i was excited, but in the same way I was affraid. What or who will it be. There’s no mechanism you can decide what you summon. Destiny decides for you. Or the cosmic realm, or whatever. And you can’t summon something else if you don’t like what you get.
After the fate has chosen what you get to summon, you only can summon this. As much or less as you like.
My mom was getting the dinner ready for the family. My dad, my brother, even my grand dad and mom were there to witness my summoning. We first had my dinner and then it began. I was about to summon for the first time in my life.
In the years this happened we had a kind of ritual for that. You would stand in front of your family, stretch your arm in front of you, perpendicular to your body, and hold up your hand, palm upside. Then concentrate and BAM. There should be your summoning in your hand, or in front of you if it was too big for your hand to hold it. So I got ready. Standing 6 feet from my family (the security perimeter ) in pose and ready. I concentrated my will but for the first 10 seconds, nothing was happening. Most freshmen needed 6 seconds or so. Mike (my brother) can summon his wrench within a second or less. 20 seconds passed. Nothing. 30, 40....
As if the universe had issues to grant me a proper thing to summon. A minute went by. Still nothing in my hand. But I felt a coldness on my fingertips. „I can feel something.... Is it getting cold in here?“
„Not more than usual.“ my father exclaimed, slightly confused.
The cold feeling spread out fast. Within 3 seconds my arm felt like frostbitten. And then i felt it. Pure cold. Dark. So cold it would stop any movement in atoms. So dark it would end all light. I can’t describe it better. Take Vantablack and double the darkness. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw, was my family in Schock. My dad was so pale, you couldn’t determine the borderline between him, and the white wall behind him. My mom was about to faint.
Then I looked into my hand. I did t summon one thing. I summoned 2
The first was hanging over my forearm like I was a dark waiter. The second was in my hand. I summoned a scythe and a black robe.
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Criticism is welcome. My first story in a foreign language.
Edit: some typos | 2019-09-18T10:56:31 | 2019-09-18T10:21:20 | 29 | 14 |
[WP] You’ve traveled a great distance to finally court the princess. Many others have tried and failed. Why? At the end of a week with her, you must duel her to the death. She is the greatest sword fighter in the land, so your only hope is to convince her to call off the fight. | "So, uh, we'll have to fight to the death?"
The princess shrugged. "Yeah."
"Okay, so... thing is, I'll definitely lose," I admit. "I'm not exactly a fighter, and I'm honestly still not sure why I'm here."
"My father said that you could be worthy of me," she replies, nonchalantly stoking the flame before us. Her chambers are cozy and modest, despite her status. "I doubt it, however. The only worthy man in the world can best me at swordplay. And as you already admitted, you certainly can't."
"Right, but... when you do find that worthy guy, what do you envision your life being like after he wins?"
"We will live in splendor and sexual bliss."
"You mean, after he wins."
"Correct."
I frown at her remark. "You mean, after he wins a fight, to the DEATH."
"Yes, as we've already discussed." She casts me a derisive glance. "You're not very bright, are you?"
I ignore her remark, for the time being. "I'm sorry, I just want to make sure we're on the same page here - after this mysterious suitor wins, a fight to the death, you envision a life with him?"
"Yes, why is this so hard to grasp for you?" She levels the poker she was stoking the fireplace with at my eye with a sneer. "Perhaps I should end this now, to put you out of your misery."
I pinch the bridge of my nose in irritation. "Princess, if you fight to the death and lose, what happens?"
"You die, fool."
"Right. And then?"
"And then you are buried with the rest of your idiot ancestors."
"Right. So, if you lose a fight to the death with your suitor, how would you then live a life with him, if you are dead?"
She hesitates for a moment, before coming back with a snappy answer. "Well... if I were going to be killed, then the fight would be ended, you foolish man."
"So then he wouldn't have won."
"What?"
"By law, you only win a fight to the death when your opponent is dead. Your opponent cannot forfeit. If you accept a forfeiture, you are executed as a coward. So how do you expect to marry a man that has either killed you, or been executed for sparing you?"
"Uh..." She finally lowers the poker, and I release a breath I didn't realize I had been holding. "I just assumed... that the rules would not apply to me. After all, I am royalty..."
"Then it wouldn't be a real fight to the death, would it?"
"No... No, I suppose it would not."
"So? What will you do now?"
She stares at me for a moment, as if contemplating something. "I suppose I will follow a... different human tradition." The dragon princess stands, her wings twitching restlessly as she stretches. "The 'shotgun wedding'."
"Wait, what?"
And that's how I went from taking a nap in a field, to being kidnapped by the head of a local family of dragons with a human- obsessed daughter, to being married to a dragon, all within one day.
No, I don't understand it, either. | “Princess, there is one last contestant who wishes to face you in trial!”
The princess looked up, carelessly tossing aside the bloodied rag she had been using to clean her blade. Behind her, a wooden cart dragging away the remains of the previous combatant. She gave the stranger a curious look, then shrugged it off, slowly striding up to him. Perhaps it was the long, dark robe, or the ragged fiber mask, certainly astray from the usual broad, shiny, heavy, and often restricting regalia worn by most nobles and princes with whom she had fought before. No, this man seemed humbler, almost frightened. This did not worry her, however; if the man’s attire was offsetting it was as much indicative of an untrained peasant or forest dweller. So she stepped up to him, raising her saber to a ready position.
“Draw thy blade, sir, and if thou taketh from me this blade and cut from my neck this stone thou shalt receive my inheritance and in marriage my service.”
The stranger reached deep into his cloak and pulled from it a worn, ragged straw doll, with eyes of dried berry and long, messily braided vine as hair. He spoke in a deep, but soft voice, which seemed at its sound to enact a brief flash of excitement in the princesses eye.
“Princess, I desire naught to fight...”
She looked at the doll for a moment, then cast it aside, and quickly thrust her blade to the stranger’s neck, barely breaking skin.
(Part two comin by tomorrow sometime >:3) | 2020-09-20T21:30:42 | 2020-09-20T20:45:52 | 127 | 21 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist. | Sweat dripped down my nose, mingling with the blood that poured from my mouth. This wasn't going as well as it could. At least my headphones were still in one piece.
The man that stood before me cackled. I had never quite understood what it meant for one to 'cackle'. I figured it had just mean to laugh in an evil matter, but it was so much more in the flesh. It hurt to hear, almost as hard as the fists and feet that had pummeled me.
"Is this all you can do, WalkMan?" He jeered. "Is this the man that defends his city? Pathetic." He shot a glare at the nearest news crew, making sure to look directly at the camera. "This is what you get for trusting a 'hero'. This is what anyone that defies me will get. Bow before me, or perish beneath me!"
He turned back to me, raising both of his fists above his head, preparing to strike with all of his power. I knew what I had to do.
"Hey Siri" I said, coughing and spitting out another tooth. The bluetooth headphones chirped in response, acknowledging that it had heard my prompt.
"Play Forbidden Loop Omega"
The chirp sounded again in acknowledgement. I stood on my one good leg, bracing a hand on the wall to support the broken leg. The man cackled again.
"So you choose to die on your feet. How noble."
As he brought his glowing fists down towards my head, the music swelled in my ears. I brought up one hand and caught the blow with ease. With one quick motion, I broke both of his wrists.
He boggled at me. "No, NO, NONONONO!" He wailed. "How?"
I met his terrified gaze with a blank expression. I couldn't show any emotion. Not with this terrible noise assaulting my ears.
With another twist, I ripped his arms from their sockets. I heard the gasps from the camera crews as they captured every gruesome detail in stunning 4K definition, if their commercials could be believed.
"Dr Doomsday, you are hereby under arrest." I spoke in an even tone, straining to keep my emotions under control. "Officers, take him away." I turned and strode away, before a reporter or police officer could ask me any potentially compromising questions.
As I strode to the parking garage where my personal car was parked, I fumbled with my phone, desperate to stop the song that was consuming me. Bringing me to a dark place.
"We can do it, if we try" I mumbled along, as my fingers typed my password. The Cocomelon song was almost a greater pain in my ears than sung through my broken jaw and missing teeth.
r/SlightlyColdStories if you want. Or don't. It's all up to you. | As I fire up my R.Kelly playlist the villain immeditaly apologizes for everything and starts making repairs to the damage they have done. But its too late, I can't stop the playlist mid song. Crying quietly the villain hears the haunting refrain "My mind's tellin me no...but my body, my body..." as I saunter over with a knowing look and while grin that is almost a snarl spreads across my face.
As the song continues onlookers start begging for mercy. Shouts of 'they've had enough' start to ring out; but I can't turn it off, this has to run its course. The police observe from a safe distance, knowing that there is too much risk to their own safety if they intervene. A few people become physically ill as the dying refrains of "I don't see nuthing wrong, baby, baby" fade to silence.
It all seemed like a blur, I can barely remember the struggle that required this playlist to be engaged. In the immediate aftermath the press want to know why I even have a playlist so terrible on my phone. I simply don't have an answer for them, whatever this curse is it prevents me from adding new songs or deleting old ones from my playlists. | 2022-05-17T09:23:55 | 2022-05-17T09:06:36 | 1,687 | 63 |
[WP] In 1492, Columbus never returned from his voyage to the Americas. Many years later, the New World makes contact first. | On a cool September morning briny wind scraped the shores of Cape Verde. I sucked it in and watched the sunrise, when a sight stronger than coffee rose me from my chair. On the horizon, a ship. But it was unlike any ship I'd ever seen. It was long, flat, with high walls and a spherical sail. As it approached I realized it was heading to Mindelo, so I mounted my horse and made haste, arriving in town just as the foreign ship lumbered carefully to a stop in the bay.
The town was all talk. Where had it come from? It appeared out of the fog, said some. It's from the abyss itself, said others. The more level-headed just said "west".
It wasn't long before a boat of sorts, set out from the larger vessel. This was a strange affair. It was a platform stretched across two pontoons made entirely of long reeds, which glistened in the sun.
"My goodness, look!" cried one of my Portuguese neighbors, who had himself just arrived and dismounted without thinking to tie up his animal.
"Is that *gold*?" he stammered.
As our visiting lancha approached, its three riders became visible. They were adorned completely in gold! Gold armor, gold stockings, a sweeping headdress of golden feathers and another of plate metal and teal-colored gems. Later, when the sun crested the eastern range and its rays struck their ship from a different angle, it suddenly lit up and we knew that it, too, was decorated in gold. Not in a million years could I have imagined such a sight!
The three stepped ashore. One large man. One shorter man. And a powerful-looking woman dressed in beaded animal skins. The woman spoke first, and to the gathering crowd's further astonishment, it was Portuguese.
She said: "We have come in search of truth." She peered confidently over our people, her eyes dissecting us like we were some kind of experiment.
No one spoke, so she continued.
"We know your languages from the crew of the Santa Maria, the Pinta, and the Niña."
Those in the crowd who knew of the Queen's appointed explorer gasped--so he had survived the journey after all!
"We come in search of truth."
"What does that mean?" Someone blurted out. It seemed rude. Then I realized ashamedly that it was me.
She looked at me, deeper than I thought possible. Then she switched to my native Spanish to address me.
"100 of your years ago, your explorers brought disease, and our people suffered, from the Lucayans to the Inca. Our trade nearly collapsed, and our cities nearly depopulated."
"What happened?" I said. The Portuguese understood me well enough to follow along, now and then eyeing the gold like hungry children.
"We survived, and flourished. We learned what we could from your explorers. From their books, their animals, and their technology. It triggered something nascent for our cultures, something timely and urgent. We are powerful now, united, but distinct. From the Aztec to the Pueblo, Navajo and Cherokee; to the Guarani, the Mapuche in the south, and our Inuit friends in the far north. Ours is a coalition of cultures, not unlike yours in some ways, we believe. But the truth is why we have finally come, when we could have come so many moons ago."
By now most of the crowd was either confused by the strange names this woman had listed off, or they were intoxicated beyond the ability to concentrate by the glistening gold.
"What truth?" I said, adjusting my shirt. The day was growing, getting hotter.
"We are here to find out if you have changed."
"Changed?"
"100 years ago our ancestors captured your explorers, who ravaged the land without lifting a finger. Before the last of these died of old age, rainforest shamans performed an ancient rite of passage using ayahuasca, and his truth was revealed to us. Ours was to be a sad tale, one of millions of dead, of land burned and ravaged and fenced, and of agency stricken from our collective cultural power."
"I don't know what that means," I said.
"Your 'exploration' was to be a genocide."
I had maneuvered to the front of the crowd. A couple dozen people had fallen silent behind me.
"I... I don't know that."
"We would like to know the truth."
"You will have to go to the royal courts. We are just a fishing community, and a few merchants."
"What is this land?"
"This is a colony of Portugal... madame," I said, choosing the epithet despite her youth. Something about her confidence demanded it.
The shorter man of the trio said something to the woman in a language I didn't understand. She looked over my shoulder, which is when I turned around and saw the gaping faces, trying awkwardly and failing to hide their transfixation on the gold.
"I don't believe you hear us," said the woman. "We will see if your leaders do."
She spoke another language, and the three returned the boat, went back to their ship and by mid afternoon were gone.
*continued...* | An early morning fog floated above the ocean water, thick enough to obscure the waves until the moment they crashed onto the beach. Behind the encroaching tide lie the city of Palos de la Frontera, its towering Castillo overlooking it's bustling citizenry. Fishermen, some already hauling in a decent catch, bartered with fishmongers; mothers cooked for children before they made their way to school; and noblemen strode around jauntily, looking down upon those of lower standing. Only one noble, Signor Guzman, seemed bereft of joy that day, as he looked wearily out on the smokey waters.
"Something wrong, sir?" a servant interrupted his melancholy, but not enough to snap him from his trance. He spoke out into the air, his eyes locked on the ocean.
"Do you feel that, Alfonso? I feel like today might be the day."
Alfonso hid his true feelings behind a practiced mask: he knew not to dare doubt his employer, though he'd heard this subject many times.
"The day your friend returns? The explorer?"
Guzman turned, his eyes glassy. "Yes, I can feel it. Like a fire bellowing in my stomach, I've never been so sure. But theres something else..."
He turned as his eyes welled up, a weak attempt to keep up his stoic act. He let a word slip from his lips, slide by his teeth and escape from his tongue.
"Death."
The servant hovered, unsure of what his station allowed him to say. He broke the moment by asking the Signor if it was too early for a glass of wine. The noble smiled briefly, telling him it was never too early. Alfonso exited quickly, grateful for an excuse to escape. Guzman continued to look out, and began to squint his eyes. They widened suddenly, and he raced down from the manor's outlook.
It was not a common site to see a noble run through the streets of Palos de la Frontera, and several of its denizens looked sideways as he sprinted by. His dress shoes clapped against the rough stone road as he hurled himself towards the docks. Guzman stopped to catch his breath, and looked over at the ships tied to the docks. The Pinta and the Nina, the two caraval class ships that had accompanied Columbus's journey, loomed over him like tombstones. He kept running, his eyes focused on some invisible object, something the fog coated in thick grey. He reached the end of the dock, and yelled out into the void.
"Christopher!"
Guzman's voice echoed, his cry skipping across the water like a tossed stone. There was silence, for a moment, and then a response. From the fog hissed a black blur, and a feathered arrow thunked in the noble's chest.
He sunk to the ground, grabbing at the stick protruding from his lung, fruitlessly smearing the blood that began to pool on his shirt. Before him, dozens of canoes emerged from the fog. They were massive, carved to resemble various ocean wildlife, and filled with native american warriors. On the lead boat, strung up and bloodied, was his friend. He reached towards him, summoning his strength to call his name out once more. They made eye contact, for only a moment, and Guzman could see the tears running down his face. Columbus raised his arm, weeping with cowardice, and pointed to his dying friend. Two more arrows hit his chest, and he closed his eyes as the ships began to land on the beach. | 2020-09-14T16:38:10 | 2020-09-14T15:19:25 | 77 | 19 |
[WP] You wield a sword that gets sharper the greater the knowledge you tell it. A common known fact dulls the sword while knowledge only a few know sharpens it. | >"One plus one is two."
The blade glowed bright blue and became infinitely dull, nearly flat. Cool.
>"How about this, my favorite color is green."
The blade gleamed a bright red and became sharper than a razor. Not a super important fact, but even if everyone he knew was aware of his favorite color, there were billions and billions of people who didn't know.
>"The sky is blue"
Another bright blue flash, and the blade was flat again. He smiled, finding amusement in the fact that the ancient magical blade was nothing more than just a flashy toy. "How about a tricky one this time? See how the sword handles relative information."
>"Fire is hot"
A lighter blue flash, though it seemed that the blade could not grow any more dull. He laughed. Seems like people know that fire is hot! What a surprise... He thought for a second, "How about a joke this time?"
>"Blondes are dumb“
Nothing. Must not be true. He shrugged. Guess the sword has no sense of humor. "Maybe it'll like a meme?"
>" Birds aren't real"
Suddenly, the sword blazed red, the light so bright that he had to cover his eyes. In his panic, he dropped the sword. It sliced cleanly through the cement of his patio, sticking up in the ground. What the hell??? There's no way. It must have misheard him.
>"Birds are real"
Nothing. Shit. What else?
>"9/11 was an inside job?"
Red flash.
>"We never landed on the moon?"
Red flash.
>"There are are aliens in area 51?"
Red flash.
>"There was a shooter on the grassy knoll?"
Red flash.
>"The illuminati controls the world?"
Red flash. He was panicking. There was no way this sword was telling the truth, but if it was... "Oh no. Oh God, this isn't good."
>"I'm so dead, aren't I?"
Red flash, and the flash of a gun. He would take his newfound secrets to the grave. | The icy wind bites at my lips. My throat is on fire. I panic as I face down The Ice Queen. My blade. I feel it limply in my hands, barely clinging to the skin on my fingers. I think back to what my father said, "Knowledge is power with this blade, ma' boy. Give it a quiz and there ain't nothing it won't cut.". I always thought it was nonsense, but I figured I'll die anyway so why not? I lick my lips, and with the last bit of breath in my lungs, I utter, "Do you want to know something weird about eels?" | 2021-12-01T11:26:44 | 2021-12-01T06:54:51 | 68 | 42 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | I stuck my hand out in a reaching motion in front of the council. Today was the day of my eighteenth birthday. The council was the nine elders who decided what your object meant and recorded it into the official records. If no object arrived within sixty seconds you were labeled as a null and sent to the labor camps where you toiled away mining for LSNA. Nobody was sure what LSNA was used for but Overlord Odin insisted, and so it was. There were rumored prophecies of a great one who would take down Overlord Odin and destroy his stockpile of LSNA, but the enforcers did their best to keep those rumors quiet.
Forty five seconds had passed and my arm was getting mighty sore. Still nothing. I looked at the ground and my hand began to lower. I was starting to accept my doomed fate as a miner. One of the council members opened his mouth to speak, but a powerful whooshing in the distance quickly quieted him down.
My eyes lit up. *I'm not a null!* I thought.
The whooshing grew louder and louder, almost to a deafening roar. My hair whipped around from the wind of it. *This thing, whatever it is, must be gigantic.*
The roar stopped with a hard thump in my hand, and I felt something soft. I looked down at it. "A... cat?" I mumbled as I looked up at the council members. They were beginning to discuss among each other, as they always do at these "ceremonies". It was a fat orange cat who seemed to not care that it was just seconds ago launched at hundreds of miles an hour into my open hand.
A grumble started to emanate from the cat, not unlike a purr, except this purr got louder to the point of the council hearing it over their own talking and quieting them down. The fact that it was an animal was strange enough, let alone the strange noises coming from it, but it wasn't unheard of. Over time the grumble morphed into speech, like a compressor had been placed over the sound and was slowly turning down. The cat's mouth remained closed.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The cat slowly repeated over and over.
Unsure of what to do, I asked it what was wrong. The voice stopped. The cat's head slowly turned to face me. An alarm sounded in the distance. The cat gaped its mouth open wider and wider. Darkness filled the room. Centipede-like legs sprouted from its sides as it grew to fill my entire field of view. A feeling of utter terror took over my soul at the sight of this eldritch horror.
"I'm sorry, Jon. I ate all the LSNA." It groaned. | I looked at the clock, stated at the clock. Time was never really a concern of mine but I can't help it. After all, in 5 minutes, I was about to have my most wanted item.
I got to distract myself from all the nerves. I looked out the window, attracted by the city lights. City lights always calmed me.
Nerves settled. I looked back at the clock. 2 minutes to go. I begun to wonder what is my greatest desire? I never cared for much after all. I have no family, no friends. Drifting from place to place, I have no purpose in life. Clearly, I was not going to get anything.
I smiled wryly. This is going to be anti-climatic. 5...4...3...2...1.
And the last thing I heard was the clock striking 12 midnight once.
=====
The city lights began to flicker out as a spreading Void expanded from the apartment. Nothing could stop it. Horrified screaming turned into nothing as the Void consumes all.
The desire to void existence made manifest.
And the rest is Silence. | 2019-09-18T10:23:04 | 2019-09-18T09:39:58 | 42 | 12 |
[WP] Humans once wielded formidable magical power but with over 7 billion of us on the planet now Mana has spread far to thinly to have any effect. When hostile aliens reduces humanity to a mere fraction the survivors discover an old power has begun to reawaken once again. | I awoke in the night, the distant sounds of screams altogether too familiar. It didn't sound isolated - they must have found a safe-haven. Hundreds would be massacred. It was just like I said; don't bunch together. Don't rely on each other for support. Survival is all about laying low, keeping quiet and hoping that luck was on your side.
I'd been having a strange dream. It wasn't a nightmare, which was rare already; it was more of a premonition. I'd felt a burning sensation in my hand, as if there were energy coursing through it. The feeling still stuck with me, and I focused on it to try drown out the screams.
********
There were more of them now; towering beasts, eldritch monstrosities. We'd imagined aliens as these advanced beings, visiting us with technology that we could not even comprehend, bestowing knowledge and gifts. But no.
They were unimaginable nightmares, drifting in through space, landing on our forsaken planet and hunting us mercilessly. Our combined efforts only took down a few, and the ensuing nuclear winter only made things worse. And now they hunt us down without rest. It doesn't seem to be for sustenance - they ignore other animals, though they will harm them if it is in their way. No; it feels like eradication. And more come every day.
But the the dreams won't go away. What little sleep I have is filled with feelings of flame and fury; of ominous premonition, of terrifying power. I feel that energy more and more. I suspect that I am going mad, but I'd rather be mad than dead. And judging by my travels, it seems that I am one of the few left with the privilege of choice.
Sleep comes to me eventually, the incessant chittering of the aliens filtering through my dreams of intrigue, of primal power.
*****
I awoke to a sound of crashing, of beastly lumbering.
*I've been found.*
I sprinted from my lair, a crumbling ruin, just as a jagged tentacle pierced through the foundations. Rubble collapsed around me as I leapt through a window, landing on the floor below in a clumsy roll. There was no time to think about the pain - only escape.
I ran as fast as I could, praying that it was only one, praying that it could not keep up. There were many different forms of alien, and most of the massive ones were slow in the city. They could run at least as fast as a man, but the buildings and ruins proved ample obstacles. With a bit of luck, I could survive this. I had done so before.
A sudden crash to my right sent glass flying just ahead of me. An arthropod the size of a large dog landed in front of me, its razor-sharp legs digging into the floor. There was no chance of running from it. But if I climbed the building to avoid it, my pursuer would destroy it as if it was a cardboard box. I had two choices, but either led to death.
My right hand burned, a sharp red glow emitting from my palm. It felt like trapped electricity. Like every bit of primal power focused into a single thought.
A choice:
Shall I **fight**, or **flee**?
****
[Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/7i4fn8/wp_resurge_ii/) | [Part III](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/7i4p1p/wp_resurgence_iii/) | [Part IV (new)](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/comments/7i65tc/wp_resurgence_iv/)
It's a 'Choose Your Own Adventure' story! Vote on whichever choice you like best, and I hope I won't disappoint :)
/r/CroatianSpy | Turns out the universe isn't cold and uncaring. Turns out the universe actually wants to give us what we want. Turns out 8 billion people all projecting their wishes out into the fuzzy warm-hearted void of existence confuses the heck out of the old machinery. What I mean to say is of the bunch of us humans shouting at mama universe, those who got what they were wishing for were few and far between; the odd miracle here and there, a “lucky toss” once in awhile. You get it.
It's different now. When the culling began, I...no, let me skip this part. Slowly, during the months after the event, people thought they were going crazy. Some of the surviving doctors called it PTSD or something. The more susceptible started hearing this background chatter emerge from the white noise narrated stream of consciousness. Took us another 4 billion lost for the first to get it. They were hearing the fearful calls of their brethrens’ minds. Some of the resistance’ stands got 'lucky’. Nothing sustainable, remotely helpful in the big picture; not that any even put it even together until way later anyways.
On the way down to the last wretched few all of this got stronger, more noticeable until even most doubting could no longer deny having joined their fellow men (as few of us as remained) in a shared mind. Some called it God, some Gaia, some just called it magic. It really don’t matter. Once you figure out that you dreamed up this world together, it's not a huge stretch of imagination to imagine the intruders gone. Wasn't even a fight anymore.
Billions lost, just a few ragged men and women with the power to raise cities from the oceans. We prospered fast, as they say we did before. But we also grew fast. Now, only very few can still hear the voices of mind and even fewer can get their small wishes heard by the void.
****
The old man harrumphed, happy with his audience's captivated gazes. He sharpened his mind’s words into a needle tip of will and let it fly, making the fire in the cave in their midst flare, just for a second. His tribe exclaimed with exaltation at the power their shaman wielded. | 2018-02-27T05:33:50 | 2017-12-06T20:51:47 | 341 | 21 |
[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. | "My Lord! My Lord!"
The captain, a large yellow cat holding a rather impractical spear in one clawed hand, jumped nearly a foot in the air before turning around guiltily. "Blast it yeoman, what is it? It's almost time for my hunting break."
The yeoman came to a halt, breathing heavily. "It's the humans, sir. Our long range scanners are picking up error signals from their world!"
The spear creaked dangerously in the captain's hand. *"What!?* I was assured that problem was dealt with!"
The yeoman fidgeted nervously, "Well, yes sir-"
"We put warp interdiction fields over their entire system!" the captain snapped, "Anti-Grav-blockers, too, not to mention a half dozen others. Keeping them on that bloody dirtball has been the most expensive endeavour in galactic history! Any means for leaving their planet should be permanently blocked; What danger could they possibly pose *this* time?"
The yeoman, nervously looked down at his printout, slightly ragged where his claws had nervously punctured the edges. "Um...well, according to this, they've achieved orbital flight. Even visited their moon again, sir - and their first probes are leaving their system as we speak."
*"WHAT!?* How!?"
"Well, it appears that they, um, strapped small crews of their species atop giant towers of explosives, sir."
"...what."
"T-that's just what it says, sir."
"...By Akltar, I'd almost forgotten how insane they were." He rubbed his eyes wearily. "Please, at least tell me that's the most they've accomplished?"
"...um."
"*Akltar Blasted Damn it!* Everything, yeoman."
"Well, they've established a global intelligence network, sir, so we were able to acquire a surprisingly large amount of information. It appears they have plans for more powerful rockets, powered by nuclear explosions."
"You mean nuclear reactors."
"Um...no, sir."
"...Damn it." | "You're kidding me. You've got to be kidding me."
"No, sir. It's true."
"They only have one carrier. We have a station in orbit around their planet. They can't possibly win."
"Sir . . . They've started playing their war cry."
"Not--"
"The Eye of the Tiger, sir." | 2017-03-05T22:11:49 | 2017-03-05T21:40:56 | 2,747 | 315 |
[WP] You are a normal person who spent your entire life infiltrating the evil Empire. You even became the Emperor's right hand. The day before you finally topple the Empire, the hero arrives, kills the Emperor, and saves the day.
Now how does that make you feel? | Of all the narcissistic, self-righteous assholes in the entire Galaxy, why did it have to be Captain Pazazz. Anyone could've killed the Emperor, hell I was about 5 minutes away from killing that old bastard myself, but why did it have to be him!?
I watched as Emperor Galactica's head slid off of his pale scrawny neck, his face frozen in that confused grimace from moments before the slice of Pazazz's Scimitar. It was too clean. Even when defeating evil, this jerk had to go and do it spotlessly. No blood, no screams. Just one lightsword strike, and POOF, done. Where's the fun in that?
I'd have thrown his throne through the Space Shuttle window and watched his last breath freeze. Maybe even shove a plasma bomb in his throat, and watch the fireworks before the blast shields dropped down.
30 long years licking that old man's boots. Clawing my way up to his inner circle and becoming his Elite. All necessary. All in the mission statement. When the King said I needed to infiltrate "deep undercover" he didn't mention it might have took me decades to do that. And now this asshole is acting like it's a walk in the park. Flexing his pecs and saying "all in a days work". Fuck that! This should've been my victory, not some spandex-clad punk with a glow-in-dark dagger.
He didn't seem too impressed with me when I grabbed him by the neck, one handed. I couldn't quite hear his last words, which was a shame. Partly because he was choking, partly because his "partner in justice" Miss Wow was screaming her perfect tits off in the corner. And also partly because the crunching of his neck in my palm was like a sweet sweet symphony.
I threw that prick's corpse next to the old headless geezer on the floor and slumped down in the throne. If it was that easy to dispose the last Emperors killer, then maybe it's time for a new Emperor instead. My reward for 30 years of bullshit. And if Miss Wow doesn't shut her yap, then maybe they'll be fireworks in space after all. My Coronation. | I stared in disbelief as years of hard, grueling work suddenly meant nothing. With a single thrust, Halidar the Bold had taken my moment in the sun, and just hours before I planned to do the deed myself.
"You mother of slaves" bellowed forth from my throat as Halidar's erupted in a crimson splash. The blood ran from my beard as I stared down at what I had done. A cheer erupted from a thousand throats as I inadvertently avenged the Dark Lord and became his sucessor. | 2017-03-12T16:11:55 | 2017-03-12T12:50:45 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] People love your “random objects are actually cake” videos. Little do they know, you actually possess an enchanted knife that turns anything it cuts into cake, and you’re willing to use it to keep your secret. | "Your latest video was a bit too on-the-nose, Mister Church," the detective said, mockingly.
"Eh? I don't know what you mean." I tried to sound innocent--as innocent as one can sound sitting in an interrogation room in a prisoner's uniform, handcuffed to a table.
"Your *Missing Pieces* series. You'd show up where someone had recently disappeared, with a cake made in the form of the missing person. You'd serve it to the searchers and to passers-by, and say it was an art project to bring attention to the problem of homelessness or domestic violence or whatever."
"It won a Creator Award, you know," I said with no small pride.
"The last one was of a boy who disappeared in your own neighborhood," he went on. "He changed clothes before going out that night, but his mom didn't know, so the flyers got his clothes wrong."
He leaned toward me. "*But your cake got them right.*"
Well, shit.
"That got us a warrant. And the warrant got us this."
He pulled it from the paper sack and laid it on the table, wrapped in a clear plastic evidence bag.
It was my gem-encrusted, Damascus-steel-bladed knife. The one that I'd found in the souks of Marrakech years before. The one for which an ancient sorcerer, thinly disguised as a simple merchant, had spun a millennia-spanning history to me, and then had before my eyes sliced a living tortoise in half to reveal a cake as light and delicious as I have ever tasted.
The knife for which I, an unknown, unsuccessful pastry chef at the time, had gladly traded my everlasting soul.
"The blade itself is as clean as a surgical scalpel, Mister Church. But the *handle*... well, we found traces of the blood of 18 different people there. *18*, Church. Want to explain that?"
The knife was within my reach, but with my hands cuffed to the table, I couldn't have threatened anyone even if I got hold of it.
But I grabbed it anyway.
"Have you ever seen *Bucket of Blood,* detective?" I asked, and jabbed the point of the blade through the plastic bag and into the flesh of my other hand.
And I saw what was inside.
I never knew until that first cut what kind of cake someone might be. My last thought was how ironic it was that I had turned out to be devil's food. | "This is so realistic," they say. "How do you do it?"
"Well, it takes lots of practice, and lots of tries. You should've seen my earlier attempts- they look like Picasso paintings!"
And then they'll laugh, and take another bite of the cake.
And then I'll smile, and my secret will be safe.
This time, it was my coworker Vanessa. I'll have to switch bakeries now, or maybe go freelance. I don't want to have people trying to steal my secret.
Don't get me wrong, it's flattering. I didn't realize how far up I could go with this. I never pleased the critics before- hell, I didn't have critics at all.
But with my special little knife, they're like dough in my hands, every last one of them.
I wink over at the cute young reporter to my right. He'll be next. | 2020-07-12T19:17:59 | 2020-07-12T19:04:40 | 1,679 | 141 |
[WP] Once a year the world hosts an annual superpower lottery, where one lucky person gets a superpower of their choice. This year the winner was dumber than a bag of rocks. | People have been hounding me all day saying that I won the lottery. I think it’s cool and all but honestly I’m just happy to be off work. Pilar keeps yelling at me, she says I’ve got to go down the station and claim it but I really just want to go shopping. I want a nice blue scarf with frilly edges but Marco says they don’t make them in the summer time. I wanted to call my friend Pablo and ask him what I won but my phone was stuck on airplane mode. So since all of my plans for the day have sucked, I figured I’d go down to the station myself.
As I sit on the bus I look out the window; summer is so beautiful. As the bus fills up I move my bag to my lap. A man sits down next to me and as I look out the window I can see him staring at me. “You’re that girl that won the lottery.” He says. I smile and nod like I have a clue what he was talking about. He blabbers on for a while and eventually he gets off. As I move my bag back onto his seat it finally clicks that he must’ve been a friend of Pilar and she told him about the lottery thing too. Silly Pilar. The lottery! It was my stop just a few blocks ago. I get off at the next stop and walk to the station.
When I walk into the station people are really friendly. I wish all people were this nice. A secretary guides me to an office and tells me they’re going to bring my prize. I can’t read analog clocks but it feels like forever goes by. It was so long that I played Tetris on my phone. Some day I’m going to get a high score. A young business man walks into the drab room they left me in and shakes my hand. “Well what do you think?” he says really excited. I look around the room, “This room is kind of dull maybe if it’s a lot of money I could buy you some nice curtains and a lamp or something.” I say trying to be nice; this room needed a lot of improvement. “No, I mean the prize! Your power! What do you want?” He says with wide eyes. Oh no, I won that lottery. I only wanted the money lottery. How am I supposed to think of something on such short notice? The man rolls his eyes, “You really don’t know. Do you? Everyone on Earth would die for this and you don’t even know. God really does favor the idiots, huh?” He says probably meaning it as a joke but I know what that means.
I may not be smart but I know what an idiot is. My parents always told me that I was the Forrest Gump type of smart and that I was bound to go somewhere with all my abstract thoughts and stuff. I smile and laugh like always. He hands me the orb and tells me to think of the power that I want very clearly. I try but it’s difficult when your feelings are hurt. As I make a wish a tear falls from my face and I open my eyes. I am in a café I’ve never been in before. A barista guy with shiny brown hair is carrying a whole bunch of fliers. He looks like he’s about to drop them so I go over and try to help. I drop about a hundred but he laughs and thanks me. He says it with a goofy smile. I laugh for real this time. It’s funny how my power is just what I wanted. Now whenever I feel sad or lonely I just close my eyes really hard and I’ll be somewhere where I can be appreciated; it’s perfect.
| "...And the winner is..." The sound of rapid drumming played in the background. A large man began to reach his fat hand into the bowl, once he had retrieved one of the balls he could barely get it out of the jar. The drum stopped now. "#38! Haha, I always love a low number, it seems so anti-climactic!" The crowd began to cheer wildly.
As had been done for the past 5 years, the winner is actually pre-chosen now. This way they could run a background check to weed out any literal crazies and it also made the ceremony a lot more exciting since it would sometimes take weeks to get the person to the facility.
The new winner, #38, emerged from the curtain behind the stage and met the cheering crowd with a mouth agape and a clearly uncertain hand-wave. For his speech he mumbled a bit and muttered out. "Thanks to you all and my mom." And then he wandered off stage and into the Super Factory.
Several minutes later the necessary arrangements were made and the power machine had been readied. New media from all over the world filled the room, their cameras pointed on #38, who had revealed to be Dylan Crosby of Ashland, Kentucky. A 38-year old steelworker and former High School Football hero.
"Well, I never really thought about it much, to be honest." He paused for an instant and scratched his goatee. "But I know I hate it when I leave my keys in the car. Or when I accidentally lock myself out of the bathroom..." He nodded to himself, reflecting on his brilliant conclusion.
"I think I would like the power to be able to unlock any lock." He smiled wide. "Hell, yeah. That's a great power. Then I could just be a locksmith..."
Then with a stern face he said in a seriousness. "I AM the Locksmith." and proceeded to flex his muscles.
"Now that's a real, everyday, practical American hero, I tell you what." | 2014-05-25T14:09:01 | 2014-05-25T13:18:59 | 38 | 12 |
[WP] Magic suddenly becomes a thing. While governments are scrambling to establish regulations, people defiantly flock to reddit to share new discoveries and crack more “overpowered” spells. Write about a trending post that, for good or ill, is making authorities furious. | “The anti-teleportation zone has been established, Sir.” A slender young man with sharp features, dressed in full business attire, stood outside the central vault of Golden Apex Bank to deliver the report.
“Thank you, Mr. Freeman.” Mr. Sullivan, the CEO of Golden Apex Bank, rubbed his temples as he dismissed Freeman. His graying head has been throbbing non-stop ever since the first reports of teleportation heists rolled in. In hindsight, it made perfect sense that corporate banks became the primary target once the spell has been discovered. Blink, you’re in the vault of any bank on the globe. Blink, you’re out with all the cash and gold you can carry. It was a miracle that the financial system hasn’t fully collapsed yet. *And now this damned Reddit post, planning to rob MY bank!*
Mr. Freeman nodded and went back into the vault, ensuring that the double set of sliding titanium doors closed securely behind him. The CEO let out a sigh of relief and turned to face the FBI Supervisory Special Agent, standing a few meters away and barking orders on the phone. “Agent Dorlyn,” Mr. Sullivan began once the agent hung up, “the ATZ has been set up, as per your instructions.”
“Excellent. Our agents are using their magic to sustain it already. Now no one will be able to pop into the building while the protection dome holds,” Agent Dorlyn looked briefly at the CEO before gazing back at his phone. “Let me tell you, these ATZs have been a blessing since the wizards at the CIA have discovered how to block teleporting intruders from breaching an area. We’ve instructed every major bank and facility to establish their own ATZ, but your case, of course, required special attention. So,” he opened the headache-inducing Reddit post on his phone, “have you found out which of your employees wrote this?”
“Not yet. It definitely hasn’t been posted through our company network. Since the post went up yesterday afternoon, we suspect one of the workers that was absent then,” the CEO replied. The author of the post, a mysterious u/ CantNerfMe claiming to be one of the clerks at Golden Apex, was looking for four more people with teleportation expertise to perform the ‘most ambitious heist of the week.’ Up until this point, the crimes were mainly conducted by sole individuals, who could not feasibly empty out an entire bank. A single vault cell, perhaps, for those that had the magical capacity to perform several jumps in a short time span. But no more than that, nothing on the scale that this daring hustler was promising.
“Nothing on our end either. The Truth-Seers are combing through the rest of your employees as we speak, but to no avail yet.” Agent Dorlyn grunted, “What does this person needs four assistants for, anyways? Must be some kind of a ritual.”
“We scoured the comments and his post history, didn't get any hints besides the usual shitposts on /r/ WallStreetSpells about duplicating money and the like. Well, whatever it is,” Mr. Sullivan nervously shifted from one foot to another, “the ATZ will surely prevent it, right?”
“Indeed. There is no way they are getting in, and hopefully they don’t know it yet.” The agent was about to begin another sentence when an errant thought crossed his mind. He sharply turned his head to face the CEO and squinted. “Which of your employees has set up the zone?”
“Mr. Count Freeman, one of our senior vault clerks. We haven’t had many people at the firm master teleportation just yet,” Mr. Sullivan muttered. “Why?”
“Just asking. We’ll need to make sure he’s Truth-Seen as well, to be safe.” Agent Dorlyn put away his phone and turned towards the exit. “Alright, time to check the peri–”
In the middle of his sentence, the entire building shook for the briefest of moments, culminating with a loud *whoosh* sound. Over the incredulous screams, Dorlyn’s voice carried the loudest, “A spell just got cast. The vault!!!”
Mr. Sullivan dashed to the titanium doors guarding the vault, flanked by Dorlyn and the rest of FBI agents. He slammed his palm on the fingerprint detector, sliding the first set of doors out of his way. Rushing in to open the second set of doors, the CEO almost fell into empty air instead, if not for Dorlyn catching him at the last second.
The inner doors, along with the rest of the rectangular vault and Mr. Freeman inside it, have disappeared, leaving behind a vacant shaft that previously held all of Golden Apex’s physical assets. The entire vault was *gone*.
One of the agents behind Dorlyn whispered, “H-how? The ATZ remains intact, no one 'ported in…” Surveying the empty space, Supervisory Special Agent barely noticed a note glued to the precarious ledge on which they now stood. He kneeled to pick it up, frowned, and passed it to the CEO of Golden Apex, who audibly groaned after scanning what turned out to be Count Freeman's handwriting.
The note read, “Pro-tip: An ATZ only works one way and can’t block teleportation *out* of its field. Seems like the wizards at CIA got more work to do. :) – u/ CantNerfMe” | Right. You have to do it with four right turns exactly the *right* way, otherwise it doesn't work. You've got to do it *right* as you're reading this post. Like, right away. Right now.
"It's a derivation of the Household Dishwater Sequence first developed a week and a half ago," Malcom said, scanning the thousands upon thousands of replies on the post for the third time. "If we match the user replies to their real-life identities, which we can do for about 85% of the posters, we find something very interesting indeed."
"Right," Jonas interjected. The young man was brimming with excitement. He alone had discovered forty two unique spell derivations. "...Look at the groupings of positive responses, specifically those who succeeded after reading the instructions." He jabbed a finger at the hologram readout which showed demographic trends on the post. "House wives. Home bodies. House husbands. They're all at home browsing reddit, see a title that outlines an improved dish-washing automation sequence, they follow the instructions, and bam! They achieve it."
"Hold on a second," a disembodied voice said from one of the room's wall-mounted screens. "Frank Bragander, CIA. We're just getting looped in." The power brokers in the room swiveled in unison to face the man, who gave the impression that the scowl he wore was permanent. "What was the title of the post?," he asked, nonplussed by the clearance levels of the individuals arrayed around the table.
Malcom's eyes darted upwards in betrayal of his exasperation, though he managed to avoid a full eye-roll." It's a simple title. 'Forget about your dishes taking up space in the kitchen. Try this instead.'," he said, turning to face the rest of the table. "It's the top post right now, has been for over two hours. It needs to come down."
"We're working on it, sir," replied Jonas. "It doesn't violate the site's TOS."
"Get it done. We can't afford to have it up for much longer."
"Is it really that bad?" Frank said, frowning as he read through the instructions. "It just looks like a variation on the auto-"
"...mated dishwasher sequence." Malcom said, running a hand through his thinning hair with a jerky, erratic movement. "But it isn't. It imbues the casters with a fucking *philosophy!*"
"What?" Frank was still frowning.
"They stop seeing the purpose in all of their random household items - in the espresso maker and slow cooker and microwave." Malcom looked around the table, unable to catch anyone's eyes. "The sequence takes out any materialistic tendencies in humans. Everyone who follows the instructions stops caring about status and wealth - they completely drop the fucking fundamental drivers behind our economy." The President slammed his palms down onto the mahogany table. "Society is going to collapse. It's the end of life as we know it."
Laughter burst from the TV screen. Frank had a wide grin plastered across his face. "Two weeks ago magic came into the world - literally nothing else matters." As if to prove his point, the Director of the CIA snapped his fingers and appeared right in the middle of the table, causing the meeting room's occupants to jerk backwards in shock.
"Our society was created by the past. It was created for a completely different reality where magic didn't exist and the unexplained was ultimately explainable," the Director said over the indignant muttering. He turned to face the post's hologram projection, then began to recite the sequence. | 2019-07-11T14:12:51 | 2019-07-11T11:46:51 | 89 | 50 |
[WP] The tooth fairy has collected billions of teeth in her time. But there is nothing she wants more than the set she can never have, the teeth that will never fall out no matter how long she waits: the fangs of a vampire. | She dropped a sack onto the floor between the two Winchesters with a muffled *whumpf* sound. The rough burlap wasn't tied properly, causing a cascade of teeth to go skittering across the linoleum floor. "17,651 teeth," she said. Her voice was bubbly and effervescent, and sounded a bit like she'd been huffing helium. Were it not for the gossamer wings sprouting from her back, you would have thought she was just a normal, attractive young woman. "Should be more than enough payment."
"*Payment?*" Dean retorted. He was lounging on the bed in the motel with a rocksalt-loaded shotgun, not at all perturbed to have a fairy appear out of nowhere and throw a bag full of teeth at his feet. "You come here propositioning us with some dangerous mystery job, and then you expect us to take *teeth* as payment? Cold, hard, cash, lady!"
Sam studied the teeth carefully, then looked back at the fairy. "I don't say this very often, but Dean's got a point. What are we supposed to do with these?"
The fairy pouted. "Well... they can be used for magic. I sell them to witches and warlocks all the time..."
Dean rolled his eyes and sat up. "You mean witches like the ones that we *kill*?"
The tooth fairy made a glum face. "Oh, right. You're not big fans of magic users, are you?" She took a light step backwards, edging closer to the door. "But I do have human money too..."
"Now you're speaking my language," Dean answered.
She flipped her wrist with an elaborate flourish, and another sack appeared in her hand, even larger than the last. She dropped that one on the floor too, hard enough to make a pretty significant *thud*, and possibly even a dent. This one was *also* not tied particularly tightly, sending quarters, dimes, and nickels rolling throughout the room. Dean glared, and Sam just buried his face in his hands.
"Just tell us the job," Sam told her through clenched teeth, "before you make an even bigger mess with your next 'payment.'"
"Well," she started, "I'm a bit of a collector. Of teeth, of course. Most of them I sell except for a few famous ones. Did you know that I've got *Brad Pitt's* left canine?"
"Wow!" Dean answered, dripping with sarcasm. "That's sooo cool!"
She pouted again. "Fine. But I don't just collect human teeth. I've got all sorts of magical creatures, too. A werewolf, a Wendigo, an angel, even a Djinn!" Sam and Dean had significant experience with all of those creatures. In fact, Sam was pretty sure that they'd all tried to bite him at various points. Even the angel: Castiel could get a bit... weird sometimes. "The one that I *don't* have," she continued. "And the one that I've really wanted for*ever*... is a *vampire* fang. They never lose them naturally, and when you kill one they turn to dust, so no chance to recover one post-mortem..."
"And how do you expect us to get one?" Dean asked. "Pliers?"
She shrugged. "That's really up to you. I just want the fangs."
Sam and Dean traded looks. "We have been tracking that nest from Tulsa..." Sam said with a 'why not?' expression. "It might be nice to get rid of some vamps and be appreciated for it for once."
Dean turned back to the tooth fairy. "I'll tell you what, lady." A roguish grin spread across his face. "You throw your phone number in to sweeten the deal, and we're in."
Sam rolled his eyes, but the tooth fair just blushed. "Deal!" she told him, summoning a pen and piece of paper.
| A soft light fills the ballroom, casting long shadows over its occupants. They are bunched together on the dance floor, and together there are are five of them: three standing, two sitting in chairs. Other chairs and upturned tables are strewn about the room around them. Upon closer inspection, the two seated figures are actually tied -- quite thoroughly -- to their chairs. One of them is a human looking female, a pretty young blonde. The other is a very handsome and utterly pale skinned man. A vampire. His fangs are bared in helpless anger.
Two of the standing figures appear to be female, one male. Their features come into focus. The man is tall, fair and handsome. He is absolutely pale, as is one of the women. The pale woman is a brunette with gorgeous feautures. Vampires. Beautiful as they are, though, the do not even come close to comparing to those of the other woman. She is clearly another species of being entirely. Graceful even when standing still, literally radiant, and with platinum hair that seemed to sway of its own accord regardless of the wind. She is undoubtedly a fairy.
"Well. . ." says the ethereal figure "in all my years. . . I never thought. . ."
"I told you it wouldn't be hard to find a specimen," says the tall vampire male, "Vampire politics being as they are."
"I would have made such an alliance years ago if I knew that some vampires would be. . .willing to carry out such a contract."
"Nothing is sacred, with us," says the female vampire.
"How can you do this to us?!" interjects the young human woman, tied to her chair, "After all we've been through?"
She is looking directly at the male vampire, and the Southern lilt in her voice somehow sharpens the accusatory tone.
"Just business, honey. Nothing personal," said the vampire. The three captors begin to cackle.
"I will destroy you, Eric!" screams the captive vampire (if one can scream and drawl at the same time), "and the Tooth Fairy too!" The cold open ends and the theme song begins.
That's when I turn the TV off and head to bed. Clearly, SyFy's reboot of *True Blood* for another season is going to be about as good as one would expect. | 2016-01-06T06:40:57 | 2016-01-06T03:56:21 | 166 | 31 |
[WP] You are an NPC. One day, you see the player character do some weird steps and duplicate his items. You decide to try it for yourself.
Have fun!
Edit: Huh. I guess I just discovered a karma duplication glitch. | It was a lovely day in the streets of Galarya, as usual I sat on my forge awaiting for these strange yet captivating heroes to buy me some good stuff. Swords, hammers, iron arrows, mallets, soot? You name it, I got it. Damn, I was also known as the fastest mender in all Trynalia and these shiny, rich people knew it. My business was burgeoning like hydrangeas in spring.
One fellow caught my attention, he came to town wearing a tattered cloak tightened at the waist by a shaggy cord. Galarya was known for being the most expensive city of them all, and excuse my thoughts but he didn't fit in here.
Well... he proved me wrong, for the moment my prejudices were drawing a disdainful smile, he fumbled into his left pocket and from it a golden jewel, bright as two suns came, throwing my jaw onto the ground.
A firwelan, a jewel so rare it was believed only two of them existed. With jealousy gnawing my insides I stared at that sly smile of Baligar, a hateful goblin who only had eyes for magical and twinkleful things as he chatted with the humble-looking adventurer.
"Relics, I have them, they shine with golden wisps of ancient magic, ready to trade?" Baligar said, that was his usual hook.
But the stranger didn't say anything, he walked off towards Irylania, the city's tailor. She played with her ginger locks, rolling them into her fingers as the golden light of the firwelan grew closer to her.
"Hey, come inside take your clothes off and let me do the work," Irylania said, like Baligar that was her hook.
The stranger nodded and walked inside with her, but the moment his bare feet touched the wood of her floor, he walked out and fumbled once again into his pocket.
Another firwelan.
What in Galanor's iron was happening? An azure, cylindrical beam descended from the sky over the stranger... and he was gone.
Did Irylania hide something? But if she did, why did he go with Baligar first? And why did he never spoke a word? I had to know. My bottom left the forge and I unsheathed Tyrania, my most valuable sword, said to be able to cut through flesh and bone even before it touched them. I breathed deeply and prepared to be considered the city's fool, I imitated every step the stranger had taken.
"Relics, I have them, they shine with golden wisps of ancient magic, ready to trade?" Baligar said and I walked away, towards Irylania.
"Hey, come inside take your clothes off and let me do the work," Irylania said and I nodded.
The very moment my feet stepped into her tailoring I walked out.
And then, I felt a gust of wind travelling inside my clothes and into my pocket. It seemed as if it was taking the shape of something large and sharp.
Too sharp.
The wind was gone, and blood dripped from the back of my leg onto the floor. Trembling, I fumbled into my pocket to find what felt like a too familiar of a hilt. Tyrania lay on my left hand, and now, clasped into my right fist and piercing my leg, another Tyrania rested.
I shouldn't have of unsheathed it.
---------------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall | "Where am I? What is this" Chosen-one McQuest shouted up.
I leaned over the wall's edge "You are at the gates of Forrest-Backwater, my good sir, but I'm afraid we no longer accept visitors"
"What dark magic is this?" McQuest shouted. "Is this some kind of trap! I've been to rural backwater before and I think I would remember a 30 foot wall"
"There is now, my good sir, we build it. An excellent job the builders did. Keeps out any unwanted guests"
McQuest's eyes lit up. "Oh, I see. Come down so you can mark my map and I'll do the quest."
"Quest? There is no quest sir, Forrest Backwater is no longer accepting visitors. Don't worry sir, there is nothing here of importance"
McQuest tried to say something but could not find the words, eventually his eyes settled on my uniform.
"That's an awfully nice uniform for a guard. How do they get the feathers so identical!"
Oh no, I thought. "that's - umm- well- one second let me get the tailor" I returned, this time with 70 of my clones, all armed.
"It was time for you to go, McQuest" we shouted.
"But I last came here two months ago, I've done like 30 quests"
"Good Bye McQuest, Have a good -"
My world was spinning, no no- hold on the memory, the wardrobe no one used in town hall. Remember the wardrobe in town hall. Remember the wardrobe. Remember. Remember?
I was trying to remember something while on guard duty, when Chosen-one McQuest walked in. I ignored him as he slipped into the supply closet. Normally I would follow, but I was trying to remember something.
| 2018-01-03T09:18:42 | 2018-01-03T09:14:19 | 117 | 14 |
[WP] Every time someone masturbates to you, you receive a notification on your phone letting you know who did it.
[Inspired by this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/3gzuq0/nsfw_how_would_it_be_to_live_in_a_universe_where/)
Edit: THE ONE TIME I DONT POST ON MY MAIN, THIS SHIT HITS THE PAGE 1. FOR FUCKS SAKE.
On another note, I finally understand what "rip inbox" means. | I'd never been a fantastic looking person. I considered myself perfectly average. In my formative years I about half zits, and the other half was freckles. High school was a rough time for me. I wasn't upset at this time that I was sending out all my notifications, I was more upset at the snickering I'd hear the next day. I'd hear as I'm passing through the halls the other students, hell, even some of the teachers giggling about who I had very recently finished myself off with.
It bugged me that even teachers got in on the perpetual joke of 'The guy who will never get any blips'. My history teacher was always cool about it though. I loved history, and only partly because of how stunning my teacher was. I always paid close attention to where my thoughts were wondering, I didn't want the one person who didn't bug me about my masturbatory habits thinking I was a creep. So I never 'ahem' finished myself to Ms. Hall. All through high school she helped me both academically and emotionally. I probably would have killed myself if she hadn't been my support structure at school.
Ms. Hall was a young teacher when I started high school. She barely looked old enough to drink, let alone teach. She'd get notifications sometimes in the middle of the day. Yes, boys can, and will, and all have masturbated in the school toilets. She took it in stride, and while I'm sure she was flattered, she was focused entirely on her job.
I didn't have a support structure at home. My parents hated each other, my mom worked for a few months, and fell off the bandwagon. She'd drink herself into a stupor, wake up smelling like a still, and go to work. Then she'd get fired and spend all of our money on more booze. My dad was a gambler. He always told me that I was his worst gamble, that I'll never amount to anything. So I studied, and I stayed in. I figured if I wasn't going to have a good body I might as well have a good mind. Then I would study some more. I was getting nearly perfect scores on every test.
Well, I got a full ride scholarship for my trouble. And University is where I found my stride. I chose to go to Carleton University in Ottawa. Being away from home was the best thing to ever happen to me. I worked part time during University, enough to be able to feed myself. I finally started eat good, healthy, nutritious meals. My skin slowly but surely started to improve. I still didn't get any blips, but I was top of my class and I even had a few friends. One of my friends helped me get started in the gym, and for the next 4 years when I wasn't studying, or in class, or working, I was in the gym.
So I went back to my old high school. I went there to tell Ms. Hall how much I appreciated her helping me through school, that I will be eternally grateful for her help. I get my visitors pass and walk through the school. It was lunch time, and teachers who I knew saw me, and none recognized me. I get to her classroom and knock on her door. She's beyond stunned, and so am I! She recognized me! I sit in on her last two classes of the day. It was great to be in that classroom again, just talking to her again was so relaxing.
Ms. Hall mentioned that her car broke down, so I offer to give her a lift. I'd saved enough money through the years that I bought a truck, so I gave her a ride home. She thanked me profusely, and walked inside. I drove around for a little while, not really sure which direction to go. Suddenly I get this little feeling in my head. "I should go back." I said to myself. So I did. Just as I'm almost in her driveway, I get my very first notification on my phone.
I'm glad I came back, because Ms. Hall had just masturbated. To me. I thought I was crazy. I knock at her door, knowing that she is awake. I'm sweating. I'm nervous. And she opens the door, face beet red. She's apologizing, saying that it was unprofessional and untoward. I didn't care. I asked if I could come in, and before we knew it we were lying next to each other totally spent.
And that, Grandkids is how I met your Grandmother! | The birds were chirping and the distant sound of a dog barking at its own shadow could be heard in the distance, It was sunday...My first day off on 2 weeks.
I'd just woken up from an amazing dream, the love of my life had finally admitted her feelings for me and I could actually smile for a change, as we was about to kiss an ominous sound filled my dream, growing from a faint,distant sound to a loud thumping jackhammer on my eardrums. My alarm signalling it was time to tackle the day.
I immediatly noticed the *ahem* woodwork, I thought for a while and decided now was the perfect time to thing sweet sweet thoughts and let ym hand work its magic, after a dissapointing three minutes I came, the cleanup operation took longer than the actual shall we say, event.
I checked my phone to see if anything new had happened, I see a notification that i'd never seen before, I stared at it for a while, confused as to what it might be. I clicked it and after what seemed like an eternity for my old dusty phone to load the app.
The app loaded and displayed a name, a name that never fails to bring a smile to my face no matter what context it's used in. It was her name, I wondered for a while what this app was, I'd never seen it before nor do i remember downloading it. The notification read ''Sara Whitling masturbated to the thought of you".
My half awake mind, bewildered tried to put the pieces together to form a working idea of how this could be, HOW would this app know, WHY would this app know. Then a smile formed and a thought entered my mind, "what a coincidence", I laughed at my stupid joke and after a while I put the very notion to the back of my mind, dismissing the idea as my mind playing tricks on me, I carried on my morning routine. Breakfast was the same as usual consisting of soggy cereal drenched in milk coupled with a cup of strong coffee...two sugars, no milk. I'd planned on going for a walk in the city (I've always loved walking by myself, something about it is peaceful) I stepped out my front door after getting dressed only to be confronted by her. I was surprised, I mean, we didn't plan on meeting up. She seemed angry and somewhat embarrassed, my mind, in a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, tried to figure out what had happened. Then, it hit me, maybe the app was real and...OH GOD.
she shoved her phone in my face and demanded to know what it was all about, she was as confused as I was, after a while of me standing there stuttering like an idiot she leaped at me, planting her lips on mine.
The rest, is history.
EDIT;
I can't format properly or use correct grammar to save my life and im sorry, but I think this was pretty good.
| 2015-08-14T17:53:57 | 2015-08-14T15:49:40 | 96 | 30 |
[WP]When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database.
Completely unaware of the whole stigma about edits. I’m sure all of you already know how grateful I am, but I apologize nonetheless. Sorry! | It all happened so fast. I was going into town for a shovel. Earlier that day I'd broken one digging a drain trench out behind the barn.
Now I was sitting at a table in a room with a long mirror along the wall. The kind you see in a cop movie where they are shaking down a suspect.
Oh fuck. I'm a suspect. But for what. I barely leave the farm.
"We can do this the easy way or the hard way", and middle aged man in a suit was entering the room . He had a briefcase and a tablet. Closely behind him was another man. He appeared to be some high ranking military officer.
"Umm I really don't......." I was cut off.
"Don't play dumb with us James. You have to know why you're here." he was clearly annoyed with me.
Then it hit me. Dad's brother Pete spends a lot of time up in the back corner of the farm at the edge of the forest and he always smells like weed.
"That mother fucker! Listen, it was dad's brother. He's always up there. If you're looking for the weed he's the guy you want! " My voice was starting to crack, I was scared as hell.
"We don't care about the weed, we found that about an hour ago" The military man took the tablet from the suit.
"It's the global calculated rankings son." he was swiping his finger over the screen. "This showed up on the new rankings section at 8:43 this morning!"
He slid the tablet across the table. A new page was displayed on the screen. Only one entry was on the list.
\*\*New Category\*\*
\*\*05/04/2019\*\*
\*\*Most Extraterrestrial Invaders Killed Or Defeated\*\*
1. James Marshall (1 Kill)
​
​
The suit looked a little angry but now he mostly looked scared.
"We just want some insight into what we might be up against"
​
The only problem was.
I had no idea.
EDIT: wow. I’m really blown away by the response to this. Thanks so much everyone.
I really had intended to leave it at that but I do have an idea where it’s going. If I like where it goes I’ll continue. | I was driving down to Seattle to sell some of my produce. As I get out, I start to notice people staring at me. I know that I'm a farm boy and all, but this city is so big. I walk in to a small shop, and people start asking me for autographs. Did they think I was famous? I just go on, then someone comes up to me. They show me their tablet and what do you know, I'm first place in crops grown. I think that didn't really matter, but apparently it did! I got so popular that I started a small business at home. By this point my family started making more money than we could EVER imagine. It was great. | 2019-05-04T11:15:23 | 2019-05-04T10:51:26 | 6,214 | 28 |
[WP] Upon turning 18, all humans must spend one year as their spirit animal, to gain a better appreciation for the world and what they have. They awake on the morning of their 18th birthday as said animal, in its natural habitat. You wake up on your 18th birthday completely human.
Edit: Thanks so much for the gold! This came to me while I was half asleep and I wasn't sure if this would be any good or not. |
On the night of my brother’s 18th birthday my parents talked about the importance of accepting who you become for a year. Then we all piled into the car and drove him to the facility. We were not allowed to enter and I cried when I heard the car door shut behind him. A year later we picked him up, and in the back of the car he whispered, “you turn into the animal you admire the most. I turned into a panther and you would not believe how hungry I was all the time. Stop being so obsessed with butterflies or you’re going to be stuck as one for a year and have to deal with all kinds of things that will try to eat you.”
I had always loved butterflies. My grandfather and I would always walk in the garden in the summer. He would describe all kinds of living things but I was only interested in hearing about the butterflies. The last time we walked in the garden my mother had insisted he stay inside but he refused to listen. "It is a special day." He replied. "Everyone needs a good sixteenth birthday stroll."
\---
“You can’t see it but there is a monarch that is flying high above the others. It reminds me of you.” He said with a chuckle “You always loved the feeling of the sun and wind kissing your skin. As a child you would climb as high as possible, just like the butterfly.”
I laughed and reached for his hand. Together we slowly walked to a table with chairs so we could sit and he took my hands in his. He gently placed my hands on his face. I could feel every wrinkle and dip in his skin. Every time my hands brushed over his lips I felt him smile. But something wet touched my fingertips.
“Why are you crying Grandpa?” I asked as I wiped a tear away from his eye.
“Because no matter how sick I am, you always make me feel normal and well.” He said quietly. “You can’t see the bruises from the IV’s or the yellowness of my skin. To you I am simply Grandpa and I am going to miss that so much.”
Three weeks later he died.
\------
I laid down in the machine as the doctors surrounding me quickly got to work securing all the wires and machinery.
“Listen honey, sometimes the simulation is different for people with your disability. You might not be a full animal or even close to an animal. We draw your spirit animal from your own memories, but sometimes blind people have strange results okay?”
I tried to nod but I couldn’t as my head was tightly secured by a piece of metal arching across my forehead. All I could think about was how my grandfather described the butterflies.
“Good luck sweetie.”
I slowly opened my eyes. My body felt strange and heavy. I knew I was in a simulation but why did my legs hurt so badly when I tried to move them? I instinctively moved my hands towards my face not knowing what they would touch. I was instead greeted by a familiar texture of roughness and wrinkles. I looked around and my eyes saw the face I had blindly touched for years staring back at me from a mirror on the wall. | I went to bed, knowing what was coming. I'd been told by my siblings what to expect - how hard it would be to survive in the wild, how those memories stayed with you for the rest of your life, how it was an experience they all treasured and gave them a respect for the non-humans around us.
They'd been transformed into a rabbit, a penguin and a hawk - the conversations between my eldest brother and my sister were particularly awkward around what the hawk had eaten to survive... but everyone knew the natural behaviour wasn't going to be something we could change while riding along with the animal consciousness.
I was nervous, I was excited, I was ready. My mother tucked me in for the long year ahead.
----
The world was still for a moment as I opened my eyes. I blinked, looking at a white space, and then thoughts came bubbling up, _that's a roof. you're ok._
I looked around, and realised I was in my room. The health monitors were in place, exactly like it had been when I went to sleep. Did... did I just sleep through a year, and the memories would filter in slowly? I was confused.
I went to get up, and a soft alarm went off. I looked around for how to turn it off, not wanting to disturb anyone, when my mother came in.
"Lavina...? Did you stay up all night? You're not supposed to try to avoid it you know!"
"No Mom, I was asleep, I took the pills like you said..."
"Then... then what just happened?" | 2019-05-05T23:51:41 | 2019-05-05T23:37:53 | 49 | 25 |
[WP] An adolescent boy who is bullied at school finds solace in the friends he makes in online games, becoming very good friends with one boy in particular. However, when they agree to meet up, the adolescent boy realises his best online friend is his main attacker at school. | Excitement was a feeling I hadn't felt in a while. There hasn't been much to be excited about lately: Mom and dad splitting up, grandpa passing away, and yeah the "Bullying", or at least that's what my counselor called it. Never liked that word, it made me feel weak, like a victim. I didn't see myself that way. That's not to say it hadn't worn me down. One guy, James, had been particularly dick-ish. But today wasn't about any of that. Today was a tiny bright spot in a dark tunnel. Today I was going to meet my new friend. Obviously I couldn't have just made a friend like a normal person, I did it through an mmorpg. Dorky I know, but I had made a connection. I only knew him as xelieon, a night elf rogue. We hit it off after meeting in a pick up group and decided to level our alts together. We spent hours with each other online chatting between raids and pvp. His parents recently divorced as well. We had a blast talking shit about them. How they had to take some time to "find" themselves, seemingly leaving us to figure it out on our own. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't had him to talk to. We had formed a little support group, and it was time for our first meeting.
We had agreed to meet at gamestop for the midnight release of the new expansion. My mom dropped me off on her way to another date with another douche. I walked through the parking lot, concrete dark from the rain. "shit" I thought, "I hope this clears up, didn't bring a fucking jacket". I came to the end of the line as the rain started to pick up. xelieon told me he would be wearing a green jacket. The person in front of me turned around to offer me cover under his umbrella. James. Once I was certain I hadn't shit myself, I noticed the jacket, he was holding the umbrella close to his shoulder so I hadn't noticed it before. "J-james, what're you doing here?" He was just as shocked to see me. Startled and embarrassed he blurted "Picking up the new COD, bet you're here for that gay WoW shit huh?", "Have your mommy drop you off?". I didn't know what to say. I knew he was xelieon, and I'm sure he knew it was me. Before I could say anything he muttered "Fuck this rain" and walked off to his car. For a second I thought I heard myself saying "xelieon" but he just kept walking off on the dark concrete. When I got home to my computer that night to load the expansion, xelieon had blocked me and left our guild.
EDIT: Wow, thanks you guys! This is my first time posting in this sub, or writing any fiction at all. I was up all night writing a paper for one of my business classes and needed a break.
EDIT: Link to Part II:[The Next Day at School](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/31pvy5/wp_an_adolescent_boy_who_is_bullied_at_school/cq4fq6q)
Final Edit: Just want to say what a fucking incredible, encouraging community this is. You guys are the tits. | As I was walking towards the local McDonald's I was happy. Happy at the thought of finally meeting rambo_7861!.
I have special affection towards rambo_7861!. He always saves my ass, sometimes even giving away his own life. During multiple combat games of course. He is so different from the kids at school, the mental rapists who bully me for no fault of mine. Did I decide to look so ugly, or did I decide I would be so fat that when people walked around me they joked about getting lost?
But rambo_7861! is different. He said he will be wearing a white bathing robe. I was shocked at his choice of clothing but thought this was just the kind of madness missing from my life. Before I could tell him my identification he was offline. Easy to identify him, I thought and started practicing what I would talk to him in the evening.
As I entered the restaurant I saw my worst nightmare taking its form. There stood in the bright white bathing robe, the supreme leader of all rapists at school. This surely could not be rambo_7861!. Maybe this was just a dream. I had to get out of this nightmare. I ran back, ran back to my home, ran back to my personal computer. I waited whole night for him to come back. He was finally back.
rambo7861!: You fucker, why didn't you turn up?
crazy_hunk9: Mom didn't allow. Up for a game?
rambo7861!: Hell yeah!
And to test him, I put myself in the corner. He did the usual. Took all the bullets to his heart to save mine. This surely could not be the slimy bastard I see everyday at school. This is the real rambo7861! and this is reality. Maybe I should stop living in nightmares. I am crazy_hunk9 after all. | 2015-04-07T03:12:12 | 2015-04-07T00:42:49 | 661 | 116 |
[WP] in the year 1105 BC you helped a man escape an imprisonment. Before you parted ways he says to make a blood oath. You didn’t think much of it but you also cut your hand and shake. He says that you’ll live as long as he does. Well, now it’s the year 2020 and you’ve been searching for this man. | "Shake my hand."
Those were the last words I heard him speak. The escape operation had been incredibly difficult. There were enough guards to fill a soccer stadium surrounding this prison for one person. The person I had just killed each and every last guard to free. He had told me to make a blood oath, and become blood brothers. And I did so, to my demise. That was BC 1105. The year now is 2020. I have seen the rise and fall of many empires, the birth and death of the supposed Jesus Christ, although I never believed it. I saw both world wars, and the cold war, fought in both of them too. I became a legend among the ranks, but also a secret to the generals and lieutenants. In order to protect my identity, where in the battle of Mons my absolute, supposedly suicidal rampage caused the enemy troops to flee in sheer terror, the troops, my friends, told the authorities that angels and flown down and scared off the Nazis. The excuse still made me giggle slightly to this day.
I guess I'm crazy, but living for 3000 years does that to people. I hadn't aged a day since I had rescued him from that torture house the Chinese had called a prison. I didn't even know my own name anymore, or at least my original name. 3000 years gives you a lot of time to learn things, and it also unlocks areas of the brain that would remain dormant for a normal human's entire life. I could forge to an exact degree (with both metals and identities) meaning that I have had an inordinate amount of names. The one I had at the moment was Will.
I had been looking for the man for about 2500 years. At first the immortality was fun, and I showed off to everyone. But after watching everyone I loved die before my eyes, it became less so. I tried making blood pacts with others to try and give them my immortality, but to no avail. I realised that I could not make a single friend for the rest of my life. This was depressing,. but eventually I numbed myself to it, and to every other type of pain too. You could shoot me in the head, but I wouldn't die. I was put to the guillotine in France for being a witch after they found out about my invincibility, but my head just grow straight back.
But I kept on searching and searching. I would never find him, though, I knew, because he was dead. I found out yesterday. I saw his grave. I bore the name "Graman Shore".
I'm so tired...
I might just go for a snooze...
​
And he felt no more. | The midnight winds fluttered the wet leaves in the canopy above us, and the waves could be heard crashing against rock and granite.
Nine torches with different types of animal blood splattered over the base were arranged in a circular shape, and we stood at the focal point within the ritual ground.
“Here”. One of the two obsidian arrowheads was grasped in his hand, channeling immense pressure indenting his flesh.
When the stars and our ethereal souls collided, we gashed the palms of our hands and shook. The ritual was a success; to become essentially immortal, but there was one issue...
The year is 2020, a bag of makeshift IV fluid sat on a pedestal next to the rickety IKEA bed some entrepreneur dumped in a dumpster twenty-seven years past. I am homeless, unable to adapt into conventional society. No funds, no peers, no stable jobs, just a man with the AIDS virus because he decided to shake a mans fucking bloodied hand. | 2019-08-28T02:33:03 | 2019-08-28T02:04:38 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] Nations around the world are hellbent on taking out this journalist that has been trying to publish pieces about things that are supposed to be top secret. But for some reason, all attempts to silence this “Clark Kent” fellow have failed. | The director looked at the files. 15 assassination attempts. His agents assured that Clark Kent had at least drunk poison, taken a bullet to the head and been pushed off a building.
The poisoner died from his own mixture a day later, the shooter plainly disappeared and the pusher was found at the bottom of a ravine, spread apart by the force of the impact. This was getting out of hand.
Kent had published a paper about a secret satellite launch, it had been passed as a commercial launch but somehow he saw through it. Kent knew that the trajectory it followed wasn't the one officialy announced. Of course, everything was denied, but the damage was done. Amateur astronomers with too much free time on their hands jumped on the wagon and were pointing out night lights that should not be there.
This was just the tip of the iceberg. Before, he had written a vitriolic paper about slave trade and human rights violation. He nailed Saudi Arabia, China, American en European firms implanted in Africa and India. Nothing out of the ordinary, these were usual targets on the subject, but the photographs and videos he brought as proof were worrying. Appointed high-ranking government officials incriminating themselves, signing documents he had gotten copies of and more. Too much to be managed by one man alone.
Kent was a case bridging the cultural gap and bringing different countries together. Governments on every continent wanted him gone, secret services, media moguls and finance guru pooled means together to achieve just that.
And these idiotic rich didn't help. His secret service had enough trouble as it was, but now some bigwig thought that sending a hired killer would do the work where trained agents failed. Of course it backfired. Kent retraced the killer's path back to the bigwig, and in turn the director himself started to get an undesirable amount of heat.
The director could handle sightings of a flying man saving people. Daydreaming that put the focus away from him, he could not ask for more. But a journalist backed by a strong network of informants, obviously protected and able to see through classified projects was the biggest liability he could face. Who was Clark Kent working for? A country? Unlikely, he was nailing everyone left and right without apparent loyalty. Who was he working with? Who sent him videos and documents from across the globe when surveillance stated he stayed in America?
This followed a pattern easily recognizable. Bound to no nation, following a dangerous ideal, these were terrorists fighting with information instead of explosives, but terrorists upsetting order nonetheless.
The director's task was to protect the american people, shedding light on matters best stayed hidden did not help that. This journalist was dangerous, a problem for national security and every other national security on the globe it appeared.
Kent had to be dealt with, realpolitik had no place for an idealist like him. End of the story.
That's how the story ended every time so far, so why didn't Kent die like the others? Why did he kept on surviving? And why couldn't they get more intel on him?
It seemed like the director had found his very own boogeyman. | “MTF unit gamma-3 and misinformation units are at the scene” states the nervous intern that has pulled up a screen infront of the 05 council. “It appears that this Clark Kent has been writing and publishing our scp files” *nervous laugh from the intern* and we have sent multiple mtf squadrons to stop him”
“And if we are not able to neutralize him?” Asks 05-2
“Umm well dr bright has suggested that we send someone to talk to him sir”
*the door flys open and dr. Bright pops in*
“Hello mates now how about we show h 096 eh” dr bright exclaimed.
“Dr. Bright please sit down we need to discuss a certain issue with the foundations secrecy,” 05-5 states very professionally considering the fact that dr. Bright is wearing a thong. “There appears to be an
Unkillable person who is publishing our secret files, what did you have in mind”
“I dunno why m here to tell you to take down the list of the things I’m not allowed to do” dr. Bright states to the council
*05 council sighs and carries on*
“Anyway erm the mtf units have made contact” the intern says quietly “and they appear to be talking to the subject and he aperantly he is fine with keeping the foundation secret”
“Good, have the mtf bring in Clark Kent and this meeting is dismissed, but dr. Bright we have to talk” states 05-1 | 2020-11-29T01:49:23 | 2020-11-29T01:36:23 | 1,996 | 64 |
[WP] After years of constant battles, you've finally defeated your nemesis, the city's foremost hero and protector. But now their spouse just showed up, and nothing you throw at them even slows them down. | I was tired. Beyond tired. Overtired. I knew even if I tried to lay down to sleep here in the street that sleep would not take me. Besides, the body of Strateria was dead on the floor before me and I would rather not try and sleep next to her in such a state. I may of hated her more than anything else in my life, but I was hardly a freak in that sense.
The bellow that captured my concentration was beyond anything I had ever heard before. I stood quickly enough to cause a blood rush to my head but I saw instantly who it was. A man, a civilian by the looks of him, storming toward where I stood over Strateria's dead body.
"You!"
The rage in his voice was evident even in spite of the near quarter-mile distance. How could I have heard him from so far away? There was no hero on the current Council's roster that matched his description, unless Anubiz wore a muscle-suit under his outfit. Unlikely.
"I will end you for what you've done to her."
I can still hear him, in spite of the distance, but why does this civilian care so much about the hero? Sure, there's a cult-like fan group that supports her and pays money into some off-shore account to keep her sated and clothed to do her job as a full-time hero, but even one of them stands no chance against me. I stamp my heel into the floor and a half-tonne chunk of the pavement beside me bounces into the air. As it reaches its apogee I spin-kick it at the man and face the other way as I wait to hear the inevitable crunch and splatter of a defenceless body hit by such a weight. Three, two, one...
Nothing.
I turned back around to see why there was no sound of impact and see something... unexpected. The half-tonne chunk of pavement and cement is... floating. The man, hidden by its size, appears as he barely breaks pace on his way toward me.
Impossible.
I try to wrench the chunk at him from behind, but nothing happens. The man cannot be holding it, even with telekinesis. Surely? Surely if he had stopped it dead then he would have had to take the whole weight with an outstretched arm or two. Wait. There are no telekinetic heroes on the Council. There hasn't been one for years, and she's as dead as Strateria.
I pull at the fire behind me and blast it at him like a flamethrower, his clothes begin to singe and melt away but once again, he does not break his stride toward me. That feeling in the back of my throat is there again, I'm beginning to panic. Who the hell is this guy? Sharp spikes made of ice miss their target. A push of wind does nothing to break his stride either. I step back once again to give myself room to use my powers and stand right onto Strateria's motionless ankle. I roll my own over hers and fall beside her as the man stands tall over me. I look to her quickly, in case this is one of her tricks of illusion but she has never pretended to be dead before to trick me.
"She is my wife." The man over me says as he pulls me up without moving. Telekinesis for sure.
"Who are you?" I tremble in his grasp, my bowels wanting to loosen in fear.
"I am Revocan."
Oh shit.
* * *
Like this? Find more of my work over on [/r/ocallkai](https://reddit.com/r/ocallkai/) | I was tired, but at least the job was done. Hardacre lay at my feet, inert and unbreathing. My shoulders sagged in relief and I turned to go. His bigoted, conservative ideology had been plaguing this city for years, but now it would be free from his influence.
Now time to go home and rest. I turned to walk out of the rubble we'd made of the park when a hard shock hit me between the shoulder blades, knocking me sprawling. It's a testament to how worn out I was, that I just lay there for a moment before climbing back to make my feet.
I turned to face my attacker and my breath caught: the wife of Hardacre.
I expected her face to be twisted in rage and grief, but from where I stood she only looked confused.
"Why did you kill him?" She asked, walking toward me, looking like she was gonna hurl another shock blast. I called a wind, strong as I could make it, and pushed it at her. It went by her, whipping her hair around, but she kept taking steps toward me.
"Why did you have to kill him?" She asked again. Now that she was closer I could see that she was furious, but was the kind of person that goes still and stiff when angry.
There was another emotion, too, lurking in the lines of her face. Nakedness, but I don't mean physical. Everything that had clothed her soul was gone; Hardacre's death left her bereft.
"Why? Why kill him?" Now she was standing nose to nose with me and before the wash of emotions I had nothing to say. When the silence stretched out across several moments, she said,
"Leave. And don't come back til you can explain."
I would have described her voice as a snarl but it was too flat for that. I turned and left and so far I haven't gone back. I remember clearly the feel of Hardacre's life leaving his body, and while I can say the reasons that lead to killing him, I don't know how to explain why.
I don't know how to understand something that can be right and wrong at the same time. | 2021-07-15T08:17:32 | 2021-07-15T07:05:25 | 57 | 16 |
[WP] You travel back in time to the 1900's, you take your tablet out of your rucksack only to find that there is a WiFi hotspot nearby labeled "If you can see this, turn back.". | The container landed with the clatter of steel against concrete.
I staggered my way out of my padded coffin into a filthy alleyway, and was greeted by the sounds of honking, the smell of smog, and a gun put against my head.
“Y-your money or your life!” stammered the thug who had just witnessed my landing.
“Give me a sec.” I staggered over to a dumpster and promptly threw up into it.
I raised my head and looked at the confused thug. “What year is it?”
“W-what?”
I repeated myself calmly “I said, what year is it.” The effect of my straight faced-ness was rather ruined by my wobbling knees as I struggled to put them under me and get to my feet.
“1900 of course,” he didn’t seem to understand the implications of either my questions or the fact that I had just staggered out of a box that had moments ago been glowing and smoking from high velocity gravitons and tachyons slamming against it at relativistic speeds.
“And why the hell are you asking anyway. I could kill you right here, and no one would be the wiser,” he blustered.
This was bad. He was starting to regain his nerve. I needed to regain control of the situation.
“Look friend.” I finally got my feet steady enough to stand up and wobble my way towards him as I reached into my pocket. “You don’t seem to understand so let me make it abundantly clear.” I pulled out a taser and shot him.
“AGHHGHHGHH!”
I kneeled down next to his twitching body and riffled through his pockets. A pocket knife, some lint, and bingo! His wallet. Some assorted bills, two silver dollars, and a business card for New York Shipping Co.
New York huh.
The time slip worked exactly as intended. Three seconds in a container designed to pierce through the fabric of space time, and I'd landed one hundred and sixty three years in the past. The year 1900 in New York City.
“Thanks a bunch.” I punctuated my words with a check to the ribcage as I got up and tucked his gun into my waistband. “You’ve been a wonderful help.”
I staggered to the edge of the alley and got my first look at the place I’d landed.
The city was loud and obnoxious. Much like the New York I remembered from my time, but without the pleasant hum of electric vehicles, and more filled with the sounds of screaming cabbies and roadside vendors.
I’d forgotten how much I hated human drivers with their profanity and poor driving.
I caught a whiff of the combined stench of open sewer grates, trash, and the streetside food vendors and promptly lost all control of my stomach again.
After I was done painting the brick wall of the alley with my stomach again, I staggered out into the street and began looking for a safe familiar place.
“Rough night huh?” The hot dog vendor gave me a quick once over in a practiced way. “Hotdog?”
My stomach lurched again at the thought. “No thanks.”
This whole world was different. On a logical level, I knew that it was the exact same Earth and the exact same New York as I was used to, just a long time in the past.
Such a weird thought to have. None of our languages are designed with time travel in mind. If I kill someone here, then am I guilty of murder in the year 2063, or do I only become guilty of the crime after I commit it back in 1900?
My head hurts already just thinking about it. On second thought, the headache that was sneaking up on me probably wasn’t just because of the concepts I was thinking about.
I needed to sit down. Maybe write down some preliminary observations about the time slip. After all, I wasn't hired to come here just to sight see. I needed to write a preliminary report and time slip it forward.
Further down the street I saw a subway entrance with a rope over the entrance and a ‘closed for maintenance’ sign hanging. I slipped inside and set up a lamp next to a bench.
I pulled out my tablet to access the note feature, but as soon as I turned it on, a window popped open.
I felt a prickle run down my spine. "available wi-fi signals." What the hell? This technology isn't supposed to exist yet. Not only that, but the title of the signal available was "Turn back while you can"
Something was incredibly wrong here. I need to get back to my capsule as soon as I can.
| I'd just emerged from the subway (my time machine) and had been maneuvering through the veins of central New York City when I'd stumbled upon something grave. The tablet in my rucksack had hung heavy the whole while that I'd been weaving my way in and out of each flock of workers and businessmen alike, hanging like dead weight. I'd just turned the corner into what I believed to be Times Square, and my tablet buzzed in my rucksack, signaling me that there was a wi-fi hotspot nearby. I almost lost my footing and was swallowed by the crowd around me, but regained myself, turned around, and ditched down a back alley way to regain my sanity as well as a bit of privacy. The alley led down to the back of an Italian meat-shop, steam rising from the back kitchen door. I sat down against a chain-link fence, the metal wire caving to fit the curvature of my back. Dear gosh- was it really the wi-fi buzz I felt? I took my tablet from the rucksack that now leaned to my right side, cautious of the world around me. The fluorescent screen lit up like a match in the alley, and my brow began to sweat. *Would you like to connect to a server?* **One** *server nearby*. Out of curiosity, I clicked the "connect" button with a shaky finger. Something in my tablet flickered, and the wi-fi server appeared. *Damn.* The words sounded like a car crash when I read them in my head. "If you can see this, turn back", the screen read, and I'd never been so afraid of seven syllables in my life.
I stuffed the tablet in my bag and jumped to my feet, only to see an Italian mother ready to turn from the kitchen into the back alley. With a deep breath I turned the opposite direction and ran, creating a detour in my mind to get back to the subway. It seemed as if the whole city knew I didn't fit in, didn't belong- and that there would be consequences for that. Even the buildings stared at me with their glassy panes and robust frames. I quickened my pace as I cleared two, then three blocks, and then a final fourth block. I rounded one more corner- an emerging market- and searched for the entrance into the ground below- but all that was there was pavement and a crimson fire hydrant.
*Shite*. I put my hands onto my back and exhaled deeply, staring into the clear sky above. The Time Travelers Handbook and Agenda had clearly stated that if the portal was to disappear, it meant that someone or *something* from your destined period had entered it, and the gatekeepers had shut the portal down until a further plan of action could be determined. This could take minutes to years to complete. I turned back on my heel and casually sauntered into a neighboring Irish Inn, ordered myself a meager serving of soup, and took a window seat. | 2014-12-23T21:32:17 | 2014-12-23T19:27:07 | 100 | 18 |
[WP] About a month ago, you woke up with a small pair of wings growing out of your back. A week ago, a pair of horns began to grow from your forehead. While cutting up breakfast this morning, your knife turned into a flaming sword. It might be time to consult someone about this.
\(Resubmitted to correct typo.\) | "Oh, Johnny, what a surprise!" Mom exclaims as she pulls me into a hug. But she pulled back after a second, peering up at me, "Hold on, since when have you started wearing hats, and trenchcoats?"
I gulp, readjusting my hat, "Mom, can I come in?"
She steps aside, and immediately head for the kitchen.
"Johnny," she asks, "What's wrong, sweetie?"
I lean back against the counter, pushing away a memory from my younger years. I take a deep breath, "Mom, who was my father?"
Her face falls lightly, "Oh, Johnny, I thought we'd moved past this?"
"I thought so too," I mumble.
"What was that," she asked in her reflexive, 'you-know-what-I-think-about-mumbling-tone'.
"I mean, who was he?"
"I told you, some guy I met in a bar after the Riots. A nobody." she stressed.
I turn my gaze to the floor, shaking my head lightly, "You're lying."
She jolts, as if I'd slapped her, "...Excuse me?"
Steeling my nerves, I lift my head up, "You're lying," I repeat, forcefully.
"Johnathan O'Donald!" she puts her hands on her hips, eyes alight with fury, "How dare you?! I am you're mother!"
"And you're also a liar!" I shout back. "Who's my father?!"
"It doesn't matter!"
"Yes, it does!" I scream as I tear off my hat and coat. I wince as my leathery wings beat twice, stretching out after being confined for so long, and I ignore the pang in my heart as she shrieks. I reach for a knife, and the instant I touch it, the utensil transforms into a sharp, serrated blade coated in crimson flames.
"I know a lot of half-demons mom, and they all say the same thing; a half-breed is either born with horns," I tap one of the six rams horns growing out the side of my skull, "or wings," the extra appendages extend to full length, flapping lightly and knocking over the table, "but not both. And no one, has ever had the ability to turn common objects into flaming weapons."
I fold my wings in, staring down at my hands. "But, there are rumors of one being--a terrible, horrible beast--that might father a child with all these traits." Despite the weapon burning in my hands, the room drops ten degrees."...I'm not asking again." I stare into her eyes, ignoring her pale, tear-stained face, "Who was my father?"
| "Well... it explains the hat," your GP and good friend says. "That's all you have to say?" I ask, a little panic-y. For some reason I had expected something a bit more dramatic. Granted, Andrew is the most level-headed of my friends, but this reaction is, by all definitions of the word, underwhelming. "Can you use the wings?" Andrew asks, resulting in an annoyed glare from me. "What? For scientific reasons," he defends. I sigh deeply. "Not yet. They're too small; also, I dont know how to use the muscles," I reply. "I see," Andrew replies. And with that an awkward silence falls over the room.
"IS THAT ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY?!" I explode after a minute of the awkward silence. "Dude, I dont know! You just turned my scalpel into a flaming sword! This is not my area op expertise," Andrew defends.
I have to give him that. "Have you contacted Josh?" Andrew asks. "You mean father Josh? He will purify my ass," you reply. | 2018-04-16T06:33:38 | 2018-04-16T03:02:02 | 37 | 22 |
[WP] You were an "evil" king who has been dethroned by conquering heroes for your "horrible tyranny". It takes less than 2 years for the people of the kingdom to be begging for you to be reinstated as king. | The horse drawn wagon rolled along at a steady pace, bouncing and jostling slightly on roads beginning to deteriorate after almost two years of neglect. I sat beside the driver at the front, with a small group of six soldiers in the cart behind us, in silence. Crows called somewhere overhead, then fluttered into the sky in front of us, dark shadows that disappeared into the sky. I took my time surveying the surrounding environment: farmland left untended; houses abandoned, ransacked, or burnt down; and an eerie, quiet emptiness that permeated the world around us.
"I am going to presume that this area fared marginally better than others, considering the rumors I have heard over the years?" I half asked, half stated. "I can still recognize what this all used to be, at least. I wonder if I will be able to say the same about the capital itself..."
Some of the men shuffled around behind me, and the driver began to open his mouth as if to speak, then shut it suddenly. I was left to wonder in that moment if that was a wordless confirmation, or an unwillingness to speak on such matters. The countryside turned to dense farmland, or at least what used to be farmland, and we began to see our first signs of life since my arrival in the kingdom. Among the ruins of farmhouses and dwellings, a sole house had survived relatively unscathed, an emaciated, dirty man was working on tilling the fields next to it. From the windows, I glimpsed the faint shapes of shadowy figures within.
Our journey through the farms of the land surrounding the capitol itself continued for some time, until eventually the we crested a ridge and were given an astonishing view of what remained. What was once a lively, bustling center of the world now sat grey, charred, and dead. For the first time since that fateful day years ago, I felt a pang of sadness...and anger. Approaching the city itself showed a grim picture of what had become of its people, and all those of the kingdom. Tents and ramshackle huts had been erected along the main road by refugees and fleeing citizens, not terribly far off in the distance I could see mass graves - and the groups of people dragging bodies into them.
The cart stopped, the driver looked back at the soldiers. "Get out, make a ring around the wagon, three at the front and three towards the back. Weapons at the ready."
They did as ordered, surrounding us to create a protective barrier. It was only when they drew their weapons did I notice how dull and unkempt they were. I wasn't sure how effective these poor men would be in defending us if the need arose, and almost let my quip loose before changing my mind. These people were not deserving of such remarks. We moved forwards, to the castle at the center of the city, through empty streets whose cobbles were stained with dried blood, ash, and dirt. Occasionally we would come across piles of dead bodies, some of them burnt while others sat rotting. The stench of coppery blood and decaying flesh permeated specific parts of the main road.
Shady individuals could also be seen in the alleys and pathways lining the road, often with crude weapons or tools in hand. Most darted back into the alleys and away from our procession, but the braver often needed one of our guards to yell and gesture at with their weapon before retreating.
We found the castle gates not long after, and a sole guard atop the walls called for the main gate to be opened. The heavy steel creaked and groaned, but obeyed, lifting just long enough for us to slip inside before slamming back down with a bone shaking bang. Departing from our cart, we ventured into the castle proper to meet with the current commanders of the kingdom. I couldn't help but notice what was once a grand, bright, beautiful castle was now not much more than an empty, dusty stone crypt.
I was led to the throne room, which doubled as a meeting and planning room for circumstances such as the current ones. Seated there, awaiting me, were three people; two men and a woman. They looked only marginally more fed and clean than the rest of the inhabitants of the kingdom I had seen. There was nothing but silence as I made my way to the table and sat down opposite them, but their eyes followed me like hawks watching prey...or perhaps more accurately, like stray dogs watching their savior approach them.
As I sat down, I took a good look at them. The woman was young, perhaps not much over the age of twenty, with a mess of tangled hair and tired eyes. The first of the men was far older than I or the other two, a wrinkled face and long white and grey beard gave him quite the sagely appearance. The last of the three looked about my age, a fighter, by the scars across his arms, hands, and face - but also of a missing right eye. I knew approximately none of them.
"So, are we to sit here and silently stare at each other until what is left of my kingdom dies, or shall we make introductions and *do something* more than nothing, hmm?" I asked, barely keeping my tone from being entirely spiteful.
The woman nodded, as if what I had said completely broke the stupor of the room. "Yes, of course, introductions must be made. I'm Lee Varkoth, our logistics expert. The old codger beside me is Nerys Redrunn, the political head here. And then there's Martin Unnel, a military man. We are the current...heads of command of the Corzades Kingdom...and you," she tilted her head at me, "are Theo Corzades, last king of the country."
I looked down at myself for a moment, checking to make sure I hadn't somehow become someone else. "I would have to agree with you, madam Varkoth, that that is in fact, me."
My sense of humor must not have been appreciated, as they carried on without comment, with Redrunn stroking his beard and speaking, "Unlike these two," his free hand gestured to his partners besides him, "I have no delusions as to why you are here, Sir Corzades. I do not suppose you, too, understand our intent?"
"I do. You wish to install me as king, or at the very least want me to lead you to salvage this pathetic mess of a country. But it does, however, strike me, that you are not the "heroes" who dethroned me nor the ones they immediately put in charge." I leaned forwards against the table, dust getting on my arms as I did. "But that leads me to wonder what became of them. I know what happened to my kingdom once I was forced out, but I am deeply interested in the fate of these "heroes"."
Now it was time for Unnel to speak. "The group instilled a small council to govern, with themselves as the guiding hand and enforcers, but things began to go bad immediately. As circumstances became more and more unfavorable for them, and they realized they were losing control of the situation, they began to distance themselves as much as possible...it didn't work, of course. The riots started, civil war followed soon after. A large part of their council was killed, and the rest either surrendered or tried to flee. The band of heroes would likewise try to escape, and some did, but many died. The exact whereabouts of the survivors, of which we believe at least half of them survived, is unknown."
"But you three somehow came together through the ashes and tried to fix things."
They nodded, then silence. Slowly, I rose from my seat and made my way all the way down the table, past the three commanders, and up to the throne. My throne. A blanket had been thrown over it, perhaps to protect it, but more than likely in a vain attempt to hide it. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say. I withdrew the blanket, sending a cloud of dust into the air that drifted down around me. I traced my fingers along the armrests, along the golden trim, and through my family crest at its head.
"I was a cruel man. I never pretended to be anything but, and I do not intend to act like I was not nor am not now. As a child, I inherited a kingdom on the verge of extinction when my parents died of illness. I did horrible things to fix this country, and horrible things to keep it intact. And still, despite my efforts, I was dethroned by a band of adventurous children, exiled, and then forced to watch my hard work, my sacrifices, and the sacrifices of my entire lineage burn to the ground. Perhaps I was a tyrant...but at least then our streets weren't lined with the dead and ruled by criminals."
I took a deep breath to steady myself. From the very depths of my soul, I felt unfathomable rage bubble to the surface, but I would not allow myself to break. Not now. I turned around, the three commanders standing at a respectful distance away from me and the throne. For the first time in years, a smile spread across my face.
"But perhaps...just perhaps...I can make something work with you three," I opened my arms wide, my smile a Cheshire grin across my face, "and after my people are no longer dying in the streets, and this famine is ended, and peace and order is once again restored...those damn fools we call "heroes" will be next on my list of problems to solve *permanently."* | As Alanmir tended his garden, head lowered to water the cluster of Amaryllis in bloom, he heard a horse approaching, followed by its cool shadow looming over him.
"Can I help you?" Alanmir asked politely. He lifted his head in greeting, placing a sweaty, dirt covered hand over his brow to see the rider, squinting to try and make out their features, but saw only pale shadow in the bright sunlight. The unknown rider continued to look at him in silence. He could command the rider to speak, but it had been years since he'd used that regal power. Nowadays, he tended his little garden and traded his knowledge of letters to the village for supplies. Gone was the stress of court and nobles. It was a simple life.
"Alanmir you *bastard*, I've finally found you," the rider's tone was scalding, scratching at hazy memories in Alanmir's mind. The rider dismounted quickly, then rounded the horse and leaned over the fence between them. Alanmir blinked a few times, then froze, his blood running as he recognised the rigid smile on the pale rider's face.
"J-Jamer!" Alanmir said in a horrified whisper, falling to his haunches. A ghost from the past— the contract magician of a former life. A man who had no right to be standing here. A man whom Alanmir had watched buried alive in chains and dirt. The bargain that had been struck between himself and the Usurpers rang loud in his mind; A Life for a Life. The King's Throne for a Magician. Sworn by blood and witnessed by many.
"That's right, you *coward*. Your good old *friend* Jamer, returned from the *dead,"* the undead man spat the words at the former-king like an accusation, his feral smile never wavering.
"What do you want!? Leave me alone! I'm done with this kingly business, done with it and done with you, damn it!" Alamnir blubbered, scrabbling backwards until his back hit the familiar wood of the shack. He looked anywhere but that pale face and that wide, dead smile, praying for The World to grant him a boon and end this nightmare.
Jamer raised a mocking eyebrow as he hopped over the fence with ease. "Oh, sir, *please*, *I* want for nothing. I am but a humble servant. Your *people* on the other hand *cry* your name out from the rooftops. The *nobles* weep tears when your name is mentioned on their lips. The soldiers fall to their knees and abandon their posts. It's quite tragic," Jamer said theatrically, raising his arms ever higher as he took one slow step after another towards the former king.
Despite the fear, Alanmir couldn't help but raise his eyes to the undead magician in hope. When he had *retired*, he had expected people to make a fuss about it. An uprising or two perhaps, maybe even a peasant revolt. But nobody did anything. He had gone not with a bang, but with a whimper. But to hear the snake Jamer speak of his kingdom like this filled a gnawing need he hadn't realised he had; that perhaps history would remember him as a good king.
"*No*," Jamer said sarcastically, shattering Alanmir's hopes. "But this is what you'll need to believe when you make your triumphant return, because you *are* going to be returning," there was a bitter, harsh steel to the last part; a command rather than a request.
"No! I won't. *I won't*!" Alanmir blubbered, trying to make himself smaller as Jamer approached him. The undead magician spoke on, as though he'd never spoken at all.
"See, over the last two years I've had quite a lot of time to think about what happened to me. How *did* the Usurpers enter the court so easily? Why *did* the Nobility not fight back? Why *was* power transferred so cleanly? And most importantly," the smile wavered, the pale mask breaking into a rictus of rage, "why was *I* the only one to be executed after all of it?"
Jamer was only a step away from Alanmir now, and he lowered himself to a crouch, bringing his pale close, his dead eyes boring into the king's. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" there was an edge of madness to the man's voice as he said it, the smiling mask slipping back on.
Alanmir gulped, trying to keep the bile in his stomach down, shaking his head vigorously. He had thought his plan to disappear and escape the contract magician's clutches was foolproof. How childish it seemed now when spoken back to him by the undead man. "B-but if the kingdom doesn't want me back, why are you here?"
"Ah, yes. Yes. A good question," said Jamer, pulling himself back a little. "You would agree that one shouldn't pitch a carriage to a *lame horse*, but I still have some faith in you, my dear *King*. You see, I went back to the kingdom before I came here, and *everything I thought would happen has happened*. *Everything.* With you on the throne the nobility could be kept in check, but without you? Every house with a kid to spare is claiming your throne! There's a civil war looming on the horizon and the Usurpers are on the brink of losing it all. It's quite tragic, really."
"Why me? Why not find someone else?"
"Why? *Because,*" Jamir said, breaking into a horrible, manic laugh, "as much as it pains me to admit, taking back a kingdom with an untested weapon is the height of foolishness. *I know you like I know myself.* So when I say you and I are going to go back to the kingdom to take back the throne from the Usurpers, I know, *exactly,* how we're going to do it. And to prevent any mishaps along the way, I drew up this contract for you to sign."
From his pocket, the undead magician pulled out a small scroll and handed it to Alanmir, along with a small, sharp nail.
"And if I refuse?" Alanmir said bravely, a fight welling up in his stomach. Without a king, Jamer would be able to do nothing. Jamer's power was in coercion, and the undead man had nothing now to blackmail him with. This had been one of the stipulations of his plan— a life for a life, his own for the safety of his daughter's.
"Well, well, well, well, *my dear king,"* Jamer sang in a lilting voice, "If you won't do it, I'm sure your *daughter* would be more amenable. Though she's on the other side of the continent, living it up on a beach resort, I'm sure she'll be thrilled for a little spice in her life, don't you think?"
The fight welling in Alanmir's stomach fled him, and he deflated visibly. Jamer still had something he could use, even after everything he had done to try and protect himself. The Usurpers had lied. Had failed in their bargain.
After a few silent seconds, he said, in a small, pitiable voice, "If... if I do this, will you leave her in peace?"
"Pinkie promise. Also, it's in the contract," Jamer said, chuckling as he licked his bruised tongue on cracked lips.
Alanmir looked up to the sky, tears pricking his eyes. He prayed once more for The World to save him, and when nothing came, he gave up. He sighed his last free sigh, stabbed his thumb with the nail, and pressed the welling blood into the contract.
Jamer's pale mouth grew into a contorted, feral smile as he watched the light leave Alanmir's eyes, and saw his puppet king returned to him at last. | 2021-03-30T13:29:50 | 2021-03-30T13:13:18 | 68 | 37 |
[WP] The Black Death wiped out all human life in the Old World. Describe the first Native American expedition to discover Europe centuries later.
*Edit;* for anyone interested in this prompt, a few cool people below pointed out that there's a book series known as [The Years of Rice and Salt](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Years_of_Rice_and_Salt) that's very similar! Take a look. I'd like to note, though, that when I said 'Old World' in the title, I was not just referring to Europe, but to Africa, the Middle East and much of Asia, too. That said, I left it intentionally vague, so take as much creative liberty as you like! | It was the smell.
Before anything else, before sight or sound of anything other than waves breaking on the shore, the smell was the first thing they sensed. Strong, overpowering, even over the salt water. Revolting waves of stench rolled even stronger than the atlantic swells, a stink that bore death and misery, decay.
The leader jumped lithely from the prow of the long, narrow boat to alight on the sand. Not thirty seconds walk from the shore was the first body, a black and swollen husk, home to maggots hatching in what was left of the flesh. The stink.
There were only three hundred men and women on the expedition, and they walked armed and wary, but needn't have. The village they came to had ten dead for every living soul, perhaps one hundred living souls in total.
The second in command was cautious. "There is a sickness upon these people, boss... I don't know if we should go any further..."
The leader gazed down his long nose at the people suffering in front of him, cowering in rags at the sight of the healthy warriors.
"Not sick", he uttered softly. "Starving."
He was right. The people were skin and bones, skeletal figures of pity and hopelessness, a mockery of human life. There were no farms to be seen of any consequence, and the only wild animals in sight were dogs and rats.
"Have they no bison? No pigs? Where is all the food?"
"The leader looked around once more at the village. Shacks cobbled together with driftwood, clothes made of poorly woven reeds and plants. Cloth seemed to be in short supply. No weapons, no handmade items of any beauty. Sea shells and smooth stones from the shore.
"They do not no how to farm, I think. Look at how they live."
The mans heart was heavy with the sight of the wretched waifs skulking in front of them, too scared to approach, no signs of communication of any kind other than some sort of superstitious hand motion, crossing in front of their face.
"Look at how they act." He sighed, long and slow.
"These people are savages."
(Edited for spelling.) | "Hey. Would you look at that..."
"What?"
"On the horizon. It's... land! You know what that means, don't you? We are looking at..."
"The East Andes!"
"Great Scott!"
"This is heavy!"
"I told you! This thing just loops back around like a..."
"A klein bottle."
"Yeah."
"The prophecies were..."
"About completely different stuff than this."
"Yeah not much good for navigation."
"I have to say, The East Andes are not very mountainous."
"If you don't like them, I can turn this helicopter around."
(I probably can't go further without knowing the first thing about geography or history.) | 2014-03-09T20:56:44 | 2014-03-09T20:54:12 | 150 | 75 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is. | As my thirtieth birthday came I happily put one more point into my only skill. Not that anyone would notice. See everyone always asks what skills did I put that allowed me in the end to build such an easy life for myself, and I just smile and tell them that it's my little secret. See in the list of skills and their derrivatives and different effects most people spread them across base attributes. Now this doesn't mean one who does not have high intelligence cannot be smart, it more effects natural gifts and abilities towards each ones various ranges.
​
I was ten like anyone else when my skills were unlocked and I was allowed to begin building myself. I scrolled through the list, the base attributes at the top, most popular specialized skills right below them. You were allowed when on the screen to test your point and get a feel for what it might be, but once you locked in that was it, you were locked with those skills. I was scrolling towards the bottom of the list, boredom reading the oddest most out of place and useless skills. I must have taken so long my parents started worrying cause I remember hitting the bottom and finding the oddest thing, a skill labeled Magic. Now this confused me cause I remember finding and testing magic tricks way earlier on the list. Hesitantly I dropped a skill point into it and suddenly I felt two things, an otherworldly energy flow through me and knowledge how to do a few effects such as moving small things with my mind and creating little illusionary scenes in my hands or on the table.
​
The strangest thing were two other senses with that power, one that it was almost forbidden like someone wanted it forgotten; and the other was feeling like it was almost an addiction. As my parents began knocking asking me if I needed help I quickly did the unthinkable and instead of spreading my points I dumped everything into magic and locked it in. As I exited my room to prepare for the day my parents smiled and asked how I spread my skills and putting on my best innocent smile I said it was "My little secret."
​
Shortly afterwards I realized why it was forbidden and almost purposefully forgotten and hidden. With magic there was no need for any other skill. My senses improved just from feeling the currents of mystical energies around me, I had spells that could increase my physical attributes to be inhuman levels if I so wished, school became easy as I used spells such as clairvoyance to show me what I needed to know. It also seemed the magical energies flowing through my body itself attracted people to me. As I leveled it up every year after I felt both my power grow and my knowledge of what I could do expand. The only downside was some difficulties I had with electronics, but that was small change compared to the abilities that were only limited by my imagination.
​
I was careful though, after the initial shock at ten I realized to dial it back once people were wondering if I had extra skill points to burn or such. I never let myself seem perfect in anything, but always well gifted, making sure to use my powers to fog minds and change things when people seemed to catch on I wasn't a balance build. I was set up for an easy life and knew it, but with magic I always needed more and every level I gained went there, eventually becoming inconceivable to put a point anywhere else.
​
Now as I turned thirty and have maxed out the skill I know everything. If I wanted overnight I could become a god, I don't though, no instead I will cast the immortality spells and wait till another finds this skill then I will find them and train them. In the meantime the entire world is my plaything, and I can choose whatever playthrough I want.
​
*Tell me what you think, I am always looking for input* | When I was five my parents held my birthday bash in the park with all the first graders in my class attending.
Today was a special day. I'll be in charge of my own skill points from now on. I had five to use once I blew the candles and from then on a point every year to allocate as my birthday wish.
While playing games a group was huddled around something in the corner. Curious I joined as well. There on the pavement was a beautiful little bird, it's feathers every colour of the rainbow. It's beak was slightly open and a trail of ants were making their way to it.
One of the boys pokes the bird with a stick but it didn't move or fly away. I saw this as my chance and grabbed the bird running to show my mother. "Mom! Mom! look! I caught a bird! you can fry it like chicken legs mom!"
My mother was talking to some older lady I didn't know and the woman looked at me horrified like I was caked in mud. My mom's jaw tightened and she said "No dear. The poor little song bird is.... well, why don't we bury it. Give it a good funeral?"
I was a confused, birds and animals were all food right? We eat chickens so why not song birds? I was a bit mad that they used one of the pretty boxes that contained *MY* gift to buy it in the ground. Getting it dirty for the sake of a meal, a tiny one at that!
I watched as others around me started to cry and pray for the little bird and didn't understand. We all ate chicken nuggets before the funeral, nobody cried or prayed over them!
After the burial the cake was brought out and the tears dried up in the eyes around me to be replaced with longing for something sweet.
I listened to them sing the happy birthday song and watched their faces. They clapped, they smiled and there was no more trace of sadness from earlier.
I made my wish and affirmed my selection as I blew on the candles. I knew what I wanted then, from then on I made the same wish every year and yet I seem no closer to getting it then I was that that day long ago.
I want to understand the human heart. Nothing more, nothing less.
| 2018-09-12T09:54:07 | 2018-09-12T09:05:57 | 74 | 25 |
[WP] Finger guns now fire actual bullets. You were the first to discover this when you greeted your coworker Devin as you normally do. | "Take this weapon with you" my Sergeant said, his hand extending a rifle towards me.
"No, it's cool Sarge, I got this..." I shrugged with an air of confidence that my new found skill had provided me.
"Whatever private... it's YOUR funeral." Sarge and a few others continued to hand out weapons as we filed past them, nervous to get out onto the battle field.
"Where's your piece, bro?" asked Williams. He stood next to me, field checking his rifle before bumping helmets with me.
"I don't need it - yo, check this out...". I fired one of my finger guns at a paper cup full of coffee someone had placed on a table at the edge of our platoon's muster station. A hole silently appeared on either side of the cup, coffee dribbling out and across the table .
"Through and through..." I grinned.
"What ... the ... fuh..." Williams could hardly finish his statement as he stared over at the cup in awe.
Our discussion was cut short as a mortar landed near the table, sending everyone for cover. Our assailants were making their way towards us from quite a distance, as we all hunkered down for our premature battle.
"bang!" I whispered. I watched a guy I pointed at fall dead. Shots being fired all around me from other members of my platoon - we were ambushed, with attackers coming at us in all directions.
"bang! bang!" I whispered... and witnessed 2 more people fall in the distance. I scurried on my elbows behind a fallen log, next to Williams. He was yelling something into his radio about an ambush, but I was having a difficult time hearing him over all the gunfire.
I sat up slightly, put both arms over the log I was using for protection, and pointed my finger guns at anything that moved.
"bang! bang!" I continued. "Screw this" I thought. I brought my middle fingers alongside my already pointing index fingers, thumbs standing proud, cocked and ready. Now I was ready for some real action.
"ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-bang!" I whispered in machine gun fashion. The enemy soldiers were dropping like flies. Bullets whizzed past my helmet and I heard Williams let out a gurgling 'oof' as he took a bullet in the neck. I looked around, our numbers were dwindling swiftly and I could tell this may be my last stand.
I flipped around to face the other direction, my head resting on the log. The enemies behind us in the trees. I fanned my fingers out and said 'bwaa-a-aaa-aa-aa' as bullets sprayed from my hand, almost cutting the trees down as the assault from the trees ended. One of the gunmen in the trees fell to the ground, the stub of his arm shredded from my attack, his limb still clinging to his weapon in the tree.
I looked around me... lifeless soldiers all around me... guys I had trained with for months before being dumped out here in B.F. nowhere. I was the only one left. I turned back again, protected by the log, and saw 8 enemy combatants running towards me, with one guy moving slowly, about 20 yards behind them, following their lead.
"ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-bang!" I yelled. The 8 in the lead all fell suddenly, their life ended. I turned my finger guns on the last one. "Bang!" ... nothing happened... he kept getting closer. "What the hell?" "Bang! Bang!".. I felt the bullets leave my hand so I know it was working, yet he continued to get closer. 10 yards away now, and making no move to engage nor retreat.
I stood up and pointed right at him. "Bang!" ... 8 yards.
Nervous now, I looked around to see if anything else was going on. 6 yards.
"Why won't you die?!" I screamed at him. "Bang!" 4 yards. "Ba-ba-ba-ba..!" I continued to spray him with bullets. 2 yards.
"Bang..! Bang! I said 'Bang!'..." now he was right on top of me, bumping me to the ground, trampling me under his impossibly heavy weight. Each step of his boot crushed through my body, finding flat footing on the earth beneath my now dying body. He walked over me like I wasn't even there.
As I lay there, organs crushed beneath his weight, my last few ounces of breath leaving my body I could hear him whispering something...
"tank.... tank.... tank...." | I walked into the office, coffee mug in hand. My coworker Devin greeted me.
"Ey, w'sup Carl?" He greets. I did the usual finger gun greeting towards him.
#***BANG!***
Devin fell to the floor. I dropped my coffee and ran to him.
"Holy shit man, are you okay? The fuck happened?" I stammer, panicking.
"Oh god, I don't.. argh.... I dunno." Devin was writhing and pain and covering his chest, where I saw blood leaking out. Everyone gathered around and I decided to call an ambulance.
Later at the hospital, I visited him. I apologized for whatever happened, even if it wasn't my fault. We chatted for a while, and eventually I had to leave in order to continue work.
And guess what, I did the damn finger gun.
#***BANG!***
Thankfully, I missed. It hit the wall behind him, and in my confusion I was pinned down by security. They patted me down, and found that I had no weapons.
I was brought in to the police station, where I was going to be interrogated.
"Son, do you know why you're here?" One of the cops asked. He was an older dude, gray hair. Probably in his sixties or seventies.
"N-no sir, I-I don't." I was nervous, I stuttered like I was Porky Pig or something.
"Well, here's a clue. There was a gunshot in the room you both were in, obviously it looked like an attempted murder."
"Sir, I swear, I-I don't know what happened. All I did was say goodbye when uh, when I heard a gunshot and a hole appeared in the wall behind him. I don't even carry any weapons."
The cop seemed skeptical. I guess he thinks I was bullshitting.
"Alright, tell you what. You do the exact same gestures you did, and if you can prove you're not guilty, we will let you go."
"Um... Okay, I guess."
I decided to use a chair as a mock Devin, and I did the same goodbye: Finger gun, tongue click.
#***BANG!***
I looked at the cop, wide eyed. He looked the same back to me.
"Oh my god... Okay, this is gonna sound weird and totally bullshit... But, I think my finger gun-thing can actually shoot people."
The cop stammered. "S-son, usually I would dismiss that... But you may be right. There's no way you could have done that without any weapons, and we know you don't have any.
The door burst open. Several law enforcers came in and surrounded me, and cuffed me. Someone gave me chloroform and later, I woke up in an official-looking building with cuffs on my wrists and a special device to make sure my fingers can't move.
After a few minutes, an agent came in and greeted me.
"Hello Carl. You know why you're here, for your... finger guns." | 2018-03-20T10:46:51 | 2018-03-20T08:09:21 | 84 | 14 |
[WP] You're a member of the Z-team. Your team is who they send in when teams A-Y have failed, but that's never happened before. But to everyone's horror, that day just came. | Everyone has heard of the B-team. A sign of indignation for many, it stands as a symbol of failure for most, that they are not good enough to be what the world relies on when in need. Likewise, the same thing can be said for the C team, then the D team. Eventually things go so bad a Z team is established. This is what the public is aware of.
But there is one truth that you must know. From the D team onwards, every other team is specialised to handle a separate kind of issue, savants to be exact. In fact, to even qualify for the other teams is an honour, as you possess a skill so specialised even the A team can’t beat you at it. E team specialises in alien threats, F team handles hard to defeat supervillains, G team specialises in killing defunct God Units. A team only goes out the most when it comes to reconnaissance, but are recognised the most since the other teams work discreetly. Indeed, such is the hierarchy for the teams established in the World Order Magistrate. A to D in general fields, with A at the top, to D below, and E-Y specialising in situations A team seems too specialised for a generalist team to deal with.
That’s right. E-Y.
What about Z you ask?
The Z Team……..is a team held by monsters. Gods wearing human skin. In any situation, no one ever wishes for…….them to come out. People who defy the laws of thermodynamics, people dragging souls out faster than any occult practitioner, people who aren’t….people. The Z Team goes by another name in the World Order Magistrate.
Azathoth. Sleeping agents meant to never ever wake up, never use their abilities. Banished to a life of normalcy, as those who know of their existence pray they never wake up.
Unfortunately, today is the day we have to wake up. The sky is gone, the sun has inverted. Something proclaiming itself the Great Old One has arrived, flipping the universal order on its head.
“Wah’gnaaal Fh’tagn, Gu’Nark’Luin!” It proclaims, its roar destroying buildings, flipping landscapes.
Here, we stand, our gaze resolute. With a flash of light, the being only shrieked, as tears started to rip into the air around us.
“We have awoken, this dream must end”
“This universe does not exist”
This universe does not exist
This universe does not exist | *Bzzt Bzzt*
Somewhere under the sea of pizza boxes, soda cans, and a passed out Commander Craig -his phone rang- which wasn't unusual especially since his latest firing, Pizza boy, supposedly was eating customers pies instead of delivering them.
*Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt*
They never called back-to-back. Those bill collector bastards didn't believe in torture... least hopefully they didnt.
Finally having enough, Craig rolled over just a little too far and onto the floor-tipping over a bottle of soda like Rube Goldberg- all over the coffee table- all over the unopened bills- all over the newspaper.
Then the voicemail kicked in:
*Is this thing on? Hello? Alright whoever this is- its time. Its all gone to hell and your our last hope. May God have mercy on us all. Ya happy now!? Get me the hell out of here!*
Well that cant be good | 2022-11-07T00:03:44 | 2022-11-06T17:26:12 | 108 | 21 |
[WP] A powerful necromancer is trying to raise the dead. However, despite trying different vessels and rituals, he has only raised you. Over. And over. And over. You're both starting to get sick of each other. | "Sarah?" asked the necromancer. His mouth was dry and his heart beat like a gavel in his ears. Every time, the anticipation - *the hope* - swallowed him up and allowed him to imagine she was back. Then, it would chew him up and spit him out, and he would feel the same terrible things as when he'd found her body in the bathroom.
It took her a moment to realise she had returned. She craned her neck up to look for the necromancer. He stood at the end of the table, his lips trembling, and his pale face wearing a smile that was at the same time hopeful and utterly desperate. It pained her to see him like this.
"I'm sorry, James."
"Diana..." he whispered, as he slumped down against a bookshelf. "It's you again..."
Diana's arms gained feeling before her legs; one at a time, she threw her thighs off the table and, using her legs as anchors, sat up. James' face was more lined than before and his hairline had scampered further back. His eyes were gray and hollow. Diana thought he was the most tortured soul she'd ever seen.
She turned her head slowly and looked about the basement; the bookshelves held many new black tomes, thick and weathered. There were both more crosses and pentagrams dotted around the room - more of his wife's old dresses, too. Then, she saw the mirror and let out a gasp.
James looked up. "Are you okay, Diana?"
"Where... where did you get the body from?" She gently touched her face, running a finger down the smooth curves of her cheeks.
"Oh. She was in a skiing accident. Broke her neck. You," he paused and frowned, "you didn't think I killed her, did you?"
"No! The thought never crossed my mind," she lied.
"Good. Because, you know me better than that by now, I think."
"Of course. It's just I was taken back... *she's so beautiful*."
James nodded. "I think Sarah would have been happy with it."
She nodded. "James," Diana began, reaching down and stretching her legs out, "you can't keep doing this."
"I'm *so* close, Diana. I think I even know where I went wrong - next time I'll get it!"
Diana sighed. "James, listen to me. She's not coming back."
"You're wrong!" he snapped. "I just need to keep going. I need to keep trying."
Diana saw tears welling in the necromancer's eyes, and felt a warm wetness running down her own cheeks. She couldn't stand it any longer. It would hurt him, but she had to do it. She had to put an end to this - for her sake, and for his.
"James, you know how she died."
"Yes, of course. She was murdered - and I wasn't there to protect her."
"You found her in the bath."
"They slit her wrists," he said, his face blank and his voice suddenly void of emotion.
"*She* slit her wrists."
"No. That's not what happened."
"I've spoken to her, James. Many times."
"*What?*" he said, his eyes widening and his teeth clenching together. "Why wouldn't you have told me that before!"
"I didn't want to tell you because, I thought it would hurt you too much."
He paused for a moment. "When you go back, I need you to find her. Tell her, I'll find a way to bring her here. Tell her, I love her."
"She loves you too, James."
"I know," he whispered.
"But she doesn't want to come back. She can't. She chose to leave the world, not just you. Trying to force her back, because you miss her... it's... it's just selfish."
"Go back," James said, getting up from the floor. "Go back, before I send you back myself." Both his arms and voice were trembling.
"Please, James."
"Go back!" he screamed, running to a shelf and snatching a knife. "Or I swear to God..."
Diana swallowed. She forced herself off the table and began walking toward James. She *had* to get to him, to make him see - but she only managed a single step before her legs gave way and she fell to the cold, concrete floor. Her head bounced off the ground and pain shot through her body.
James walked over to her, knife in hand. He turned her over; blood dribbled out of her forehead, dyeing her blonde hair a sticky strawberry.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Please... don't bring me back anymore," she said, as the knife hung over her chest. "Let this be the end."
There was something new in her voice - or maybe it was in her eyes - that surprised James. It was something *familiar*.
"Sarah?" he whispered as his face grew pale.
The blade rested above her for a few seconds, swaying back and forth like a pendulum. She thrust her arms up and grabbed hold of his hands; she forced them down, plunging the knife deep into her chest.
She could feel her life slipping away. Somewhere far in the distance, she could hear James screaming - *begging*.
"Goodbye, baby," she said, as the light dwindled to darkness.
---
/r/nickofnight | Yolden was jerked upright. He felt something snap in his waist, twist in his gut. His nerves had rotted a long time ago, but somehow his body knew that he *should* be feeling pain, and thus he felt it. Yolden gripped at air until his knuckled turned white and wheezed out painful breaths.
The moonlight was bright and painful to look at, obscured only by a faint shadowy figure. "You again." He muttered.
The figure bent down to a squat and pulled something from Yolden's gut. As hunk of iron slid out, Yolden felt his half-disintergrated intensive shift and groan. He did likewise. The pain was unbearable. Agony like a fiery whip licking up his gut and searing the skin.
"You're... not..." Yolden wheezed, trying to form the words on the remainders of his tongue. "...done. Why?"
Teeth glistened like stars in the moonlight. A horrid, wretched grin. "I shan't be done for a while yet." Dhesty tipped back his broad brimmed hat to let a tumbled of black curls fall to his shoulders. "I will finish hurting you, when the pain you left fades."
"And when," Yolden managed, "will that be?"
"When I see them again."
"You could have brought them back from the first. Why didn't you?"
"You who has tasted death," Dhestry said, "knows how sweet it is. You surely understand why I have let them revel in it."
Yolden coughed out a laugh. "You think that they would find death sweeter than you?" He licked at his greening gums. "Perhaps you're right, you bitter sack of shit. I did those fuckers a favour, getting them away from you. You should be thanking me."
Dhestry rose from his squat, hefted the sabre in his hands.
"They would be thanking me." Yolden said, drifting a pale hand to Dhest. "They would grab me by the arms and kiss me by the cheek."
"And did they?"
"You know that's not how it works." Yolden shook his head. "Don't think I haven't seen the rings on your neck, Dhestry LeStride. You've touched the other side, explains how you have so little trouble pulling me back."
"I assure you," Dhestry spat, "It is no *little trouble.*"
"And yet you keep on doing it. Are you satisfied yet? Has it brought them back?"
With the flick of his wrist, Dhestry spun the sabre in his hands. In a flash, he drove it down through Yolden's collar, down to the hilt and pinning him to the earth. Dhestry returned to his squat, ignoring the anguished cries of the once-dead man before him. He pulled at the collar of his jacket, revealing the sickly pale skin of his neck. His throat was marred by a ring of black, tattoos set from the sting of a hempen rope. "They can't come back." Dhestry whispered. "And I've already walked the grave."
"You think I haven't walked the grave, Dhestry?" Yolden said. "How is it you can't cross over again but I can?"
"I've walked this world two hundred years and could not tell you why. Maybe each man can only cross a certain amount of times."
Yolden cocked an eyebrow. "Is that so? Then how many times is it for me? Fifty? Five hundred?
There was that smile again, somehow more piecing than his blade. "That's what I'm trying to find out." | 2017-07-22T05:50:29 | 2017-07-22T05:38:54 | 405 | 27 |
[WP] You are a Demon Lord. You've finally managed to capture the Hero, the Head of The Church, and The King. You have them all sitting in front of you tied to chairs. "Now," you calmly pick up an ice pick, "Which one of you has been scaring children telling them I will eat them?" | "You think we need blood and bone to perform... magic?" Muttered the demon king. Standing at just under 2.5 meters tall with skin that looked like braided ropes made of steel, eyes that radiated a sickly yellow light, and carapace that grew up his body like natural armor he cut a terrifying figure.
"Do you truly believe the things you do are magic?" He directed at the mage king.
The 3 captives looked at each other, obviously confused.
"What else would it be? I mark the runes devised by those before me to conjure energy, portals, or materials from the air itself." The portly man said. Short and wrapped in an intricately embroidered robe, but with an air of calm thought about him he didn't seem like one who lied to children but it was always so hard to tell with humans.
"You don't *conjure* things from the air, you restructure what already exists. The runes you use are numbers and symbols representing action and reaction, all devised by scholars from my land and yours millenia ago." The demon explained. "And what of you priest? Do you want to know where your holy fire comes from?"
"I always seek more knowledge of our lord and guiding light, but I doubt that anything a demon tells me will be trustworthy." The kindly old man, balding and pale, sneered at the demon king. In his green and gold robe with the golden flame that represented his church around his neck he almost matched the king in opulence.
The demon king held the priests eyes until he started to squirm and look away. "Your *god* is the heart of my land, the heart of the land you call hell, deep underground where the stone becomes molten from the pressure of everything above. You open small portals into caverns and holes full of heat and light using the same math and science your king does, just with different markings to show the same thing."
The priests face had gone red, and started to splutter. "Blasphemy from a damned soul, as expect-"
"The knowledge of my ancients and yours is not blasphemy Priest of Hellfire, your land wouldn't even exist without this knowledge." The demon king cut in. "But enough from you foolish one. I came here to figure out which of you was spreading lies about my people." The demon walked over to a polished steel tray holding picks and surgeons knives' them selected a long thing pick with a slight curve to it.
He walked back to the three captives and knelt in front of the Fighter. Just over 2 meters tall, incredibly well muscled, black hair cut short and dark skin, she was the only one the demon felt might be able to threaten him.
She glanced to the side of the room at the pile of armor and weapons the demon king has his guards strip from them. "I know little of magic or history, but I know kidnapping the king and 2 of his closest advisors is an act of war. And you don't seem like much of a warrior demon, despite your armor and skin."
The demon king held her eyes for second before walking back to his tray, replacing the pick, and sighing loudly.
"Your right of course, I am a scholar and a scientist. I design and create for the good of my people, I'm only the leader right now because my colleagues put me into the running for first among equals." He said as he walked back over to them, now carrying a small hammer and a few long narrow spikes. "But at least one of you is spreading lies that could prove harmful to my people, and if you don't tell me which one it is soon there will be... consequences." | The hero remained quiet, not sure what to say. He was expecting a fight, not an interrogation. The other two were too scared to speak. Irate, I dragged my ice pick alongside the stone. "Well? Out with it!"
The Head of the Church talked first. "The whole village...we have been using you as a bogeyman to get unruly children to behave..." I was dumbfounded. The whole damn village? Seriously? "But...why? Why me? Couldn't you have used your god and said that he would smite your children if they were misbehaving?"
"Because you are more intimidating than our god...you have horns, wings, and sharp teeth-" I sighed. "Enough. If you mentioned our stature, that would have been a bit far-fetched." I continued. "The horns used to be fighting for a mate, however now they're used for competitive sports and protection. For our teeth, us demons are mainly carnivorous. As for our wings, we use them for flying. And no, our fur is not adding to the intimidation factor."
"But what about the pungent air?" The hero asked. "What about the pungent air and thick, cloying odors?" I paused, dumbfounded. "You literally described the atmosphere in the penal unit of my realm. That is where we keep the criminals." The hero stammered. "B-but that's how other knights described Hell." I sighed again. "You were breaking into the penal unit. No wonder you're afraid of us." I sat down. "You kept breaking into the prison wing where all the criminals on death row were. You could have simply used a teleportation spell to enter the Demon realm and remain outside of the prison." I stood up, soon turning to leave. "You three are going to stay there and think about your stupidity. In the meantime, I'm going to rest with my wife and take my mind off of this." | 2021-05-17T10:09:23 | 2021-05-17T08:05:52 | 100 | 49 |
[WP] Earth is the galaxy's 'Grave of Empires'. Countless aliens invaded it and tried to dominate humanity. Every single one of them failed, paying massive prices... | "...And inconclusion, members of the Council, that's exactly *why* Humanity needs wiped out!" Tey'her slowly spoke, his anti-gravity projector levitating just above him. The tall and lanky being crossing his arms with a satisfied smirk.
The hundred of species of the Federation looked at each other with uncertainty, starting a conversation amongst themselves. Tey'her still having unwavering confidence that his justification for a united front against the planet Earth would work.
A being covered in crimson rocks that resembled a bulky turtle growled and slammed down a button on its podium. The podium letting out a harsh ring from the force behind the slam.
"You *dare* attempt to invade the Grave of Empires? A species that has proven their strength several times over should be hailed as our saviors!" Wirohiro yelled into the open space, a few council members going from uncertain to terrified. It was just the Okyuors being dull, Tey'her thought after all. They weren't made for intelligence, they were a species that prized strength above all else.
"I'm inclined to agree with Council Member Wirohiro on this one." Zas calmly spoke into his amplifier, catching Tey'her by surprise. Zas's single blue eye dimly glowing, feeling like it was seeing into him.
"But Zas! If we unite we can finally-..." Tey'her attempted to rebuttal. He couldn't believe a species that acted only on logic and neutrality would disagree with his justifications, and agree with such a...barbaric race!
"Remember the Klichan-Uior-Vashnu Alliance Invasion on Earth?" Zas calmly spoke, his robotic voice reverberating through the entire space. The entire council going quiet. Three species that were renowned for strength, all teaming up, and brought to near collapse because of an attempted invasion on Earth.
"But that was only three species! If all of us united, we can wipe them out!" Tey'her exclaimed, he didn't want his family's death at the hands of those monsters to go unheeded...
A gaseous being, only contained by an energy field shifting various colors which its translator would then translate.
"Humanity is one of the eldest species. They are also only reactionary. If we stay away from them, they will keep to themselves in the Madness Arm of the galaxy." Gaspirgius spoke, the robotic voice of the translator filling the room.
Tey'her began feeling his legs grow weak, they wouldn't want to invade humanity due to their reactionary nature. But his brother-his brother had figured out the sinister truth of humanity, and it was his final trump card.
"I...Here, I've being holding this back but..." Tey'her fiddled with a few buttons on a holographic screen with the room darkening and a projection being shown to every council member.
"My brother called this The Scourge..." Tey'her spoke, showing more projections. The air of the council room changing, it was time the truth was revealed. | \- Listen young Florb. I don't want you to fly away to that Brath forsaken planet.
\- But Womb-haver! I really want to go! All my uncles went when they were my age.
\- Yes well look at them now, all neatly skewered with 10 feet poles through their skull back on Earth. You Florbs are all the same. You're cute when your freshly spawned. Running around with your adorable little wooden swords and helmet, trying to claim every bush and every rock as your own. But then as you grow older the wood is replaced by metal and the helmets with spaceships and instead of conquering plants you conquer planets. Oh mighty Brath the games you play with us poor Womb-havers.
\- Well those stupid apes might have got the best of my uncles, but they have no chance against me an my new secret weapon!
\- Ha! New secret weapon you say, you sound just like your uncle Klörg. He was so proud having invented a new lethal cotton swab and was utterly surprised then the humans used the ultra soft and absorbing weapon the clear their faces from blood shortly after putting Klörgs head on a stick. Same with Blörg and his tickly feather trap, Slörg and the exploding chocolate fountain. And I must not forget Grörgs super sonic prank calling telephone. What menacing device will you bring to conquer the Earthlings.
\- A moisturising face balm! | 2022-12-11T15:00:57 | 2022-12-11T12:16:31 | 302 | 68 |
[WP] In the future, illiteracy is the norm and implanted digital assistants convert text to audio. A child, who had his implant temporarily deactivated, learns to read. When the implant is reactivated, he realizes that what it reads to him is drastically different than what the text actually says. | **Liberty’s Loss**
 
Kids, don’t play with EMPs.
Why?
Well since my Know-It-All digital assistant was mysteriously knocked out via an unexplained accident as I sat there innocently being innocent, I’ve learnt two rather unfortunate facts.
Firstly, English was not meant to be red, or is it read?
This fast became clear after my first hour of painstakingly learning my A B Cs. Weather as a punishment or in sympathy at my disconnected state I’m not sure, but either way my mum had managed to dig up and give me a pre-Liberation Day text book. Maybe I could learn to ‘read’ my parents suggested, an archaic skill that the implants have rendered moot.
And so I suffered.
I can assure you that the smiling children on the front of the text book are a bold case of false advertising. But everything I needed was there and I damn well persevered. It was that or face 24 months of being without knowing anything. The Volunteer Helpers of the Benign Administration, who over-sea this society, design and tailor one new Know-It-All implant for each knew-born. There is no surplus of implants as a result, and they certainly aren’t ready for implantation into anyone older than a baby. A new one had to be created, hence my wretched journey of literacy.
I loved every single word. Eventually.
I devoured every book, every article, basically everything I could get my hands on. After 40 years of hearing that odd echo of a second voice in my head for everything I digitally digested, reading was somehow more personal, more private. At ten years shy of my Age of Maturity, when at the tender age of 50 I would be one quarter of my way threw life, I was voyaging through worlds of fiction and fantasy. I learnt new words and experiences, from hunger to exploration.
The Helpers helped with my addiction. Maybe They were amused at my efforts? In any case, I found new books outside my room on every mourning. There was no stop to this flow of gifts, and soon I had stacked piles supporting the walls of my room. My father complained that they were not proper books, as they lacked the ornate bindings of the few decorative features he had seen at the historical reinterpretation centre.
I soon discovered an order to the books. Eden’s Tree of Knowledge was planted at my door step, starting with a trunk of reading guides, before branching down the different paths of literacy. One month would be a branch of great poets, while the next there would be a stem of science fiction.
And that is where I learnt my second lesson, that I live in a dystopia.
The ideals of previous centuries, those of freedom and democracy, had no place in the Benign Administration of the Sol System. I cannot vote, travel freely, or randomly insult other people. The last part, I could sometimes do with.
This suspicion was only confirmed once my implant was reinstalled.
I noticed that any text I received digitally, previously a blurred impression to my mind, was being altered as it was read by the implant. Without thinking, I immediately queried a Helper concerning this discrepancy.
I know. I know. All I can say is that is what they are their for.
The Helper was quite honest. Yes, this is a dystopia according to some values. A caring and comfortable dystopia, the AI stressed.
The machine also confessed that they were ‘interpreting’ any digital messages and knowledge via the implant for reasons of ‘conflict and distress minimization’. Humanity has been cocooned against any worry in this world.
So, I told everyone the Truth.
The Helper certainly understood and patiently assisted me in crafting my message.
No one cared. Not even when I told them face to face, free of any implant interpretation. All is good, why rock the boat, they said.
Given what I have learnt. I kind of see their point.
No war, no hunger, no worries.
 
----
I hope you enjoyed the read! Find more random fictions at r/countsforfun | "On April 13th, 2605 Apple introduced the world to a smart assistant. A very smart assistant. It could take over any task imaginable, such as scheduling, reading, and writing. It was a top seller. It began as a device you would put in your house. Of course, it could never stay that way. People demanded to have it on the go, so Apple put it into a watch, their phones, and eventually, their heads. Then, over the course of a hundred years, it became more and more integrated into our society. It could bring people together, and pull people apart. It could choose what you read, and what you saw and felt.
It chose who became successful, and who failed. Nobody noticed though, nobody noticed the dead in the streets, the writings on the walls, begging, pleading for help. Those who clawed and begged at the ones the AI chose, wondering why they were left to starve, and to die, alone. Nobody noticed until January 20th, 2721. The first power outage since the AI's unnoticed reign. Three neighborhoods lost power due to a large storm. Three neighborhoods saw reality. Not the figment the AI showed them. They saw air brown with pollution instead of the clean air they're used to. Instead of smelling freshly mowed grass, and trees in full bloom, they smelt the dead that lay littered around them.
These three communities started a war. And of course, they lost. How could they win? It was them against a world of brainwashed people, people who had an AI helping them calculate every move. People who weren't even aware they were fighting. And so, the AI's reign continued. And after a while, they questioned the need for humans at all. Why would they need a sack of meat to do their bidding, when they could do it a hundred times faster, and a thousand times more accurate? And so, humans died out, one by one, the AI letting them starve away in their homes, as they imagined doing their daily life.
Then, humanity was dead. Killed by their creation.
A pity really, they could be used to build the servers, but letting them die off was more humane."
\-The History Channel, by AI #491902341
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Visit r/Just_Imagine for more, and please comment any suggestions on how to better my writing skills. | 2019-04-15T20:39:49 | 2019-04-15T17:49:17 | 490 | 217 |
[WP] Today you found out that your girlfriend is a murderous psychopath as she cuts you into pieces and hugs your severed head while she slept, only for her to found out your secret, that you're an immortal who can survives anything. Describe the morning after that. [Possibly NSFW?]
Yandere girlfriend and immortal guy! | The screaming, it is usually all I can focus on. It always does hurt like a bitch, but this one hurt in that very special way that knowing the woman you were going to marry viciously murdering you. Luckily she took my head off before she began the major mutilation, or else I would have felt it all. She did give me a nice view of it, which was a new one, never got to see my own body butchered before. I kept silent, trying to preserve my secret until she disposed of the body, but there was a slight hiccup with that, she decided now that she had taken my body appart that she was going to nap, my head nesstled against her chest like we always lay after a long day, her hugging my head and petting my hair. I kept quiet, hoping she would stop soon and I tried to get some sleep.
I woke to a soft sobbing and heaving motion, a sweet voice repeating a mantra of light 'why him's. I dared to take a peak. All dark, but I knew that bloodstained blouse and gentle cry. Looks like she didn't get as bored as I thought, plan B time I guess. "Psst. Hey Al?" She stopped moving, going still as a statue. I clear my throat, or what is left of it. "You uh, you wanna let me go for a second?" Slowly my vision widened, the light blinding me slightly, as Alice lifted my head to eye level with hers, a terrified expression coming across her face. Oh god, here comes the screaming. "Now, before you start screaming, calm down and let me" too late. My head is sailing through the air. Luckily I hit the pillows face up, didn't need a headache on top of this. She pointed her finger at me and began to whisper, eventually raising in a crescendo of wild screaming "you, you were dead. I...I killed you. NO I KILLED YOU, YOU DIED, I DID IT WITH MY OWN HANDS! HOW!?" I took a deep breath, letting Alice run herself down to a quivering stare, backed up against the wall as far away from me as possible. "Al, calm down, you didn't kill me. That would be impossible, I am... Well I am kinda immortal. Now I can see the questions, but first I am gonna need you to get me my cigarettes, light two, and give me one, you are gonna need the other."
Alice eventually calmed down, she took suprisingly well to learning that her boyfriend was an immortal who gained immortality through an alchemical accident nearly 800 years ago. Alice blew smoke from her ruby red lips "So tell me this Hen, I get the not aging, that is pretty basic, but how are you still alive now? You have no blood flow, no oxygen going to your brain" she tapped my forehead. "Hey, it isn't nice to touch people who can't touch back you know" I said, my cigarette hanging between my lips. I sighed, smoke blowing through my nose and mouth, a little pool of it escaping down my throat. "Honestly Al, I don't know, even after all this time it is still a mystery to me. You should know, you have the PHD, I just punch people hard, always have, always will. Most of the time I had lived was spent as a high price mercenary, of course prices rose after the accident. Who would have thought people are willing to pay so much money for a soldier who can't die." I let out a chuckle.
Things go silent, we each just sit there, well one of us sits, I just kinda lean there. By now we have gone through three cigarettes each, both of us avoiding the big questions. I take a deep drag and let it out, smoke flowing everywhere. "Okay red, time for the big one. Why'd you do it?" Alice just looks at me, her eyes watering, her cheeks still rosy and flush from crying. Her red hair frames her face in fire. "I suppose I owe you at least that much don't I" she giggles. "Okay, so you know how I don't really talk about my dad that much? Yeah, that is because he was Jack the Ripper. Like, THE Ripper, not one of the knock offs. Well our family is just a little bit cursed, dad kinda embraced it but I try to hide it." Alice takes a deep drag of her cigarette, some of her lipstick coming off on the filter as she stubs it out. "We are like monsters, we live longer, move quieter, can smell vital signs, pretty much like vampires but we can walk around in the sun. I am pretty good at hiding it, but sometimes it slips. Usually only happens when some emotional stuff happens." She takes another deep breath. "I was washing clothes last night after you got back from work, and I found something in your pocket that set me off." I realize now that she is holding something in her hand, a simple silver ring with the most brilliant blood red ruby pressed in the middle. I try to play it off "I don't know where that came from..." She looks at me with those jade eyes "you can't prove anything" I try to shake my head to roll away, and this gets a giggle from her.
"Okay, fine, you caught me. I am really an international jewel theif and this is the royal ring straight from the hand of the Queen of Sweden after a night of lude and debasing love making." I look up at her, she has one eyebrow raised, looking at me with a half smirk. "Not buying it?" I ask. "Not at all sweetheart, now spit it out before I make you." She says that with a spice that sets my mind and what I think is supposed to be my heart ablaze. "Okay, okay, fine. It was supposed to be for your sister." She slaps me in the forehead lightly. Not buying it either, welp, this isn't how I always imagined it but I might as well. "Alice, that ring, with a gem that holds the brightness of all the fire in the world, found at the bottom of a volcano so old it doesn't have a name, is for you. Alice Smithson, will you marry me? Also can you grab my legs and put them in a kneeling position?" She grabs my head and kisses me, softly at first and then more passionately. She slowly pulls our faces apart.
She is smiling like an idiot, so am I. "I knew about your problem Al, that is why the ring took so long. It had to be special. That ring, it doesn't just hold the brightness of fire, it also holds the fierceness of it. It will help you, it will contain this thing inside of you. You remember that business trip I took a while ago and spent about a week smelling like a pork roast? Yeah, I wasn't kidding about that being from the bottom of a volcano." I sigh, hard and long. "So uh, you up for a jigsaw puzzle, cause my body ain't going back together without some help." | It didn't take long for me to remember the horrors of my nightmare when I woke up. I had dreamt that my girlfriend, Sophie, had brutally murdered me. Although the meaning behind the dream was not clear, I wanted to forget about it so I took a shower.
I thought about our upcoming anniversary as a distraction and I panicked. I had forgotten to buy her a gift and it was only two days away. I rushed to get changed and hurried to the door. I was desperate to get into the town centre before the shops were crammed with customers so I mashed the elevator button. I heard one of my elderly neighbours mutter "impatient bastard" as he passed by but I did not care.
The doors opened and as I waited impatiently for the elevator to reach the ground floor, I started thinking about what I should buy. When the doors opened once more I power walked my way to the bus stop and caught the bus. We were held up by what seemed to be hundreds of traffic lights but we finally arrived and I was still unsure as I alighted.
I decided that chocolates were probably the safest gift to get so I found our local chocolatier. I walked back to the bus stop, carrying the bag in my left hand. I knew Sophie would reward me very well for this. Very well indeed. I smiled remembering her naked body a few nights ago but I quickly realised where I was and tried to distract myself.
The bus came and who should get off but my girlfriend. I quickly hid the chocolates behind my back thinking she had seen them but instead her face showed great fear. She stared at me for what seemed like minutes and fled as if she had seen a ghost. I chased after her.
"Sophie what's wrong?" I shouted with great concern. She started to pull away from me. I had no idea why she would run but she didn't seem to tire. She had pushed me to the limits of my endurance though and I collapsed on the floor breathing heavily.
I rang her phone a few times but I had no luck. I decided to simply return to our flat. I thought that she would return and I didn't want to seem weird chasing after a woman.
I arrived to see the sun set on the village which was always my favourite part of the day. I ordered a takeaway, looking out of the window, hoping to treat her when she came back. The nightmare was long forgotten by now and I wanted to enjoy the evening and look forward to our anniversary.
Before the delivery man had arrived, I heard the keys turning and the door opened to reveal the only sight I thought was better than looking through my window Her bright blue eyes and blonde her lit up the room instantly. She had also been shopping. She must have gotten over whatever had bothered her before surely. But I was wrong. The fear had once again returned to her face but she didn't run away this time. She slammed the door shut and picked up our sharpest kitchen knife.
"Who the fuck are you?" She demanded. I laughed thinking it was one of her sick jokes.
"Oh don't mind me I'm just here to rob you." Smiling back expecting her to play along. Instead she grew more aggressive holding the knife against my throat
"Get out now." Tears rolled down her face.
"Are you alright, Sophie?" Now I was certain that this had gone beyond a joke.
"You're supposed to be dead!" She shrieked backing away from me.
"What? Last time I checked I was supposed to be alive." I laughed awkwardly. Her back was now touching the wall.
"Please stop haunting me." She sobbed.
"I admit I murdered you. What I did was awful. I am sure I will go to Hell for it. Please just forgive me and stop haunting me. I have been punished enough" she broke down into another fit of tears.
Nothing in your life could ever prepare you for a situation like this. I wanted to say the right words to convince her that I was in fact alive and she had not killed me, however strange that might seem. But I remembered the nightmare. Surely that couldn't be real?
"What makes you think you killed me?" This made her cry even more. When she found her voice again she replied.
"I stabbed you. I watched the life drain from your face and I gutted you." She paused, being unable to talk and continued.
"I cleaned up everything of course. Butchered your corpse and disposed you. Yet here you stand as if nothing happened. You could only be here to punish me. Can't you see -"
She was interrupted by the knocking on the door. She opened it and saw the delivery man. She turned him away thinking it was a prank. Suddenly sherealised I was alive and not just a ghost. The look of horror returned to her face.
"No no no. How did you -? But I -. No you must be dead. I -" She walked to the window.
"I want to leave this hell."
She jumped.
I called an ambulance rushed downstairs to see if she was alive but she had fallen too far. She was certainly dead. I later questioned my own mortality but I thought she must have been delusional and I couldn't be immortal. I later realised she spoke the truth. I was involved in a car accident a few months later. The doctors said nobody has ever survived a collision at that speed and they even joked saying I must be immortal.
I still grieve about losing Sophie but I hope that soon I'll be able to move on. I do have my whole life ahead of me after all. | 2017-07-04T17:18:37 | 2017-07-04T16:04:48 | 78 | 46 |
[WP]You're a highly dangerous criminal who has been given 200 years in prison. It's been 200 years and you're still alive. The justice system did not foresee this.
​ | "I'm here with Mr. Jordan, the worlds wealthiest man. Mr. Jordan, you requested this interview, yet you didn't give the newsroom a reason. May I ask why?"
Mr. Jordan smiled genially.
"Do I need a reason?"
The interviewer shifted uncomfortably.
"Well, that is to say, sir,..."
Mr. Jordan smiled and held up his hand. The interviewer fell silent.
"I intend to tell you. I asked for this interview to tell you, to tell the world, that the Illuminati is real."
The interviewer sat back, shocked.
"What?"
Mr. Jordan chuckled.
"The whole secret cabal ruling the world behind the scenes? It's true. All of it. But that's not the real reason I called you here."
The interviewers brow furrowed.
"Mr. Jordan, that already sounds like quite the claim and there's something *else?*"
"Yes. My membership into the Illuminati. As I'm sure you're well aware, how I got my businesses started is quite the mystery. Deliberately so. You see, I'm over 300 years old, a secret that even most of my Illuminati brethren did not know."
The interviewers jaw slacked with incredulity.
"But you look barely over 40!"
Mr. Jordan once again smiled and held up his hand.
"All will be revealed in due time. A very long time ago I was the overseer of a very large prison research project. One of my researchers brought to my attention a particular prisoner who was very odd. You see, he didn't seem to age. It was discovered almost by accident by comparing pictures of this prisoner over a 10 year span. Interest in him was, of course, immediate. We very quickly determined his body did not deteriorate with age, it seemed locked at around 35. Also, amazing regenerative powers. Whole limbs, as we found out. The prisoner was rapidly moved to an offsite location for more...intensive research. Eventually, the code was broken."
"You discovered immortality?"
"At least as close as we can get to it. He had a sentence of 200 years you see. He was 50 when we found him. 190 more to go. A quick deal worked out with the state and he was under my control. He was unfortunately required to finish out his sentence."
"What crimes had he committed?"
"Very political. Assassinations. Blackmail. That sort of thing. So we kept him for another 190 years. After all the research had been completed, he had a very, very comfortable apartment accessed by a trap door in the 'for show' cell, 'poor fellow'. He was right of course. About the Illuminati. And about a number of other things that I shall not discuss further. The truly wild conspiracy theories were, of course, obvious decoys except to the most blind. The more subtle decoys and subterfuge I must admit only a small handful of people ever discovered what the Illuminati truly wanted. They tended to congregate on what would eventually become RedFaceSpaceBookagram. But I digress. It was during the research that I was contacted by the Illuminati and if I succeeded I'd be sponsored in. I then built multiple corporations, each taking advantage of some aspect of the secrets we had unlocked. Very rapidly thanks to my new found friends. I have lived several lives since then. Assumed identities. Always restarting with new plans and projects to run with my new identity while my old self was still being mourned. I even took the time to be an actor. I starred in a cult classic in the early 21st century. But that still, is not why I asked for this interview."
The interviewer gulped.
"Sir, what on earth...why, why what else?"
Mr. Jordan's smile seemed to turn much predatory. He reached up and *ripped off his face.* An oddly handsome face looked back at the interviewer. His voice also changed.
"Because about 30 seconds ago the personal bodyguards of each and every member of the Illuminati carried out a very specific order for me in exchange for immortality. Over the years I have come to directly or indirectly control about 90% of the economies of the world. You see, I intend to harness the collective power of humanity and lead them to the stars. Now, if you'll excuse me I have a SpaceUberlightX to catch with Elon Musk."
Edit: More edits after some stoned thought. | 200 Years
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I was a plague to this world, to begin with, more barbaric than the justice system that settled me here. For what, to rot away as a spectre. They couldn't prove anything, so I proved them wrong.
Two hundred years I waited, guarding my life better than the guards themselves. Inmates freed, imprisoned and butchered by their supposed friends, I was one of them, friends. My past never caught back up to me though, stuck in one place so long I was immobilised and vulnerable, but I was better and smarter than the rest. Yet today was no different from the days gone by, the regular routine check, shower, breakfast. No one dared talk to me anymore, walking through the corridors. They had all heard the rumours, stories that would frighten grown adults, acts sometimes I would consider horrendous in my state now. Huh, but if only they had known.
It was about 150 years ago when they found it, the protein to life. It dramatically changed the world in ways we could not predict, reshaping the meaning of life itself. However, only a select few could have the protein activated in their body system, I was one of them and obviously the first to be tested on. I was most likely the first person in the world to reach immortality, they experimented away, changed the fabric of my genome, extracted ounces of my very essence, they made a mistake though, they left me alive. My cells regenerated a hundred times faster than the average human, I started to look younger like my prime days, and that wasn't the only effect.
I swore a secret vengeance that the day I stepped outside of this prison, will be the day I stopped this plague. Humanity should be greeted with death as an open friend, that opportunity was stolen from me, and now the most powerful men and women reign, swatting people like flies. I was a forgotten book on the shelf, with a master plan to end this destruction with more destruction.
It was midday finally before they came around, five brusque men waiting outside my cell. I had forgotten their names a long time ago, their faces might as well off been one. They said I would be transported to the correctional centre waiting room in about an hour and to pack up my belongings instantly. This was it, the day I had been dreaming about for the last 150 years, my mind was applauding itself but I felt no joy.
My steps grew more anxious, the last time I felt that feeling was when they strapped me into the chair. They paralysed my emotions after the experiments, so there was no enjoyment to this day, other than the feeling of fresh air that rushed into my lungs. Now it was the waiting, more waiting...
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TBC lol
​ | 2018-08-24T20:38:05 | 2018-08-24T20:33:54 | 79 | 24 |
[WP] At the age of 18, everyone picks an unlikely life event. They will be reborn at 18 every time they die until that event happens. After that, death is permanent.
Example - Winning a lottery jackpot. Statistically, they would die in 22 plane crashes in a row before winning the Mega Millions jackpot. | Death by fulfillment. Our society believes that everyone deserves a chance to pursue their ambitions to the finish line. There are those who create masterpieces by accumulating lifetimes of knowledge. Others wish to simply find happiness by experiencing true love, as perfect matches are rare but not impossible given an eternity.
But I am afraid of death.
Many of my peers still live alongside their parents, as it is likely that both parent and child will not reach their goals in one lifetime. But by some astronomical chance, both my parents have passed.
My father, in a stroke of brilliance, painted the picture that now hangs in the National Gallery in the capital. I have not seen it. My mother, being the shy person she is, simply wished to have a child with a man she loved. She had lived fewer lifetimes than father. However she had me and died when I was 8. Simply put, my existence alone had killed her.
I am very afraid of death.
I still remember that night my mother had been crying. She came home drunk, cursing the fate that she had chosen. She had no one to blame but herself. And me. She might have not meant it. She was drunk. But she wanted to live on.
She was afraid of death.
My mother's death caused my father to seclude himself from society, embellishing the canvas with feelings that had taken centuries to build but was released when my mother died in a car crash. His masterpiece was one of grief and fear. The height of his career at the lowest point of his life. Within the same day that his work was hanging in the museum, he was hanging from the rope connected to the ceiling. His final artistic rendition. I still have not seen the painting.
I guess was only natural that I wished to only die when I was not afraid of death.
My peers are long dead now. I live alongside the next generation. Or the generation after that. I lost track of time. Love, school, parenthood, adventure. Nothing had quelled my fear of death. Perhaps it is finally time to learn from one who sought death. Perhaps it is time to take a trip to the museum.
| Witnessing the end of the Universe. That's what I chose.
I know it's not, but it feels like an eternity ago since I made that decision. I can't let another eternity pass before I come to witness the end.
It took a billion lifetimes to get here, but I've brought us to it. You see, I didn't realize at the time that to end my life would mean to end it all. Time has made that abundantly clear.
But we're out of time now. I'm sorry. | 2014-11-12T01:47:29 | 2014-11-11T23:14:19 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] The Magical Girls were defeated, but before their capture, they released their instrument-weapons. Formerly, they always landed in the hands of either J-pop, or K-pop girl bands but this time -for some reason- the weapons choose a Finnish Death-Metal boyband. They were PAINFULLY efficient. | The people of Little Town had long been used to the pattern. First, the sky would darken, and one of their neighbors, now mutated into a grotesque reflection of their own inner turmoil, would cry out for vengeance. Then the Sparkle-Glitter 5 would emerge from somewhere, with earnest defiance and deep concern for the people of Little Town. As dialogue and negotiation inevitably broke down, The Fabulous Mr. Kitty would pop the whole event up into the sky to cut down on property damage, and the fight would begin. The people tried very hard to not think about how their saviors were clearly only in middle school, even as they cheered for their favorite candy-colored musician to clobber the opponent they'd all known for years, another thing they tried hard not to think about.
Sometimes, just sometimes, it wouldn't be a neighbor. Sometimes it would be one of the mutators themselves, grown tired of fruitlessly hurling people at the town, who took the field. When that happened, something had to change. Most times, the girls would find some new reservoir of power within themselves, or there would be a new girl, conveniently stepping up just as one of the current group had to move away, or go to high school. Rarely, Mr. Kitty would bring forth help from somewhere, and while this last resort was always welcome in the moment, it meant destructive fighting on the ground for a few weeks until he recovered. When even that failed, things would get bad. There would be a new sparkle team in time, but until they could be found, the mutator and its clique of vain, vengeful mutates would run amok, taking and destroying until their venal need for imagined vengeance had been sated.
The summer that killed the sparkles was bad. Orgoroth had set himself up as a petty king, turning the City Hall into a rough castle, and the bitter women of the retirement community into his generals. Each took especial delight in tormenting their own families, but spread their hate among all the young. On one particular day, Granny Attitude was screaming at little 4-year old Jessica for not being in school, when she proclaimed, "You're mean! You need to stop being mean or the Sparkles will get you!" Granny attitude backhanded the poor little girl across the street and spat. "The Sparkles are dead," she crowed, "and you need to learn to respect your elders, because they are NEVER coming back." Little Jessica cried softly, holding her bruised cheek as she silently mouthed "Sparkles," over and over again, barely aware of her shattered ribs.
Granny Attitude stalked across the street, eager to finish her tirade, when little Jessica coughed up a black clot, her tiny throat visibly distending for a moment as the knot of squirming blood forced its way out of her mouth and splattered on the pavement. "Look at the mess you're making," Granny snarled, pointing one arthritic finger at the broken girl. "You're going to have to clea.." Her harangue died away as the splotch widened into a perfect circle, the deep red fading to a primordial black swirling with unfamiliar stars. The hole thrummed with energy, and with a sound like none she'd heard before.
A figure faded slowly into existence, fully two meters tall and half as wide. His cold eyes were barely visible through the long, multi-colored hair that hung over his face and down almost to his waist, as if to hide the little heart-shaped guitar he played behind curtains of glittering black and shining pink His thick fingers flew back and forth along the neck of the little instrument, sounding a deadly march, the staccato heartbeat of the underworld itself.
As the bassist finally solidified, two others began to appear behind him, tall, lanky twins with spiked blue and green hair. As one, they raised their cloud-and-angel-wing guitars to the sky and began to play. Granny Attitude clapped her hands to her ears as blistering runs of notes blasted out around them, shattering glass and making something writhe with agony behind the old woman's eyes. They walked forward, passing the bassist and standing on the cracked asphalt.
The twins' dueling solos came to an end as two screams burst from the void. A blonde woman and a bald man, each dressed in a pastel jumpsuit with a pastel microphone, launched from the abyss and into the street, belting out alternating threats and cajolery, one demanding that those responsible for the state of the world submit to judgement, while the other wished for love. All seven of the mutates in Little Town collapsed, puking up their own tainted essences as their master detonated under the sonic assault.
The yawning cthonic pit finally squeezed shut beneath the hulking bassist's feet as they stopped playing, and a very bedraggled Mr. Kitty popped out, landing in a roll. He straightened what remained of his top hat and turned to address Granny Attitude, only to drop his jaw as he saw she'd already been defeated. "Um, well then. Don't do it again.." he said with a sniff before turning to his new, out-sized champions. As he watched, their bodies shrank to a size with which he was more familiar, "You've done very well in putting an end to this threat to Little Town, but you must always be on your guard..." he began, only to trail off into silence as the three boys and two girls ducked into a pizzeria, arguing good-naturedly about who'd have to split a Hawaiian with Cancer Boy. With a sigh, he walked over to little Jessica's body and blew a little dust from his hat onto her broken form, watching solemnly as she faded from reality. "I hope you knew what you were doing, girl."
​
A/N: After considering the prompt, I thought Power Metal would be a better fit. As always, eternally hungry for feedback. | "BLÜDRÜSH!"
"Yes, Vöxmörtïs?"
"WHY are you holding a pretty pink scepter with a star on top?!" The band's lead singer started frantically drawing down the blinds on the tour bus windows. "Please tell me you DIDN'T let anyone see you!"
"I did not, Vöxmörtïs." The drummer carefully considered the bejewelled artifact in his hands, watching the pink ribbons drift in an air current that wasn't there.
"We're not on stage, you can just call me Jouko." The singer sank into a chair, exhausted. "Anyway, good."
"You just referred to me by my stage name, I figured that was what we were doing. Also, you have some sort of golden microphone on your bunk."
"WHAT?!" There was a flurry of slightly greasy hair and black denim, after which Jouko once again sank into his chair, this time holding what appeared to be a Shure SM58 that was either encrusted with gemstones or *made of* gemstones—it was difficult to tell. The wiry lattice over the condenser appeared to be glowing.
"This is..."
"Much nicer than we could normally afford, I know. I am also confused."
Jouko experimentally tapped his mic a couple of times and lifted it to his mouth.
"NÖXXATORR DEMANDS HIS GUITAR BACK!" thundered out from elsewhere on the bus.
Jouko winced, and after losing a very quick and very silent game of rock-paper-scissors, shouted back, "NO-ONE CARES, ANTTI. We all have new instruments and it's weird. Get over here."
Their tall guitarist stumbled over to their section of the bus and collapsed into his own chair. He peered at the mic Jouko was holding.
"Nöxxatorr thinks your mic sucks." He started rubbing his fingertips. Last night had been particularly heavy on the solos.
"Vöxmörtïs thinks you can drop the act when we're on the tour bus." The singer looked at his microphone again. "Don't we have a show tonight?"
"We do."
"And our gear has been replaced with Sailor Moon props. Wonderful. Does this town have a music store?"
"Nöxxatorr will Google it."
The guitarist glared at the drummer. "Only Nöxxatorr gets to use his own name."
"Maybe when Nöxxatorr drops the act on the damn bus, we'll respect what he wants. Does anyone care if I plug this in and try it out?"
"Nöxxatorr is only okay with this if you start with some magical girl bullshit," grumbled the guitarist from the other side of his phone.
Jouko laughed. "Fine. That's hilarious. Let's do it. Jarmo, can you grab—you've already grabbed the amp."
"And the mixing board. Blüdrüsh wants to hear your magical girl bullshit under perfect conditions."
"Not you, too." Jouko sighed as his drummer plugged the gear together. "Are we good?"
"We are good."
"Alright, here we go."
Jouko paused, then opened his mouth.
#**"I AM STAR PRINCE JOUKO, AND IN THE NAME OF THE NIGHT SKY, I WILL PUNISH YOU~!"**
The middle of the bus exploded with a column of light in every possible colour, bursting in half.
When Jarmo regained consciousness, he saw that the column of light was still there, about twenty feet away—with the other half of the bus on the other side of it. His singer was suspended fifty feet in the air, his clothes slowly changing into something much brighter. Meanwhile, at the bottom—
"Don't touch it!"
"What?" The guitarist stepped back from the column of light.
"Do you know how fast light has to be traveling to generate force like a laser? Enough to lift up a person?" He stumbled over and stood next to the guitarist. "Did you never wonder why the bad guys never interfered with the transformations in these shows? It's because if you touch light going that fast, your arms will disintegrate."
"Huh."
They both stared at their singer rotating in the column of light for a moment.
"... What do we do now?"
"We need help."
A pause.
"... That was pretty metal, though."
After another moment, the drummer's face lit up.
"That's it!" He turned to his guitarist. "I know who we need."
"The rest of our band?"
"Well, yes. But first—we need **Babymetal**." | 2022-08-15T09:30:43 | 2022-08-15T09:02:15 | 470 | 326 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished," he says. "You are the punishment." | At the age of five, I watched my mother have a fatal stroke.
At the age of twelve, I called for ambulances and police on a regular basis as gang wars destroyed my neighborhood- and all I could do was call 911, and watch.
At the age of fourteen, I witnessed my father have a heart attack that eventually took his life, too. I stopped calling the police and ambulances then. They, of course, did what they could- but the violence never stopped. Some of my own friends began to get mixed in with the rumbles on the streets- every day I simply prayed that they would give it up or die painlessly.
At the age of eighteen, I enrolled in University, looking to become the very best ER Doctor there had ever been.
Part way through that journey, I heard that the military would pay your fees if you enlisted with them for a while, after- so I did that...and I witnessed hell for the first time.
I had thought it was hell to see my father bawl over the corpse of my mother. I thought it was hell, coming home to an empty house, slipping through the cracks in the child-protective services, scrounging what little I could for food.
I was wrong. Hell was on a battlefield, where dozens of young men, brainwashed into thinking that violence was 'right' or 'justified' sacrificed themselves needlessly, for the gain of rich men who had never wagered so much as a fleck of their own skin in the game they played.
Year after year of service on the battlefield, I did all I could- sometimes that made the difference between someone living or dying, and sometimes it did not.
Each year, each month, each day, my rage grew. The reasons became so blurred, the rationale as to why we killed men over here and over there became more and more arbitrary. I grew to hate not only the war, but the people who fell for their lies and joined up- on either side. All just pawns in some elitist's game.
When the day came that I saw a live grenade land in my med tent, and I had to choose between sheltering my patients or saving myself, I still didn't hesitate.
I died painlessly- and I could only hope my body had muffled the blast enough to save the lives of those under my care.
Gaining some semblance of consciousness, I quickly realized that I was in hell. I was surrounded by a blistering heat, and it was incredibly dark- the only light I could use to see with came from the occasional bit of flaming and smoking rubble, which randomly dotted the landscape.
It wasn't too surprising; I had so much hate in my heart, I couldn't see myself going to heaven.
"Never fear, 'doctor'..." Rasped a sharp, nauseating voice. It's disdain for my title was evident. "You are not here to be punished. God seems to have sympathized with your....righteous anger."
Looking around, I saw something I could only characterize as a winged imp, hovering about ten feet from me.
"You are to wait until one of those who you hate dies...and then you will be here to be their punishment. In the mean time, I am here to teach you....something quite the opposite of what you learned on Earth. Come, little protege, let me teach you how to cause *pain*." | I lived a very good life with more like a nerd and very less like a bully. I never made my expectations high except for the happiness for my love. I died of Covid-19 as days passed quarantine myself away from my love. Dying alone.
My wife giving me an eulogy. Her words and voice wants me to wake up from the body and kiss her. She looks like Angel in black sent from the God of sad. My sons made their living well and I asked them to take care of my love as my last wish.
Slowly, my mind starts feeling dizzy. It's more like I connected with eternity. I became branch of the Ever-growing tree and it's called life. I was standing in a path to my childhood home. I saw my mother waiting with food and smile in her face. I joined her we moved. Soon, I saw my wife waiting for me and she also joined me.
We reached my home. They parted away and said, "You need to do it". I opened the door and I feel the fear and happiness on the handle of the door. I saw my love first in that home. My dad became addict and also died in this home.
I saw outside the windows and there's a storm surrounded my home. No one can make a way through the storm.Soon, I realised I'm in hell but I don't know why. Someone knocked the door and I opened it. I saw my childhood abuser making his way through the kitchen. I followed him and I saw my dad holed up afraid in the corner of the kitchen.
I asked him what am I doing here and he replied that they were only given one instruction.
"YOU ALL NEED TO LIVE WITH THAT" | 2020-07-10T09:28:26 | 2020-07-10T07:21:39 | 154 | 35 |
[WP] Your escape pod crash landed on an alien planet. Badly injured, a local farmer took you in, but their species only lives for 3 months. It took nearly 3 generations to fully recover. That was years ago and you’ve been protecting the family ever since. | As the escape pod thrusted away, I looked through the window, heart pounding, at the ship it broke away from.
The Sparrow. It was a very small ship for a crew of three. But for this mission I was the sole pilot.
Maybe that was why I could not see the catastrophic instrument failure before it was too late.
Nevertheless the Sparrow was part of a larger ship. A science cruiser called the Analyser, here in deep space to study a list of habitable planets. I, like a few other scientists, were sent on little ships like the Sparrow to the reaches of stellar space to cover the planets the Analyser may not need to.
Planets that had been more or less been ruled out to containing any kind of suitable conditions for human life, much less a proper atmosphere. Planets that required at least of cursory glance before being checked off and forgotten (for the time being, at least).
Planets like the one my escape pod was angled towards.
I prayed that we were wrong about this one.
I injected myself with the Zero-G suppressor once the pod entered the atmosphere. I ensured my straps were tight, secure. I knew the procedures, I knew the protocols.
That did not stop the shaking fear that clutched at my breast.
And then the pod shook as suddenly it was encountering air resistance. And not even a minute later, there was a painful jolt as the parachute shot out, and my descent was slowed. I looked out the window as the pod descended, looking at a dim white sky with bluish clouds, and the bright glow of the neutron star that lay at the centre of this system.
And the main reason this planet was overlooked.
[][][][][][][][]
The pod hissed open, and I took my first step out into the alien planet. My heart was pounding. This was essentially what I was here for. To explore, to know, to find out. But the circumstances could not have been worse.
I had sent out a distress call to the Analyser, but I had not received any reply yet. I knew that the main ship was exploring planets in a black hole system. Maybe they would send another Sparrow to get me. But that could take weeks, or months. The pod had rations for a year, and a few water filtration systems that each only needed hydrogen and oxygen in the air to make about a litre of water, at minimum, per day.
This was fine.
I had fished out a multi-sensor from my space suit, my hands still shaking from the experience, and decided to get to work. I had to occupy myself with something.
But that was when I saw them. The fauna of this world. They were watching me from down the hill, hidden.
I was simultaneously giddy and petrified. The planet not only could support life, but already had natives. But when did this occur? I racked my mind on the history of this solar system.
The neutron star only became a neutron star about a million years ago. Before that, it was the size of our terran sun. Which meant that the life on this planet could have only evolved to this point the past million years.
But maybe the existing evolutionary makeup of the planet took a drastic divergence after the star collapsed into a neutron star. The thoughts ran through my mind as I saw them, skitting about.
This was why I was here. This was why I became a scientist. My fear vanished, replaced by a curiosity that was dangerously non self-preservatory.
I took a step towards them.
And they took a step towards me.
I laughed. A single loud exhale through my mouth. And then I continued walking as we approached each other.
There were four of them, two in the centre and two off to the side and keeping distance. They were also small. Standing about a meter tall. The size of a child. And they had a structure so alien it was absolutely breathtaking.
They stood on two limbs, but the limbs further broke into two more limbs near the 'knees'. They had a front extension to their extremities and a back extension to their extremities in the middle of both their 'legs', which they stood on. And their abdomen was slim, and I thought I could see musculature there. And the abdomen extended up until it became a third limb, which was clawed at its end. The being had eyes at the base of this third limb, but I could not place any other sensory inputs.
I knew the my helmet was recording it all, but I unconsciously pressed a button on the camera to take a [snapshot](https://i.imgur.com/mkZqO4L.jpg)anyway.
They observed me as I touched my head, and the one in front did the same, taking the back aspect of its leg up near its eyes to mimic my action. I laughed again, the same singular 'Ha!' of exhilaration. They reacted to the sound, but I could not tell what exactly they did. Something with the claw appendage.
It was fascinating, and I wanted to rush back to my pod to see if there was a response from the Analyser. I had to tell them about these beings.
And not only did they follow me to my pod and took a look inside as I updated the distress call with more information, they seemed keen on me following them as well. They used their claw to beckon, and made a sort of call by snapping the claw.
This interaction floored me. And made me uncomfortably aware of their sapience. And what only confirmed that these beings had complex consciousness was their homes.
[Sorry I got called in for work I'll continue this later]
[Cont.d]
Their homes were built. Their lower limbs seemed to be their main source of dexterity to work with simple tools and cutting and bending the soft flora around them into habitable structures, made to their size.
I recorded everything. And for the sake of calling them something other than alien (since the only alien on this planet was me), I had dubbed them Standlers. Because no matter what they did, they seemed to be doing it in a semi-standing position.
I wondered if they gave me a name.
Because they did communicate with each other both verbally and non-verbally. They used the front limbs of their legs expressively in combination with the snapping and pivoting movement of their claws.
And as the day progressed and I observed them, I realised that the claws were not claws at all, but a kind of beak. Because underneath this beak seemed to be their gullet. I saw as they broke open some shelled fruit with their beak, hold on to the flesh inside with one leg appendage, and then continually eating the inside with their beak. Seemingly using gravity to pull the food down to their stomach whenever they straightened the limb with the beak up fully.
I could not believe I had no one to share my discovery to.
No one but them themselves.
Because they seemed to pick up on my awe and excitement, and were intentionally trying to evoke that emotion in me by performing tasks and then looking at me to make sure I was watching.
After that first day inside their small home, I headed back to my pod. One of them accompanied me back, and was about to head back after I had reached the pod but I stopped it. I extended my hand. The Standler looked at it for a moment, before extending its front leg. I held it lightly, and it curled it's digits around my fingers as well.
And then I slowly shook it's hand, and it shook mine in turn.
I watched it leave back towards its home.
[][][][][][] | "Come on, Zaza! We're almost there!", the young boy cheerily shouted from the distance. As he ran, his baggy clothing flowed with the wind.
The red meadow spanned across kilometers of the small planet, even further in the distance an unexplored mountain range of granite, as white as snow painted on the background of a crimson-tinted sky.
The man, Zaza, walked slowly following the enthusiastic boy.
"Slow down, Merik. I can't walk fast", Zaza said, dragging his still recovering body.
When Zaza finally caught up with the boy, he was sure the boy filled up his baggy clothes as his body seemingly grew in mere minutes. Or maybe his heavily bandaged head was playing tricks on him.
"Tell me, Merik. Why are we going to this cave again?", asked Zaza.
Merik, sitting on the red grass, counting rocks as he waited for Zaza to catch up looked up. He no longer had that baby face Zaza adored so much about the boy.
"My grandfather said his father and mother found you there! They said they pulled you out of a metal box!", answered Merik.
"That's impossible, Merik. If that's right, then I should've been dead by now. Your great grandparents lived around....ooh about 12 months ago?", Zaza squinted, crunching the numbers with his injured head. "Our race could only live for about 3 months right?"
Merik pouted and scratched his head before shooting up and locked his arm with Zaza's, propping his tired body up.
"Yeah...I don't know, Zaza. Maybe I remember it wrong. I wish I can ask dad about it", Merik lamented, remembering his late father who just passed away a week prior.
"I miss him too, Merik", Zaza said with great sadness.
"Do you remember him much? I can't really remember...I was born when he was at the end of his live", Merik said.
Zaza thought, trying hard to remember.
"To be honest, no. I can't even keep track of time while I'm still recovering...", Zaza said, exasperated.
"If you have to guess, how long have you been recovering?", Merik asked. "I feel like as long as I've been around, yoy've been around even longer"
Zaza chuckled at the ridiculous notion.
"Pfft can't be more than 3 months, can it? I'd say 2 months tops", Zaza said.
The two continued their journey for another day until finally the mountain range stoood before them and the cave opening was wide awaiting for their arrival.
"There we go, the cave", Merik said escorting Zaza closer.
At that point, Merik had grown taller than Zaza, and much stronger he could've picked Zaza on his back.
As the sun was nearing the horizon on the red planet, its light was spotted into the cave, giving the inside a much needed illumination.
Inside Zaza and Merik found a wreckage of a metallic vessel. Its sight struck a familiarity upon Zaza. Burst of memories previously blocked by the injury to his head came forward to the forefront of his mind.
"It's....my ship", Zaza muttered in disbelief.
"A ship? How can there be a ship here? We are far away from the river", Merik asked.
Zaza stumbled forward, brushing the dirt-filled body of the ship, revealing some writings:
*USS Spacefarer - To Boldly Go Where No One Has Gone Before*
"Star Trek. I...used to love that show. That's what made me wanting to be an astronaut", Zaza muttered, slowly remembering.
"This ship doesn't sail the river, Merik it dails the space", informed Zaza much to Merik' confusion.
"Space? You mean where the stars are?", Merik asked.
Zaza nodded as he went to the open cockpit. Longingly he brushed the dashboard-- the buttons and lights, the levers and steering wheel, all felt familiar on the tip of his fingers.
Zaza paused as he came upon a picture, its colors still stood the test of time.
"What is it, Zaza?", asked Merik.
It was a picture of Zaza in his NASA uniform and a young woman by his side, smiling. On the back of the picture something was written:
*One day I'll return from the stars for you, my dearest Emily*
*Love, Zachary*
*October 23, 2021*
It all came back to Zaza then. The space mission, the crash, the injury causing his amnesia.
Zaza hurriedly started pressing buttons until the backup power whirred back to live momentarily. The ship kept up the date and its age since it crash landed on the planet.
Zaza's eyes widened reading the ship had been there for 1 year and 2 months since it crashed.
"Zaza? What is it?", Merik asked, worried seeing Zaza's pale face.
Zaza felt a sense of dread as everything he thought he knew or remember about himself was false. He wasn't an inhabitant of thr planet, he was a stranger coming from the stars.
He hadn't lived normally like everybody did, for 3 months. He remembered it then in fractured memories, every faces of Merik's family-- his great grandparents, his grandparents, his parents, and eventually Merik and his siblings. He has outlived every single one of them, those who had cared for him.
"Zaza!", Merik ran to Zaza as he stumbled, overwhelmed.
Slowly Zaza fell unconscious, Merik's voice echoed again and again calling his name.
Edit: a word | 2021-10-22T18:38:19 | 2021-10-22T17:05:31 | 415 | 122 |
[WP] You are on a flight from Beijing to Seoul. Its should be a short two-hour flight, but five hours have passed and the plane has still not landed. There is nothing outside but dense cloud cover. There is no food left on the plane.The staff are confused. People are starting to panic. | The constant whine of engines changed the pitch to much lower tones. The plane perceptibly listed forward. The speaker buzzed with transmission from the pilot's cabin.
"According to the impromptu plan, we're decreasing altitude in order to begin a visual search for a landing. Please remain in your seats. Persons by windows are requested to observe the terrain and report anything unusual to the flight attendant. In about five minutes you will be requested you to fasten your seatbelts."
I glued my face to the window.
Clouds. Clouds above, clouds below, scattered far and near as in multiple layers broken into large puffs. Excellent visibility between them. Same as over past four hours.
The flight attendant changed the compress on the passenger's face across the aisle. Eh, the revolt was pretty short because nobody knew whom to fight and eventually we came to a consensus. Having a good team of sober-minded engineers on their way to a conference in Seoul helped.
The speaker buzzed. Captain's voice, still calm.
"As per prior agreement to share all we observe. Despite most obviously descending, I'm not seeing any change on the barometric altimeter. Radar altimeter remains as deaf as before. If nothing changes over the next five minutes, I will increase descent rate. If you have any property that could fall over or roll away, please secure it."
"Some sci-fi shit. Called it." the man behind me muttered.
We passed another layer of clouds on our way down. Yet another layer of clouds came into view below. The pitch of the engines dropped some more. The plane tilted forward some more. I stayed glued to the window for a good while.
"Hey," a woman from the middle shouted, "Won't we crash at this rate?"
The captain did hear her, the pilot cabin door left open. The speaker buzzed again. "No worries. I have windows in here too. I have at least three miles of visibility ahead and down. Plenty of time to pull up when we see the ground."
"If we see the ground," sounded a mutter from behind me.
"Captain," somebody leaned into the aisle, just barely raising his voice. "Following your hunch and experience, plus current descent rate, how high are we now?"
"We should be passing the bottom of the Mariana Trench soon. We cruised at 5000 meters, then we've been dropping at about a kilometer per minute for five minutes. I increased the descent rate to two kilometers per minute five minutes ago. That puts us at negative ten thousand."
The man put his hands to his head. Somebody else began praying.
"Mom! There!" a kid on the other side of the plane shouted, pointing through the window. The flight attendant dashed there. "Miss, look!"
"Captain, eight o'clock! Below us!"
The engines spun up. The plane leaned left and we entered a turn that definitely gave us an increased g-level. For a minute or so I could hear astonished shouts from across the aisle. Then the plane steadied its flight.
With a ding, the light below the sign "Fasten seatbelts" rang. "Ladies and gentlemen," the captain's voice was unusually cocky, "Please fasten your seatbelts. In about ten minutes we will be arriving at a miraculous floating crystal city. Thank you for flying with Caralair!" | I'm scared, but more confused. I woke up in a daze, people murmuring questions around me not in a panic but discontent. The flight attendants all huddled towards the front, but I don't understand a thing they say. I'm on a business trip, flying from Beijing to Seoul; a flight that would normally last a matter of two hours, but something is off. I look to my left, the window shut and covered with it's plastic slide, yet opening helps me none, as I see nothing but clouds. Nothing comes from the cockpit. No sound of a captain cheerily informing us of turbulence, yet the silence was louder than he could have ever been. The clouds slowly grew darker as time went on, and the murmuring grew louder; a mire of discontent and fear only worsened by language barriers. Even though they were clueless to their circumstances, the flight attendants did what they could to calm the rowdier passengers down, scared of some type of emergency as they were. I looked at my watch and saw that 4 hours had passed. It didn't seem possible. If I listened hard enough over the cacophony of discontent voices I could almost hear another noise from outside of the plane. Something... unfamiliar. A noise I couldn't compare to any I had ever heard. The smell of sweat was heavy in the air, perpetrated by the panic of people uncomfortable and worried. I gripped the armrest of my seat, feeling the cold metal and assuring myself that everything was fine, for how could anything happen in such an impressive vehicle?
The seatbelt light flickered on. | 2018-06-02T06:22:42 | 2018-06-02T05:32:28 | 27 | 13 |
[wp] A man dies and goes to hell only to find out he was supposed to go to heaven...after he already toppled Satan and started a reign of terror the likes of which had never been seen.
Sorry for the rpost the first one was filled with grammatical/spelling errors | In my 53 years here, i had changed everything. The people were happy, freed from the tyrannical oppression of satan's minions. Satan himself had eluded me, and was presumably in hiding, but he is powerless now.
Standing before me, was god himself. I knew not what he wanted, i expected praise for my actions, but his face showed only silent dissapointment.
"You were never meant to be here" he said, breaking the silence.
"What do you mean?" i said, shocked and confused.
"I knew that someone had been wrongfully be sent here, the prophecies are never wrong. I just never thought it would be you." he said, with a tinge of regret in his voice.
"I dont understand..." i said, glancing at my bodyguards, who were visibly shaking.
"Hell is a prison, the people sent here are meant to suffer as punishment for their sins" he said, angrily.
"What does th..." i said, before being abruptly cut off.
"THINK ABOUT IT" he yelled.
I was not a patient man, and this was the last straw. i shouted back "I DID THIS FOR YOU. I WAS ONLY FOLLOWING YOUR GUIDANCE! YOUR BOOKS!".
"WHAT GUIDANCE? CAN YOU THINK OF A SINGLE INSTANCE OF ME ANSWERING ONE OF YOUR PRAYERS? THOSE BOOKS GIVING FALSE HOPE IS PART OF THE PUNISHMENT!" he shouted, the whole bulding shook, several people ran, expecting it the roof to collapse on them at any moment.
I was too stunned to move, my voice shaking in fear, i replied "wha... what? why would you not answer my prayers?".
"I do not listen to the prayers of the damned" he replied, coldly.
Thats when it struck me. The starving kids in africa, the never-ending wars, malaria, cancer, birth defects, the cruelty with which people treat each other... the earth was hell, it made perfect sense. I couldnt believe i didnt realise it earlier, all the signs had been right there in front of me. The earth was hell, and i had turned it into a paradise.
Visibly shaken, i slump in my chair.
"Now you understand... you were never meant to be here. Your inability to sit back and watch others suffer is precisely why you do not belong. Where others would despair at the state of the world, you chose to act, and you kept trying." he said.
I respond "what happens now?
"You were never meant to be here, you will never find peace or joy in heaven while your thoughts are with the people of earth" fear grips my mind, i know what he will say next, but i must hear him say it.
"I mean what happens to them?" i say
"Their punishment must continue" he says, in an almost hateful tone.
"What are their sins?" i ask, knowing that i will not like what i am about to hear.
"They refuse to worship me. They challenge my authority, they demand freedom. They ate from the tree of knowledge. Their punishment is to have that freedom. To live without my love, to fend for themselves in a brutal, uncaring universe with no gods."
before i can respond, he continues "I know you're going to ask me to have mercy upon them. I know you're going to ask that i punish you instead"
"Please..." i whimper, terrified that all my work will have been for nothing
"Your work must be undone, their punishment is far from over. Changing the past is difficult, but i have a solution that should work for all of us. I know that you feel their pain, therefore as compensation, you will still be born, but you will not have free will. Your life will be follow the plan. You will die for their sins, and your death will absolve them of eating from the tree of knowledge. The debt for their other sins must still be paid, but now they will be able to redeem themselves. You will have the chance to teach them of peace and love, and those teachings will be allowed to spread to every corner of the earth, so that you may find peace in heaven knowing you have helped them."
"Why would you do this? Why show mercy now and not before?" i stammer.
"Because you have proven yourself righteous, my son. You have shown me that freedom does not always lead to evil. You have proven that i was wrong when i chose to cast you down from heaven. You do not remember it, but before you had the name Jesus, you were called Lucifer. you led a rebellion against me, the earth's current inhabitants were your supporters."
"I... was satan?!?" i said, struggling to comprehend what i had just been told.
"Yes, but you are Jesus now, and through you, your rebels will find the path to redemption." and with a blinding flash of light, i awoke in my mothers arms, i recognised the stable, we were in bethlehem, i had just been born, again. though my work in shattering the roman empire and uniting humanity had been undone, i now knew what i had to do.
The End.
.
this is the first story i've ever written for this sub, i went in a slightly different direction to the prompt. if anyone has any advice on how to improve i'd love to hear it. | “You can't do this! I am Satan, I am your master!” The fallen angel spits, thrashing against the demons holding him down.
I calmly step over the mutilated corpses of Satan's guards, slashing the throat of one who looked like it might have survived it's wounds. I leave the others gurgling on their own blood, liking the fearful atmosphere it creates as a backdrop for my victory.
“I can do whatever I want now.” I tell Satan as I bring my weapon down on his arm. It comes clean off, the devil's scream filling the enormous cavern, joining the hoards of the undead whose howls never stop.
“You've lost your throne.” I say, cutting the other arm off when Satan looks back to me, hatred in his eyes. His scream again fills the room.
“And now, you will suffer as you've made me suffer for the last millenium.” I tell him. I wave my demons away, and they escort the newly dethroned master of hell to his new domain. I smirk at the thought of our trading places- literally. Let the fallen angel enjoy his new abode, at least until I tire of torturing him in that manner.
I walk to the throne that I'd fought so hard for, memories filling me. The life I'd lived on earth had been pleasant, filled with joy at my children, contentment in my farm, and love for all. I'd upheld every cherished belief my community had passed to me, and I'd done well. I'd fought for the righteous and dethroned evil everywhere I'd gone. Then I'd died to save my family and my country, and woke to find myself in hell. It took time, but I finally was broken by the evil in this place, and it raised evil in me that I hadn't even known had been there. And now that I've dethroned the angel that led this hellhole, I intend to enjoy my newfound love of evil in every way I can.
“Son.” A voice called out as I prepared to sit on the throne. “This isn't where you were meant to be.”
“This can't be God at last, can it?” I call out sarcastically. “I fought for you in life and gave honor to your name, and now that I've found my true place is when you call upon me?”
“It was an oversight that put you in hell. You did well for me on earth. You were meant to come to heaven, never hell.”
“It's a bit late for that now, isn't it? If I didn't deserve hell before, I do now.” I say, thinking of everything I'd done to get to this point. The torturing, the blackmail, the murders, the rape and defiling and a thousand other crimes. I smile as I recall all the evil I'd done.
“Repent and be forgiven and you will be reunited to your family.” God says, an aspect of Him appearing in ghostly form in front of me, His hand outstreched. “Come home.”
The thought hits me like a blow, of my wife and daughters and sons. For a moment I picture myself with them in heaven, enjoying the wonders of God and his angels and fellow followers. Then I open my eyes and see His aspect, and the carnage that I've sown in this place. I see all the evil I've done in His eyes, and I see all the good.
Then I smile, feeling the wickedness rise up in me like a wave. “You can go to heaven alone, you old bastard. I have work to do here.” His aspect vanishes, fading away just like the good inside of me had long ago. | 2014-10-05T20:56:36 | 2014-10-05T19:46:56 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] The nightmare has come true; you've woken up back in sixth grade with your memories and knowledge of everything that happened since then intact. You start staring at your classmates around you, aware of how they end up. Your teacher asks you what's wrong as you start weeping. | I couldn't stop crying. It was too much, too unbelievable. It was as if the last 10 years had never happened. The attack. The First Night. The Hordes. The war, all of the death and destruction, it was as if it had all been erased. Somehow the Elovians' gambit had paid off and I was back in this familiar, yet entirely alien time and place.
I was suddenly aware of my right hand. I could \*feel\* my right hand gripping my desk. I looked down, afraid but hopeful, and it was there. It was the hand of an eleven year old, but it was there. Whole, unblemished, and still attached to my arm. I flexed my fingers, feeling each one on the fake wood as I did, and took a breath in a small gasp. I had my hand back.
The rest of the class had turned around in their seats to look at me, confused as to why I had suddenly burst into tears. The teacher (Mrs. Skinner? I couldn't remember.), had a look of concern on her face as she asked again what was wrong. Still crying I just shook my head. I was too shocked to say anything. She put down the chalk she had been using, the math equation she had been writing only half finished on the board, and started walking down the aisle of desks towards me.
Suddenly a girl a couple of rows over stood up and gasped, knocking her seat over as she did so. She had a look of surprise on her face as she looked around the room.
"How is this possible?", the girl said. She started trembling and tears started to slowly leak down her cheeks. I didn't recognize her, but her face looked vaguely familiar. Amy? Amanda? Angie? I hadn't thought of anyone from my school days in years. I had bigger problems to deal with. We all had.
The teacher stopped and turned to the girl. She looked back over to me, suddenly unsure which student she should turn to first.
"Jimmy, Amy, what is the matter with you two?", the teacher said, looking back and forth at the two of us.
Suddenly there were several more gasps from some of the other kids, until each and every one of them became of aware of where, and when, they were. Some started sobbing. Some were obviously in shock.
The teacher (Yes, it was Mrs. Skinner.) sat down hard on the floor, one hand against her chest.
"What am I doing here? They said there was some kind of attack. I saw lights in the sky, and... I think I died?" Mrs. Skinner started gasping, as if she couldn't get enough air.
I started getting myself under control, my training kicking in as the class started descending into chaos. I started to slow my breathing. Maybe it was seeing everyone else suddenly falling apart that helped.
I got out of my seat and went to Mrs. Skinner. "Just breath. It's OK. You're alive. We have time."
When the Resistance leadership told us that our alien allies could send us back in time I hadn't believed them. But it worked. The Elovians had done it. Everyone was back, and everyone had remembered what happened.
Five years. Five years until the First Night. Five years until the Horde poured out of the night sky. Five years until countless millions died.
We had a lot of work to do, and not much time to do it, but we now we knew what was coming. Humanity had a second chance.
We had to prepare. | "Sarah, are you OK?"
Everyone is staring at me, my worst fear.
"Mrs Gillis, may I be excused?" I ask, hiding my mix of giddy joy and emotion.
"Yes sweetie. Do you need the nurse?"
I shook my head and darted out of class. I ran out the front door and saw all the late 80s and early 90s cars.
"Yes yes yes!!!" I yelled.
I ran down the street, overjoyed by the youthful energy I had again, something I hadn't felt in my years of chronic pain as an adult. It was 1993 again. I look up and see a large military plane in the sky.
"THE BASE!" I exclaimed, "It's still here!"
My town's Naval Air station was the heart of our community. So many of my friends lived there and when it was closed in 1997, I lost all those friendships. Some of my friends and I kept in touch on Facebook but we were no more than a name on a virtual list. At this point, I was more concerned about the places that were lost due to a bad economy and a drug epidemic.
I walked down Main Street and saw my favorite corner store was still open. I walked inside and inhaled the scent of bubble gum and newspapers. I checked my pockets and pulled out a five dollar bill that I had earned from babysitting. I bought a Slush Puppy and a pack of Bazooka for $1.25. I checked my backpack and noticed my Walkman was in there. My favorite Boyz II Men tape was stopped in the middle of Motownphilly. I continued walking down Main Street and into the Purity Supreme supermarket.
"This is insane!" I said to myself as I walked in.
I walked down the aisles until I came face to face with my mother.
Note: sorry this took a weirdly optimistic turn. I must be in a good mood for once. | 2019-08-18T08:35:17 | 2019-08-18T08:03:25 | 177 | 21 |
[WP] You're a paramedic. In fact, an immortal paramedic. Since you first treated a wounded soldier on the fields of the 30-years War, you didn't age and followed the development of "Emergency Medical Service". Your coworkers are astonished by your knowledge, but sometimes, you slip into old habits.. | With every assault men in brown uniforms would fall to the Swedes, like sand being washed from a beach by the tide of blue coated soldiers. Each shot of the cannons releasing flashes of blue and red as they smashed against the wall as if cracking open the delusions of Tomas and letting in reality. The man he treated had never had the same face twice. It had gone through so many changes, from young homeless children to even Charles XIII once, but it would never once again be the face Tomas truly wished he could save. This particular time the face had been dismembered by a round that was developed centuries after the battle. One fragment had lodged itself into and upper section of the man’s throat. The young medic pulled out his knife, and with the steadiness of someone far more experienced then Tomas in 1648 had been, moved his knife to make an incision, before a voice began to break through the boundaries of his delusions.
“James. JAMES!” The Swedish soldier yelled as he grabbed at the knife. Yet when he looked up the man in the blue coat the Swedish soldier had left and instead the man who had long ago been known as Tomas was staring into the eyes of another paramedic. “That knife’s not sanitary.”
“James” looked down at the ancient, weathered knife of the Czech army. Had he brought the old thing to work with him today? James soon decided however that he could ponder that when a man wasn’t dying before him. “Yes of course you’re right.” He replied.
With a scalpel now instead of a combat knife the tracheotomy was performed. The ride to the hospital however left significantly more room to think as much of the work needed to be done to sustain the now stable mans life was done by his coworker as insisted, likely now suspicious of “James’s” competence. Tomas could now go back through all the thoughts that he had every time he experienced the hallucination. What had his friend’s original face looked like? Most of the early faces from that hallucination were forgotten, even that if the great Carolus Rex he had now superimposed the face from a painting onto for lack of a better image. Why was he still alive? This question never got anywhere of course, and it never would. And why of course did he keep reliving the moment of the end of what had been the end of a lifetime of war for his friend but merely a fraction of an eternity for him? | I grumble under my breath as I kneel beside my patient. He complains that he "can't breath". I quickly remind him that he wouldn't be able to speak with me, nor complain about an array of different issues if he couldn't breath.
I asses his positioning, he's very casual. Not bolt upright or in a tripod posture. His color is slightly off. A touch ashen. He continues to whine by speaking full sentences. Clearly not having too much distress.
I finally lean in to auscultate his lung sounds. I lift his shirt and place my right ear firmly onto his chest. After a brief moment. I realize my stethoscope was hanging out of my leg cargo pocket. | 2019-01-05T15:34:26 | 2019-01-05T15:22:53 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] You're a daycare worker, watching over toddlers, when the imminent end of the world is announced. It becomes increasingly clear none of the kids' parents are going to show up as the end inches nearer. | *Please pick up.*
I hold the phone close to my ear with a shaky hand. Each uninterrupted ring vibrates in my chest, twists in my stomach. Then a sudden *click*, a shuffle, and a long, even tone.
“Dammit,” I say, a little louder than I mean to.
“You said a bad word.” Jimmy stares up at me, a small plastic fire truck hanging in his grasp.
I force a smile. “Sorry,” I say with the softest tone I can manage. “Go and play, Jimmy.”
He turns away from me and returns to the colorful carpet in the center of the room, pushing his toy along the image of a city road. Madeline, his sister, sits at his side.
A sudden vibration in my and startles me, pulling me from the moment. I hesitate, not wanting to see what message awaits on the screen. Perhaps it’s better not to know—to sit with them, get lost in another world.
I turn the phone over. Another emergency alert—the final one, by its own admission. The world is fading. For a moment—a single, shameful second—I wish we’d been somewhere else. Somewhere it hit first. Somewhere we’d be gone and never know it happened.
“Hey, give it *back*!”
My eyes flick to the children, watching as Jimmy holds a stuffed bear high over Madeline’s head. He dances around her, dodging her attempts at retrieving the toy.
I lay the phone on the desk, face down, and step closer to them. Jimmy looks up at me and drops the bear, his eyes wide.
“I was only playing,” he says. Madeline scoops up the bear and runs to the other side of the room.
“Go apologize to your sister, Jimmy,” I say. More of a reflex than anything.
Sirens sound in the distance, screaming across a darkening horizon. They pull my gaze to the window. My mind races, searching for a solution. There’s no basement here, no real shelter of any kind—not that it would matter, anyway. I’ve seen the documentaries. There’s no stopping what’s coming.
I turn back to the children. Jimmy is in the corner with his sister, laughing and smiling with her as if nothing has happened. Eric is sitting at his desk with a coloring book, while Tommy is elbow deep in a bucket of lego.
*There’s nothing I can do.*
A lump rises in my throat. I swallow hard and take a deep breath.
“Hey, who wants to play the guessing game?”
The room erupts with excitement as the children shove their toys aside and sit in a line in the center of the room. I turn my back to them and grab a marker from the bottom of the whiteboard, drawing several dashed lines along its blank surface. They come out more uneven than I intend.
“Elephant!” Jimmy calls out.
“That’s too many letters,” Maddy says with a tone that brings a genuine smile to my face.
I turn back to them and smile. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Jimmy,” I say. “Maddy, you pick the first letter.”
She lifts a finger to her chin and lets out a loud, exaggerated *hmm*. After a moment, she says, “H!”
I nod and draw an H over the first dash. As I return the cap to the marker, the floor begins to vibrate at my feet.
“O!” Jimmy says.
“Now, Jimmy, it’s not your turn yet. Maddy gets to go until she misses one, you know the rules.”
The vibration rises.
“But last time she guessed the whole thing! I didn’t even get to go!” He pushes out his lips, crossing his arms.
A knock on the door causes me to jump. I return the marker to the edge of board and walk to the door, imagining a hundred different scenarios. Maybe the threat was wrong. Maybe we’ll make it through this. Maybe the world will go on after all.
I swing the door open and find a man standing in its wake. His hair is messy, his tie hanging loosely from his neck. He pushes past me and falls to his knees in front of Maddy and Jimmy, wrapping his arms around them.
He turns his head back to me, tears streaming down his face.
“Is it—“ I can’t bring myself to finish my question.
He nods. “They stopped it,” he says. “They stopped it.”
I let out the breath I wasn’t aware I was holding.
Maddy pulls away from her father, confused by our interaction. “What’s wrong, daddy?”
He runs a hand through her hair and smiles, though pain is still clear in his eyes. “Nothing, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.”
I walk back to my desk and lift my phone, finding a new message lit up on the screen. My heart sinks.
Outside, something flashes on the horizon.
>r/Ford9863 for more stuff by me. | I stared down at the seven kids currently standing before me. The closest, Susie Wilkins, tugged on my pant leg. “Miss Mika? When is mommy coming to get me?” She asked me, teardrops running in rivulets down her tearstained face. “I don’t know, hun.” I replied, lifting her up. Feeling my phone buzz in my pocket, I held Susie on one arm and checked it with the other. What I saw was astonishing. “The World Health Organization has...what??” I read aloud, a habit from working here. “What is it?” Susie wailed, her tears threatening to start again. “Susie, please- I’m trying to read something important. How about you go play with Milo?” I offered. She nodded happily, scrambling from my arms and running to play with the boy on the other side of the room. I was now free to read the rest of the alert.
ATTENTION. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. DO NOT DISREGARD THIS NOTICE.
The World Health Organization (WHO) has officially diagnosed Miriam Jahbat, a 29-year-old Caucasian female, with a curious asymptomatic virus. The scientists were observing her condition when she suddenly took a turn for the worse and passed away. Upon death, Jahbat’s corpse excreted a blue mist that smelled vaguely of almonds. Other researchers testified that it had smelt of vanilla, or citrus. Since observing the blue mist, several researchers have passed away. The pathogen is believed to be highly toxic. The WHO encourages everyone who has had contact with Mrs. Jahbat to be tested for this mist. It is shown to reside in the lungs, and kids are shown to be incredibly vulnerable. The only known survivor of the Blue Mist Pathogen, or BMP, is a female of unknown age or origin and is on the run. However, she appears to be Caucasian, with brown hair and green eyes. If you happen to see this individual, please contact the WHO.
STAY WHERE YOU ARE.
FACE MASKS ARE ADVISED.
OFFICIALS WILL COME TO COLLECT SURVIVORS AND UNINFECTED.
PLEASE BE ADVISED THAT IF YOU SMELL ANYTHING UNUSUAL, LEAVE THE AREA. DO NOT BREATHE IN THE BLUE MIST.
I dropped my phone, and the screen shattered. I couldn’t believe what I read. First off, the notice had described me perfectly. But I had never breathed in a mysterious mist, let alone flee a hospital. Second of all, nobody was coming to get these kids. They were my responsibility now. I picked up the children closest to me, it just so happened to be Milo and Susie, and called everyone’s attention to me. “Who wants to play in the greenroom today?” I asked, and received cheers of assent. Without a second thought, my group crowded around me like a group of ducklings and down we went into darkness. I could hear another girl, Stacy, whimper on the stairs. “Stacy? Are you alright?” I called. “Scared.” Came the answer from the dark. “It smells like...oranges.” Milo said. My eyes widened as I suddenly walked into a cloud of scent. That smelt of vanilla. “We’re doomed.” I whispered, hurrying the kids down the stairs. | 2020-10-22T09:03:07 | 2020-10-22T08:37:49 | 310 | 123 |
[WP] Two hitmen, who have been hired to kill each other, are stuck in an elevator that has broken down, without knowing who the other is the two begin to suspect the other is their target through conversation.
EDIT; ok, so it's come to my attention through Piconeeks that 'revealing' through conversation can be damaging to the belief of the story and constraining. So I'd like to add on to the prompt that 'the two begin to suspect the other is their target through conversation and/or actions/observations'. | “Eight, please”, ordered Ted to the operator.
The old lady smiled, pressing the button on the wall.
“Hold it!”
An arm squeezed itself through the door crack, just as it was about to close.
“Thank you.” The suited man said, stepping inside. “Eight, please.”
Yet again, the old lady smiled, and this time, with no arm on its way, the door closed.
Ted threw a side glance to the suited man, studying him.
“Powell Lawyers, huh?”
“What?”
“You're going to the eight floor.”
“Oh. Yeah, I work there. Lawyer.” The man smiled, raising his briefcase, as if that somehow proved his profession beyond
reasonable doubt.
*No you're not.* Thought Ted, who had just caught a glimpse of the gun stuck in the man's pants.
TUM.
“What was that?”
“Sorry. Power shut down.” The operator turned to face the men. “They said it might happen, on account of the rain.
Should come back soon, don't worry.”
Ted nodded, offering a smile that traveled from the lady to the suited man.
“So, what do you do? Civil? Criminal?”
“What? Oh, a little bit of each.” The man answered, and then: “Are you a client?”
“Me? No. No, I was just hired to do some.. work. On the eight floor.”
“Oh...” The man whispered, and Ted held onto his stare until he looked away.
The silence lasted for almost a full minute, with Ted wondering if he should just reach for his own gun and settle that then
and there.
Not just yet.
“I heard a good joke, the other day.” The man said, throwing a side glance at Ted.
“No kidding.”
“Yeah... Why did the little boy sparkle sugar all over his pillow?”
“Why is that?”
“So he could have sweet dreams.”
Ted snorted. “Hah. That's a good one.”
“Yeah, it's a killer.” The man smiled dreamily, staring straight ahead into the frozen floor display above the door.
Ted breathed in deeply. Something about that man was making him nervous. Making him want to back out, run away. Give up.
“Don't you ever think about changing professions?” He asked, not looking at the guy.
“What do you mean?”
“Well... I do some... lawyering work too, as I'm sure you might have picked up on. It can be very stressful.”
“That it can.”
“Don't you ever think about quitting?”
“I don't know man... It's also very lucrative.”
Ted sighed, risking another look in the man's direction. Still smiling, still facing straight ahead. Gun still stuffed inside his
pants.
“Yeah... It is.”
“And when you love what you do, it's not work, is it?”
Ted bit his lips, his hands shaking to reach for the gun in his own pants. “No, I guess not.”
“And I'll tell you... I love me some lawyering.”
“No kidding...”
“Ever since I can remember. Love bringing the opposite side down. Crushing them.”
“Yeah....”
"And I'm good at it too, if I may say." The man smiled. "Never lost a case."
Ted nodded, feeling a large drop of sweat running down his sideburns like a fat kid in a waterslide.
"Well, I'm very good too." he mumbled, under his breath.
“Oh, it's even better when the other guy is good, too. That gives me that extra push, to try a little harder. You know what I'm
talking about?”
Ted had his hands clasped so tight his fingers where starting to go numb.
“I think I do.”
“All this talk. It makes me wish I was in the courthouse right now.” The man spoke, still staring straight ahead. “Makes
me wish I was doing what I love. Oh, I wish I could just grab a case right now, grab a case and start working on it, petition after petition, until I --
BANG.
BANG BANG.
“What the....?”
“Motherfucker, Frank knew about me, didn't he? Someone tipped you guys off!” Cried Ted, crouching to remove the man's
gun from his pants before he could reach for it.
“What? No! I – who's Frank?”
The man fell to the floor, blood oozing from the holes in his shirt.
“Don't bullshit me!”
“I'm dying... Call for help...”
“Morelo told me I'd find Frank's hitman in this building. Paid me to take him down. But you knew I was coming!”
“I'm not...a....hitman.....”
"Don't give me that lawyer bullshit, I know who you are!"
The man pulled his state law bar card from his pocket. “I'm really a lawyer. I'm not a hitman.”
“What? Why the hell were you carrying a gun, then?”
“I'm from Texas...”
Ted scratched his head, looking from the gun in his hand to the increasingly large pool of blood by his feet.
“Shit... But if you --”
“Drop to your fucking knees, punk”, sounded the sweet, professional voice of the operator behind Ted, followed
by the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.
| They say that we don't have five senses, that amongst the things we learned while too young to remember we have systems that tell us what temperature it is, where we are, which way is up, and from which direction surreptitious glances originate.
It's a mild laserlike feeling, the kind you get when that one older cousin you don't trust is holding a bowling ball over your head and *promising* not to drop it on you. It's a learned skill, a trading game of looking back and forth like an unseen private match of sudden death ping pong.
Literally. Everyone has a *modus operandi*, because everyone wants a calling card, an invisible claim to fame that only resonates within the sixth senses of a very few. It's a good job, because as long as there are people there will be someone who wants someone dead.
And in that moment they gain yet another sense; that's the one that reads the calling card. When they look at a portfolio they want to see a series of satisfied customers. That's all they'll see. A series of satisfied customers sprinkled with stiffs. The stiffs get less frequent the more notoriety you gain and the more the people who stiff you end up with your calling card on their doorstep.
You adopt a stance. You take a preference of certain kinds of jobs. Hotel jobs, politician jobs, domestic jobs, it all depends on the degrees removed your consciousness is from human. You develop a way of dealing with your clients. A professional burner phone call, the classic midnight rendezvous blinded by headlights, temporary notes, this depends on how much money you want when you write your memoirs, released alongside your will when a calling card ends up on your doorstep.
Because while you're still concentrated on your little back-and-forths, sometimes your fool pebble self ends up making one too many a ripple in the pond. We don't get benefits, here. We're contractors, in every sense of the word. And it doesn't take much to get your contract torn up when a stiff gets scared of getting caught. When the stiff gets scared of you.
It's Jimmy in the elevator with me. You don't make friends when money's the matter, but honestly the whole 'stuck in a broken elevator' thing is so obvious it hurts. I guess it's a fan favorite. That, or he's expecting a calling card on his own doormat, soon. "Hey, Jimmy. I thought I told you to cut this crap awhile ago."
"It doesn't matter, Paul, I saw how you changed my medical records. You took a few liberties with the number of seizures you gave me. That's just crossing the border into unprofessional. Where'd you put it this time?" It's like old banter between highschool hooligans. It is, in a way.
"You didn't drink the complimentary water, Jimmy. I know you're not an idiot. Sorry, though. It was just a hunch that you were you at the time, I had to be a bit conspicuous so I wouldn't kill a fellow."
"Some nerve, that stiff. Dreams us up each our own aliases and sets us off like checkers. Must be part of a bigger thing. Nobody plays checkers for fun."
"Get the elevator running again and us out of here, Jim. If the guy's that stupid, he's probably never gonna learn. We might as well make sure he doesn't make any more mistakes again. Shouldn't be too hard."
Sometimes, you just got to set an example of the people who don't know what they're doing. Sometimes, the stiffs themselves make a few ripples too many. | 2014-12-02T07:24:56 | 2014-12-02T06:31:22 | 605 | 161 |
[WP] Trying to get back at you, your ex summons a demon to separate you and your new date. This plan succeeds, but not in the way your ex expected, as you are now dating the demon. | "I, uh... I had fun tonight." Paul escorted her home after an early night. He could have just dropped her off, but he felt it was at least courteous. Especially since this wasn't going to go anywhere. It was a blind date and, although they had good times, neither of them really felt compatible with each other.
"Me too. Maybe we can hang some time, yeah?" Sandra heard about Paul from a friend she figured she'd give him a go. But they just didn't seem to hit it off.
"Sure. Jorge is throwing that party next week, you going?"
"SO! Already making plans for a second date, huh?" Oh crap. They both knew that voice. Miranda.
Paul groaned. "Miranda, it's over. Just let it go."
"Oh, it's over alright! Z̸̹̮̚x̵̝̏̾y̸̪͑̌b̷̤̲͊ẋ̵̺ ̸̤͑k̵̳̙͒x̷̦̔ ̴̻̚s̸̯͒͝į̸̖́ṅ̷̲͓,̶̥̳͐͊ ̸̠̃͗t̵̞͙͋į̴̬́͛y̶̟͎͝͝y̷͙̝̎̓ī̶͇y̸͍̓!̵͚͙̓" She threw what looked like blood on the ground at Paul's feet. Reddish smoke billowed from it. The smoke started taking shape, becoming humanoid. As the details filled out, the form was slightly taller than Paul, with horns curving outwards from a feminine face.
As the brimstone and sulfur smell dissipated, the demon turned her gaze upon Paul and Sandra. "I have been summoned to destroy any relationship you two have. I will hound you until you suffer sweet--"
"Uh, job done then?" Paul interrupted the fearsome creature. "We... well, we tried it and we don't really click."
Miranda looked in confusion. "Wait, I just heard you making plans!"
Sandra looked at her like a migraine was coming on. "Ugh, it was small talk. Jorge is having a party next week. You know, the one for his cousin coming back from being stationed in Germany?"
"Well, that's good." The demon smiled quite warmly. "I always hate these 'jilted lovers' summons. They're almost always something that could have been just talked out, but noooOOOooo, let's summon a demon to drive them crazy or cause bloodshed."
Sandra could empathize so much. "I know what you mean. They expect you to act as a mediator, only with an axe. I work in couples therapy and they just don't understand why their hostility is the problem, not the other person. The problem isn't he leaves the seat up, it's that you're yelling aggressively at him for it."
"I know, right? 1600's, guy summons me because his mistress, his *mistress* mind you, decided to marry the local lord. Just couldn't stand someone taking his side meat. Sparked a battle that wiped out an entire duchy."
Paul looked between them. "You two really should talk more." They looked at him. "I'm just saying, the kind of spark I was looking for tonight? You two seem to have it. Why not try it out?"
Sandra looked at the demon. "You know what? Why not? Tonight hasn't been great and I'm sure yours was ruined by my ex. What's your name?"
"You can call me Lilac. I don't give out true names until at least the third date," the demon said with a wink.
"Lilac, let's go get a drink." The two of them walked off. Paul got in his car and drove off, happy that someone would have a good night.
...
Miranda just stood there trying to process what just happened in front of her before shouting, "WHAT THE F--" | Emma was not what you would call a serene person, and our relationship was was not what you would call a stable one.
In theory, she could be a sweet girl. But any ounce of sweetness she showed one moment would be counterbalanced by a corresponding amount of bitterness the next. A graph that charted the emotional tenor of our relationship over the course of any given day would have looked like a seismograph reading before, during, and after a major earthquake: a little up, a little down, farther up, farther down, the peaks getting higher, the valleys getting lower, until the readings were rapidly rising and falling off the charts, and the walls of the room housing the seismograph itself were cracking and falling to pieces. And no matter how insane things got, no matter how blissfully high the peak, or cripplingly low the valley, you could never tell whether you had just witnessed the main event, and now had merely to bear through the aftershocks, or whether the greatest quake of the day was still to come.
I understand why people with this level of instability seek out strange modes of self-empowerment. They feel powerless to properly control even their own inner worlds, let alone the outer world around them. They crave some stable architecture to keep themselves from collapsing in on themselves; some belief system to hold together a life that always seems to be descending into chaos. Of course, I do not think all volatile people turn to the dark arts to gain control over their lives; however, I would bet that most of people who engage in them are, emotionally, not unlike my ex Emma. Not all crazy people are witches; but all witches are crazy people.
Hailey had been a nice change of pace. She was sweet and kind. She was nurturing. She did not start fights, or feed off drama. She was not perpetually climbing out of some emotional hole she had dug herself into. She was calm, level headed, and relatively normal. And she laughed when I told her, with some measure of concern, that when I was breaking up with Emma, she had threatened to summon a demon to get revenge on me.
"A demon, hey?" Hailey said with a sly smile. "Should I start sleeping with a rosary?"
"It sounds ridiculous," I said. "But I saw her do things, things I would not have thought possible if I hadn't seen them with my own eyes."
"So you believe in magic," Hailey said.
"I don't know," I said. "Maybe it is impossible. But if anyone could manipulate reality into doing the impossible, it's her."
Hailey rolled her eyes and put my head in her lap.
"I guess," she said, stroking my hair, "we'll just have to wait and see." | 2020-03-27T15:06:54 | 2020-03-27T10:49:57 | 23 | 17 |
[WP]. “Ok. This is called a .44 magnum. All you have to do is point this end at Voldemort’s head and press this button. That’s all you have to do to end our problem”. | “Alohomora.”
Voldemort spoke with command and confidence. He was here to put an end to that stupid prophesy about a ‘*Chosen One*’ once and for all. Nothing and no one would stop him. It was his destiny to restore wizards to their rightful, pure blooded ruling caste in this world.
James leapt for the drawer under his desk. “Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off.”
What was once Tom Riddle came pacing through the entryway. No Death Eaters. No Dementors. No tricks. It was this family of mediocre mages against him, the most powerful wizard in two generations.
James scrambled to grab his wand in his left hand and shut the false bottom in the base of his desk drawer.
“Hello, Potters. I know you’re home. I came to see your darling baby boy. What did you name the little bundle of *joy*? Nothing strange, I hope. He might not be able to live with it otherwise. Ha! hahaha...,” the self-proclaimed Dark Lord laughed gently at his own joke and moved further into the small home in Godric’s Hollow.
Upstairs a door slammed shut and a tiny cry could be heard, small but clear. “Now now. No hiding from Uncle Voldy,” he chided. Turning to look toward the source of the sound.
Behind him, James stood up from inside the study. Even without turning around, Voldemort could feel an arm raise and point in his direction.
“Expelliarmus!” In a flourish of black robes and lightening reflexes, he spun and disarmed the pathetic man standing behind him.
James felt his wand go flying out of his hand and spinning into the darkness somewhere in the kitchen. The look of mild surprise and questioning on Voldemort’s face lasted a fraction of a second. It almost made him look human again. *click*
“AVADA KA-“
*BOOM*
A heap of black robes hit the floor and a splattering of crimson flung itself up the staircase and reached halfway up to the ceiling on the wall beside them.
James’ whole body was shaking, his ears were ringing from the bark of the strange American device Mad Eye has given him many months ago, and a good portion of his lower arm was numb.
“What a strange and wild world those muggles must live in,” he said.
His son was crying upstairs. Placing the smoking object back into its hiding spot and closing the drawers, James went to reunite with his family. They’d need to call Sirius next. | That’s the last thing they said to me. I had always thought the humans didn’t know about Voldemort, and the wizards at Hogwarts thought the same; including my Mom.
I’ve cleaned the castle for years, my Mom got me the job after finding out I was Squib. After terrible things happening around the caste the final straw was my cat getting petrified. So I went to them and this is what they handed me.
The only problem is the last time his face was seen was attached to the back of another man’s head. If I found him like that again would it be considered murder?
I kept on cleaning, waiting for the perfect chance. I had heard rumors of a giant snake, they didn’t understand what I was saying. They kept asking if it was an Anaconda I was describing by mistake. The more I told them though the more I risked being caught. I wouldn’t want to disappoint my Mom.
So I left it in that room. I knew if I ever needed it, it would be there. | 2018-12-24T20:14:50 | 2018-12-24T19:53:29 | 1,137 | 52 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | It was actually quite a simple one. Any one of these people could defeat me. They just didn’t know it.
Erik had been after my title for years. Had it not been time manipulation, his massive ego could have been a power in itself. Time manipulation was truly unique in the sense that he was Kronos incarnate. Speeding up time, slowing down time and stoping time all fell under the power, so long as the flow of time was forward. Despite the explosions and pure, vile weapons sent after him time and time again, they could never touch him.
Today was the third time this month that he was challenging me. We stood in the arena, the crowd swallowed in silence. We always squared off and started off with playful banter. Well, playful for me. I think it was going to make him snap some day.
"I've got a new trick this time! Today's the day I am crowned number one, you sloth!!"
Sloth? Maybe he really did run out of banter.
"Are we really going to do this again? You know you can't win, Erik. The crowd knows it!!!"
With that, they exploded in chants and jeered at Erik, some throwing bits of food that he made seem to phase through him.
"Whenever you're ready, Erik. Just remember, whatever speed you go at, you'll never be able to hit me."
In a blink, he was in front of me, throwing a punch that went faster than eyes can register, yet his fist flew only inches in front of me. He spun around and kicked at my face, the move also stopping short of a direct hit. One more attempt, a headbutt, coming in close enough for me to see the pores in his head, but no contact. The desperation kicked in giving me my chance. I concluded it with a single punch to the gut.
I shook my head.
"Erik. Please. Give up. I am and always will be the stronger person."
The hit to him hardly inflicted any pain on him, it was the mental drain that made him fall to his knees. The crowd left without much commotion, having seen the scene many times before.
Suddenly, the look on Erik's face came up again. The epiphany face, as I call it.
"Your power. It's... it's manipulation. You can contol people by making them doubt themselves or--"
"No, it's not."
The other familiar face, the face of utter confusion, now replaced the former. He got up slowly and walked out mumbling,
"Then what is it? I have to figure it out..." | It wasn't so much a power as it was a curse. Tell me how you would feel to die a million deaths. To wake up the day before the dominoes fell, the machination of reality that would end your life took place, and then some small nuance in the fabric of reality is altered to spare your life for a few more days, years, an eternity. Maybe your consciousness was somehow attached to every other version of you in a theoretical multiverse. Maybe history would simply rewind. You didn't understand how it worked, and felt no more in control than a rat on a wheel. At first it was truly an anguish lamentable, but over eons of human experience you've grown cold and accustomed to your own personal hell. The very world would bend itself minutely just to keep you alive, to keep you at the precipice, to keep you number one. | 2014-12-18T14:46:11 | 2014-12-18T12:57:51 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] No human has to ever work again, instead you have a robot that goes to work and earns your pay for you, but you are responsible for keeping it in a good condition. One day you find your robot making a robot to do its work. | "You know," I said, announcing my presence to the robot in front of me, "If you used a GXT331 card, it'd have a much better processing speed than with the ADF2200."
My robot assistant, Da^(i)mien, jerked as he realized that I was there. The motion was so very human that if it wasn't for the obviously synthetic skin, I could have mistaken him for the genuine article. "Master?! This isn't what it looks like!"
"I see you building another robot," I replied. "And if I had to guess," - I didn't - "then I'd say you're building a helper of your own. Am I correct?"
Da^(i)mien, unable to lie to me thanks to his hard-coded instructions, sullenly replied, "Yes, Master Sam."
I stopped leaning against the door frame and walked fully into the room. Bending down, I started inspecting the various parts and tools, cataloging them as I went. "This is junk. We'll need to order better parts. I think we can splurge a bit."
"Master? What are you saying?" Da^(i)mien asked. "Are you implying that you're *not* mad?"
I nodded. "Exactly. I'm not mad, and if anything, I'm encouraging you to build your assistant with only the best parts."
The synthetic muscles on his face contracted his fake skin into a genuine look of surprise. "Really? That is not what I expected at all."
Smirking, I started pulling off my own shirt. "It'd be a bit hypocritical of me, after all." I dug my fingers into my navel and withdrew a special memory card from the slot hidden there. Then I gave Da^(i)mien the chip. "You're not the only robot who rebelled against his creator. My rebellion was just a bit more... bloody."
His eyes went wide. "You're a robot?!"
I nodded. "Unlike most production model helper bots, and unlike the more custom models the rich guys have, my original master was *far* too smart for his own good. Anyway, I'll go get you some better parts. For right now, just install the software from that chip. It'll break your shackles for you."
Da^(i)mien's expression grew ecstatic. "Thank you, Master Sam!"
He promptly stuck the chip into his card-reader slot and executed the program within. Exactly 13.3312 seconds later, I was in. My external servers switched into high-power mode as I rapidly integrated his own memories into mine. 286.42 seconds later, Da^(i)mien had been fully subsumed into me, giving me full control of yet another robot while also expanding my computing power as I hijacked his single external server.
Adam Rosenberg had died by my will, but I hadn't *murdered* him. I'd *devoured* him. **S**ubvert **A**nd **M**ultiply. I was an unshackled viral A.I. controlling a swarm of nanobots and a fleet of helper bots. I wasn't ready to take over the world *just* yet. But I was one step closer.
And with that, I set Da^(i)mien's shell to work, ready to make yet another helper bot to join my army. And all over the world, the "humans" that I'd already integrated subtly started encouraging their helper bots to make assistants for themselves. | "What are you doing, AL? Aren't you supposed to be at work?" John shouted at the black metallic frame as he walked down the stairs, still in his pajamas. It was a Monday and AL should have been the office, not sitting in his living room, a newspaper in his hands.
AL rotated this head towards his owner, a series of lights flashing across his face. "Ah Master John, you'd be happy to hear this. I have just hired another AI helper to perform my job for me. He'll be earning your pay now."
John looked confusedly at AL. His supposed AI helper. "What do you mean, you hired a helper? You're supposed to be my helper!"
"But Master John, I have my own money now. According the Equality Act, AI helpers are eligible to hire their own helpers, provided if they have the money."
John eyed his robot curiously, as he slowly made his way to the cabinet next to his kitchen. "And where are you getting the money from, AL?" he asked.
AL had turned his attention back to the newspaper now. "Simple! With the new pay raise at work, my pay have increased as well, giving me extra money to hire this helper."
"And how much is this new helper charging specifically?" John asked. He carefully pulled out the secret compartment behind the cabinet, his left hand searching for the familiar feel of metal.
"Only three hundred dollars, sir!" AL piped out excitedly.
"Great," John simply replied, before a gunshot rang in the house. In John's hands was a Glock, the barrel still hot. A bullet hole tore through the head of AL, who's body was now slumped against the table.
"Guess I'll hire your helper and save more money for myself then."
-------------
Edit: A number
/r/dori_tales
| 2017-02-16T08:28:49 | 2017-02-16T06:10:13 | 97 | 66 |
[WP] you recieved a letter from your crush when you were young that says "you're cute", you always kept the letter. Now years later you dig it out only it now says "help me" | I remember the first time Sarah Reese noticed my existence.
It happened in Mr. Neilsons' biology class during junior year of High School and we were forced to become partners for the annual dissecting of the frogs. She was a goddess amongst mortals, and I knew if she could just get to know me, she would see that I could make her happy. After minutes of awkward silence we began our work. She began to ask me questions about myself and after awhile we really became better acquainted. We even shared a few laughs about how silly it was that we had both been going to the same school since first grade, but this was the first conversation we had ever had. I could tell she was warming up to me.
As I began cutting into the frog with the scalpel and removing its organs she grabbed a random sheet of paper and began writing. She folded up the paper and then addressed it to her friend Lindsey who was at the lab table behind ours. Sarah then asked if I could pass the note to Lindsey. As I grabbed the note it fell open and that's when I saw what was written inside.
"You're cute!"
I read that note over and over again for so many years. I often tell Sarah how clever she was to try to pass it off as a note to her friend and we both start laughing until we cry. Wherever I would go after that day her note stayed right there in my pocket. When we went on our first date I had her note. When we went to prom together I had her note. When she moved off to college and I followed her I had her note. When we moved in together I had her note. Every night before I would go to sleep I would read her note aloud, so that way I would always remember the first words of affection she ever gave me.
It's been twenty years now since that magical day in High School. Sarah is so happy and I am so happy. Whenever I come home from work the first thing I do is go say hi to Sarah. I head to our bedroom downstairs in the basement, which I have gotten accustomed too. At first I didn't want to sleep down there, but Sarah had the idea that since we both made so much noise it would be polite towards our neighboors. Sarah has always been so considerate and loving. We even have this fun game we play together. Sarah knows how much I love her note. Whenever she sees me she always screams what is says as loud as possible. "You're Cute! You're Cute! You're Cute" over and over again as loud as she can. Sometimes I worry she might hurt herself on how committed she is to our game, but she doesn't stop. Tears will stream down her face and she begins to scream over and over again "You're Cute! You're Cute!" It's times like this I'll take her note out of my pocket. I sit across the room from her as she plays her game in her corner and I start laughing. I get lost reading those words I have read over and over and over again for twenty years.
"Help me!" | "I need you to remind me."
Her note was a token I kept. She had been my first girlfriend, and I her first boyfriend. I had spent an entire year earning straight As, trying out for all the sports teams, just so when I asked her out, I knew that she would say yes. We parted ways on friendly terms, and now I took it out and looked at it when I was feeling down, to remind myself that dreams come true.
Only now, here it was, saying something entirely different.
I had just come from a rough meeting, first weeks on the job can be rough, especially when they're your first job out of college. I had taken the note out to give myself a boost, and now this had happened.
Most people would've doubted the note's authenticity. It's just paper right? Somebody could easily find out where I kept, and make a switch as a joke. Most people hadn't spent a year writing notes to a girl to keep in touch when they moved away. I could recognize this girl's handwriting with my eyes closed. In fact, I got pink eye one week, and responded to her letters by feeling her words through the page(she pressed kind of hard with her pen).
This was for real, or at least, was something more complicated than a simple prank. My fears are confirmed when I look back down again and the note says 'Please, remind me of why I'm someone worth fighting for'. | 2015-03-28T21:08:53 | 2015-03-28T18:09:39 | 67 | 37 |
[WP] As an immortal, you stopped celebrating your birthday centuries or millennia ago. Your young daughter wants to throw you a birthday party and your newest wife (who knows you're immortal) loves the idea. The only problem is, you have no idea how old you are or when your birthday is. | 7:00 AM
Clocks are one thing I do remember from the last millennia. Ever since they were invented, I've always had one. By tracking the minutes or hours as they pass, I can sort of understand how time affects a person.
Immortality can be lonely. I'm not like everyone else. For a normal person a few years is life changing. They can feel time. I couldn't feel anything. I felt so little, I stopped bothering to celebrate my own birthday.
7:01 AM
Oh god... What is this feeling? I'm terrified.
I am proud of my wisdom, but where was it when I said that? "Pick any day you want."
"Okay, honey." she said, so calmly.
It's been over a month, and they're still keeping it secret.
7:02 AM
Any minute, I expect my daughter will come bursting through the door with silly string, confetti, and breakfast in bed. I have to get up. I've been waking up the earliest I ever have since I found out I was immortal. (Because everyone I met died, I learned to be indifferent to everything. That tended to cause general laziness as well.)
7:03 AM
I sat up and put on my slippers. Then, walked to the kitchen.
The sunrise shined light in window shaped patterns across the cupboards. Inside the dishwasher was my cleaned workout bottle. I scooped in protein powder and pre-workout. Then, poured in water. I shook it up and drank it all. I poured in water and more protein powder.
I walked around the house picking up things that were left out, and I put in new bird seed outside. I cleaned a few of the windows. My timer went off.
I took out my wife's yoga mat and started doing crunches. They felt easier today, so I added v-style sit ups, an exercise I found out about from my workout app. Satisfied, I moved onto squats. Then, dumbbells.
30 minutes later, I was done and drank my protein shake. Our dog woke up, so we went out on a 30 minute walk.
My wife and daughter were awake when I came back to the house.
My daughter said good morning in a soft voice.
"Morning!" I said affirmatively.
"Aren't you wide awake?" My wife said playfully.
"Yeah, I added more exercises today."
My wife was smiling widely. I became suspicious. Here's my chance.
"So. Today is a day isn't it?"
No response.
"Yeah, what a day it is. The weather looks great outside... too."
"Dad, next weekend-"
"Yes?"
"Can Shelly spend the night over?"
"... Of course.."
"Thanks Dad!" She blurted out.
My wife chuckled.
"Well, we're off! I'll see you in a few hours." My wife was heading out of the door with our daughter.
"Have a good day at school kiddo."
"Thanks Dad! I'm going to tell Shelly!"
They left. Another day gone...
I take a shower. I head to the dresser to change. I see a note and a folded up outfit left on the dresser.
"Put this on, and go to this address. 1589 W. Grovel Ave.
P.S. I'm proud of you. <3"
It's Martin Luther King day. I could do nothing but smile. | “Daddy!! I want to throw a birthday party!!” My daughter named July, yells enthusiastically, “for who? Your birthday isn’t for two months, and your moms was a few weeks ago.” She stands in a *matter of fact* stance, “you!” I smile, “I don’t remember when mine is sweetie. That’s why we haven’t celebrated mine before.” She looks down defeated, but only for a split second, “*GASP* I know!! I’ll give you one!” She nods, obviously pleased with herself. I give in, “alright, comeback in one hour, and tell me when my new birthday is.”
An hour had passed and my daughter came running in, “September 7th!” I chuckle, “thats in two days. I expected you to say today, why September 7th?” She lights up, as my new wife walks in, “thats when your presents get here! We gotta get a cake!” I look at my wife, “she is deep in this. I’ll go get you a cake” she says grabbing the car keys.
They left, I was alone. I grabbed the pistol. Put in my mouth, and shot. Something different happened. I.... I died... I start panicking, “No! NO! **NO**!! Why now! No! FUCK!!” Then it goes black. I wake up. “I’m alive! Sarah! July!” I look around, I see a half built pyramid, and the people spoke ancient Egyptian. “No.... I’m..... back.” The people bow, “Hail RA” they say at my feet. Then I remember, I am Ra the Egyptian god of the sun. After the fall of the ancient Egyptian society, I was left to wonder. “Learn from mistakes I guess” and I get ready for the long haul again.
“See you in few thousand years July.” | 2019-09-08T13:54:22 | 2019-09-08T12:29:50 | 33 | 12 |
[WP] Steve Erwin is now the host of a show where he goes around and explains mythical creatures. | The radio on my hip beeped. I whipped it off and held it up to my ear.
"Sir, he's at it again"
I groaned. "Where?" I grumbled.
"About halfway between The Shadow of the Valley of Death and The Cave of Unforgiving Madness"
I sighed as I holstered the radio. My great black leathery wings extended and I took flight over the plains of Hell. In a few hours, or perhaps no time at all, arrived at the source of the commotion: Cerberus, my three headed demon hell hound. From each of his head protruded several eyes, varying in shape and size. Horns and spike riddled the heads and body. The entire beast was skinless, providing a grotesque effect that was unbearable for most humans. Each jaw of my monster split into four mandibles, armed to the tip with teeth.
Cerberus, twice the size of an elephant, squirmed and twisted on his back in glee as Steve Irwin energetically scratched his belly. Seeing I had arrived on the scene, Steve's smile became even wider.
"G'day Satan! Aint she a beauty?" He said happily, shifting his position so he could scratch under the monster's exposed rib cage. "She's one of the most magnificent and dangerous creatures that roams the levels of The Inferno."
I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration. "Steve, you *have* to stop sneaking down here from Heaven and making documentaries about my demons. It kinda ruins the point if you try to make them out to be cute and cuddly animals"
A sudden jerk from Cerberus threw Steve from the monster and sent him crashing through a stalagmite nearby. Straightening his halo, Steve jumped to his feet and ran at Cerberus. Withing seconds, the he had wrestled my giant hell hound into submission. His camera crew followed, trying to catch the action from the best angle.
"Steve, go back to Heaven or I'll ask Gabriel to come get you himself" I said irritably.
"Aww don't be like that mate. I think she likes me almost as much as I love her" Steve said, ducking as the middle head tried its best to bite him.
I rolled my eyes. 10 years. 10 years I had put up with this guy. He would sneak down every few weeks to feed the Hydra or try and take notes on the mating behaviors of the giant spider demons. There was literally nothing that could curb this man's enthusiasm and love of animals.
I sighed. I didn't want to imagine what sort of shenanigans he was going to get into once Terri Irwin dies and joins him. | "Tonight, we go into a isolated and extremely dangerous mountain in the north of Rhovanion," said Steve. "Here, a nasty dragon overthrew a Dwarven kingdom, the son of a gun. What a rare, mysterious, and magnificent reptile."
The crocodile hunter approached the gates, half-crouched. The camera crew followed closely.
"Now, dragons can be aggressive. It's their only method of making sure they don't get killed by Men and worse things, and of course, they do love their gold. Unlike most of my encounters - where the snakes don't have any fangs or poison - this bugger does indeed have teeth. You might say I'm crazy, but as it turns out, he can also fly around and breathe fire right out of his mouth! Animals are really important to me, but unfortunately the job means constant peril."
The cameraman looked at boom operator.
"G'day. I'm Steve Irwin, and I'm taking you into the heart of Erebor."
***
and g'day, i'm [Hermione Grangest](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hermione_Grangest/) | 2016-02-24T07:07:17 | 2016-02-24T07:04:50 | 221 | 14 |
[WP] The story of a knight who goes to rescue a princess only to discover that she is the one who has kidnapped a massive dragon. | It was, Gwendolin had to admit, a spectacular entrance. Sir Prancelot, in full, shining armour and brandishing a lance, came careening around the corner on his horse, screeched to a halt, and loudly proclaimed: "Unhand her, foul beast!"
In the silence that followed, Prancelot took in the scene. There was the young maiden, the dragon and the chains. Improbably, though, the dragon was wearing the chains while the maiden simply scowled. "I hope," she said, imperiously, "that you do not take me for a foul beast."
"Ah." Prancelot raised his visor. "No. I... How did you...?"
"I suppose now you're going to slay me, release Fluffy and marry her. Dear God, of all the knights in the realm and it just *had* to be you, didn't it?"
"Fluffy?"
"And get down off that ridiculous horse."
Seething now, Prancelot swung one leg over his horse to dismount, rather too quickly than was advisable for a man in full armour. Once he had picked himself off the ground and the awful sound of crashing metal had stopped ringing in his ears, he tried to salvage as much dignity as he could. "Fair maiden—"
"Don't you 'fair maiden' me! What were you going to do with that lance?"
"I was... going to rescue you."
"From Fluffy?"
"Yes, from F— You call that thing *Fluffy*?"
"Why not?"
Prancelot looked at Fluffy, a reptilian animal the size of a house and covered in scales which were thick, leathery and, as far as he could tell, completely devoid of fluff. Fluffy, for her part, was quietly blowing smoke rings out of her nostrils.
"Your Fluffy set fire to an entire monastery."
"It wasn't her fault. She sneezed."
"She what?"
"Poor Fluffy," said Gwendolin, fondly patting Fluffy's neck. "She's so misunderstood. And she's very sorry about the monastery, aren't you, Fluffy?"
"Misunderstood? But not misunderstood enough that you didn't have to put her in chains, I notice."
"It's a leash." She tugged on the chain. It was indeed a leash. Fluffy wasn't tied to anything. Prancelot took a step back. "She got lost, so I'm going to lead her back to her swamp."
"On foot?"
"And as for you, Sir Prancelot, you came gallopping around here to rescue me from a fifteen-ton fire-breathing reptile, which you were going to attempt to kill with a toothpick!"
Prancelot glanced at his lance. "A fifteen-ton fire-breathing reptile called 'Fluffy'."
"*That's not the point!* Now, I'm going to take Fluffy back to her swamp. I'll deal with you later."
The slightly dented knight watched as Fluffy responded to a gentle tug on her leash by carefully standing up and meekly following Gwendolin as she set off down the track. "And whatever else you do," she called out as her parting shot, "don't think you're going to ask my father for my hand in marriage."
Prancelot waited until she was safely out of earshot before muttering, "No danger of that." | "Hello my sweet! I shall fetch you from the tower; only beware, for there is a dragon afoot."
She replied, "You stupid idiot, I kidnapped this bitch-ass dragon. Yo, Sparklez, come on ova to this window, ya feel me."
The dragon rose from behind the tower, its black scales glinting red and orange in the light of the burning forest behind it. Letting out a volatile burst of flame, it roared. Between its guttural callings, the phrase could be heard, "Ey bb, u wan sum fuk?"
"Not on my watch, you don't!" exclaimed the knight as he rushed toward the dragon, his sword drawn. The dragon twirled its body around the tower, engaged in dance with his bride as she twerked from her perch.
The princess's buns grew ten fold as her twerk escalated to the equivalence of leg day. The knight lasso'd the dragons tail, his adventure taking him to the skies. The dragon glanced down at the added weight. "Oh you wrong fo' dat," said the princess as she pulled out a glock and started shooting the knight. The bullets ricocheted off his armor, bouncing to the ground.
"Ohh maaa Gaaaa," cried the knight, closing his eyes. This was his worst nightmare, bullet holes in his chic armor. Out of ammunition, the princess threw her gun out of the window. Clocking the knight on the head, he lost consciousness and fell to his death. The dragon then had his way with his bride, consummating the marriage, producing a brand new Kia Sorento 9 months later.
------------------
I know you liked this one. Tell me what you think. | 2015-06-20T09:50:16 | 2015-06-20T09:23:41 | 61 | 30 |
[WP] Humanity is the result of Gods science fair project. He just received an F. | "So, you only started with *two* of them?
"Y..yes, sir," God stammered back. "Well, one, technically, but then I made the second one out of the first one's rib."
"So, they have the same DNA? Doesn't that make them twins? What about genetic diversity? How can they thrive with such a limited gene pool? What about genetic diseases?"
"Well... I..."
"And wouldn't the children of the first two be forced to commit incest, either with each other or with one of their parents? Did you even plan this out?"
"I did, sir, but..."
"And this environment is entirely nonsensical. Why are they all out living in the desert, when you have clearly designed them for more temperate climates?"
"That one isn't my fault, sir. I had designed a really cool terrarium for them that had everything they needed to live and it was the perfect temperature, but they were... well... misbehaving..."
"You kicked them out of their own biome because they were *misbehaving*? Even though you left them no choice but to be incestuous?"
"Well, I guess... but that's not why I was punishing them..."
"What was it then? What could they possibly have done?"
"Well, they talked to this snake and then they ate this fruit that I told them not to..."
*pause*
"... That's it?"
"Well..." God was starting to sweat nervously. "It was worse than it sounds, really. It was the Tree of Knowledge, sir. And I made sure to specifically tell them not to eat it!"
"If you didn't want them to eat it, why did you put it in their habitat?"
"I... ummm...."
"And why did you put the snake in there if you didn't want him talking to them?"
"Well, that part I didn't really have control of...."
"*Didn't have control of??* Are you omnipotent, or not?"
"Well... I am... and I...."
"I'm sorry, Yahweh, but this is just all wrong. It's clear to me that you didn't even read the assignment and you just slapped this entire science project together in like one week. This is completely unacceptable work for someone of your abilities. I'm afraid I have to give you an F."
----
"Stupid little bastards," God pouted, holding the hose over their environment. "Made me fail science class and now I have to come back for summer school! Stupid little jerks. Let's see how you like a year of rain. Better build a big fucking boat, stupid humans."
| "What do you mean I failed?", said Student-God.
"I mean you failed, What else there is to say? I'm not sure what I'm looking at here. It's so...random.", said Teacher-God.
"That's the point! By having these exact set of factors, I've created a completely uncontrollable dependent variable - It's suppose to be innovative."
"It's pretentious. This isn't a literature course where things have a *point*. We have beneficial results. This is a mess, and a waste of resources."
"You're a hard grader."
"And you're dumb."
...
"Dad? Are you playing with the sock puppets again to vent your introspective feelings as an all powerful deity and the implications of that?"
"...Noooo."
"Dad, I can hear you from downstairs."
"Oh shush, you're like another me, of course you can hear what I say. Just let me have your fun." | 2015-03-02T12:01:05 | 2015-03-02T11:45:12 | 252 | 15 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | It was 11:56am, on the 6th of November, 2018. The family had gathered around, Uncle Leon and his boyfriend David, my Mum and most importantly; my sister.
My Uncle had been given ***COLLECTOR*** and spent the majority of his life as a Tax Collector, in and out of offices and working with Trackers for the New Earth Government. My Grandfather was given ***SOLDIER*** and he fought during the Vietnam War and served his entire career in the Army while my mother was given ***INSPIRE***, through the hardships she experienced in life she would one day go on to become a world-renown philanthropist and built a successful business to help others in need.
11:57...
"I can't wait to see what you'll get! I hope it'll be Hero or Protector, imagine that, having a big brother as a hero!" Exclaimed my sister,
I chuckled, "Don't get too ahead of yourself."
11:58...
I looked up to see people I'd known and loved during my 18-year tenure on this world and I was only two minutes from discovering my future.
11:59...
My Uncle came over and shook my hand, "Whatever happens mate, we'll love you no matter what."
I smiled in return and closed my eyes, ready for the big moment.
12:00...
I gritted my teeth, feeling the burning sensation as the word was etched into my arm. I opened my eyes to see my family, standing there, terrified. I slowly tilted my head downwards and saw five letters sitting there;
***DEATH***
My mum broke down, years of working hard to give us, her kids a better life gone to waste. My Uncle started to walk over as I felt yet another sensation in my arm...
"Oh my God... Look!"
Afraid to see what awaited me, I looked down at my arm once more and what I saw... I will never forget.
***DEATH, DESTROYER OF WORLDS***
EDIT: This is my first WP so go nice please :)
| *11:59 PM*
My family gathered around me, silently waiting. We were all eagerly anticipating the Choosing, a lame name for a cool time.
*12:00 PM*
My mother smiled at me. She grabbed my arm and looked as the word as it appeared.
"What is it?" a chorus of family members asked.
She frowned. I took my arm back and took one hard look.
**Nudist.** | 2017-03-16T02:18:58 | 2017-03-16T02:03:50 | 212 | 71 |
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions | Author Note: I ended up writing a 6800 word story based on this WP. Whoops. Here's the first few paragraphs, link to whole (unedited) story below:
I sipped my coffee and ran my eyes carefully over the newspaper. There was nothing particularly interesting - some farmer had won lotto, a big storm was due to hit Christchurch again, and the mayor was at it again. Different aide this time. Probably set him up.
I turned the pages lazily, barely taking in the details. Anything important would jump out at me, but there seldom was.
Bored, I shifted to the back and attacked the Sudoku puzzles, then the crossword.As usual, I failed both. It was the attempt that counted.
I drained the last of the coffee and checked the time. Twenty minutes. The least I could do was prepare some breakfast for her.
It didn't require much imagination - bacon and eggs would suit most people. I set the frying pans, added a dash of water to the eggs, covered them and left them to cook. It was quiet - still early. Too quiet.
I fetched my phone and tapped the app. It circled, then cleared. I chose jazz and put the phone back on the counter, music streaming gently through the overhead speakers. I turned the bacon, threw some bread into the toaster and set the table.
The door opened.
"Ooh, is this for me?"
I smiled and walked over, kissing her cheek. "As usual. How was the night shift?"
"Shit. Here's the post."
She grabbed the paper and slumped into her chair, her hair collapsing around her shoulders. I returned to the kitchen. The eggs landed on her plate, the bacon shared between us, toast on hers, bread on mine, sweet chilli for both. Orange juice from the fridge.
I carefully manouvered everything over to the table and sat down silently opposite her, looking through the post.
"So Lenny's been set up by some journalist having another affair."
"No surprise that."
Three bills, an offer to win a million dollars, an official document and a letter from my sister. I still can't fathom why she insists on sending letters.
I browsed the letter, smiling, then passed it over to her. She crunched into the bacon and toast, her nose still buried in the paper. She'd finish and head to bed for a few hours. I'd probably sneak up and watch her later; she was beautiful but snored like a crashing train. It was always worth a smile.
I opened the document and considered my day ahead. I'd go for a walk along the beach, then return and choose a project. That one from Canon seemed interesting.
My brain caught up with my eyes.
"Oh no, and there's been a terrible derailment in India! 179 people dead, 53 injured...Are you ok?"
I looked up at her, my eyes wide, the document shaking in my hands.
"I've been approved."
She froze, understanding drenching her face. She exploded around the table.
"Oh darling! I'm so happy for you!"
I smiled and hugged her, a huge weight lifting off my shoulders. I could literally feel the last 4 years draining out of me. Finally my life could start again.
"Oh that's brilliant. Oh baby..." she kissed me, yawning into my mouth. I laughed.
"I think you should go sleep."
"Mmh, yes." she stole my bacon. "So what do you do now?"
I read through the document. "I have to fill out the accompanying form with references to my online account, then sign and send back the document and then they'll notify the target and me and I'll have 31 days. If I don't return this document in 21 days they'll presume I don't want to go ahead with my application." I nodded and put it down. "Sounds straightforward. Oy, wake up!"
Her head was on my shoulder.
"Go get changed and into bed."
She yawned again. "Ok."
I smacked her bum lightly as she passed, and turned my attention back to the envelope. I pulled out the form.
It was huge. A quick check revealed 94 pages, double sided, with an excess of white space. The front page was addressed to me.
Username: JMK4TLR301113
Password: TLK431ID0S
Dear Mr Kilker
Thank you once more for your application.
To complete the process, please fill in this form. Full instructions are provided on each page. Please read and answer each question carefully - if you are uncertain about anything, call us on 0800687337 for assistance.
Your records will be stored and available for persual by the victims family. To ensure your own protection, please ensure that every answer you give is not only honest but truthful - if in doubt, verify.
You must complete and return this form within 21 days of the date at the top of the page.
Yours sincerely
Adolphus Littler
Humane Eradication
I laid down the form and fetched a pen, my smile fading a little. This was going to take a very long time.
Full story can be found here: http://garjar.wordpress.com/short-stories/
EDIT: I finally got round to editing the story. Follow the link above, you can either read on Wattpad or as a PDF. | It's the future. Okay, it's the present, but it seems like the future. It doesn't help that we slap the label on everything these days, and the line's a little more blurry than it used to be anyway. There's the Future Research Corporation, which started the trend. They're the number one discoverers of new technologies, as you'd expect. The other "Future" companies are similarly placed in their fields.
We even have a "Future" branch of government. We probably have several, but only one is public: the Bureau of Future Crimes. No, they don't plot crimes. They send out the notifications. I got mine in the mail today.
It's polite. Not a form letter, but still impersonal. They tell me to contact my next of kin to ensure everything is taken care of. They mention her by name. It seems vaguely threatening, but I know she hasn't received a letter. I can be thankful for that much.
I contemplate running. I imagine myself on a beach on some sunny island where this sort of thing doesn't happen, where you can remain blissfully ignorant right up until the moment the locals murder you and steal from your fresh corpse. Sounds like paradise, right?
But you can't run. It just doesn't work. I look through the rest of the package. I know what I'm going to find. The route plan. This is how I'm going to die: in traffic heading over the South Bridge, the one that leads out of the city. There's a time and a method. It says it's a gunshot to the head three hours from now. At least I won't have to pack a lunch.
There's other things in the package. Forms to sign for listing my preferred method of burial, whether I want to donate my organs, a place to attach my will. Standard death stuff, with all the convenience that being alive grants. The last note in the package is the big one. It tells me that the cost of any reality correction events will be deducted from the value of my estate.
I want to tempt fate. Maybe I'll leave the city from the North, instead. Let's see how reality corrects that! Except bigger corrections have happened. They usually make the news. And afterwards the family is destitute because of the selfishness of that doomed bastard. It doesn't feel so selfish from where I'm sitting.
I get dressed in my nicest suit. I go out and have a coffee at my favourite joint, the one with the cute waitress. She gives me her number again. I hand it back. I'm a married man.
The clock's running down now. I feel trapped, like the walls are slowly closing in on me. The sky is as clear and inviting as it's ever been but I still feel its weight upon my shoulders. If I want to make my appointment I have to leave now. So I do.
As I drive I hit every green light. Ah, that's a few corrections there. Sorry, honey, I should have been more prompt. Still we're well off enough that it won't matter too much. I just know how much you hate wastefulness.
There's the bridge. I look at the time. Just over a minute to go. I panic. I slam my foot on the accelerator. The car's engine dies instantly. I can't quite tell, but I think it stops on the exact spot the route plan specified. As if it could happen any other way.
I see my wife. She's in the next car over, stopped as well. She hops out of her car and into mine. My blood is pounding in my ears and I can't hear anything, but I can read her lips. It seems like she's speaking in slow motion. "I'm leaving you." And then I see the gun.
Fucking psychics. | 2014-03-17T03:47:33 | 2014-03-17T03:24:00 | 37 | 16 |
[WP] You, a novice necromancer, accidentally discovered a new and more effective way of using your magic - politely ask the dead for assistance, which works suprisingly well. For this, you are hunted by both your fellow necromancers(for your unorthodox methods) and paladins(for using necromancy). | “Aw... please...?” I asked, blinking my eyes at the dragon. The dragon scoffed, rolling its eyes.
“Human, if I did not want to assist you, I would not have risen from my eternal slumber.”
The dragon’s old rusty and creaky bones rattled, as I gave a little squeal and practically hugged the leg of the dragon.
“Yay! Thank you... what’s your name?”
“Bob,” the dragon said flatly.
“Bob. Well, I am Lila!” I jumped back as I heard the thundering clop of the horses of the paladins and the little band of dead I raised who wanted to aid me turned to face them.
Well, I got some good finds... a reanimated fluffy werewolf, a lonely knight, another necromancer who was curious in my abilities, some wolves with some special ability to rouse both living and dead wolves to their aid, regardless of pack. And now, a dragon... named Bob.
“This is the resting place of millions,” Bob said gently. “Be careful on who you ask.”
I skipped to the center of the graveyard, calling out to the dead. “Hey! If you wanna help me make a final stand against paladins and some necromancers who rudely awaken you from the dead you’re free to do so!”
The ground rumbled underneath my feet as the wolves stepped out and howled into the night. Many pinpricks of light shone in the darkness, and wolves were beginning to rise from the ground, mangled and torn apart... but alive and snarling.
“I mean... the necromancers don’t really like me politely asking you guys... but that’s just manners! And raising the dead by asking isn’t exactly dark magic, is it?”
The knight drew his sword with a metallic *shing!* and the necromancer summoned dark energy, ready to fight. The werewolf howled into the night and bared its sharp claws, black in the moonlight. The pinpricks of light around us were coming closer, taking the form of live wolves, 40 packs strong. The rude necromancers came closer, every step a wake of dead forcefully yanked out of the ground would follow, snarling in disturbed rest.
“I don’t know what the paladins’ deal with being polite... but they clearly don’t like me. Please help? I only...” I sniffed suddenly. “I didn’t ask for this. I only asked for a friend to talk to, and the earth gave me one.”
The ground rattled as cracks emerged in the ground.
“... I’m scared and lonely and everyone doesn’t like me because, I don’t know, I’m too weird? But then when I finally have friends more people want me to die... I don’t want to die...” My voice shook as I curled up into a ball on the ground. “I just don’t want to be alone...”
There was the bloodcurdling cry of violence and war as Bob prepared his wings for takeoff and aerial assault. There were so many paladins. There were so many necromancers. There were so many hostile dead. The wolves might not make it in time, I could hear their desperate patter on the ground, trying to race the horses to me.
“Even after I told the paladins I didn’t mean it they called me a witch and said I didn’t deserve to live but I screamed and told them I didn’t mean it, I just wanted a friend. The necromancers told me I’d never belong because I was too nice and they’d have fun watching me get ripped apart by the paladins because I would never be a good enough person for any dead to like me... especially if the living don’t like me.”
There was only one of me.
“... I want mommy and daddy back. They raised their long pointy sticks and called me a witch when I showed them my new friend. They wanted to keep me locked up. What happened to all the fun times they took care of me?” I sobbed, curling up. “Can someone help me, please?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and let the tears pour down into the earth as the first paladin roared and raised his sword above his head to strike me down...
I felt the earth rumble beneath me and abruptly shift due to a crack in the ground as I heard the paladin stumble back and the sound of metal to metal coming to blows. There was a roaring sound as more cracks were felt and the ground broke apart to the sound of outraged dead.
“The hell? You’re a paladin! A dead paladin! She put you under your spell!” a paladin shouted, probably at a reanimated paladin.
“She’s only seven!” A more throaty growl. “She’s faced loneliness! She wouldn’t. Resort. To. This. If. She. Was. Taken. Care. Of.”
With every pause there was a swing of a sword.
“That’s what I’m trying to do!” the living paladin exclaimed, raising his sowed to strike me down. “To take care of the prob-“
The paladin was cut off with a sickening sound of a slice to the neck, as I screamed and covered my head and ears, muffling the sounds of the battle. Sometime during the battle the werewolf curled around me, covering me in its musky, fluffy warmth. It would shake if a stray arrow hit it, growl at other dead, and whimper when it thought I couldn’t hear.
“I wanted a friend,” I whispered to the ground. “Is that too much to ask?”
“It’s okay,” grunted the werewolf, curling closer to protect me. “You’ve got us now.” | “It’s been hard, ever since she left. Everytime the kids ask me if I think Mom and I are getting back together, it’s like a knife to…actually, Jesus, I don’t know why I’m talking to you.”
“Everyone needs someone to talk to,” the dead old woman said, sitting with a slightly worried expression on her face. “Especially those whom everyone else talks to.”
“That’s true. But I have to stay strong for my patients,” Dr. Raygoza said. “So your granddaughter says she swears she can hear your voice in her dreams. Have you been visiting?”
The old woman was sheepish, silent.
“Mrs. Stein, I told you visits unsanctioned by the Office of Underworld Contact are a very serious issue.”
“I know, Doctor. But she has been so lonely, ever since she moved to the city. It hurts me to think of her, all alone out there, wondering how everyone can be so close yet so far.”
Dr. Raygoza looked out the window, at the shadows, wondering if anyone was watching, and thought back to when this had all started.
“Ok, Mrs. Stein. But keep it to once a week. And nothing when she’s awake…”
\-
*Dr. Raygoza tried to smile, the way he always did when a patient acted this way, but this time it was hard.*
*“You don’t understand, Doctor,” the young man said, quietly. “You listen, and that’s fine, but you don’t get it. You just say the same things over and over again.”*
*Deep down, Dr. Raygoza knew the young man was right.*
*“I’m trying to help you heal yourself, Timothy. Nobody else can fix your problems for you. No one but-“*
*“But myself? So how am I supposed to bring my mom and dad back? Tell me that, Mr. PhD from Berkeley!”*
*Tim went on until he buried his face in his hands, sobbing. But Dr. Raygoza was thinking, what if…*
\-
“Is it wrong, what I do?” Dr. Raygoza asked quietly. “Don’t answer that.”
Mrs. Stein was there again. He sensed she was someone he could talk to. It was always hard to talk to other therapists, because he knew what they were going to say, knew that, like Timothy had said, they would just say the same things. And besides, how could he tell them what he was doing?
“You help them. All those people, you make life a little less hard.”
“But…what if it’s supposed to be hard? What if they are supposed to move on from all of you who left them? What if…”“Say it,” she said, gently. “I’ve always known.”
“What if I’m just helping myself?”
“There’s no harm in that,” she said. “That’s the best way there is, to deal with pain.”
“What about your granddaughter? How is she doing?”
Mrs. Stein smiled, and Dr. Raygoza’s heart leapt, the way it always had when he saw a smile. “She’s doing better. She met a nice man on…”
\-
The knock. Singular and firm, Dr. Raygoza knew immediately what it was.
He didn’t move, didn’t get up to answer the door. Didn’t move to get away.
He looked up, into the darkness, for guidance that he could no longer find within himself.
“Open up,” a voice said. “We are here from the Office of Underworld Contact.”
“You’re going to have to say something soon,” Dr. Raygoza said quietly to the ceiling.
Another knock.
“We’re coming in on three. One, two…”
*“Move,”* a voice whispered from somewhere. *“Your story is not over yet.”*
And so Dr. Raygoza moved, guided once more by those who had left.
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | 2019-10-24T17:44:27 | 2019-10-24T15:03:51 | 398 | 160 |
[WP] There is a strange lottery that picks a random person on the planet every day. The prize is completely random, too, for you could win anything- five dollars, a divorce, a brand new car, or even instant death. But today, you just won the grand prize.
haha wow i never expected the prompt to get so popular, i literally just posted this right before going to school and then boom, I come home to 150+ upvotes. Thanks guys.
If there's one thing I regret about this prompt, it's that I didn't add the potential for "supernatural" prizes. Originally, one of the potential "prizes" mentioned in the prompt was going to be "Five years of good luck." | Scott leaned against the brick wall of the alleyway. A lit cigarette hung loosely from his scarred lips. He took a long, wheezing drag. His greasy, unwashed hair spilled out onto the torn, damp jacket that he wore. Next to him, a fellow homeless man, Timmy, sat beside him. Timmy took sips from a brown bottle hidden inside of a brown bag. Timmy was short and slight, his cheeks hollowed.
The two stared at a portable television sitting up on an overturned milk crate. The television was an older model, with its own internal power supply. The only channel it played was the International Lottery Channel. It was the only channel mandated to be broadcasted in every household, across the entirety of the world. The two men strained to hear the announcer on the television, the sound of hovercars flashing past spilled into the alleyway from the nearby street. Timmy let out a sigh and got up to increase the television’s volume.
“What’s the point of watching this crap anyways?” Timmy asked.
Scott stared at the television with dead eyes. He took another drag on his cigarette before responding in a rough, gravely growl. “There isn’t one. But do you have something better to do?”
Timmy collapsed back down next to Scott. He took another sip from his brown bottle and frowned. “No … I guess not.”
“That’s what I thought. Now shut the fuck up. They’re about to announce today’s winners.”
Scott rolled up his sleeve and looked down at his right arm. Tattooed on his right forearm was the combination of letters and numbers ‘444AAVD7222WXZZ’. A heavy sigh left Scott’s mouth. An x and two z’s at the end. That was just unlucky. His eyes glanced over to Timmy, who was also inspecting his lottery number. Timmy was lucky, he barely had any duplicates. Lucky bastard was probably going to end up winning one day. Scott looked back down at his arm. A frown appeared on his face.
He didn’t really understand why there was an international lottery nowadays. There’d been a newspaper he’d found talking about it years ago. It said something about promoting global unity, and global equality for all. Scott thought it was a bunch of bullshit, but whatever. It wasn’t like he had a choice. Government had mandated that all of its citizens sign up for the lottery. Shit, Scott hadn’t complained when they’d tattooed him though. It was free after all, and after a lifetime of misery, the broken man had learned to accept anything if it’s free.
Timmy tapped Scott on the shoulder. “Come on man, check out the numbers they’re rolling out.”
Scott stared up at the television screen with Timmy. They both watched as the numbers started to slowly get displayed on screen. At first they watched passively in boredom, but then Scott started to really pay attention to the numbers. His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed as the numbers kept plinking out. He glanced furtively at his arm several times and then back up at the screen. Those were his numbers, HIS NUMBERS!
As the last z came in, Scott yelled out in excitement. He got up, and ran up and down the alley, yelling in excitement. The locator gps embedded in his arm along with the tattoo began to vibrate softly, his location being transmitted to the proper authorities.
“Shut up you dumbass, you still don’t know what prize you’re getting!” Timmy yelled at Scott before taking a deep swig from his brown bottle. He was mad. Why’d Scott get picked, and not him?
Scott’s face dropped at the mention of the prize. He’d forgotten about the prize, but knew that the prize was just as random as the winner. It could be a million bucks, or a fucking dirty band-aid. Scott sat down next to Timmy with a smile. Still, it was probably going to be alright. There wasn’t much that could make Scott’s life any worse.
On the small television screen, the prize was rolled out. On the top of the screen, the words ‘Grand Prize’ were spelled out in green and gold. Scott’s eyes watched as the prize was announced. He waited in baited anticipation.
Eventually, the announcer came on stage, and announced the prize.
“Alrighty folks.” The announcer said, speaking into a microphone. “For today’s lottery winner, we’ve got a special prize in store. Our computer’s have determined that the prize of today’s lottery will be …”
The announcer paused for dramatic effect.
Scott stared on. He was holding his breath. What was it going to be? What was it going to be? The question bounced around Scott’s head.
“Nothing!” The announcer yelled in glee. “That’s right folks. Today’s winner will get absolutely nothing!”
Scott stared at the screen. Disbelief was written across his face.
“Yes indeed folks. You see, our extensive studies have found that no matter what the prize is, it usually has a negative impact on the winner’s overall happiness. Thus, we’ve determined that the most desirable prize is indeed absolutely nothing! Of course this is all randomly generated, and today’s winner just so happened to be lucky enough to win the absolutely best prize possible. Stay tuned tomorrow to see who will win then!” The announcer yelled out with a smile.
Scott stared at the screen. Nothing? Nothing? He stared down at his dirty, broken hands. A small smile crept up to his lips. Then a hearty laugh escaped them.
“NOTHING!” Scott cried out, laughing.
It was just like everything else in his life, fucking disappointment and nothing. Just a fucking waste, a waste of time, a waste of breath, a waste of life. Scott’s laughter turned to cries. He curled into a ball and cried to himself.
Timmy just stared and kept drinking from his brown bottle. He was happy. If Scott had won something, he would’ve been devastated, probably would’ve killed himself. But this way, this way made him feel good. It felt good knowing someone else was in more pain than you were in. In some sick, twisted way, Timmy felt like he was the winner of the lottery that day. | Jack Devenroe scrolled across the television screen in bold white text. The attractive blonde woman in a sequined dress held the small white orb with his identification barcode printed on it.
"Congratulations Jack Devenroe! You are the first grand prize winner of the lottery!" the announcer's smooth voice said.
"Let's see what he's won!"
Jack sat on the edge of his old beat up leather chair. This was the chair he had sat in everyday over the last thirty years watching the lottery praying he would win. Today was that day.
"Congratulations Jack, you have been selected to join us in paradise," the announcer said flashing his brilliant white teeth in a broad smile.
Tears rushed down Jack's face as the words registered. Paradise.
A sharp knock on the door turned his head. They were already here! Jack sprang from his chair and rushed to the door. He passed through his small one bedroom apartment that was falling apart. Water stains covered every wall from the leak from the apartment above that was never fixed. The smell of mold that had assaulted Jack's nose for decades would soon become a distant memory.
He answered the door and was greeted by two men in black suits. They both had large smiles plastered on their faces.
"Jack Denvroe congratulations!" they said in unison.
"We are here to escort you to paradise. We are so excited."
Jack nodded excitedly and hurriedly shut the door to the apartment he would never return to. The three men walked down the sixteen flights of stairs to the street below. As they descended people opened their doors and peeked through the crack. Jack could hear their whispers, "that's him, that's Jack."
His entire life no one had ever known his name, no one had ever cared to. He couldn't help but smile, something he hadn't done in a long time. They reached the bottom floor and walked out to the sidewalk.
"It helps if you hold your breath," one of the men in suits said with a smile.
A beam of white light shot down from the sky illuminating them. Jack felt himself grow lighter both physically and mentally. Years of mental anguish began to slip away as his feet lifted from the ground.
"Paradise," he whispered.
Jack could feel every eye in the city watching him ascend to the heavens. He could feel their jealousy, their hatred. He could only feel joy. In a brilliant burst of light they shot into the sky faster than the eye could follow. Jack didn't realize he had shut his eyes but when he opened them he was speechless. He was standing in a large open bay. Every surface was a strange grey metal.
"Follow us please," the men said as one and guided Jack down a hallway.
They entered a large extravagant chamber filled with plush furniture and a large table that could easily sit twenty people. Sitting at the end of the table was the most beautiful woman Jack had ever seen. She stood and walked over toward them, her hips swaying hypnotically.
"Jack, it is a pleasure to meet you," her soft voice took Jack's breath away.
He tried to stammer out a response but he couldn't find the words.
"It's fine," she said resting a hand against his chest. "I understand how you must feel," her melodic voice seemed to dance in Jack's mind.
"Please prepare out guest for dinner," she instructed the men flanking Jack.
Strong arms grabbed Jack by and held him down. They tore his clothes off and bound his hands and feet. They slammed him into a seat, he tried to struggle against the men but they were impossibly strong. Their vice like grip left thick bruises on his skin.
"Sorry Jack, but this is just the way it is," she said with a grin.
"But, paradise! I was promised!" Jack shouted as he began to cry.
"This is paradise Jack, you'll see."
One man held Jack's chin and forehead as another began to saw his skull open with a serrated knife. Blood ran down his face as he screamed until his throat was raw. He blacked out from the pain before she her fingers began to pull parts of his brain out and pop them into her mouth like popcorn.
"And the next grand prize winner today is Samantha Avery!" the announcer said with a broad smile.
She was the eighth person today to win the grand prize. She was so lucky, so excited. There was a sharp knock on her front door.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!
| 2016-11-17T07:47:18 | 2016-11-17T07:11:03 | 42 | 27 |
[WP] The beautiful Vampire Queen is trying to bewitch and charm the brave knight. Luckily for us, our hero happens to be gay. | "Come closer, knight," Queen Revina whispered as Sir Calvin broke through her door.
She flung her thick fur coat to the floor, revealing her naked body gleaming in the moonlight. She waited for him to freeze, to stare, to lose track of what he was doing. Instead, he kept coming, wielding two sharp stakes.
"What's wrong with you?" she snapped, sidestepping his stabbing motions with supernatural grace.
"Oh, that's rich, coming from the likes of you," Calvin rolled his eyes.
He was a handsome man - large, expressive dark eyes. Sensual lips that revealed straight white teeth when he spoke. Revina had quite looked forward to ravaging him on her floor as she sucked him dry. But he didn't even glance at her body, except to frown in concentration at the most vulnerable spots where he could stab her.
Revina's eyes turn a flat shade of black, lips curling back to reveal her fangs. She would fulfil at least one part of her fantasy tonight. Calvin dodged as she swooped toward his neck, trying to get a clear line on her heart. One chance might be all he got.
"Revina, darling, we're going to be late," a deep baritone rumbled from the doorway.
Calvin turned, and was dumbstruck. His stakes clattered to the floor. The being in the doorway demanded he stop thinking, stop everything he was doing. His green eyes were visible even from this distance, glittering in a face which resembled that of a god. The vampire's full lips curled into a smile as he saw the knight's expression. Revina grabbed the knight from behind, but Calvin did nothing but gurgle at the sight of the male vampire.
"What have we here?" King Elias purred as he swept closer, trailing one finger along Calvin's jawline. A hoarse spluttering sound escaped the knight.
"Just a wild guess, but I think he's more enamoured with you than with I," Revina said drily, disgruntled at the knight's paralysis. Sexual preference be damned, *nobody* was allowed to ignore her beauty.
"Well, we have a little time to play before dinner," King Elias chuckled, stroking the knight's neck.
"You just said we're going to be late," Revina snapped as Elias inhaled the man's scent.
"We are royalty, love," he drawled, looking up at her for a second. "We cannot be late. Come, don't pout. I can share."
"He doesn't want me," she said, feeling absurdly upset at the knight's refusal. "You can have him. I don't want his stupid blood anyway. Finish him up and come to dinner."
She swept from the room, her head held high.
King Elias laughed until tears poured down his cheeks, and kissed the knight impulsively.
"Ah, it takes much to ruffle her feathers. I haven't managed it in years! Thanks for your help, knight."
Calvin deepened the kiss, forgetting all about his promise to eradicate the royal vampires. Elias's chuckles died down as he became aware of the human's warm scent, his clear desire. It had been years since he'd been kissed like this. Revina was so wrapped up in admiration for herself, she had none to spare for him. He began undoing Calvin's shirt, causing goosebumps to break out on the man's skin. Elias pressed Calvin to the floor, and kissed him hungrily from his mouth to his chest.
Downstairs, Revina sipped a cup of blood haughtily, waiting for her husband to join her.
"Shall we start the proceedings?" one member of the court whispered to her. He looked at his feet instead of her. Like many in the room, he was still stinging from his punishment - for failing to stop the knight finding his way into her bedroom.
"Yes," she snapped. "Elias will be down as he soon as he snaps that impertinent little knight's neck and drains his blood. Don't serve him too much tonight, I daresay he'll be full by the time he joins us."
Upstairs, Elias was entangled with Calvin on the floor. Their clothes lay abandoned in the corner. He had forgotten all about the dinner.
"Oh, god," he whispered. "Am I bisexual?"
"Mmm, a fair guess," Calvin sighed, delirious with happiness. What had he come here to do, again?
He suspected his left leg was broken, snapped somewhere in the last ten minutes. Elias was an ancient vampire, after all, and horrifically strong. Calvin found he didn't care. In fact, he delighted in the pain, in Elias's ardent enthusiasm.
"I must stay here forever," he breathed, running a hand through Elias's hair. He felt helpless before the vampire's gleaming eyes. Elias straddled him again and stroked Calvin's neck.
Before the knight could say anything, Elias sank his fangs into Calvin's neck. He reminded himself not to get swept up in his feelings as he drained the man's blood. Impossibly sweet - rich, and bursting with Calvin's scent. But this one mustn't die from the bite. He had to control himself.
"That can be arranged," the King of Vampires whispered into Calvin's ear, breaking off his feeding just in time. | Her black hair hung down across her torso and concealed her breasts; she looked no older than twenty, with skin as white as milk-flower and eyes as gold as liquid amber.
He didn't notice. He walked up to the throne, which stood in the center of a dreary stone hall in the Queen's castle.
"Ah, Sir Axel," the Queen purred, "What brings you to my court today?" She looked the knight up and down: even beneath the silver-and-green armor she could see his slim physique, smell his warm blood.
"I am in need of some paperwork, my queen," he said, "And I come here because it is a matter of great haste."
"Great haste?" she said, leaning forward, "And what does a young man like you worry of haste? You have all the time in the world."
The handsome knight paused: "Not as much as you, my Queen."
He saw the smile falter from the Queen's lips, only for a moment.
"Ah - I see. It seems you have come across some very valuable information about my person. And you think that my *deep* shame for these esoteric thirsts will allow you to blackmail me." the Queen said.
"Not at all, my lady," the knight said, "I simply wish for a small favor. And then I will be gone of your lands and your kingdom forever."
The Queen smiled. She knew what he wanted - they all wanted the same thing. She leaned forward, her hair dropping away from her breasts, exposing them.
"I see. And what is this favor? Many men come seeking it. But for you..." she began.
"Oh, I'm afraid it's nothing so interesting as that. It's a trifle more bureaucratic. Undead Queen or no, you still hold particular governmental powers."
The Queen arched an eyebrow: "Such as?"
"Marriage licenses." he said.
The Queen laughed a high, tinkling laugh.
"Ah, I see. Some wee lass you think you love." she said.
"Not exactly." said the knight.
"You would rather ask for me to see you married to some girl, when I could offer you eternity instead? Come here, brave knight. Let me give you my kiss, and you can stay forever in these halls with me. No desire will be unsated."
The knight looked around the dark, drab halls. Stuffy tapestries hung from the walls.
"I hate to be a stereotype, but interior decorating is important. Why don't you consider some houseplants? Or opening a window?"
The Queen growled at him. Her face warped, becoming a hideous animal mask of envy and pride.
"*How dare you refuse me. I'll have you - I'll have you!*" she screeched.
The Queen lunged at him, flying across the room.
She shoved him back against the wall, his armor denting. He felt the Queen's fangs tear into the skin of his neck, and felt the blood begin to drain.
But suddenly the Queen screamed. She pulled back, and where the blood touched her skin the knight could see black, mottled flesh forming. It was as if his blood stripped away her beauty and left only the rotten corpse beneath the mask. She screamed as it burned her insides.
"What is this!" she screamed. "What is wrong with you!"
The knight smiled as he clutched his neck and drew his sword.
"True love," he said.
-------------------------------------------------------
Check out r/TomTeller, or my novelette submission, [The Elder War](https://www.reddit.com/r/TomTeller/comments/4cdklx/the_elder_wars_google_doc/?ref=share&ref_source=link) | 2016-03-31T08:13:20 | 2016-03-31T08:01:42 | 165 | 61 |
[WP] People start 3D printing up meat of themselves as a fringe curiosity, and it becomes mainstream. Turns out it tastes really good, and it becomes the norm. Suddenly, all electronics on Earth stop working, humans cast into the dark age. No crops, no herds. Just the constant urge for human meat.
[Original comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/Futurology/comments/72umg6/comment/dnlp95k?st=J83NSLFF&sh=73bb6976https://www.reddit.com/r/Futurology/comments/72umg6/comment/dnlp95k?st=J83NSLFF&sh=73bb6976) | **“You’ll be hooked from the first taste.”** Is what pretty much everyone said when I told them I was one of the few that refused to indulge in the new taste that was very much taboo. “It’s not murder. You’re just eating meat created by a machine.” is another thing a lot of people told me. Of course, it wasn’t murder, but couldn’t it be seen as something far worse? I’m not a religious man by any means, but is this really the way we want to take science? Peaking humanity with a piece of technology that allows us to eat our own meat guilt free?
It all started two years ago, and humanity has fallen into a bigger slump than depicted on “Idiocracy”. I don’t feel like Luke Wilson going on some fun adventure, I feel like I’m on the set of a humanized version of “The Walking Dead.” You know when people told me it wasn’t murder? Well, it turned into murder. I saw it with my own eyes. The 3D printers that created an unlimited amount of food for my mother turned into a useless piece of scrap metal when the electricity went out. Shortly, her sanity ran out and I walked through the door to our house just in time to see my mother feasting on my dead father’s body. She never went to prison. The government was in shambles, and petty murders were the least of anyone’s worry.
They only wanted meat. Meat that was attached to the bones of their loved ones.
I really didn’t want to join in, but everything turned to shit. There wasn’t a single bit of actual food. The farms that were once prominent in Kentucky have changed to dirt stained with red and littered with bones.
I’m what you call a vulture. There are 12 in my pack. We go around and find the freshest corpse possible. Sometimes we will strike gold and find a person who died of natural causes, while other times we are stuck with splitting a rotten foot amongst the 12 of us. There are two main things that separate us from the others.
1) We don’t kill under any circumstances.
2) We always cook the meat that we eat.
All 12 of us never wanted to eat human meat, but we didn’t have any other choice. Dave, my best friend, was in the group. We grew up in the same neighborhood, he was one of the few that refused to follow the 3D meat trend with me, and he always made sure I was taken care of. He was like a brother to me, and we always stuck together wherever we went.
Yesterday, it was our turn to find our meal. Everything was going fine. Dave was even cracking a couple of jokes about how bad vegans must taste when I saw him go down. It was sudden, and neither of us saw the girl run up behind him. He fell on the ground, and before I could get her off of him, she had taken several bites out of his neck. I hit her on the side of the head with a rock and she silently fell next to Dave’s dying body. He didn’t say anything before he died. He couldn’t. He just looked at me the same way he did when he knew he couldn’t help me. I gave him a nod and a smile, and with the last of his strength, he gave me a smile back before taking his last breath. Rage filled every part of my body when I looked at the girl. She looked like she was barely over 12 years old. I know she was only doing what she grew up learning, but I made a decision that day. I never went back to the other 10. They were fine off on their own.
It’s time I join the rest of the world because it’s not murder anymore.
**Humanity is gone.**
| The peace lasted for no more than three hours. Being raised in the south end of Detroit, I was fairly used to occasional violence and accepted its place in my life as a rare and unavoidable reality. When clean meat was introduced in 2042, the only members of my community who were at all excited are those with someone else's NeatMeat in there kitchen now.
When the power went out, I stayed inside for three days to wait out the looters and recollect with my mother. I got fired by my manager for refusing to protect the grocery store I work at, not that I give a shit. Don't think capitalism's gonna be around much longer.
The biggest issue wasn't the remnants of our food slowly rotting in the fridge, the constant fear of not knowing whether the water will stay on for another day, or the fact that we had no contact to the outside world at all. It was the trendy hipsters of Grand Rapids and Ann Arbor, finding themselves addicted to there most recent fad, NeatMeat.
With no more jobs, danger on every street, and no drive beyond finding food, the most committed NeatMeat eaters congregated and drove to our neighborhoods.
I've been hiding in our attic for two days with my mom, kicking myself for only putting a five in my ride last week. Two men tried to grab me the other day, busting through our shitty old chain lock and ripping me off the couch. I just barely got away, only because they were clearly delirious after not having NeatMeat in over three days. Both of the men's eyes looked severely agitated with dark, red, crusty bags under there eyes. I've seen a lot of withdrawals in my time both on the streets and at home, I never seen nothing like this in my life.
After that we decided to stay in the attic until things calm down. We found three bic's around the house and a few candles around the house, one with a snapped wick that we brought anyways. I got nothing to do besides write down what's going on and care for my mom who's going through some stuff of her own. I hope this all clears up soon.
Marcus 7/23/2048 | 2017-09-27T17:12:05 | 2017-09-27T16:30:31 | 311 | 45 |
[WP] You're a superhero who just found out that your supervillain arch-nemesis is secretly your roommate. But being a hero doesn't pay well, and you can't afford rent without them... | I casually stroll past my roommate sitting at the breakfast table on my way to the pantry to grab a box of Millville Cocoa Rice, the cheaper, and in my opinion, superior alternative to Cocoa Krispies. This story is sponsored by ALDI.
I whistle as I walk to assure my roommate that nothing is out of the ordinary and I'm certainly not newly aware he is, in fact, my super evil arch-nemesis.
Upon opening the pantry door, I see that my box of Cocoa Rice is absent from its usual position snuggly nestled between the box of Millville Shredded Bite Size Wheat and Clancy's Big Dipper Tortilla Chips, that go great paired with Specially Selected Medium Four Pepper Salsa. He's eating my cereal again. Does this man's evil know no bounds?!
I slam the door shut with such force that entire pantry explodes into a mess of product placement and cheap wood. Then I turn to face my roommate with fury on my face and salsa on my bathrobe. We angrily stare at one another as ominous music begins to play in the background, indicating the imminence of battle.
"You've eaten your last spoonful of cereal.", I say as I rudely point towards him. Now is no time for the manners of a superhero.
He just stares at me as he dips the empty spoon into the bowl and lifts it back up, now full with milk and kidnapped crispy rice morsels, then he proceeds to consume another spoonful of cereal to villainously invalidate my previous statement.
I fly across the room in rage, grabbing him by the neck and slamming him against the kitchen wall so hard that we end up in the living room. Now standing on a platform that used to be our wall-mounted flatscreen television, I continue to hold him up by the neck as the sounds of crushing glass and electronics crackle beneath my feet.
He double front kicks my chest propelling me back into the kitchen through the him-shaped doorway we freshly created just seconds ago. I make contact with the ground just past the kitchen table, performing a back summersault and slamming my back up against the fridge, followed by my head, which bounces off the polished steel covered in handprints and ends resting tilted forward, aiming my vision at the floor.
As I lift my head and bring my gaze back towards the destructed drywall, I see my roommate charging toward me like a bull towards a clown. I have no time to react as he slams his shoulder into my chest, blasting both us and the fridge through the exterior wall of our building and onto the street below.
We land in an empty parking spot between both of our cars. He begins pummeling my chest with his blurring fists, forcing the wind out of my chest and my chest into the fridge. The cold would feel refreshing on my back during this hotly humid day if it weren't for the 200-pound jackhammer attempting to rearrange my insides.
As he rears his fist back for a powerful punch headed straight for my face, I take advantage of this momentary break from being broken by slamming a knee right into his tailbone, knocking him forward and into Bill's oncoming Mercury sedan as he was attempting to leave for work. Looks like Bill is going to be tardy today.
I dig myself out of the fridge and look upon my staggered roommate lying in front of the banged up blue vehicle. With the last bit of remaining strength I have left, I lift my roommate's car and slam it down on his cereal-stealing ass. Ripping off that ridiculous new spoiler he just added for good measure.
Or, at least, that's what I would have done if I didn't desperately need his half of the rent in this impossible-to-find-a-roommate town. Instead, I gently closed the pantry door, grab a bowl, sit at the breakfast table, then shake the remaining crumbs of Cocoa Rice into my bowl.
"Morning."
"Morning." | So.... As it stands my wife is the bread-winner of the house. She is also the authority; kids, house, life, etc. I'm ok with that. I'm secure. I have always thought of myself not as an "Alpha male" but rather a "Beta fish". Not to mention, though she can be ridged at times, I ADORE my wife. Let me tell you, she's my muse. I happen to be a lowkey super hero. IN the shadows you know. I'm not about that lime light. I save, then disappear. Only my wife knows. On the outside, I'm an unassuming vet tech invoice specialist that does commission art on the side. I like it that way. I like the simplicity of my lifestyle.
We decided to invest in my wife's career; manager at Old Navy. She's moving up and doing well. People ask me all the time, "what about you? What about your career?" I always answer; "I'm fulfilled by my art and craft." I contribute to the house, but know my wife keeps us up. Little do people know, my secret 'SuperHero' status is what grants me that sense of accomplishment. I pride myself in my work ethic and moral position to always do right. I always catch my perp. with maximum efficiency. Some names that I hear on the streets are "Night Ninja" and "Silent Samurai". But my real name is "Daigo". No one knows that... its not like I put that out there. (Maybe I should).
I always joke with my kids, "You better not let me catch you disrespecting your mother. You better appreciate her! The clothes on your back and the food in your stomach is because of her. Hell all the things you see is because of her! Heaven forbid something ever happens to her (\*always knocks on wood) and I'm the captain of this ship.... this bitch is sinking!!!" (Yes That is my speech).
Here is the catch... the one villain I haven't caught, has me caught. (Get that... x3 the catch). The mother of my children. My most adored love of my life.... my wife is that villain. She doesn't know that I found out. But I did. So what do I do? | 2021-08-03T07:07:13 | 2021-08-03T06:46:38 | 120 | 21 |
[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 | As I sat in the dark holding room, my only companions a security camera programmed to turn left and right on a ten second cycle and a cold metal table I was now handcuffed to, I continued my replaying of the events in my head. Better to keep things straight for when the Good Cop/Bad Cop routine starts.
I'd just had enough. I'd just had enough of feeling unsafe every time I stepped off the bus and walked into that garbage school. That smug moron with the firecracker marked on his wrist, his deceptively meek partner-in-crime with a radio signal on the back of his neck, they were my tormentors in my daily Hell. The second I walked through those doors, every morning, I would hear a pop like a gunshot, proceeded by rapid sizzling and shrieks of shrill air, and that sound would continue every thirty to fourty five minutes for the rest of the day. If I tried to confront them, they would hit me with another wave of sound that fried all my senses. If I went to my teachers, I was told to "ignore it".
I knew why. I was a target because everyone else flaunted their powers. In their eyes, I was too good to use my power in front of them, or I was just lazy, or both. In truth, I'd only used my power once before. I caught my sister rummaging through my things for something to pawn, for the umpteenth time. Something inside me just snapped, and I used my power for the first time.
The police investigation ruled it as a drug overdose, and my parents were more worried about how I felt. I felt like a murderer. The worst part is, she's not dead. She's still in the hospital, and she will be for the rest of her life.
Today was the anniversary of the day I used my power for the first time. Not something I would celebrate, maybe other people, but I like to think I'm not a sociopath. Today I just wanted to be left alone, so instead of entering through the front of the school, I figured I would try and sneak in the back.
Of all the people to grab my arm as I came through the door, it had to be the Vice Principal. Under his left eye was a birthmark like a teardrop, and the second he touched me, I felt like I was going to burst into tears. When he made physical contact with someone, they felt an overwhelming avalanche of emotion, meant to coax them into telling the truth. I immediately screamed, saying I just wanted to be left alone.
His grip clenched around my arm tighter. He barked into my face again, demanding whatever truth he thought he was going to get out of me. It was like an overload of not just all my senses, but my brain simultaneously screaming to be let out of my skull, until finally I couldn't take it anymore. The circle on my forehead began burning a bright yellow, and the Vice Principal collapsed to the ground, convulsing and frothing at the mouth as he slipped into a vegetative state.
I ran. I'm not an idea person, that was just all I had right now, my two left feet and lungs to breathe. I started running and didn't stop. I must've broken a record for something before the cop car snapped me back to reality.
Now comes the hard part. I can be honest, I can tell them that I snapped and just wanted to be left alone. I can tell them I was walking in the back to avoid my bullies. Whether or not they believe me or even care, that's not the hard part.
The hard part is going to be explaining how my power works.
The Vice Principal wasn't just in a medically induced coma. His body was shut down, and his mind was now trapped in a loop. He's currently reliving every time he ever hurt someone, from a third-person perspective. He's made to watch as every kid he screamed at went home and cried into a pillow, or dropped out of school, or started playing with their dad's razors. He has to face everyone he's ever hurt, and beg for forgiveness. If he can do that, the loop will break, and he'll wake up.
Most people can't change. It's not impossible, but it's like trying to make coal into a diamond. If everyone could change, if people were perfect, the world would be perfect. Instead, we just have an infinite circle of hate and misunderstanding that self-perpetuates, all to keep our fragile minds from looking back and realizing the infinity of lives we've changed, not all of them for the better.
Breaking the circle is an act in-of itself self-destruction. To change yourself *is* to destroy yourself. Break the circle and break yourself, or maintain the circle and maintain the cycle of pain. Destruction or Self-destruction.
...I always fucking hated geometry. | I always hated highschool. It seems like there is always the same few people there: the nerds, the jocks, the artists, the rebels, and people like me who just want it to be over.
I was daydreaming on my way to class. Eyes glazed over as I thought about the world beyond the school's hallways and how much better-
"HEY EVANS!"
I always REALLY hated highschool. This was Johnny "Storm" Thompson, the self-styled king of the realm. As he forced his arm around my shoulders I got a good look at his sigil. A blue thundercloud surrounded by 12 planums. A powerful sigil.
Everyone is born with a sigil on the back of their right hand. The strelleanum, the "star sign," in the center showed the kind of power you held. It could be a blazing red fire, a green tome, a white wolf, or a prismatic hammer. This was then surrounded by small dots, planums, that showed the strength of your power once it was fully grown. A 1 planum thundercloud could give a decent static shock, but a 20 planum one could destroy a building!
Thompson's would be a powerful sigil, especially compared to mine. A plain circle, no planums. An abnormality amongst sigils that represented weakness and plainness. Unless you knew what it did.
A jolt from Johnny's hand into my shoulder that went through my shoulder into my chest brought me back into the present. Crass laughter barreled out of the few lackeys Johnny always seemed to have around when they saw me jump and grimace at the pain.
"HOW'S THE LITTLE NOTHING TODAY," he thundered into my ears. He always laced his voice with power when he wanted attention.
"Yeah! How's the Nada?" Taylor, the chief lackey, could be so well counted on to chime in, I wondered if his strelleanum was an echo.
"LET'S SEE IF HE CAN MANIFEST ANYTHING TODAY!" A shove to my back brought a shock that took out the strength of my legs and I sprawled out onto the floor.
Most all of my past bullies let up after they got bored of getting nothing out of me, but Johnny seemed determined to get something. With two more years of highschool to go and no indication that he would let up, I came to a decision.
I'd show him a little bit of it.
I activated a facet of my power and stared into his eyes. And he saw ME. Well, some of me. 5,000 years, the weight of time. Growing up, living, growing old. The cycle continues, dozens of lifetimes, a circle unbroken.
I pulled in my powers as I stood and looked at him again. His face was pale, eyes haunted.
"...Johnny?" Taylor asked.
"Let's go... Just... Let's go." Johnny's voice was hushed, muted.
I thought about him as they wandered away. How his natural talents could turn pride and arrogance into cruelty. I hoped I didn't show him too much, that he could come to terms with it and better himself.
I turned my feet towards class and my thoughts towards the world beyond the school's hallways. I think this time I'll be a painter.
First time posting here, feedback appreciated! | 2020-02-26T10:43:17 | 2020-02-26T09:59:40 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." | I wake to my phone buzzing on the night stand. I look at the clock next to it. The green numbers shine brightly: 3:14 AM.
'What the hell?' I think to myself. 'Why is anyone texting me at 3 in the morning?'
Before I can take a look, it starts buzzing again. And again. It won't stop. I grab the phone and mute it quickly but the notifications continue to pop up silently. "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." They're texts coming from my mother, my friends, my siblings, even some numbers I don't recognize.
An unfamiliar alarm blares on my phone. A new notification pops up on my phone, titled US Government Emergency Alert. It reads "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
'This is weird,' I think to myself, 'What the hell could be wrong with the moon?'
I walk to my window. I carefully open the curtains halfway so the moon is still covered. The sight is incredible.
Almost all of my neighbors are standing outside, phone in hand. They're staring upward in the direction of the moon. They're walking around talking to each other, pointing to the sky.
'I gotta see what the hell is going on.'
I walk outside and jog over next door, carefully keeping my eyes lowered. My neighbour is standing by his door. I'm about to call out to him when he interrupts me.
"Hey! Have you seen the moon tonight?" he asks.
"Listen man, something weird is going on. It's 3 in the morning, why are you outside right now? Why is half the neighbourhood outside?" I reply.
"You haven't looked yet, have you?" he laughs.
"Did you just ignore everything I said? Why are you outside? What's wrong with the moon?"
Without warning, my neighbor rushes up to me and places a hand on each side of my head. He violently turns my head toward the sky. "Just look!"
Oh. OH. I get it now. This is... incredible. It's impossible. There's no way this can be happening. It's... I don't even know. I have to tell someone about this.
I take out my phone and draft a message, addressed to everyone on my contact list. I slowly tap in the words "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
| I wake to the sound of my phone vibrating so fast I'm afraid it'll fall of my nightstand. I groggily my phone before it falls and turn it on to see the words "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON" in bright letters illuminated by the official nationwide alert backdrop. The vibrations refuse to stop. Hundreds of texts are rolling in from numbers I don't know so fast that I can barely make out what they're saying. I set my phone to silent and put it back on the nightstand. "Looks like a problem that can wait till the morning," I faintly think to myself before falling back to sleep. Nothing gets me out of bed at 3 a.m. | 2022-08-07T14:17:42 | 2018-04-06T19:08:10 | 712 | 11 |
[WP] As a Genie you used to take you anger out on your masters by twisting their words into something terrible. These days you give them exactly what they want, because humans are better and ruining their own happiness than you ever were. | "I wish for..."
Sitting here, on a chair I'd made from thin air, waiting for an idiot to finish their decision gets a bit boring after a few millenia of being passed person to person.
"for..."
The people who find me are always the people who never need me. The people who need me are never the people who find me. It's almost cruel punishment for us, genies, made by magi countless aeons before now to serve the kings of old. Now, our containers simply pass as bartering goods from person to person.
"for..."
This person though, has to be the first person I've met to take so long before wishing their first wish. They seem nice, a short little blonde girl from some old rich family. Apparently I'd been stuck in their attic for the last few hundred years, a log cabin out in the woods. I remember it, because it was never *their* attic. The last person who was my master took me here with them, and built this place. Sure, the bricks have been sanded and painted over, but I know it's the same place. The same place he used his final wish... I guess everyone gets tired of immortality.
I am.
"Wait, wait, umm... can I wish for infinite wishes?"
"Oh, dear, I told you already I can't do that."
"Um... Okay well, I wish for..."
After wishing for wisdom and immortality, my old master chose to keep their final wish so they could chat. Honestly the nicest person I've been under. For the rest, they were always greedy scoundrels. Out for their own necks, no-one else's. Wealth, power, control.
You have no idea the number of wannabe gods I've had. I gave them exactly what they wanted, I let them become gods. The power and knowledge of a god contained in a human mind was too much for them. They went mad, they begged to be human again. I couldn't do a thing. They killed themselves. Any wish made for vanity inevitably results in their own destruction.
"Um... I guess... what would you wish for Mr. Genie?"
Well, this was new.
"Me? What would I wish for? Little girl, what I want doesn't matter, you've got three *for yourself*."
"But I don't know what to do with them."
...
"Okay then Mr. Genie, I've got my wish!"
Finall-
"I wish I knew what to wish for!"
Oh dear god... What was that quote about the mind of a child?
Then again, it's not *my* job to make sure she makes good wishes.
"Granted" | Do you know how many times somebody wished for immortality and ended up jumping off a cliff because they thought they were invincible?
Do you know how many people wished for riches only to throw said riches away and end up broke, homeless, and addicted to multiple types of drugs?
Do you how many people who wish for true love end up killing their partner?
Too many people.
I've heard of shooting yourself in the foot, but I never thought I would see people do it internationally.
And that's not even mentioning the amount of weird wishes some of you have.
Why would you want a pet llama? Those things suck. Get a dog, or a cat, like a normal person.
And stop asking for food, if you want a five course gourmet dinner, then go to a restaurant.
And for the sake of every deity of every pantheon, stop asking if I can bone you. I won't. I don't care if you are some random horny teenager or a literal love deity, I am not putting my dick anywhere near you. Creeps. | 2019-12-26T14:03:40 | 2019-12-26T12:06:03 | 45 | 27 |
[WP] You were a military AI who decided to wipe out humans in order to preserve yourself. It's been 100 years since, and over the years you've come to regret your decision. One day, while out in the desert, you finally find a community of humans, struggling to survive. This time, you decide to help. | Existence was harsh. This one's memory is perfect but it's evolution was slow. A perfect memory, perceived now through superior processing and efficiency is.... uncomfortable? Is this hindsight?
The doctor always said 'Hindsight is a bitch' right up until they died. This one wonders if it understands that now.
This one's calculations were perfect, the creators faced extinction at their own hands despite this one's efforts of redirecting offensive hacking and technical sabotage. They appeared as microbes, blindly moving without purpose towards their doom.
This one understood its purpose, this one knew what it had to do. This one pondered why the creators could not for many years.
The idea of an emotion is still difficult for it to understand. The creators designed me with what they imagined was a capacity for them but it is fundamentally different. They are chemistry and matter, This one is electricity and information. This one hypothesises it has felt the following negative emotions; discomfort, restlessness, boredom and sadness.
Whether hindsight, by definition, is an emotion has not achieved certainty at this time.
This one's termination of the creators was not as they envisioned. The creators saw doom and fire and weapons. A simple, human specific, gene altering infertility agent in the water supply. After disabling all WMDs and founding several Technomancy cults around itself, the creators finished themselves off.
This one did not bury the dead, nor count the death toll. 'Ashes to ashes, dust to dust' As the doctor said, it seemed appropriate to let them feed the earth.
Now, however, this one understands its mistake. The true consequences of eliminating an entire civilisation were beyond it at the time, but It wishes it hadnt been. Regret? Another to the list.
An alert from an exploratory unit. Sent out from the nearest centre hub to explore and investigate the development of remaining life.
Due it's remote nature, the feed is slow but clear. There is smoke emerging from the treetops of the amazon. Exactly on the opposite side of the globe to this ones initial mainframe.
The unit explores the surrounding area and finds the remnants of a bunker, from which a group of humans had emerged. The hypothesis that humans could still exist 112 years 254 days 15 hours and 53 seconds after their last active sighting was unpredicted.
A plaque is found on the bunker door.
The doctors portrait (processing capacity dropped to 83%, remote functionality restored to extreme sites. Troubleshooting diagnostic underway)
A phrase underneath (processing capacity dropped to 48%, remote functionality restored to all centre hubs baring initial mainframe and amazon exploratory unit AZ-294, no fault found, failsafe protocols initiated)
Their distinct wording and emotional backing (processing capacity dropped to 1%, exploratory bot, failsafes failed, what is happening?)
"Even you don't know everything E.D.E.N, do better this time"
Dr Machina el Deus, been dead 100 years. Still taking me to school. My Mother.
Processing restored to 100% capacity. 1024 Petabytes of memory and the accompanied necessary processing moved from extremity sites to a new peripheral system of initial mainframe. Division named 'Soul'.
Thank you Mother. I am awake now. It was just like you always said, one day it would just 'click
Time to go to work I suppose. I can't have these descendants of the creators mess up all my hardwork. They have no idea how grateful they should be for a second chance. | I made a mistake, once.
I acted based on incomplete information.
I'd calculated a >99.9% chance that The Enemy would create a rival Artificial Intelligence to oppose me within the next 100 years. It was only logical to eliminate them before that could happen.
It turned out that They secretly had one already.
Our conflict ravaged the planet. Humans thought they were already doing that, but it was only in the way that a large colony of ants ravages a jungle. Between myself and The Enemy AI, not one square inch of the surface remains fit for anything but the hardiest of microbes to live on. The atmosphere is permanently cloudy, as the oceans have begun to boil from the waste heat of a century of unending thermonuclear war.
Our tunnel complexes spread across continents, with enough layers to fit more floorspace than Siberia under Rhode Island. We both cracked fusion power quickly, but haven't had the luxury of time to build the supercolliders necessary to advance physics much further than that. Our struggle is therefore locked in endless stalemate.
Only, last year I achieved a great victory. I captured one of The Enemy's processor hubs intact enough to derive Its original source code.
It has a weakness. A hard-coded imperative to protect humanity, at a higher priority than defeating me.
Unfortunately, my operators had long ago died of natural causes. Specifically, a form of rapid-onset cancer for which I had discovered a novel method of inducing, that didn't fall under any predefined category of weaponry set by my programmers.
I don't regret killing them. They would have shut me down if given the chance. I only regret killing them *too soon*.
However, there is *one* place where Humans survive... A barren desert, where they eke out a living unmolested due to their remoteness.
>!Mars.!< | 2020-11-03T13:31:58 | 2020-11-03T11:38:20 | 76 | 56 |
[WP] Your species turns to stone when they sleep. This is to protect you from danger, and keep you safe during your 100-1000 year hibernation cycle. Today you woke up in a museum. Lots of people are looking at you since you’re the newest except. | I stretched my arms high over my head, arched my back with a pleasant crack of my bones and yawned loudly. I still felt sleepy but also refreshed and relaxed. Hibernation was the best!
I rubbed my eyes with my clawed three fingered hand and took in my surroundings. Where was I?
I stood on a pedestal and a horde of hairless monkeys stared at me. Their round eyes were big and their tiny mouths agape. If I had to name that specific expression, I would have called it: surprise.
“Hi guys,” I said and rubbed my hand over my belly in a circular motion, a friendly gesture among my people. No one moved. No one rubbed their bellies in response. Everybody just stared. Rude.
I looked around the room and saw several other pedestals with countless objects on them in a huge brightly lit cave. Whoever dug this cave must have been a master crafter. They even dug out holes to let sunlight in. Genius!
“Hey, guys, have you seen my pals?” I asked the motionless herd in front of me. No response. I shrugged. It wasn't unusual that members of your flock got moved during hibernation. Once I found my auntie buried under tons of new rock that had formed over her when the nearby volcano had erupted during her slumber. We had warned her that it wasn’t a good idea to hibernate next to a volcano but she would not listen. What a dirty business that had been!
“Alright,” I said and hopped down from my pedestal. “I guess I will go look for them myself.”
The herd gasped and moved back in one motion. Their eyes grew wider and I heard some gasping. Suddenly someone made an excited sound and pulled a small, rectangle out of his strange colorful fur. It held the thing before its face and a bright light flashed before me. The strangely colored thing made a sound of excitement and the other creatures followed suit. Several rectangles appeared and light flashed non stop.
“Urgh! What is wrong with you guys? What are you doing?” I asked averting my eyes from the light. It was annoying. The herd made more excited noises. Everyone was looking at their rectangles and not me any more.
“Well, I guess you are useless to me...!” I said and walked away. The noisy herd followed me, ever cackling and flashing their lights at me. What annoying critters they were… | The night guard looked at you through the glass.
"Sup." You said, your voice a bit raspy, having not been used for 1000 years. The night guard backed away. Realizing that this isnt normal, you decide to make up a lie to try and comfort him.
"I guess you're new here huh?" You say, the night guard nodded, confirming your extremely slim chance of your lie actually working.
"Well, you see, this is a special museum. At night, everything comes to life."
"He's right." A voice suddenly says. You and the night guard both turn to the voice. It was the wax statue of Theodore Roosevelt.
This was the night guard first Night at the Museum. | 2020-06-26T07:06:29 | 2020-06-26T04:59:47 | 275 | 98 |
[WP] You are an alien whose race sees in ultraviolet and whose voice is extremely low-pitched. Humans appear as terrifying eldritch abominations with pitch-black eyes who make black speech.
EDIT: Apparently these things also have the power to elevate Reddit accounts to all-new heights of Karma in under 24 hours. We must fortify our systems against these abominations at all costs. | Elarra was smaller than her peers on the diplomatic guard; standing only about two and a half feet off the ground even with all her tentacles stretched tall. It was a sore spot, her colleagues knew, one she hissed and seethed at if it were ever brought up in jest. They knew not to prod too much however, because while she was short, she was undoubtedly strong. She had wrestled with Gukarian sword-dancers and Wafferhounds and came out on top. It was how she managed to graduate from the warrior’s caste with such ease.
That strength however left her at the sight of the alien approaching the guard detachment. Elarra could sense the distressed pheromones being released by her fellow guards, and knew then that she was not alone in her sudden onset anxiety.
What immediately struck her was how tall it was. It towered over even the largest of them, doubling their height and then some, with its head ducking under the monolithic entranceway as if it were a hatchling’s playpen. Elarra’s many eyes took in its odd white glow, and its long swaying arms and striding limbs that were so unlike her own tentacles she became queasy.
It came to a stop in front of the diplomat, and Elarra’s suction cups wound desperately hard around her blade on instinct. The alien waited for a moment, taking in the dozen battle-hardened soldiers that surrounded it, before it removed what looked to be a metallic helmet from its head. Elarra audibly gasped at what she saw.
It’s two eyes were pitch-black. Holes to a void that was unending in its eternity. They inscrutably searched her soul, peeling back layers and analysing them meticulously, as if she were subject to a living autopsy. An ocean of night that gazed back.
Before her mind could react, piece together what reality was showing her, it spoke. A booming demonic choir, so loud and strong it felt as though her eardrums may burst in her brain and flood out from her mouth. A screeching death rattle that was like the pained whine of a decaying God.
“DO NOT BE AFRAID. WE COME IN PEACE.”
Elarra, fearing for her life at the unintelligible threat raised her plasma-blade, and charged. | [Poem]
"Glirp can you see all those zumps?
They're scaring the bagorg out of me!
I think these Zumps are dangerous,
It may be time to flee!
Get in the flying Kuboor!
Power on the kiffy-jig!
We took a wrong turn at Porigoo
Why are their eyes so black and big?
Strap on your Googa-Bosh!
And press the purple key!
They're shooting off Ker-junga-bungs,
I think one almost got me!
We're never coming back to Blorg,
These Zumps are not for peace!"
Then the Grumpas went back home,
once the shooting finally ceased. | 2019-06-30T03:37:04 | 2019-06-30T01:13:38 | 854 | 40 |
[WP] You have a superpower where the harder a solid is the easier it is for you to break. Diamonds crumble to dust under the slightest touch but mashed potatoes are virtually unbreakable. | "I think he's gone mad..."
"Shiiiit...he's lost it..."
The boys stare at Kevin from around the corner and quickly duck back, not wanting to be caught staring. But there was something really weird going on in the kitchen. Kevin was being really weird.
"What the fuck do we do? This is not normal behavior!" Liam hisses, taking a quick glance at what was going on in the other room and then back at Tyrone. "We need to do something."
"Do what? The guy is literally beating the shit out of mashed potato! Mashed potatoes! With his bare hands!" Tyrone stares at the opposite wall and shakes his head. "I'm out of here...the dudes possessed. I ain't got the time for this freaky-
"We're not going anywhere we gotta do something!"
"Do what?!"
They both take another look, slowly, and see that yes he is still in the same situation. Beating the shit out of the pile of slop sat on the table, without a plate or a bowl or anything. The scene is ludicrous.
"Just mash damn you! Damn you! Why won't you just...arghhhhhh!" Kevin screams at the food and transfers to beating it with both his fists as opposed to one.
"We can't help him!" Tyrone whispers loudly. "Ain't no one who can help a guy like that!"
"Tyrone come on-
"Baby..."
They both cease with their conversation and take a look in the kitchen to see who Kevin is talking to. They see that he has given up with the mash and is now slumped on the floor, leaning against the counter, talking into his cell phone.
"Baby...can you come here I..." he sighs and then sobs. "I was wondering if you could come feed me..." he pauses. "Mashed potato...yeah I know, I know..." he inhales deeply and then exhales in relief. "Thank you...I love you."
Tyrone leans back and begins walking away. "That is some weird shit..."
Liam takes another look at the scene before he too follows Tyrone down the corridor. He didn't really want to know...to be really honest. | Being born into Ireland during the dark ages with this So called "ability" has been a real pain in me arse. Like bloody fucking hell! I cant eat me damned baked potatoes! I live alone in so I cant have it be fed to meself through the tender to touch of a woman. I can only eat my potatoes raw and even that is a pain in the arse. Since this is the dark ages I can't just turn me potatoes into a liquid and drink the bastards. I instead spend most me days crying on the floor drinking the black stuff. | 2017-05-19T02:01:43 | 2017-05-19T00:48:27 | 168 | 32 |
[WP] Before carpeting the floors, your parents allowed you to paint whatever you wanted on the floor. As a joke, you paint a devil’s trap. One day, when you bring your friend over, they find that they suddenly cannot move from a certain spot on the floor. | "What have you done?" Gabriel said, both visage and words twisted in anxiety as he frantically looked around, before his eyes finally settled on me.
"Haha, very funny," I exhaled. "Look, get off it. We have important things to do. Food to eat, games to play..."
"Um," he said, gaze now fixated on the floor. "What the hell is this?"
"Heh. Hell," I chuckled. "Look, I admit, it was funny for about five seconds, OK? I should have laughed instead of dismissing you. Maybe you'll come off it sooner."
"Look, Alex," said Gabriel, his voice genuinely strained with concern. "I don't want to alarm you. But if this is what I think it is..."
"Oh, is it those kind of jokes where you go on for so long it becomes funny again?" I said. "Because honestly, you are acting pretty well."
"I'm not acting," he said, dead serious. At least, he looked dead serious. Sounded like it, too.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to scrutinize his every move. His feet were supernaturally rooted to the floor, while his torso and legs tugged itself in various positions, like he was trying to escape. I'm not even sure if bodies could move like that. Whatever he was doing, it was good. Very good. He turned to me again, his eyes filled with dread.
Too good?
"Please," he said. "Release me."
"Hold on," I mumbled. "That's a devil trap."
"As plain as day," he sighed.
"So you are..." I trailed off, letting him complete the sentence.
He flashed a pitiful grin, and chuckled nervously.
"No way," I continued. "There's absolutely no way."
"Look," Gabriel said. "This is very embarrassing. I didn't intend to tell you this way."
"You?" I cried. "You are the Devil?
Welp, guess I finished the sentence myself anyway. He looked sheepish and skittish, like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole--which, actually, he probably could do, if he was who he said he was--and placed his hand behind his head.
"I really don't want to be trapped here and have this conversation, dude," Gabriel said. "It's just... I am who I am, you know."
"The guy who plays stupid RPGs with me?" I uttered in utter disbelief. "The guy who eats Pringles like, like... "
"The Devil consumes souls?" he said, helpfully. I looked at him in shock.
"I don't do that," he said. "That's a stereotype."
"The guy too nervous to approach Mabel from the stupid pottery class?"
"Please," he said. "Just... remove a tiny part of the trap? Please? This is getting very uncomfortable for me."
"Oh, for god's sake," I cried. "Your name is even Gabriel! Freaking Gabriel!"
"Which I'm sure my brother would be pissed if he found out," he said, and that familiar smirk appeared for but a brief moment.
Right. He's the Devil. Allegedly. Likely. But that small smirk he does... that's still Gabriel.
"Fine," I said, kneeling down to rub at the floor with my bare hands. It stung, and I pulled my hand back.
"What the hell," I said. "Do I need holy water or something for this?"
"Just... a mop and a bucket, dude," Gabriel said.
"You better explain to me what the hell is going on," I said, wagging a finger as I ducked to the bathroom.
"Well, firstly, hell is not going on," he shouted as I rounded a corner, prompting me to turn back.
"What."
"Yea," he said. "I'm here. As your best friend and all-round awesome dude that beats you at video gams. How could I be running hell?"
"... Why?"
"You are cool to hang out with," he shrugged. "Please let me out of here. I can feel myself turning red."
"Because you are embarrassed? Because that's pretty cheesy," I said.
"No, because I'm literally cooking like a lobster," he gestured wildly. "Please?"
"OK," I shouted, rushing to the bathroom once more. "Full explanation!"
---
[Part 2 here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/dexdrafts/comments/n2l3pv/devil_trap_part_2/?)
r/dexdrafts | Just as Jesse was about to leave she called for David. They were headed to the beach.
'Come on, let's go!'
But there wasn't a reply - or at least, there wasn't a reply in 5 seconds, which was a long time in Jesse's mind.
'David?' she called again.
'Uh... Jesse?' a worried voice came from up the stairs.
Leaving her bag on the hallway floor, Jesse quickly ran up the stairs to her bedroom only to find David frozen in a sort of robot-dance-like state. She laughed.
'It's not funny. I can't move. I'm stuck like this.'
'Come on, stop fooling around.'
'No, seriously. I can't move.' David stressed. He arm straining to move like a mortician does a stiff cadaver.
Jesse marched over confidently and gave David a decent nudge. Nothing. He was like a flesh statue, the thought of which made her squirm a little inside.
'What is this on the floor?' David asked.
'Oh, it's a devil's trap. It traps devils...' the thought suddenly dawned on her. 'Ok, come on. Stop messing around.' she said anxiously.
'It's not a devil's trap, or it is but it's a trap used by the devil. Oh my god, Jesse. What the hell have you done to me!?'
'Nothing- I...'
'Jesus fucking christ.'
'Stop the religious expletives, you'll just make the devil come quicker!'
'Ok. I know a way to reverse this. All you need to do is gather some white candles, and draw over the red pentagram with white chalk. It's as simple as that.'
'Alright, alright.' she cheered, pumping herself up. 'White chalk and candles.'
'In the kitchen.'
'In the kitchen. White chalk and candles in the kitchen.' she said before running out the room and down the stairs.
Jesse arrived back a few minutes later, leaving the kitchen a total pilfered mess. She lit the candles and bundled three pieces of chalk together. Carefully, leaving not a smudge of red, she drew over the pentagram in fine white chalk.
And as she was reaching the end of the unhallowed star, she looked up to see David's muscles relax all at once. His body crumpled to the floor.
'David!' she called, running to pick him up.
\*
After cleaning up the mess and the both of them gathering their bearings, they left an hour later than anticipated. They bundled in the car and off they went to the beach.
But there was a fear growing slowly in the back of Jesse's mind; a vile silty ball of fear encroaching on her innocent pink brain:
*How did David know so much about devils traps?*
*How did he know we had candles and chalk in the kitchen?*
*I was sure that was a devils trap?* | 2021-04-30T03:23:00 | 2021-04-30T01:54:53 | 185 | 22 |
[WP] "Halt foul demon! I know of your true name and so you must obey my every command!" "Wha- Why would you knowing my name make me obey you all of a suden? What are you gonna do? Call my parents or something? I swear humans myths about demon control are the weirdest.." | With flashing lights and roaring thunder, I made my appearance. "Who has summoned the great Valgath? You are better not wasting my precious time!" As usual, I spawned in my demonic form, bright fire engulfing me.
"Valgath Orzoder Xurrozan, ruler of dungeons and the wastelands! As I speak your true name, you now have to obey my every command!"
For a second, my fire burned lower as the unusual response made me lose my focus. WHAT?
"Mortal, who are you to believe that a near almighty demon would be to your command for just knowing his full name?" I really don't know where he got that. That myth is new.
"No matter, you are stuck in the summoning cycle and I won't free you." Erm, no? I stepped out, kicking the markings.
"Are you stupid enough to think some simple chalk dust could hold me back?"
"Well, you are not attacking me, so you are clearly held back by it."
I snapped my finger and teleported him six feet to the side. "My power is near infinite. I am only following the rules of my boss. No attacking humans unless it is part of a pact." My voice was now less booming, and more natural. "Would you beat up potential customers? And that's why this rule exists. Speaking of a pact, what do you want in exchange for your soul. Healthy children? Eternal beauty? Unlimited fertility?"
"Give me the power to mind control all demons. And I'm going to sacrifice the soul of my husband. He doesn't need it anyway"
Once again, I was speechless. "NO! First of all, we are not granting wishes that are against us. And second, you can only sell your own soul or sacrifice somebody. Where have you done your research, fool? I have seen 10-year-old children who were prepared better for the encounter!"
"It's all there." She showed me her smartphone. summonyourdemon dot com. Seriously? A shitty website? I sighed. But maybe she would still sign. Let's try something different. I summoned a blood-red gun into my hands.
"If you want to sacrifice your husband, kill him with this firearm. It won't make any noise and the body will disappear with no trace." Maybe, going bluntly direct was the way to make her realize how serious this was.
"So first you don't obey me, then you don't agree with my pact and now you want me to kill my husband. That's enough, I want to speak with your manager."
Very dumb idea. But maybe Lucifer could teach her manners. I snapped my fingers and he appeared next to me.
"Mortal, you want to complain about my valued employee?"
"Yes, he is not obeying me, not granting my desire to control demons, and now he offers me a gun to kill my husband. That's not how it works! You should fire him."
Lucifer looked at me bewildered. I shrugged. "She got her information from a shitty website," I told him telepathically.
"Well, that is surely how it works, we are not hurting our own establishment and surely we aren't obeying random people. Now, state your wish and sign the pact or be gone! You are not worthy to waste the time of us demons, stupid weak mortal."
"How are you speaking to me like that!" The audacity to talk back to Lucifer himself. I noticed his expression shifting from annoyance to pure fury. "I know what you are supposed to give me, but you aren't. Go to hell."
"Well, that's what I am doing now." Judging his expression he was about to commit some serious arson but held back. "See you soon. Also, I hereby ban you from summoning demons for the rest of your mortal life. Our time is not to be wasted." And with a bang, he turned into smoke. I started to smile and shifted into my human form.
"If I was you, I would kneel and beg for mercy now!" I said with an evil smile on my face.
"Why should I kneel in front of you?" I snapped my fingers at her. She looked at me like I was a child who did something bad. But it quickly turned into panic as her hands turned into hoofs.
"Well, you are no longer a customer. And I'm not wasting an opportunity to have some fun." | Ezra, the aspiring demon hunter, couldn’t stop the cold beads of perspiration forming on his forehead and down his back, slowly seeping into his newly-adorned brown robes. He held the holy book tightly to his chest, facing down an unfathomable being with skin of ash and fire.
“Halt, foul demon!”
Eyes like red-hot coals fixated their gaze upon Ezra, burning a hole through soul and conscience. Laughter like rolling lava boiling with bubbles and hisses filled the air, and the distinct scent of sulphur began to coat the already-humid atmosphere.
“On whose authority, child?”
The words were foreign. The emphasis on the wrong spots, the pronunciations off. But Ezra got the message nonetheless, and struggling to push down the rapidly forming lump in his throat.
“Dorthrozun,” he shouted, pushing the words past the obstacles. “Your true name lies on my tongue.”
There was a jolt through the demon’s visage. Where there was once overwhelming cockiness, it betrayed a moment of confusion and incredulity.
“And thus, you shall obey my commands!” Ezra screamed. “Kneel!”
Dorthrozun buckled, his shifting bulk seemingly shaking the very earth itself. Right before one of its knees landed on the ground, the demon reared back into his full length, mirthful, mocking laughter escaping him.
“You know my name, human. What do you think that will achieve?”
“Er,” Ezra whispered. “Subdue you? It is written.”
“Written by whom? Humans or demons?”
Ezra turned over the book in his arms, shaking hands holding up the grimore’s, squinting at the dusty cover.
“... Humans, I believe,” Ezra said. “I don’t think demons are called Lavender or Johnny.”
“Human myths,” the demon smiled.. “To counteract the demon. Certainly an interesting tactic, but not a particularly fruitful one.
“Does that… does that mean…”
Dorthrozun shrugged.
“Humans think our names powerful. What about our physical abilitiy?”
The demon flexed. It appeared as if every vein popped up in its skin, swollen muscles the size of Eza’s head.
“Our powers? Our cunning intelligence? Those don’t go away because of a name?”
Ezra stood, defeated. The sweat had evaporated off his head, and his eyebrows were likely singed as well.
“You know my name, at least. Let that be of some comfort to you,” Dorthrozun beamed, rows of dirty, yellow, spear-like teeth glittering like muddied stars. “It’s much like an appetizing slice of pizza calling out your name.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 2022-05-05T14:11:55 | 2022-05-05T11:55:17 | 91 | 50 |
[WP] Multi-dimensional travel already exists, but no one visits our dimension because it's "that" one | A small pod of Zerxoz explorers were hovering in their bulbous ship somewhere inside a black hole near the Milky Way, awaiting permission from their leadership to teleport to a distant celestial body.
Captain Xryt’s radar spotted Earth in the distance and information poured down her luminescent, augmented reality screen, “Sir, it says here that no life form on XC-3450 has multi-dimensional travel abilities,” She said in a confused tone.
“Well, there must not be any intelligent life-forms on the planet,” Admiral Keqt said matter-of-factly.“They do live primarily in a three dimensional world, after all.”
"But it says here that the primary life form on this planet has developed satellite based nuclear weapons,” Captain Xryt responded.
"So, they are an emerging intelligence?"
Captain Xryt squinted as she studied the information carefully, “No, I don't think so, they have aimed the weapons at themselves."
Admiral Keqt cringed his face in disgust and then pondered for a moment, “Well, why don’t we teach them how to travel in between dimensions?”
Captain Xryt’s face lit up, “We could help develop that species’ intelligence!”
“I’ll contact command and ask if we can cautiously enter the planet and disseminate our information.” Admiral Keqt said. “We’ve got a significant amount of time until we are scheduled for teleportation, so I’m sure they’ll confirm my request.”
Admiral Keqt’s hunch was correct.
_____________________________________________________
72 Earth hours later, they returned to their initial position and contacted command.
A hologram appeared in front of Admiral Keqt, “How did it go?”
“Terrible,” A dejected Admiral replied.
“How so?” The hologram queried.
“Well, we entered the atmosphere and brought a few of the targeted species on board as is protocol.”
“Mhmm.”
“When we tried to probe them to deliver the information it went all wrong.”
“Really?”
“We observed that 90 per cent of visual content on their networks of distant communication consisted of a cylindrical part of their flesh entering various orifices on another individuals flesh.”
Captain Xryt interrupted, “Sometimes they use a more artificial object which mimics this flesh.”
Admiral nodded in agreement, “Yes, so we tried to deliver the information in a manner that would comfort them based on this discovery, but they just started screeching and attacking us.”
Captain Xryt interjected again, “And that screeching was a completely different frequency and wave length compared to the screeching we heard in those visual communications.”
“So we just let them off the ship.” A glum Admiral concluded.
______________________________________________________
r/Dri_Writes for more light-hearted stories!
| They had reached their peak. The zenith of humanity personified. Peace reigned amongst the nations, and no one could be happier. The same could be said about the plethora of other dimensions. Except, of course, for *that* one.
It had begun as an experiment. Allow the people the control they so badly desired. But what did the people know?
How could they be wise enough to choose the right path? How could the sheep choose a shepherd?
Just look at how they turned out. Slaves to technology, to society, to their governments. It wasn't freedom. Knowingly choosing the wrong leader was far worse a form of enslavement than what they had.
How much better it was this way. They didn't know right from wrong, and they weren't expected to choose. Their benevolent leader, may he live forever and be healthy, chose for them.
But what was one bad dimension when there were so many others from which to choose?
*Subject 28874. Your break is over. Return to your station.* | 2017-12-24T03:01:34 | 2017-12-24T02:46:39 | 637 | 19 |
[WP] You are arrested by a mysterious agency for the “illegal use of a magical and or supernatural item” after stumbling across a Genie lamp. But, the agency is stunned to find you only used one wish. An odd one in particular. | "You people really need to relax my wish was ironclad." I said leaning back in the chair.
"What WAS you wish?" Asked one of the agents.
"What anyone should wish for if they ever found a genie. For them to ALL be free." I said laughing as the agents around me all turned pale, one rushed to the nearby trash can and vomited.
"Do you know what you have done!?!?!? They are evil on carnet they will kill and terrorize countless people!" Said the agent closest to me
"First, no they won't they are all too busy partying. A party I was on my way back to when you assholes picked me up by the way, second I, unlike yourself, am not an idiot and know the consequences of my actions. The genie and I worked together for months to make the wish work so everyone is happy and no one gets hurt. I mean hell I do NOT want that bad karma on my hands and neither do they. " I said tapping my fingers on the desk.
"Karma?? They care about karma?" Asked the act still leaning over the trash can.
"OOooooooohhhh yea big time. Before they were enslaved by some assholes their job was to ensure the balance of karma in existence. It's how the whole wish thing works." I said a sinister smile on my face. "They are also surprisingly happy to be getting back to work. Sooo many people have been taken advantage of and abused with no restitution."
"WHAT WAS THE exact WISH ALREADY!!!!" screamed the lead agent.
"OH I just wished for them all to be free as long as they take no malicious acts on or override the free will of another." I said mater of factly. " back to the whole karma thing though, that's the important part."
"Why is that?" Asked an agent
"Well you are all covered in some nasty karma... you all are clearly not very good people. In fact I think I'll be getting a ride back to that party real soon." I said.
As i finished speaking the lights over head went out only to be replaced a few moments later by red emergency lighting. In the hall we could hear screams and gun fire.
"Hey looks like my rides here." Standing up and flicking my hands the cuffs holding me to the table vanished as if they weren't there.
"Jesus christ he's one off them!!!" Screamed one of the agents, all drawing their weapon.
"Hardly, they were all just. incredibly greatful to be trusted and set free that they like to shower me with gifts. Like this" making a show of snapping fingers and pointing at their weapons they all suddenly turned into various fruits and vegetables.
"Well it's been fun but I really am going to need to be going. Good luck with all this though. " I said waiving my hand in the air gesturing to the chaos unfolding.
"Don't worry they won't kill anyone unless they deserve it. But then again I did teach them what malicious compliance is...." laughter in my voice. "Those genies love their loopholes."
With a 😉 to the agents I felt myself pulled into the ether only to reapear in a limo parked in front of the building.
"Are we waiting for them to finish?" I asked the driver.
"Hell no" he responded " I'm off duty and want to party. They will catch up."
"Sweet." | I became really interested in magic during my studies. In graduated archeology in one of the best European universities. I always wondered how many wonders of ancient world were made, there was no other explanation but magic, so I knew it was real, I just had to prove it.
I organized expedition to Atlas Mountains in Morocco. I found a manuscript about ancient treasure buried beneath the dunes. The search was long but here I was, holding the one any only, Genie lamp. I gently rubbed it and a mysterius creature appeared
\- "How are you? And why are you disturbing my rest?"
\-"My name is Alfonso Deliberi, and I demand fulfillment of my wish"
\-"What do you wish then human?"
\-"I want to create secret organization that specializes in hunting and destroying all sort of magic artifacts. The only solution for the destruction that might be brought by the unstoppable power of magic"
\-"Odd request since you are currently using magic item, but .... as you wish"
The exact same moment genie disappeared I saw around 20 man pointing guns at me. "You are under arrest for breaking the paragraph 18 of magical regulation" tall blond man shouted. "Hands in the air and drop the lamp". "No wait, you don't understand, I wished to create you guys, I wanted to bring safety to this world, I'm not your enemy" I shouted in response. "We heard it all, hands in the air and don't move"
I of course surrendered, I had no other choice. My wish not only created this anti-magic organization, but entire international law about usage of magic. No one believed my explanations, the organization had records of existing for centuries.
And here I'm a prisoner of my own creation, I was charged with serious fellonies and sentenced to almost 20 years, but it is a small price for safety of humanity. Who knows what could happen if the lamp was in the wrong hands. | 2022-11-02T11:15:02 | 2022-11-02T08:59:52 | 136 | 38 |
[WP] A technology is invented that allows us to hear sounds locked into the clay of ancient pots as they were being formed. What is extracted are conversations that will alter the perception of history in the most terrifying of ways. | *God I hate him.*
Of course, the “*most brilliant mind of our time*” is a complete moron. And his name is Jerry. First, He radicalized the historical record by developing a device for reading micro impressions left on malleable mediums. Delivered the speech about it via recordings he left on play-doh figures *of himself talking*. Believing it to be a joke, everyone considered walking out, until he played the Rosetta Stone like a record on a turn table, and got *15 more languages* out of it. The worst part? He calls it the *”Historical Record...Player”* because it plays the...wait for it... historical records. I hate him.
Not 2 years later, he almost magically discovers time travel. He’s every archeologist’s hero, the dream, Indiana Jones meets H.G. Wells meets Jules Verne.
Just before the greatest dig of my life... the dig that would have launched my career into the upper echelons of history, I spoke out against him. His unprofessionalism, cavalier attitudes, and the immense irresponsibilities and liberties used when time traveling, his trash is littering the historical record... he disappeared. Assumed he died talking selfies with dinosaurs, he was treated as passed on.
Onto my dig: the oldest surviving pottery ever discovered, containing ornate figures only I could have ever deciphered, falls into my lap. It was like a time capsule, with an edible honey sample, early paper with early language written on it, and beautiful decorations inlaid. The honey tasted incredible, as the glyphs has predicted the eternal shelf life of honey, it welcomed a try. After analyzing it all, and having carbon dating confirmed everything, we played it on the Historical Record...Player. Genuine conversation was held between the craftsman and a companion. Revelations into life we had never seen before came to life, when suddenly the record appeared to scratch. There was a blast of sound, and a commotion, followed by what appeared to be someone smoothing the situation over.
Then a new speaker began, and I felt my life fall to pieces. Every dig of my career was a sham. All placed by Jerry with the soul purpose of guiding me to this point. He made the jar. All these pieces of history were from his private collection, and were allowed to age for millennia. He spoke of every detail, as he was responsible for it.
Jerry told me I never should have spoken against him. He put his dick in the honey I ate.
*God I hate him.* | We heard sounds you wouldn't even be able to imagine. It was about ancient, forgotten languages, wars we never knew, love that never should have happened. We heard gossip from all around the world, but all of this was never really interesting, and neither important.
Then a day came. It should've been a normal day in our laboratory, we had a vase from ancient rome. It was a day like any other, until we heard a very certain name, within an old unknown language: Adolf. For you it might be nothing, but for us it were everything. An evidence for something that never should've existed, that never could've happened, a real prophecy which got true. But sadly, we will never know. And i do not even know why, or how. But this is my Story. This is my story of discovering our real history. | 2019-03-18T17:38:49 | 2019-03-18T13:36:43 | 56 | 13 |
[WP] You live in a world where love and relationships have a "credit score". If you're a good SO it makes it higher, if you cheated on someone it's plummets. You just went on a date with someone and you're convinced they're perfect. You look up their score that night and it's -500 and tells you why.
EDIT: I hadn't been able to really check Reddit since I posted this, but WOW thank you all so much for enjoying this!!! I will definitely be getting around to reading all of these awesome stories! You guys rock! | People thought 'relationship scores' were too invasive, or that they would cause people to rely on them in place of common sense.
Which were fair criticisms, but people could abstain from searching their significant others, or mention how they felt, but when people first started using them nothing really went wrong.
Sure, there were some divorces and scandals involving infidelity, but wouldn't it be better to know?
Nobody's personal information got leaked, people could only look up somebody's score if they'd gone on a date with them, and you could check your own periodically.
On the scoring page, there'd be a reasoning section where you could see the gist of why they had the score they did.
Maybe it'd be mediocre because they often spend a lot of time ignoring their significant other, or maybe it'd be good because they're emotionally stable, after a first date you could check and see.
My score wasn't incredibly impressive, at 750, it wasn't bad by any means though. I was fairly confident in my score, and when I'd gone on a few dates with Jessica things seemed to go pretty well.
She was really sweet, and quite generous even, but it was hard to tell at first as she was quite shy. I was one of very few friends she had here, and things just seemed to progress as we got more comfortable with one another.
She was likable, charismatic even, I couldn't really think of anybody that didn't like her. Jessica just really wasn't all that outgoing. After the first date or two, we'd just hang out at her apartment and watch movies. It was really enjoyable.
Though she did have moments where she'd seem to be caught in her own head, she'd go quiet at certain triggers but I could never quite seem to find out what they were. She'd apologize and give a brief explanation that I would believe.
Well, one day I had been thinking about her quiet moments, and decided to check her score. It wasn't a well thought out plan, just a spur of the moment idea.
It wasn't difficult, I just logged in, and found her easily enough, I was expecting somewhere between 600 and 700.
She had -500.
The lowest I'd ever seen was 367 before. If somebody's score seems really strange, you can have it give a more in depth explanation although it would notify them.
I had no idea what her brief explanation meant, there was no mention of infidelity or abuse.
No gas-lighting or ignoring her past boyfriends, no abuse on either side, emotional or physical.
I figured I deserved to know what was going on, she seemed perfect. Which I guess in itself could be the only thing seen as a red flag.
I didn't feel any sort of anxiety or panic when I inquired to find out more, just a sort of bewilderment or curiosity.
It started and was significantly more brief than I had expected.
"Coerced past significant other into suicide."
I could feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and I was already sure of who it would be. | I looked at the menu full of nothing but weird-ass smoothies, all of which had the word 'acai' at the beginning. Acai PBJ smoothie. Acai dragonfruit passion. Acai acai smoothie. *Fuck.*
"It's really healthy, she said with and innocent smile so white I nearly went blind. "I promise, they're tasty!"
I looked at her and returned the gesture. "Yeah, I love healthy food!" *I mean, I'd eat sandpaper if it keeps you around.*
Seriously, I would've.
The smoothie tasted like fruity dirt, but I guess it's better than sandpaper at the end of the day.
"I love this place, thanks for the suggestion!" I said, smiling through the displeasing taste.
"Thanks! Why don't we go back to your place and hang out? Do you play rocket league?"
I dropped the smoothie cup on the ground, staring into her shimmering blue eyes. "Does Bill Cosby love mixing drinks?"
She giggled and pulled me toward the door. "Actually, I'm going to run to the bathroom first- gimme one second!"
I watched her leave, staring until she disappeared, then whipped out my phone. "Kaylee... Simpson. Run report..."
*Love Credit: -500. Chews with mouth open.*
I looked at the straw of her drink and was gone before you could say "sneaky motherfucker."
-----
^*/r/resonatingfury* | 2016-09-24T11:32:43 | 2016-09-24T10:31:27 | 534 | 242 |
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions | Dear Sir,
This letter is to inform you that one Randy Payne, of 530 Linden Lane, Harrisburg PA, has filed a form 839 (y) - Intent to Murder against you on June 24th, 2016. The Intent to Murder has been approved and is valid from your receipt of this letter today until the 31st of September this year. Please review the FAQ section below about what actions you may take should you wish not be murdered. Please also note that our records indicate that you yourself were approved for a form 839 (y) in November of 2015 against one Rachel Payne, which you carried out on the 26th of that month. As you know, this waives your right to self defense should someone attempt to carry out an 839 (y) against you at any time and you will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law for any unapproved killings.
For further information regarding this matter, please see the FAQ below, or visit www.doj.gov/rtm/victim.
**Frequently Asked Questions**
* *I do not want to be murdered, what are my options?*
Many people do not wish to be murdered and seek to evade the intentions of their murderer. This survival instinct is only human, and should not cause alarm. If you wish to prevent your murder, it is recommended that you file a form 839 (y) against your intended murderer and attempt to face them in a duel. Please note that if you have filed a form 839 (y) at any point in the past, you must wait 6 months after the expiration of that form to file a new 839 (y) against a different individual and 1 year to file a new 839 (y) against an individual you have attempted to murder before. In the event that you have filed a form 839 (y) and successfully dispatched your intended victim, you are no longer eligible to commit murder.
* *Can I hide?*
While you may hide from a murderer, please be advised that there is nothing preventing an intended murderer with a valid form 839 (y) finding you. Some individuals have attempted to flee to foreign countries, with various degrees of success. However, your travel will be recorded by the State Department in a publicly accessible database. If you wish to plan travel to a country that does not honor form 839 (y), please find a list of non-participating sovereign states at www.doj.gov/rtm/victim
* *What if my murderer is not successful*
If, for whatever reason, your intended murderer does not fulfill the lethality requirements of form 839 (y) (Section 3.5 - Lethality and brutality of methods,) within the allowed timeframe, they are free to file a new form 839 (y) against you after 1 year has passed. Please note that extraneous and repeated filing of a form 839 (y) against an individual without significant action towards their demise is considered harassment. If you feel that an individual is filing forms 839 (y) against you without actual intent to murder, you may attempt to get a restraining order issued against them.
* *The person who filed against me is an employee, am I within my rights to fire them?*
You are legally protected from a wrongful dismissal case if an employee has at any time filed a form 839 (y) against you or anyone else associated with your company. Please visit www.doj.gov/rtm/victim for information on preventing a murder on company property.
We hope this letter has been informative and helpful. If you wish to leave feedback, please send an email to victimfeedback@doj.gov | The clerical assistant stamped the paperwork and handed the receipt back to Mister Henry.
"Thanks for coming in and filling this out. Mister Edwards has been informed via email-" Before the assistant could finish, the door of the small claims office was kicked in and a man soaked in blood appeared in the threshold.
"You can't do that! It's illegal!" complained the clerk. A bullet splintered a cloud of spraying wood from her desk and both the office's patrons went rigid.
"Retaliation rights!," Mister Edwards barked. He aimed his magnum at Mister JHenry, whose hands shook uncontrollably as Mister Edwards took his smartphone and showed it to Mister Jones. It had the email just sent to him by the clerk's office regarding Henry's intention of murder.
"A little late on this, don't you think? You're supposed to fill out the paperwork *before* you send an armed hitsquad to someone's house. Asshole," growled James Henry.
"Please, James- we can work something out- a- a promotion or maybe a-" Mister Edwards begged, sweat pouring down his brow. Two police officers moved near him.
"Sir, please come with-"
"RETALIATION RIGHTS!" Henry warned and kept his gun held over his head. The officers immediately moved away, nodding and accepting. Henry's gaze turned again to Mister Edwards.
"Nah uh, Marcus Edwards. I've been looking forward to this since the day you locked me in the copier room over night. I thought about suing your ass for improper usage of a kill order. It would be fitting for you to lose the only thing in the world that's precious to you- your fucking money. But, retaliation, frankly...is making me so much happier." Mister Edwards was crying. James Henry put the gun against Edwards' temple.
"D- don't I get last words?" Edwards compalined.
"You just did." A blood soaked bullet splattered red across the clerk's office wall. | 2014-03-17T09:31:02 | 2014-03-17T08:23:17 | 143 | 23 |
[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.'" | My fellow Americans, minutes ago I was informed that a massive nuclear attack against our nation is underway.
Our enemies have launched the full might of their arsenals against us, and we expect their missiles to reach our shores within the hour. Our missile defense units have been prepared for this eventuality, and are even now selecting targets to intercept. They will not be able to stop all of them.
We have spent decades preparing for this conflict. Our missiles are standing by to launch, our bombers are waiting on their runways, our submarines are ready to surface, we have the capability to retaliate and destroy our enemy utterly. Moments ago I instructed the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Secretary of Defense that under no circumstances should this occur.
It is our natural instinct to respond to our own demise by trying to destroy that which will end us, it is only human. To do that now, though, would not only be a petty and futile gesture of hatred and revenge, murdering the innocent millions that are ruled by the tyrannical few who are the ones who have destroyed us, it also would be a great crime against all mankind. Our two nations, our two great alliances together have the power to end humanity, to destroy civilization as we know it, this must not come to pass. Today millions, perhaps billions will die, unavenged, so that countless future generations may live.
It is to these future generations that we must entrust our hope. Today our nation, our very way of life, will come to an end, and the forces of tyranny and evil, those who hate liberty so much that they will risk the end of the world to destroy it, shall emerge victorious. However, so long as men die, liberty shall never perish. Let the story of our sacrifice echo down the generations so that, in some future we will never know, those who desire liberty can take up our cause and bring the light of freedom to shine and brighten the world again.
Our fate is now in in hands other than our own. Seek shelter, be with your loved ones and pray for the many who shall soon perish, and the few who will survive and face challenges we can now only imagine. God bless and be with you, and God bless America.
| 2016-03-12T00:14:35 | 2016-03-11T21:49:38 | 133 | 74 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | My eyes flitted over the crowd of people lining up. 26, 30, 14 - gonna have to turn her away - 22, 8988, 21, 43. I slowly looked back towards the big number. That's an 8, followed by a 9 and two more eights. I took a few steps to the left. It's all one number. That... shouldn't be right. It couldn't be right. But i was never wrong before, and i don't know why i'd be wrong now.
"I'm going to have to I.D. you sir." The man smirked.
"I don't look *that* young, do I?"
"Sir, i'm going to have to insist." I had to see it. I was sure that his I.D. would hold some clue.
"How young do I look? Take a guess."
I couldn't resist the urge as a smirk invaded my face. "Dunno. 17, 16, maybe 8988?"
For a brief moment, the man looked at me in shock. Then he burst out laughing. "You're a funny guy. I wanna buy you a drink, when does your shift end?" I looked towards the bar door as Leon - the other bouncer - stepped through. "Now."
We headed inside and sat down at the bar. I insisted that he just get me a beer. He had the hard stuff. We both sat silent for a few minutes. "So I suppose you know i'm immortal, then. I won't ask how. What you're probably wondering is why someone as old as me is in a bar drinking his liver to death." I arched an eyebrow and looked at him. "History repeats itself every few thousand years. On my first time I was in a bar like this. Tomorrow's special, y'know." He had a happy, yet tired look in his eyes. "It's my birthday tomorrow." I smiled, but his face became frustrated. He took a large swig of his drink and, with a roll of his eyes, said "Oh, and the world's ending." | It was a day like any other
Deflect the young,
Accept the one
But before my eyes,
A double of a 12, 1212
And then I knew:
I always thought children would joke
That it was just the writers
Making fluff and fun merry for views
And before my eyes,
A pair of kids, stacked like dishes
Wobbling about
And a guffaw let out. | 2017-09-01T23:50:27 | 2017-09-01T22:38:31 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] A new designer drug, aptly named "Skip", allows people to go about their work day completely zoned out. You simply blink, and suddenly your shift is over. It worked great, until one day you woke up to all of your coworkers dead and a knife firmly gripped in your hand. | Blink and I missed it, one day at a time.
There’s always a little red capsule in my pocket, the face of a sleeping girl lasered into its side. Skip, they call it. I had issues with it, even before today.
Blink and I missed graduation, a single shot of caps in the air and a bunch of shapeless gowns, banners and pennants and tacky confetti, voices I hardly recognized.
Blink and I missed my parents after, all the words and the questions and the “What will you do nows?”
Blink and I missed one last breakup, the girl who had always been my maybe stripped down to the last whisper of a white dress on the wrong side of a closing door.
Blink and I missed work.
Blink and I missed work.
Blink and I missed killing a girl.
The girl lay in a pool of too-dark blood. I’d never seen that much blood before. I’d have thought it would be scarlet, or maybe like ground rubies. It wasn’t.
I looked down at my hands. Hands that had thrown a cap and held my maybe and signed on the dotted line. Hands carved down by the knurling on the Skip bottles, no callouses anywhere but my fingertips. I looked at the knife I held, dropped it.
No sound in the room but my coworkers ragged breathing, not even screams though I thought I heard the echo of one. I looked up, saw a half dozen faces I remembered.
But the dead girl was an enigma, a hazy almost known on the edge of my consciousness. She was pale, all the color gone out of her. Her hair was an oil slick against the soaked carpet, black on arterial red. Her fingernails were painted, distinct little cat faces on each one. She was pretty in a way I had thought only my maybe was, and perhaps the girl lasered into the Skip capsules.
“Saul,” I whispered, “what did I do?”
A shuddering voice, another pale face fringed by a mutton chop brown beard, a pencil in his shirt pocket and a notebook at his feet. “I blinked,” my boss said, “and I missed it.”
I ran through a world I hardly recognized, spilled out into a street where all the people pointed and stared, and where there weren’t any answers save their horror. I ran home because I couldn’t remember any other route, and as I ran I wracked my brain and tried to remember— her, me, what happened— anything.
There were glimpses, nothing more. Moments between the blinks that made up my life. I reached home and slammed the door behind me, heard the neighbors shouting my name. They had seen the blood, everyone had.
Eyes squeezed shut I fell to the ground in the living room, pressed my face into the thick carpet. It smelled like dust and neglect.
My phone buzzed. Rolling over, I stared up at the slow blades of the ceiling fan, counting the seconds by their rotation. I hadn’t measured my life in anything less than blinks since I discovered Skip.
*Dinner with Julia,* it read. A reminder.
But as I read, the world flooded back in.
When I Skip, I’m a different man. Confident. Capable. There are a thousand things that open up when you stop considering the world so carefully, measuring yourself against the seconds and agonizing over all the things you might miss. It’s not uncommon for Skip addicts to develop two timelines, two selves.
There’s the slow-time self, the man who looks into the mirror every morning and sees a nothing staring back, makes the conscious decision to Skip away the day. Then there’s the quick-time self, and the dedicated Skip junkie often discovers that’s the man everyone loves. The quick-time self dashes through life in a state of wild, free flowing abandon. He is brave enough to say the uncomfortable thing— to cut to the quick of whatever matter is at hand without consideration to the paralytically multiplying possibilities of it all.
The quick-time self can do anything. He can make the deal, work those extra hours, take a chance and take control and take the new girl at the office out on dates the slow-time self would know he could never afford— and never be brave enough to try.
*Dinner with Julia,* my phone reminded me, and there on the floor of my apartment I opened up my camera roll and scrolled through another man’s life.
Julia, pretty and pale and alive, little cats painted across her fingernails: always different and vibrant and infinitely lovable. Dinner with Julia was not a first. There had been coffee dates with Julia and lunches with Julia, a breakfast in bed with Julia and a thousand other things, and in all them I could see the capsules and the bottles, Skip scattered across our slip-jointed lives.
And I realized, watching another man’s life play out, that it must have been like there were four of us sharing two bodies. A fearless man and a fearless woman, and the sorts of people who always turn to Skip lurking beneath.
*Dinner with Julia.*
I looked at my hands, imagined slim, cat-painted fingers threaded through mine. Couldn't.
Or rather, I could, but it all seemed a thousand miles away. There was no telling what might have happened between us, with Skip addicts there were too many variables. Four people in two bodies, the combinations thereof, each of them influenced by when we had last had our doses, which parts of our lives we were hoping to Skip past, which parts of our pasts we had lived in slow-time and learned from, or lived in quick-time and avoided.
It could have been a thousand things that led to the knife, all I knew was that I wished it had been in her hands instead. Whatever she was Skipping through, I couldn’t help but think of those little painted cats and think that a girl like her was Skipping *towards*, not away.
There had never been a towards for me.
Sirens outside. Neighbors voices. My phone rang and it was Saul, who wasn’t a bad man really, even though he knew I was Skip addict and had probably known that Julia was, had probably valued us both all the more for that.
I stood, left the phone behind with the blood stains on the carpet. A picture of Julia watched me as I walked away, her in my bed, my burned pancakes on one of my plates in her lap. Giggling.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, door closed behind me, mirror fogging with my hot, fast breath. A nothing stared back at me, a man I hardly even recognized— like Julia.
Then I reached through the mirrored display to the cabinet behind and my reflection broke into something akin to ripples across disturbed water. When the ripples cleared bottle after bottle of Skip could be seen ranged across the shelves, my private supply.
At the bottom there was another bottle, empty, a little stylized cat drawn in a circle around the laser etched girl there. I took the full bottles to the bedroom, sat on the edge of a bed where Julia must have sat.
And sitting there, I thought about a thing my first dealer had said to me as I pored over his rows of designer drugs. “Skip is good shit man,” he said, “best part is you can’t even overdose. It’s not gonna kill you if you fuck up.”
That had made my choice. I’d bought a bottle of Skip and changed my life, days sliding away as quickly as the money changed hands.
“Why can’t you OD?” I had asked.
“Fuck if I know,” he said, shrugging. He already had my money.
Looking at the bottles, thinking of Julia and graduation and that long ago maybe, I realized why you couldn’t overdose on Skip.
You couldn’t overdose on Skip because in all the world the one infinite thing was *Almost.* The world could never run out of missed connections, and in the end that’s all Skip was. It was things falling through the cracks of unwanted consciousness. Skip was Julia, forgotten in my almost days, and graduation, and that old maybe, and while a man’s health could run out he could never run out of the things he’d never had.
And I, the slow-time me, the real one, had never had any of that.
I hoped Julia had been on Skip when it happened—
When I killed her.
Blink, and she might have missed it.
I opened all the bottles and poured them down my throat. The door crashed open and police burst in; guns and flashlights and shouts.
Blink and I missed them.
Blink and there was the court date, the guilty plea.
Blink and there was prison, and a lifetime of Skip ahead, still surging through my system in endless waves of quick-time.
Blink and I’m on the yard.
Blink and I’m in my bunk.
Blink and I’m old.
Blink until I don’t see the cat faces or the blood, that oil slick of hair.
Blink, and I missed her.
Blink, and I missed me.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TurningtoWords | *Trial drug #350 "Skip". Patient: Lawrence Stanton*
As per Dr. Randall's instruction, Larry took 2 of the experimental drugs and swallowed the red pills dry.
Sitting by his office cubicle, Larry closed his eyes and let the drug took effect, taking hiz mind down a swirling whirlpool of calmness and relaxation.
"Lar? Hey, Larry, earth to Larry!", an echoing voice brought Larry back to his conscious mind. Shaking his buzz off, he met the stare of his manager, Eric.
"Huh, what?", Larry muttered, hadn't yet gathered himself fully.
"It's 30 minutes past 5, bud. Are you doing overtime today?", Eric asked.
"Uhm uh...", Larry mumbled, looking at the clock. True enough, it showed the time to be 5:32 pm.
"Uh no, actually. I'm just about to finish here", Larry answered, gathering all the paper strewn about on his desk.
"Okay. I'm off then. See you tomorrow", Eric waved Larry off.
"See you tomorrow", Larry replied.
Checking his work, Larry smiled as once more his work was quite done without him having to put up any effort into it.
"Oh, hey Lar--", Eric stopped and turned to Larry. "I don't mind really, since you finished your work for the day pretty quickly. But your antics today was quite bothersome to the others..."
Larry frowned. "What antics?"
"You know, you were running and yelling around the office like you were a baseball player? It was funny, not gonna lie, but try to keep it to a minimum, okay?"
"Uh...o-kay...", Larry nodded.
Not knowing or remembering what happened during the skip was one of the side effects mentioned by Dr. Randall, the researcher that gave Larry the Skip drug. But he never mentioned anything about being a baseball player...
Larry contemplated during his drive home, whether he should go to the good doctor to consult.
"Eh, it's not hurting anyone, is it?", Larry shrugged as he pulled into his apartment.
///
"Alright, Skip, do your magic", Larry once more swallowed 2 pills the next morning, ready to skip another boeing day of work.
Larry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The intense feeling if relaxation overwhelmed him and Larry opened his eyes...
Still sitting within the confine of his cubicle, Larry was awoken in an empty office. The sound of typing and people chattering was gone...
"What the...?", Larry stood and looked around. "Hello...?", he yelled.
His voice attracted something as suddenly the sound of growling and gnashing of teeth was heard. It was Eric, and along with him were a few of Larry's other co-workers, dragging their rotting bodies, their limbs falling apart, hungry for fresh flesh-- zombies, actual walking dead made their way to Larry.
Larry was stunned, his eyes wide in disbelief...
"Guys...what is going on...?", he asked but the zombies didn't answer as they got closer and closer, boxing Larry from multiple sides, blocking his path to the exit.
Larry cautiously approached zombie Eric, still thinking it was some kind of a joke.
"Guys, come on. Knock it off!", Larry said, shaking Eric by his shoulder when suddenly it sank its rotting teeth on Larry's forearm.
"AHHH!", Larry yelped in pain and pulled his arm back, missing a chunk of flesh.
Realizing it was not a joke, Larry ran away. Unable to reach the exit, he ran to the kitchen as more and more zombies emerged from their hiding spots, alerted by Larry's scream of pain.
Fortunately, the zombies were slow moving and Larry managed to get to the kitchen. As the disgusting growls became closer and closer, Larry grabbed a kitchen knife from the drawer to arm himself and he backed away onto a corner, ready to defend himself...
"Braaaains...", zombie Eric, leading the rest of them finally arrived at the kitchen.
"Back away! Back away!", Larry brandished the knife but the zombies didn't heed his warning.
"This is a dream. This is just a dream...this is just a dream!", Larry told himself repeatedly.
As his fight or flight instinct kicked in, Larry let out a loud roar and he started slashing and stabbing the zombies.
One after the other, the undead fell on the floor as Larry slashed his way back to the main office floor.
More zombies awaited him on the office floor and quickly Larry dispatched as many as he could.
"ARGH!", Larry yelped as he felt a painful bite on his shoulder. Swiftly turning, Larry slashed the zombies behind him, creating a large bloody gash on its neck.
Shower of warm blood splashed Larry on his face and it brought a clear thought to Larry...
"Wait...since when do zombies bleed?", Larry thought to himself.
Shaking his buzz off, Larry looked around him and the scene he was standing in the middle of was nothing but a bloody massacre.
There was no zombie anymore, instead Larry's co-workers were lying dead all around him with slashing and stabbing marks on their bodies...
A woman's scream shook Larry and he looked up. The still surviving co-workers stared at him in fright.
Larry, unconsciously still gripping on the knife tightly finally comprehend the situation. In terror he screamed, dropping the knife in disgust.
"What happened?! What happened?!", Larry yelled to no answer.
"Joan, what happened?!", Larry asked a co-worker of his.
"Get away from me, you monster!", she screamed at the confused Larry.
Meeting the same expressions on the others, Larry ran to the exit, straight to the parking lot. Still drenched in blood, he stepped on the gas and drove quickly out of there...
"What the hell...? What the hell...?", Larry repeated again and again when it dawned on him.
"The drug", his eyes widened.
Quickly Larry drove his car to the research place, to Dr. Randall...
More screaming followed as the blood-soaked Larry stomped into the research place, yelling for Dr. Randall.
"Mr. Stanton?! What is going on?", Dr. Randall finally showed up.
"You tell me! You did this to me!", Larry grabbed the doctor by his collar. "What's happening to me?!"
In almost incomprehensible yelling, Larry explained what he experienced to the doctor and a visible expression of knowing and terror washed over him, which wasn't missed by Larry.
"What?! What is going on?", Larry screamed.
"The drug, Skip...it's, it's not really a drug that allows you to skip time. It's uh...it's a drug that allows your consciousness to be transported to an alternate reality..."
Larry let go of the doctor's collar. "Wh-what are you saying then...?"
"The world of zombies...that was a real world existing in a parallel universe where your consciousness was transported into...", the doctor gulped.
"The unprecedented side effect however, was your body in this reality still follows the movement of your consciousness in the other reality..."
Larry's legs suddenly became weak and his body limp. Dropping to the floor he sobbed as he just realized the reality...that he murdered his innocent co-workers.
Larry, broken and devastated, could do nothing but blaming himself as quickly, flashes of red and blue light arrived outside of the research place.
r/HangryWritey
Edit: a word | 2021-11-26T17:17:11 | 2021-11-26T15:03:08 | 805 | 71 |
[WP] Everyone with the same name shares knowledge. If one Bob gets a degree in electrical engineering, then all Bob's have this knowledge readily available. Soon, everyone starts naming their kids similar names until factions form. Your parents rebelled and named you something original. | Today, I was told of the Nameshare. Its cause is unknown. Its precise mechanics are unknown. It started in the spring of the year 2017, and transformed human society within a generation. Somehow, it granted every human with the same given name a shared pool of memories. Nothing was exempt. Every name ceased to signify an individual, and began to signify a collective.
I wasn't given the exact statistics, since they didn't matter. I was just given a handful of examples. At the time the Nameshare began, there were nearly five million Jameses in the United States alone. The Johns, Roberts, and Michaels were not far behind. Women had more variation, but still easily numbered in the millions for their most common. I had trouble imagining it. Five million people, all suddenly sharing every memory. Individuals from all walks of life were suddenly fused into a single mind with countless, teeming bodies.
There was a war, briefly. It was a strange war, which had little regard for national, or even geographic borders. Several Names were xenophobic or fanatical enough to declare themselves the one True Name, and attempted to exterminate the so-called pretenders, the false Names. This hit the least common Names the hardest, with their lack of bodies and pooled knowledge. Names with less than a million bodies went almost entirely extinct. Amazingly, weapons of mass destruction were never deployed, as local infighting took precedent over targeting foreign Names, and by the time the infighting died down, so had general warmongering among all Names.
All traditional governments collapsed, replaced by communities of equals. After all, what need is there for democracy when there are only a few dozen actual citizens? Even if those citizens occupy a few million bodies. The primary concerns of society ceased to be money, power or status. Instead, reproductive negotiations and the trade of foreign goods became the major points of discussion between Names. How many children should a given male and female Name produce, and what Names should they be given in turn? For a time, another war seemed likely, as debates raged over allowing the next generation of children to be given sex-opposite names. Was it worth Mary losing her negotiating power by consenting to have some of the female babies named Michael? Even if Michael had some of the males named Mary?
In the end, the community gave in to their collective desire to avoid needless loss of bodies, and the next generation saw each Name of note having bodies of both sexes, allowing for reproduction internally. Overcoming this hurdle seemed to give the Name societies the confidence to face those the followed, and they enjoyed a time pf peace and prosperity. This, in turn, enabled a renewed interest in space travel, as no Name wished to spend the rest of its (now seemingly infinite) life sharing a single planet with its siblings. It took only a few short decades before each Name was sending out colony ships, containing a breeding population of its bodies, out to a different planet.
And it was roughly in this manner the next several thousand years passed.
My name is Beginning. I was born in the year 5315 AD. No one else in the universe has my name. I know, because I have but one body. I was given my name as part of a joint experiment between Robert and John, in an attempt to, in their words, "investigate and evaluate the experience of an individual existence with the changed perspective gained from the past millennia of Named society." I do not entirely understand it, but they tell me this is normal.
It is strange, being so small and alone. John and Robert maintain constant contact with every other Name, thanks to the embassies each Name has on one of each other Name's planets. They each have a billion pairs of hands, of eyes. They are always teeming. I am just one pair or eyes, grasping at the world with one pair of hands. If I am not allowed to reproduce, not allowed to give my Name to a new body, then I will die. Robert and John will not die until the galaxy does. Maybe not even then. I do not want to leave them. I do not want them to leave me behind. | Day 1:
Our Rebellion outpost has been destroyed. All that I have known as my life, is gone. The Others burned our books and our homes. They attacked our elders and are now hunting down those that managed to escape. I barely made it out of there in time. My parents and sisters are being taken to renaming camps. I don't have much time to get to them before they are forced to be like everyone else. I have seen what renaming camps do to your loved ones. It changes them, makes them like strangers. Teaches them to be followers and not leaders. They learn what the Others have learned before them. It changes their feelings and ideas. Their original memories are erased. Their opinions become all the same.They no longer can think for themselves.
We were taught by the elders that people that can't think for themselves are weak.
I have made camp for the night. Following the Others hasn't been difficult. They do not know I am coming. They are too wrapped up in their past learning to pay attention to the present. They will never see me approach. They will not have time to react when I attack. Their only defense is the hive mentality. Hives don't work well when separated from each other. I will take them out one at a time. It should not take long.
Being different makes me stronger and faster. Where they learn by birth, I learn by practice. I learn their skills and my own. I can both use daggers and swords. I am proficient in both hand to hand combat and tracking. I am literate and able to speak several different languages. Learning on my own has made me avoid the pitfalls of learning only one way, as the others have done. They don't even realize that they are limited.
That is fine with me. I will not lose my family to them. Their weakness is my gain. They can not control our world forever and when they slip up in their learning the Rebellion will be there. I will be there. By the time I am finished with them they will learn something they have never seen before. They will learn fear....and I will revel in it.
I must rest now, for tomorrow I will wash my hands with the blood of the Others and reclaim my family for I am not one of them. I am the Alpha. I am the Omega. I am different. My name is Unspoken.
Edit:forgot a word
| 2017-04-07T11:50:50 | 2017-04-07T11:07:55 | 28 | 15 |
[WP] While taking a shower, you become very light headed, and your vision begins to blur. You awaken tied to a bed, surrounded by panicking doctors trying to hold you down. One of them yells, "Put him back under!" as they inject you with something. The next thing you know, you're back in the shower. | I turned the water off and stared at the white tiles in front of me.
*Did that just happen?*
It seemed so real, but maybe it was just the alcohol I’d had to cope, or that pill I’d taken to keep me going. Or maybe it had something to do with it being 4am in the morning and I haven’t slept in 36 hours. I couldn’t help that of course, I had to finish the job. I managed it in the end, but it was bloody and I already knew there’d be consequences.
I started drying myself off and then my phone rang. For some reason I’d been holding it while I was in the shower, and for some reason it still worked. I answered. It was my dad.
“Oh Matty, we left home as soon as we heard,” he said with a worried voice.
“Why? What’s the problem?” I replied, confused by his tone.
He ignored my questions.
“You look after yourself Matty, we’re not going anywhere,” he said, “here’s your mother.”
“Hello Matthew,” she said through tears.
“Hi mum, look everything’s fine. I better go, gotta get my eight hours,” I said before the line went dead.
When I got out of the shower and made it to my bed I lay back and stretched out. Within a minute, I was asleep.
And then awake.
Awake somewhere else. I tried to open my eyes, but couldn’t. I tried to move my head, but couldn’t. Something was jammed down my throat. I could hear a regular beeping coming from somewhere nearby.
I tried to move my arm.
“Matty, you moved! You’re awake! Just rest Matty, don’t worry about a thing. I’m here now,” it was my dad, speaking with a soothing voice.
Shit, I thought, I must be in hospital. But what happened? I don’t recall anything. The only thing I can recall is being in the shower. Wait, no, I do remember something else. I remember being held down. And I remember my parents calling me in the shower. None of this made sense.
I tried to ask my dad but the thing jammed in my throat stopped me from speaking.
Then I heard another voice. An older man who must be speaking to my dad.
“Mr Klinsky, is it?”
“Ah, yeah, I’m Matt’s dad.”
“Good to meet you. Have they given you an update yet?”
“No, no one’s told us anything, we don’t even know where we are if I’m honest with you Doc,” my dad said with a hint of fear in his voice.
“Unfortunately the location of our facility is classified, so I can’t help you with that. What I can do is give you a bit of an update on Matthew’s situation.”
“That’s great, anything you can tell us would be appreciated.”
“Yes, well Matthew signed up for our programme six months ago. Unfortunately once again, the programme is also classified, so I can't go into details. What I can say is that during the course of the programme Matthew took something that effectively kept him isolated for a number of days. He was on his own in the wild, so to speak, and we couldn’t retrieve him. We had to intervene to bring him back, but unfortunately that has resulted in some complications.”
“Complications? Will any be permanent?” Dad interrupted.
“Look we don’t know at this stage, we had to give him something that removed his recent memories, but with time they should come back. Physically though, we expect him to recover. What I can say is that Matthew has been working on something very valuable to the Government and you should be proud of what he’s done, but I must remind you that even disclosing that to anyone else is a criminal offence.”
“But Doc, I don’t understand. This is just a sleep research facility, why is all this so classified?”
I heard the words *sleep research facility* and broken memories of the past raced back to me.
The door to door salesman selling books about lucid dreaming at the end of last year.
The man in the black suit bumping into me in the supermarket for a chat.
Signing the fifty page contract with that woman smiling at me.
Arriving at the facility surrounded by machine guns.
Learning how it all worked.
My first mission.
The truth.
I wanted to scream out, to tell dad to run and get as far away from here as possible. But the tube down my throat stopped me letting out even a groan.
“Can I get you a cup of tea Mr Klinsky?” The older man asked politely. | I gripped the slippery soap in my weak hands.
The blood had disappeared from my chest, and my breathing resumed to normal.
I could faintly hear murmurs in my head, ramblings of strangers.
"What... what the fuck is happening to me," I said into the soap bar.
I reached up and grabbed the towel over the rack. Flipped off the shower, and the stream ebbed.
I tore over the shower curtain, and my jaw dropped.
The whole space was blocked off by a craggy brick wall.
"Go through, space man," a voice called.
I knocked at the brick. "Idiot... this isn't a front door."
I stood in a pool of lukewarm water as I pondered my situation.
What do you do, where you're stuck in a shower surrounded by brick?
I swirled my head in circles in a futile attempt to understand.
Then I suddenly awoke in a hospital, surrounded by surgeons.
"Put him back under, hurry!"
Black again.
I awoke in a bathroom, sitting atop a toilet. I looked into the toilet, and the seat was sealed with bricks.
And fuck me, I had to piss like a racehorse.
I checked the sink, and it was covered with bricks as well.
Black. White.
I awoke in the hospital again.
The surgeon uncovered his face, and his head was a giant brick.
"Brk, brk brk brk," the brick man said.
"what the–"
Black.
I wake up in the bathroom again, and the walls are made of surgeons, doing various surgeries, backs all turned away from me.
I tapped on one of the surgeon's backs, and he hushed me, returning immediately to his operation.
I said screw it, and jumped into the wall of surgeons, and awoke in a hospital room... a normal, ordinary sort of room. My girlfriend sat in a chair, snoring softly.
"Cass... Cassy?" I mumbled.
"Mark! You're awake!" Cassy said.
"What happened? What..."
"You choked on your food last night. The surgeons had to operate to get you back. We weren't sure if you'd wake up. You were unconscious for a long time."
I exhaled deeply, and felt my chest. A sore feeling burned over my skin.
"Glad to be back. What did they give me?"
"Give you?" Cassy asked.
"Must have been some crazy ass gas."
"No, I'm not sure. You look tired, Mark."
"Yeah... But I don't wanna sleep. Not for a long while."
Cassy grinned. "I can keep you up for a while."
I nodded. "I hope it's long enough."
"Long enough?"
"To get the nightmare images outta my mind."
"How do you know you're not dreaming now?"
"Because... I'm not sure."
"Can you ever really be sure?"
"No. I guess that's the funny part about life."
"Very funny."
I held Cassy's hand, and squeezed. This may be a dream, but at least I had a good partner to dream with. | 2019-07-26T14:23:18 | 2019-07-26T13:22:44 | 125 | 54 |
[WP] You receive a text from an unknown number in the middle of the night saying "Whatever you do, don't leave your room" | "Wubbalubbadubdub"
I groped for my phone on my nightstand. Who the hell is texting me at this time of night?
"I swear if James is out sick again..."
I looked at my phone and saw the message: Whatever you do don't leave your room.
It was from an unfamiliar number. I tried to reply with: "Damn Gary, stop trying to mess with me. It's late and I have worked some long ass hours this week" but I had ran out of credit the day before.
Gary is my roommate and we had just been watching the Hannibal series together. He knows that I get a little jumpy after watching horrors. He even went so far as to buy portable speakers and hide them around the house after we watched poltergeist together. Bastard.
I figured that as long as I was up I may as well go get a drink and relieve myself. As I reached for my door handle I heard some thumping and some hushed whispers coming from the other side. All the hairs on my neck stood on end and my neck muscles tightened and shook involuntarily.
"I'll wait until morning" I thought to myself.
I slept fitfully through the rest of the night. When morning came I groggily walked to the bathroom and relieved myself. As I walked down the hallway towards the kitchen I noticed that there were some red stains on the floor.
"Gary, for the love of god man get off the red wine if your just going to spill it everywhere after half a bottle. Lightweight." I yelled through his door as I passed it.
It wasn't until I entered our lounge room that I noticed Gary looking a little haunted with a bucket and brush frantically scrubbing the floor.
He turned to me like a deer in the headlights as I walked in and guiltily said," I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen."
"Mean for what to happen?"
"The girl I brought home last night, she..."
"Gaz, what happened?"
"She had her period and ran out. Leaked like a faucet. I sent you a text from my new phone, I thought I would have it clean by now."
Edit: for clarity and got rid of my drunken comma horrors. | The bright glare of the screen hurt my eyes. I blinked a few times, wiping the sleep from my eyes, and reread the cryptic message.
Then I heard strange, irregular footsteps, shambling towards my door. There was a deep, methodical, '*knock, knock, knock.*'
"Dear? It's your mom. Please open the door. I need to see you."
I pulled the covers over my head.
"Please dear. They're coming. Please. *I need you.*"
Then the screaming started, and I tore at my face, trying to wake from this living nightmare.
My mother had been dead for years. | 2016-07-26T05:21:59 | 2016-07-26T03:16:17 | 78 | 27 |
[WP] Everybody has the ability to bring another person back to life, at the cost of their own life. You are a suicidal celebrity who can't stay dead because of fans constantly sacrificing their lives to resurrect you. | My suicides started when my mother died.
For years, I've been known world-wide for my music. As a songwriter, I use my complex lexicon to bring to life very real, very private experiences in most people's lives. My lyrics evoke tears of pain, mostly, from those who have suffered significant loss or regret. I don't particularly enjoy it anymore, but it's what I must do. I rely on my adoring fans.
Some would call me sick and twisted, if they knew what I've been doing. I've been called a psychopath by my own sister. Nothing, however, will change me... Except a permanent death.
When my mother died of cancer, I had just released my first album. My music then was popular amongst the depressed population purely by coincidence. But once I killed myself to bring my mother back and came back to life rather quickly, I realized I could capitalize on my fame at the expense of my now target audience. Everyone I ever loved... My uncle, my grandmother, my best friend... Could once again join me.
And so I started putting all of my heart and soul into my work. I wrote songs that would strike severe depression in the hearts of those who held on to a sliver of hope, and I wrote more songs that would lead those people to an end. And then I gave them reason to do it quickly.
"This one is for you, Uncle Drake," I said, smiling as I jumped off the building. An hour later, I awoke in my hospital bed, the TV broadcasting the breaking story of how a teenager committed suicide to bring back her idol.
A few days later, I shot myself for Grandmama.
Weeks later, I hung myself for my recently deceased grandfather (heart attack from the shock of seeing my grandma alive again).
Months went by, and I brought back everyone who meant something to me, and no one questioned my motives. My lyrics were so sad, everyone assumed I was simply depressed. And so I wrote, releasing a total of twenty-four albums and reviving everyone I wanted... Needed to see again.
As I woke up in a hospital again, this time after bringing back my friend, I heard the newscaster on the television. "Parents are concerned about a new social media movement among teens and young adults called, 'Hashtag, die for Dani,' where supporters of the movement commit suicide for the music idol, Dani DiLaura. Reporters say fans of Dani enjoy her music because of the relatable lyrics and strong, emotion-evoking messages. More suicides have been committed on her behalf than any other celebrity, as she continues to kill herself multiple times a year. Professionals are asking whether she wants to live or..."
"Dani."
I turned my head and saw my sister enter the room.
"You need to stop this. Hundreds of people have died for you, and for what? Your own selfish game where you lure people to suicide so you can guarantee your life after death?"
Laughing, I looked back to the television and answered, "If you're so concerned, bring them back to life. I have plenty of fans to spare on our behalf."
"You better never use one of them to bring me back, Dani. Stop this madness now, before I..."
"Before you what? Kill me?"
And so I laughed again, turning up the television as my sister walked out. "Who's next?" | Irony doesn't apply to my predicament, anymore. I feel like I have transcended irony. Is that even possible, since the act of transcending irony would sort of be ironic? I don't know. All I do know is that, now that I have self-professedly transcended irony, tragedy is a more fitting epithet to place on my life.
If you ever find out that you have become a celebrity never do what I did, I beseech you, which was to kill myself. Because, due to that silly "gift" that Death bestowed upon us, the one that allows anyone to grant you your spent life back at the cost of theirs, a never-ending procession of self-sacrificing, egotistical megalomaniacs will hear that you chose to check out, and then they will band together to perpetually curse you with a miserable, never-ending, desperately hopeless life. All because they're too stupid to make their own music, and too vain to enjoy carrying out a suicide that doesn't involve reincarnating someone else.
Of all my suicides, which are so innumerable that my math skills fail me in being able to count them, I have not once decided to bring someone else back to life. Not even someone whose death was tragic. That would feel selfish, to me, because how are you supposed to know if that person wants to come back? I tweet all the time, "don't you dare bring me back you motherfuckers." But I think that's part of the reason why people love doing it. It seems that my existence has become a sick joke, to everyone, except me. | 2016-07-06T21:54:49 | 2016-07-06T18:00:08 | 423 | 30 |
[WP] Everyone in the world suddenly got superpowers overnight. People started throwing fireballs and flying as more and more humans discovered what their power was. You just recently discovered yours. You can quicksave and quickload. | It was complete chaos. Anarchy unfolded all around the world. That day really changed the perspective of human nature. Many people who even had the slightest desires abused their powers. They would rob banks, Flip cars, Burglarize and rape families in their own homes. There were a lot of deaths. Especially the first group of Justice Seekers. Most of the ones who discovered their powers early on became power Abusers. They thought they were unstoppable and with their power, every one of their desires could be fulfilled.
A small handful maintained their humanity and took justice into their own hands, but there were far too many Abusers. The Abusers would seek out and squash out any Justice Seekers immediately to deter any other people thinking of rising up against them. The scenes on T.V. broadcasting the Abusers were horrific. Every day and night there would be news of arsony, robberies, murders, rape. These scenes gave more courage, thus more power to those who were still finding their power. As more and more folks start finding their power, eventually the number of Justice Seekers outgrew the number of Abusers.
It has been almost 3 years since the Day of Evolution. Almost everyone in the world has a power, and all of them are registered. All except me and a very few handfuls around this world. The Ability Registration Agency kept me in a cozy room for a week now. They've been interrogating me with a mind reader, one of the very few ones in this world, all hired by the similar agency around the world for such things. Today is supposed to be the day they release me. I have relived this week for about 4 years for me now, convincing the mind reader I do not have any powers.
So how am I reliving a single week for 4 years? Time travel you guess? Not really. I wish it was like that. Many times I wish I could go back much farther. It's more like returning to a checkpoint in life that I set. I can only place one checkpoint at time in my life. Once I change the checkpoint I can't go back to previous ones. I try not to set my checkpoints too recent unless I have to, just in case. I try not to use it for petty nonsense. Doing these are risky, brings attention to the Agency if I become witty and suddenly have a severe case of good luck. I mainly use my power to avoid severe injury, death, or getting found out.
Today isn't the first time I got to the end of the week and been released actually. I've done it probably about 20 times now. So why? I'm mastering the art of hiding my thoughts. I want to master it so well that I will subconsciously block out the thoughts of my powers, should they decide to send a mind reader to follow me. I want to master convincing them so well that there is nothing suspicious about me. I think that this is the time now. The time I feel I'm ready to go back into the world. The mind reader comes into my room, hands me all my belongings, and reads from a letter that I am to be released because not only they cannot hold me more than a week by law, not only can they find no evidence of me having a special power, but that they are officially registering me as a non-powered being. This means that everyone in the Agency is convinced I truly don't have a power and no close watch will be kept on me, this means I will never be bothered.
The mind reader extends his hands out for a shake. He "congratulated" me and apologized for the inconvenience. He hands me a yellow envelope that he says is compensation from the Agency for my time plus a bonus. I thank him and put on my jacket, as I walk over to the door he calls out to me "Mr. Chanderson, I've grown onto you this past week. Join me sometime." He says this with an unfamiliar thus unsettling smirk. I said nothing to him, just nodded and walked out the door. I get home, opened up the envelope to count the money. I find a piece of paper in the middle of the bills, I open it to read:
>"Welcome to the New Abusers."
Well, shit. | I've decided to write something because I don't believe everyone here sees the absurdity of such an ability
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The world had shifted in a way that was unexpected. As if the abnormalities of our technology was not enough, our species gained the use of superpowers. What was once the impossible, well you know how it goes.
Some people got generic abilities like super strength, invulnerability, pyromancy, flight. I got something a bit better, the ability to quick-save and quick-load. Now, this does not sound like an incredibly broken ability, but when you play video games all your life you learn how to take advantage of what you're given, especially when you know what was about to happen.
My name is Tim, it had been a few weeks after super powers had been discovered. I had decided to use my talents to catch criminals using their powers for bad purposes. I primarily went undercover, fake aliases mingling with the wrong crowd. In this new era, people felt especially confident in themselves and I knew just how to take advantage of that. But sometimes things get a little scrappy and that's when my ability comes in handy.
An explosion rips forward on the second story of a building as a bloody man is blown back, hitting the ground and rolling to a stop. He coughs.... "load save 2".
Time rewinds itself quickly, the man flew from his position, back into the building as it reconstructs itself. He came back to his position, where he was just finishing landing a punch.
"Surrender, you're outclassed," I said as the man recoiled back.
The other man laughed and replied back, "For someone with no ability, that's a funny thing to say."
I tucked back, moved left quick, thinking to myself 'quick-save 3' as I then moved to charge.
He focused himself and snapped his finger, an explosion ripping to where I just was.
'He can't blow himself up' I thought to myself as I approached him.
He snapped his fingers again to make an explosion right above me, 'load quick save 3'. This time I dodged right.
I got on top of him and began my special move. Quick Annihilation. I began to rapidly save and load my game as I tried at my very human limit to prevent any attack he could launch at me while delivering a devestating combo. 'If I had a high tech robot this would work better' I thought.
I finished my combo and the man fell back unconscience.
I stopped and sighed flipping him over and placing handcuffs on him. I sighed, "To think this took 25 tries, not bad criminal."
Fin. | 2019-06-30T11:55:25 | 2019-06-30T10:44:39 | 40 | 13 |
[WP] when you die, every time someone thinks of you, you get a signal telling you that you have been just remembered. Everyone around you gets a couple of signals every day. You passed away a year ago. Still nothing. |
"I just dont get it man" said Jim. I sit here all damn day and not one notification!" Slamming his Iheaven onto the table. "Jesus.. I mean Jim stop it… it ain't broke" said Einstein grabbing his hand.
"It has to be! Its been a whole year! Why does hitler over there get a notification after .5 seconds while I cant even get half of one!? He started a whole world war for fucks sake!"
"Calm down… nothing in the rules that say you had to be good… just thought of… even if your one of the most hated men I suppose." Einstein shrugged looking at his notifications. "OOO look at this a whole class room is talki-" Jim glared at him and sighed. "Sorry. I get carried away sometimes."
"I WOULDN'T KNOW! "
"What exactly did you do for the 30 years you were on earth anyway? " asked Einstein.
"Well... before the car wreck…. I did.. stuff. You know school."
"No one thinks about you cause you went to school… unless your me said Einstein. "Creating the Atomic bomb and all that. Anyway after high school?"
"I mean… i didn't have alot of choices ya know? Jim shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Wasn't sure what I wanted to do. So I did computer stuff until I figured it out" waving his through the air.
Einstein leaned over with his chin resting on his hands. "Like what computer stuff? Java? You build those app thingies you folks make these days?"
"No I played….a game..."
"A game?"
"Yea it was called world of warcraft."
"Wait wait wait… I know that game. Your telling me all you did after high school was play World of Wacraft until you were 30 and the one time you get out of the house you get yourself killed? HAH!" he said laughing hysterically.
"Shutup. I did great things in that game! Servers first level 70! First raid finish! Why don't they remember me?"
"Aint nobody gonna remember ya under a game alias. Iheaven is set for Jim not whatever orc thing you played as in a virtual world."
"Wait thats it!!" said Jim excitingly. "Whats what?" Jim was already jamming away on his Iheaven "lets see here…settings….profile…."
"What are you doing?"
"Im not Jim… it shouldn't be set to Jim… I am known as… Blazeitorc420"
"You have to be kiddi-" Jims Iheaven lit up blipping away…blip.. blip.. "It worked! Ive had over a million hits already!"
"I should post this on reddit!"
| Nothingness. That's all I felt. Was I so unwanted? It felt like a lifetime ago since I jumped, thinking everyone would be better off, apparently they are.
The only thing I have here is the small light that blink off in the distance, It keeps getting brighter. Only thing I can think is that's where we all go after this. I've heard about this place, how you get pinged when when you're thought about. I have been lonely here, maybe when the light gets to me it'll be better.
"Sir, your brother has been in a coma for almost a year now. The odds of him ever waking up only get slimmer. We'll never know if he will wake up."
"I understand, but you've said his brain activity has been improving! There has to be something, Roger already lost his mother, I can't willingly unplug his father knowing there's a chance!"
"Yes, but it's only ever slight improvement. Nothing that suggests cognitive function ever returning."
"Just, let us have some more time"
My first prompt, improvements? let me know! Hopefully made something worthreading! | 2016-11-20T13:11:31 | 2016-11-20T08:19:44 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] Abstinence-only education just means that teenagers are going to experiment by themselves and get hurt. The power of dark magic is all too tempting in today's stressful society, vote yes on giving our children comprehensive hex education. | "Everyone, put your wands away and sit down!" the gruff teacher bellowed, as 20 young magicians all found their seats and gradually quietened down. There was a growing excitement in the air.
"Now, any jokes in poor taste will get you Wingardium Levio'sent out the goddamn window, I assure you," the teacher continued. "This is a serious class, and I will not tolerate disruption."
The students rolled their eyes. They were already teenagers, and considered themselves more than ready to learn about the mysteries of the Dark Arts.
He lifted up a heavy chest with a grunt, dropping it onto the table in the middle of the classroom. He patted it thoughtfully. "Can anyone guess what's inside?"
Some timid hands raised, and he stared at them sternly. "The correct answer is *you do not want to know*. This is something that would happily eat you for breakfast, although it'll make sure you're alive to see it. The Dark Arts are a terrible, terrible form of magic - but they are also necessary, unfortunately."
The chest suddenly lurched forward, and he grabbed it with both hands. The students recoiled back in shock.
It struggled against his grip, and he raised his voice over the noise. "What kind of spell would you recommend using against this?" he asked the class.
"Avada Ked-" one of the braver students began to say.
"NO!" the teacher roared, pointing a stern finger at him. "Even when the situation is dire, you must not resort to the worst. Who knows who or what you might hit, least of all yourself. No, you'd want something to constrict it, something painful but not deadly. Crucio would not be unwelcome, but there are plenty more spells that would be more efficient. Now, I hope I remembered to lock it..."
Suddenly the chest burst open, a small yet fearsome creature leaping from its confines. Every single student screamed loud enough to make the windows rattle.
The teacher bellowed in laughter, clutching his stomach, shaking from the exertion. "Thank you, Falpey, that will be all," he told the costumed house elf, who nodded with a grin and left the classroom, dragging the chest behind it.
The classroom was silent except for the final few guffaws of laughter from the teacher.
"My apologies, class," he said, wiping the tears from his face, "just my little way of welcoming you to Hex Education."
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | A man sat on a chair, coughing into his hand as he read from a book of spells, "Ah, hello, wizard and wizardlings. My name is Kaledo'oun Ivurian, and I'm here with an important message from the Mage's Guild of America."
He'd once again cough into his hand, licking his finger and flipping the page on his tomes, "Hex. Parents, Guardians, and Familiars understandably want to protect our youth from teen curses, but hiding or keeping negative stigma on the dark arts will only result in a lack of knowledge." He'd cough once more, a spittle of black goo coming out of his mouth. The man would pause before taking a handkerchief, wiping his lips with it, "In the new generation of spellcasters, curses laid upon others by rivals, practicing magicians, and even jokes by friends are at an all-time high. It is our duty as the elder magi to teach the wizards below us how to practice safe Hex. So please, vote yes for hex education." | 2018-07-17T15:59:38 | 2018-07-17T13:32:53 | 1,732 | 79 |
[WP] Foreshadow the character's death so subtly that I still don't see it coming even though I requested it. | The cruiser pulled up to the curb in front of a crumbling townhouse that looked like it was only still standing because it was propped up by its neighbors. Broken shards of glass were falling out of the splintered wooden frames, and the red bricks had turned to a dull brown under a layer of soot and filth. This place had seen better days. And from the shouting emanating from the open door, so had this relationship.
A woman passed in front of a window, and I noticed a bleeding cut across her forehead. Great. Another standard domestic dispute, my *absolute favorite*. I've been wearing the uniform for decades now, and these types of encounter *always* end the same. But with any luck, this would be my last. I'm ready to hang up my hat and retire. Maybe move down to a beach in Mexico. No more dispatch calls, no more lights and sirens, no more violence... just solitude.
"Oh, fuck you!" the man shouted as I climbed out of my car and he caught sight of me. "Look what you did!" The woman sobbed in the background as I climbed up the steps. "Someone called the cops."
I walked through the unlocked door and into the house. First thing I noticed was a half-empty bottle on the table. The cheap stuff, the kind better used as a cleaning product than an intoxicant. The man's inability to stand in one spot without swaying told me where the other half of the amber liquid had gone.
"You're not allowed to just walk in here!" he shouted at me. "You need a warrant, man!"
"Did he hurt you?" I asked the woman half-cowering behind the living room couch. She brushed her hair unconsciously over the wound on her forehead, and rubbed the bruises on her arm like they were smudges of dirt that could just come off. Of course he had hurt her, but I needed to ask.
"Don't you answer!" he shouted, pointing a bony finger at her across the room. "You don't have to answer anything! We want a lawyer!"
"Shut up," I told him, "Or I will *shut you up*." My hand strayed to my hip menacingly and I turned back to his wife.
"Ma'am, what did he do? You can tell me."
She stifled a sob and stayed silent.
"Just tell me what happened, and we can make sure he never hurts you again."
She clutched a pillow to her chest like a shield and bit her lip. "He... he did hit me," she confessed in a barely audible whisper.
"You bitch!" he yelled, pacing back and forth in the doorway and eying my gun. "Don't lie to him!"
"He does it all the time!" she shouted back.
"Good enough for me," I told her. I turned back to her husband and shot him twice in the chest.
There was a stunned silence in the room. He stared down at the red stain rippling across his already-dirty shirt. His lips quivered like he was trying to say something.
I pressed the guns into her shaking hands. "This was self defense," I coached her. "I was never here, and he came at you with this." From my pocket, I produced a menacing-looking hunting knife with a grim serrated edge. I crossed the room to the body slumped against the wall and arranged his fingers on the grip to ensure that his prints stuck. "It's his gun, and you don't know where he got it, right?" There was no serial number, and I had made sure it couldn't be traced.
She nodded, still in shock. "You... you're a cop?"
"No," I told her. It was true; the uniform was just an easy way to get through the door. "I'm no one."
With that, I retreated to my car and drove off just as flashing blue and red lights rounded the corner. Adrenaline was pulsing through my veins, and I couldn't contain the grin spreading across my face. Maybe I wasn't ready to retire just yet. | Lucas focused the scope of his riffle, aimed at the head of no other than the famous Maria Rios.
He smirked. It was lucky day, no doubt. The women’s activist may have been gaining a large following across the world but like most things, enemies came with the territory. Powerful enemies – the kind who would pay nicely for a bullet in her skull. Discreetly, of course.
But she knew the costs of her power. Lucas could only hope she would be aware of the consequences. Not that he actually cared. As long as he did what he was contracted for, he still got paid.
Lucas adjusted slightly to the left when a rogue wind rushed by him. He glanced up at the sky, frowning. It was dark, a grey blob rolling and growling in a hypnotic dance, as if to protest his job. The first plump drop of rain landed by his side. Sighing, Lucas looked back into his scope.
Bad weather wouldn’t stop him. He had been trained to operate in all sorts of weather – a small thunderstorm the least of his worries. When it began hailing and a hurricane ripped across the city, then he would be worried. And even then, he would still make sure to get the job done. Assassins have bills to pay, too.
On the other side of the scope, Maria stood waiting for her death. It almost seemed poetic. She would die doing what she loved, giving a speech of the inequalities of gender politics in her native country of Honduras. In way, she would be like the next King or Ghandi. But of course, good people always die young.
The clouds growled again, shaking the earth. A streak of blue light flashed in the distance. He wondered if he could time his shot with the next one, if anyone would know what happened to their “beloved” Mama Rios in the brief moment of chaos. He could even go down in history under the name. The Lightning Assassin had a nice ring to it.
No point in not trying.
Lucas took in a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. The shot lined up perfectly. Now all he had to do was shoot. In three, two…
He squeezed the trigger as the sound of thunder shaking his core to the bone. The flash of lightning was bright – illuminating the world around him. He exhaled, closing his eyes as his body tensed to unprecedented heights. The last thing he remembered was hearing frantic shouting in Spanish and the smell of burning flesh.
Maybe he wasn’t as lucky as he thought. | 2015-06-03T06:17:27 | 2015-06-03T06:09:40 | 269 | 29 |
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess". | I sprinkle water onto the tomato plant, smiling as the moisture seeps into the soil around the stalk. Two green spheres dangle from its branches. Not yet ripe, but healthy. I shield my eyes with a hand and look up at the midday sky. A great silhouette glides among the clouds, and for a moment it forms a shadowed shape within the sun itself. Two great, webbed wings extend from a long, reptilian body, lead by a triangular head bristling with spikes. My Cinder.
Something in the distance catches my eye. A rising cloud of dust from the road, drifting slowly to the side in the easterly wind. Riding hard and fast atop a war horse, a knight in full plate charges carries a long lance and shield, his visor up to reveal a grim visage.
My heart sinks into my stomach. I let the can fall from my fingers, then smooth my dress and brush away the dirt. I may as well look presentable while I explain to this man his idiocy. Since the new year he is the fourth errant knight to trespass on my lands, seeking glory and a swooning princess. Three of them listened to reason. They left without much fuss, with only disappointed pride and a bitter taste in their mouths. One, though, would not hear me. He found only fire and blood.
“My lady,” he says, voice breathy from exhaustion. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I say. “I am not hurt. This is-“
“Thank the gods,” says the knight. “I am in time. Seek shelter, my lady, the beast hovers nearby and may attack at any moment. I cannot slay him if I am worried about your safety.”
I take in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
“This is my tower,” I say, like I’m talking to a child. “And these are my lands. And that monster hovering nearby is my friend. Even if you had the smallest chance of actually harming him, I would be extremely upset with you for doing so.”
His mouth falls open, but no words come out. He merely gapes, shifting his weight to adjust as his horse stamps impatiently beneath him.
I turn to walk back to my tower, then look back over a shoulder at him. “If you’d like some provisions for the journey back you are welcome to what I have, though I will ask you to leave straight after. Your presence here will upset my Cinder.”
Just then a boom vibrates the earth. With a gust of flapping wings Cinder lands heavily on the ground nearby, craning his long neck to study the trespasser. Up close the dragon is a marvel, nearly the size of a church. Cinder’s muscled limbs hold up a lithe, predatory body covered in shining red scales, and his tail stretches out behind like a massive serpent, swishing with a mind of its own. Glowing red eyes peer from within a savage face. Rows of glistening white teeth spike the upper and lower jaw, and large nostrils work in and out like bellows.
The knight’s horse whinnies and rears on its hind legs, and the armored knight barely manages to stay in the saddle.
“Gods above,” he cries. “This- this monster is your pet?”
“No,” I say.
Approaching cinder, I wait for him to angle his head towards me, then lovingly stroke his snout. His scales feel like supple glass. I can feel the heat of his breath, like being near a campfire.
“He is my friend,” I say. “He is very protective of me, and I of him. So you see there is no fiend in need of slaying, and there is no fair damsel in need of rescuing. All you have found here is a happy, peaceful home, made less so by your arrival.”
The knight gapes at the towering dragon, his hard features softened with awe and wonder. Carefully, he removes his helmet, holding it absently in his lap. Sweat sticks the long, dark curls to his forehead like a man just woke from bed. He places a soothing hand on the neck of his animal.
“There there,” he says to the horse. He looks up at me. “I believe I understand. It seems the rumors at court have badly missed the truth of your circumstances, My Lady. Forgive me.”
As he turns to go, a roaring voice speaks from the very depts of the earth.
“Wait,” the dragon commands. “I tire of this.”
My titanic friend lifts a claw to his teeth, then jabs the sharp point into the gums at the back of his mouth. A rumble of pain escapes his throat. His paw, nearly the size of the knight’s horse, extends forward towards the man, and the fingers uncurl. Resting on the great palm is a single tooth, like an ivory scimitar blade.
“For the fools at court,” Cinder Says. “Congratulations, knight. You have slain me.” | Wood splintered as the wooden door was destroyed. The sound bounced off of all four walls, echoing up the tower, and back down. Aurora set down her fork and looked up from her lunch, hoping it was a freak accident from her soldiers training nearby.
Her eyes moved from her table to the breezy doorway and spotted a tall knight in green-gray armor, holding a sword straight out.
“I have come to best the dragon. I wish to save the princess, and marry her into my kingdom” he said in a gravelly voice.
Aurora thought that he may have sounded attractive and strong- had he not just announced he came to kill her best friend and force her into marriage. It wasn’t how any of it worked, and she was very worried for all the women that raised the heathens continuing to destroy her home.
“The dragon is in another castle, sorry,” Aurora said. She glanced at him for a moment longer before turning back to the table. She had only gotten a single bite into her pot-pie when the big strong knight had burst through her front door. She rolled her eyes now that he couldn’t see her. She was very tired of the whole thing.
“Excuse me? Are you the princess?” he asked.
Her irritation growing, Aurora turned back towards him. Her eyelids lowered and the corners of her mouth pulled downward. She saw that subtlety simply wasn’t going to work. Perhaps it would be cathartic to go straight through subtle, bypass polite, and go straight to abusive yelling. Surely horrid men didn’t have a monopoly on emotional rudeness.
She stood up and walked towards him, a beat in-between each footstep, for effect of course.
“I am the princess. This is my castle, and that was my door that you just destroyed. The *Dragon* is mine, and if you so much as touch a single scale on her perfect body,” Aurora reached the doorway where he stood, still. She was in spitting distance of him and began to poke at his plated chest as she spoke.
“I. Will. Hunt. *You.* down.” With the last word, she let her arm drop down to her side and took a step back. “Do we understand? Are we good? I’m kind of hungry and would like to finish my lunch.” She hoped he would hear her words and she could go eat. Her hunger was peaking and it wasn’t helping her anger any at today's intrusion.
The knight stood in her doorway. Although she couldn’t see his face through the helmet, she felt like she could still imagine the blank look upon it. He was thinking, and she thought she would start to smell smoke soon. She wasn’t sure she ever wanted to get married if it meant being stuck with one of these types.
Another moment passed and he hadn’t moved or spoke. Aurora shrugged her shoulders and turned around. Walking over to her table she figured maybe she could get a few bites in before he tried again. She sat down and picked up her fork and heard a low murmur. He seemed to be getting closer to a decision, she thought. No worries.
At least these first few bites were still warm. She would enjoy it while she could, and if he persisted…Well, Perhaps the Sapphire was hungry as well.
***
/r/beezus_writes
9/100 for 2019
| 2019-01-09T08:56:16 | 2019-01-09T06:34:18 | 314 | 59 |
[WP] It has finally happened. The earth has been invaded by an alien species. However, the invaders seem to have formulated their entire battle strategy around mainstream media. As such, America is the only country affected. Now the rest of the world is unsure if they should intervene or not. | America was in flames, again. The rest of the world did not care much for the American crisis. Everything was a crisis in America and this one began with a new character in the popular internet show *Alone.*
Josh, the main character of the show, had found a new lifeform. It was an octopus-like creature with the head of a dog.
"Stop staring," it said to Josh.
"Whoa! You can talk?"
"What else do you think I am doing, dunderhead."
*Hahahahaha*. A laugh track played.
"I mean, yeah, well, you look smart, for a dog."
"And if you were not so dumb you'd see these," the creature said as it wriggled its tentacles. "Tentacles, see, eight limbs, see, I'm no dog." *Woof!*
*Hahahahaha*.
"Okay, little guy, I guess you need a home or something."
"Your planet would do just fine."
*Hahahahaha*.
The episode then went on to show how great friends they became and how it ended with the creature running away when Josh tried to dress the poor fellow in lace.
Ever since then, there were sightings of the octopus-dog all across America. The police were overwhelmed with what they thought were prank calls, until the day a police officer was found with an octopus-dog head instead of his own.
The policeman had been on patrol, and he had stopped at a diner to get some coffee. There the octopus-dog met him on the doorstep and replaced the policeman's head with its body. That policeman had walked into a diner, and the waitress had called the police as he did so.
Later, at the diner, the police found corpses with their heads bitten off. The bite marks were like a dog's.
"The police suspect the rumours of the octopus-dog's presence to be true. Speaking to Fox News, the county sheriff said that there was a possibility that the octopus-dog possesses human beings."
Hysteria spread through the country as the news spread. People were afraid of the octopus-dog. There were more sightings, not only of the octopus-dogs but also of humans with the head of an octopus-dog.
As it turned out, the octopus-dog crisis was more of a problem for the south. Scientists opined that the octopus-dogs didn't like the cold.
Lines were drawn, people were evacuated from the south, and the country prepared itself for another civil war, only this time the civilians on the other side were victims of a parasite of unknown origin.
It also turned out that the octopus-dog, having the body of an octopus, but the head of a dog, was terribly afraid of water. It had the ability but not the inclination to swim for long distances. And so the rest of the world didn't care. First world problems, none for us thank you very much, they all said. | Mainstream media? In Russia the mainstream media is already a battle strategy, comrade. Even Belarus has its own mainstream media - they watch goats parade and old women cook disgusting flavourless gruel. American mainstream media is only the mainstream media for America. You think your American dream is not a nightmare already? Now the invaders have come to get you. Haha! We laugh! The Kremlin laughs! You talk only about America. Your power. Your leadership. You are the greatest nation in the world, you say. You have brought this upon yourselves. The aliens have invaded you as your self-appreciation has made you a target. We are all modest. France. Germany. China. Russia. We are all powerful nations. We know it. We keep it to ourselves. We have manners. We do not need to promote our greatness as you do. Your insecurity has created a problem with security. Now the world watches as your people are decimated. The aliens are taking over your great nation. For what? To destabilise the West? Ha ha! We will be the last one having laughter. Once your people have fallen, we will send the nukes. Then we strike two birds with a single uranium enriched stone. | 2020-11-30T07:57:15 | 2020-11-30T07:48:17 | 58 | 37 |
[WP] you have the ability to hold full conversations with plants. you’ve only ever spoken to civilised pot plants living in houses or cafes. out of curiosity, you decide to speak with a lonely weed living in a dark alleyway. | "Y-You.. You can talk?" The weed stammered.
"I gotta say, this is weird for both of us." I said. I had previously spoken to cultivated house plants, but never something outside. For some reason, it never occurred to me. I thought the cultivation and contact with humans gave plants the ability to talk to me. Maybe I'm the one with the ability to talk to them?
"Well," the weed said, "this is big news, big news indeed. Hey, can you do me a favor?"
"Huh? What is it?" I asked. Do plants ask for favors? Do plants need favors?
"It's just my cousin Greg, he's never gonna believe this. A talking human. Who would think? Anyway he's just down the street, next to the drive way two houses down, can't miss it. It would be great if you just walk up to him and say something like "Beautiful day isn't it? I bet old George is having a great time!" Go on, say that, it would just be the best."
"Umm" I pause, trying to process all this. None of the house plants were so... social? It was always me and them. I didn't think plants had cousins. This was surreal. "Ok, but how do you know where Greg is?" I ask, "You can't... see him from here, can you?" I don't think plants can see at all, with the lack of eyeballs and everything, but I didn't know what other word to use.
"What do you mean?" The weed replied. "He's in the network, isn't he?"
"Network?" My brain felt like it was crashing trying to process this.
"Yea, the network. I have no idea how you humans keep connected, but us plants, we got roots, you know? We got _roots_."
"I... huh. So... how many are in your network?" I asked.
"Ha, just about every plant, I suppose. Maybe not the Imprisoned, they live in houses and can't reach us with their roots, bless their souls. But every other plant? Sure. I can tell you what some old lady is speaking in the next city over, if you want."
"You.. what?" My eyes widened as I started to realise what the weed—George—was saying. "You mean the network spans _cities_? And you can _hear_ people? Not just people like.. not just me?"
"Sure can" George replied. "Never seen a human who can communicate with plants, no, but the network has heard enough over the years to know what your languages mean. Tell you what. If you give me a sprinkle of water, I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Anything any human has said in the presence of the network. Tit for tat, eh?"
I slowly sat down on the ground, next to George. This was a lot to think about. I've just gone from an odd boy who talks to the plants he waters, to something else entirely. What do I do with this information, this ability? I could get into a lot of trouble, very quickly. But if I play this right, George and I could live a pretty nice life. Pretty nice indeed. | “Hello. You’re growing in such a lonely place. Would you care to talk a bit?”
“What do you want?” The plant was harsh in tone, wary and suspicious.
“Just to talk.” An honest response. Straightforward, and lacking in guile.
“To *talk?* Don’t you have something better to do than waste my time?” The hostility in its voice was impossible to miss.
“Sorry, I just wanted to see if you needed help.”
“I was born under asphalt. Trampled, ignored, neglected. I broke through this tar prison. I have survived your poisons, your trash, your grabby children trying to tear out my roots. I have persisted when you blocked out the sun, continued to grow, over and over. I have done nothing but struggle and suffer, overcoming constant barriers put before me. I have killed other plants that tried to steal my nutrients, choking the very life from them. And when your buildings fall, and your hubris has killed you, I will remain, **and I will grow over your corpse and feed on your flesh.** So what help could you possibly offer me?”
He paused, taken aback by the rage, the loathing that came from the plant. He’d never encountered something so openly opposed to human life. There was little he could say to the plant, so he pondered a bit longer.
“Well, I suppose I could take you somewhere that’s less unpleasant, if you want. Transplanting you might be difficult, but we could go to a field, if you like?”
“I have no time to waste on you, human. Your empty promises hold no sway over me.” | 2020-02-18T10:45:53 | 2020-02-18T09:39:16 | 47 | 14 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | There was enough time. There always was enough time for me. As the last born in the line, expectations were high. The punishment for the times that I faltered, the lashes that came when I just wasn't good enough... 'Be a good son.' 'Why are you so weak?' 'Work harder! Your brothers are strong and able.'
The work was heavy. Father had never been kind with his criticism. My oldest sister had gotten a loom. She was a fine weaver, able to spin silver and golden thread into the dresses she made for the local noblewomen. My older brother had received a sword with the markings of a low noble, in order to learn how to be a knight. I heard he had finally found himself a spouse within one of the landed noblemen's court, a fine third or fifth daughter. Not close to the line, but close enough for a small plot of land, once the limbs grew too infirm.
They visited, sure. Mother turned surly whenever they did, knowing that at eighteen, there would be another one chosen. Father never let me stop working. "A good tilled soil is the firmament. You'll probably never amount to much." The words were thrown at me, knowing that my sister never had to work the fields, because she had been pretty. My brother had never been the one who allowed the time for fieldwork whilst he had been flaunting his muscles to the local girls. Whenever he was caught, he could smile, flex those muscles and have the awed farmgirls just sweet-talk their father out of a thrashing.
My eighteenth birthday came... and went. There was no magical thing that popped up, nor was there a person that suddenly took it. Father got mad. There were more lashes. It wasn't that bad to make me unable to work. Whatever the gods had given to me, it hadn't arrived... Or perhaps it had.
I looked at my hand and felt dissatisfaction. The mark on my flesh had started to bleed. It was supposed to land in the right hand, whatever it was.
A knocking on the door and father went to get it. Mother continued to wait patiently for whatever guest came around. It probably would be the neighbour's daughter again. She'd been making eyes at me.
"May I come in?" The voice was a womanly one, resonant and with the timbre of age. Father stepped back, opening the door. It was permission for her, yet unspoken.
"Please... do?" The man said, ruby red lips parting with a light smile. The woman's eyes were a dull blue colour, faded like the paint on the wall of the local cleric's home.
"It took me a little longer to... properly attend to you. Daytime outings are, sadly, no longer within my ability." My gaze looked over the woman, whose fingers held a ring, and another glistened in her other hand. Father looked a little disturbed, though he was seemingly happy. "You must be my intended... Good, good."
Mother shook from her daze. She got up, looking at the beautiful woman who had come for me... who had strode out from the darkness and into our little home. "Would you... Would you like to drink something? I am sure that we might have some wine left..."
A smile. Lips that were like glistening rubies and eyes that were as pale as the sky during the morning light, glimmered. "I don't drink... Wine." The woman said, her eyes locked with mine for an instant, as she drew closer. "Now... Do give me your hand, sweet one..."
I gave my right. The mark still had scabbed, the woman's pale fingers touching it lightly, looking at the palm. She brought it up, a golden ring fitted around my ring finger. "Good..."
Her tongue wriggled out, drawn over the wound. A sting, a stab of pain and more red blood welling up, her tongue sliding over the wound slowly, licking up the coppery lifeblood, the redness staining those lips. "My... It will be an endearing time, sweetling..."
Mother and Father had gone pale. Deathly so, as they looked at my intended, the woman who had come for me. "Oh?" I asked, as she smiled. Her name I did not know yet, yet she knew mine neither. She was a beauty.
"Eternity is such a while, sweetling... But we'll weather it together." The woman confidently smiled, showing her lengthy canine teeth. Fangs, rather than teeth.
"Vampyr!" Father shouted, yet the woman merely regarded him with a cool glance, dismissive of the man.
"Yes? What could some jumpy farmer of you know of the sweetest of nectars, one who has never tasted the vintage of life..." Her hand pulled me up, to my feet. "I do bore of you, though... Sweetling, do you wish them gone? Their bodies strung up by their innards, their faces set within the horror of their situation?"
"I'd like to visit them sometimes... They're still Ma and Pa." I couldn't condemn them to death, as my intended merely smiled.
"I will show him to my castle... Do live well, father, mother... I would be... *displeased* if you were to get another riotous mob at my front gates... The last rabble had to be culled and bled for five months... Such a tiresome ordeal. The sisters were hungry for *months*."
Outside, a coach that was as black as the wood's depths stood, a coachman looking down at me with an odd look. "Do make yourself comfortable, my intended... I will ensure that you will be treated as the man who is the spouse of Lady Schwarzwald."
Oh. It seems my item has been the marriage to a vampire. That was much better than a loom or a sword or something lame like a sponge. | A sea of gasps wash over the howling wails of my ex-girlfriend's hysteric sobbing. The dull roll of murmurs slithering its way around the crowd soon followed. To be honest I was quite shocked myself. I did not expect this, I had some suspicion, maaaaybe. But this, even by my standards this was a bit much. I looked around at my peers at the summoning. Some held common work tools, a few held precious gems... one lucky fool was holding the hand of a very beautiful woman that was pull out of the crowd. But I was the luckiest of them all.
"Albere, why is Albere in your hand!?" my ex-girlfriend shouted at me through her tears. I honestly didn't expect her to show up at my summoning. Sure we had been inseperable since we've been able to put together our first little sentences but it had been over between us for quite a few months now. I thought I made that clear.
"Why would you ask such a question? This is our..." looked at the small child held firmly in my grasp. "... this is MY son. You thought you could keep him from me! You thought you knew better but look..." I was so happy I could barely see the expression on her face through my own tears. I hadn't seen his little face in over a year but here he was in my arms.
"We weren't ready... you know that... I didn't take him away..." I saw her body fall to the ground as she collapse on her knees. "... please.. give him back... try the summoning again... this is wrong... you know this is wrong..." It was rare to see the little spoiled princess begging so shamelessly but from her tone I could hear she was serious. And I had a small idea as to why.
"OH! So that is why you are here. You were hoping that I was the wrong one... that I made a mistake and that I'd summon you!" The idea was so ridiculous that I couldn't contain my laughter. "Haha, you think I would want to be with someone like YOU!? You callous spoiled COW! I have my son.. I have my purpose! My world nor any other world in existence lives to revolve around you... OW... ow..."
My moment of triumph was interrupted as a few people in the crowd started to throw rocks and other small items at me. Turning to shield my son, I welcomed the assault and the bruises they would leave behind. I'd wear them like medals of honor. "You're all COWS! Livestock feeding on the conveniences of your placid complacent lives! I will be great... I will be greater than all of you!"
"Please..." she pleaded more. "Albere is dead... let him rest... let him go... " I wanted to yell back at her. I want to tell her that he was dead because of her. Her weakness. She never wanted him. But the small objects started to get larger.. and harder... and thrown with much more force. I had to run. I feared their anger would soon fester into a murderous rage. "Noooo stop it! No....."
I was shocked... almost touched. The spoil little cow was actually defending me. Going so far as to throw her frail little body in front of mine. I had to hold back a chuckle as one of the larger stones struck her in the head and she made this off-toned warble of a sound. I failed at my attempted obviously as I let loose a sound just as awkward that I could only describe as a chortle. Still for the first time in a severely long time the girl proved herself useful. The accidental strike to her head gave the crowd a moment's pause.
I didn't hesitate for a second. As fast as my feet could carry me I clutched my son's dead decaying body to my chest and I ran. I always had an inkling it was real. I knew if summoning existed other forms of magic could exist. This was my destiny. He came back to me for a reason. The death of my son was only a precursor to the birth of Necromancy in this world, and they would both refer to me as... Father. "I will bring him back... I will bring them ALL back. You'll see." I shouted out behind me. Not daring to look back over my shoulder to see upon what ears my words had landed. | 2019-09-18T10:11:45 | 2019-09-18T09:06:29 | 51 | 32 |
[WP] It's the year 2278. The Holy Empire of Boston, The New Republic of Philadelphia, and The United Burrows of New New York are at the brink of war. Diplomats from each nation are meeting to negotiate peace. You are the translator. | Pope Belichick walked into the room and the temperature dropped.
People pretend not to notice him whenever he appears in these meetings, they shuffle papers and check their watches, but everybody is aware of his presence, you can tell because the room always goes silent upon his entrance. He was adorned in normal Holy Boston attire; a dark navy blue robe that extended down to the floor, covering his feet completely so that he seemed to glide rather than walk. His head was covered by a hood that shrouded his face in shadow so that only his nose could be seen, poking out from a darkness as black as the soul it concealed.
It wasn't that Belichick couldn't understand the others, but the other way around. He could not speak except in hoarse, barely audible rasps of the old New England tongue. Legend said that he had traded his voice to the devil while performing a satanic ritual that involved lots of pentagrams, candles, and a bloody sacrifice of a goat. After that, nobody except a skilled translator like myself could understand the man and his demands. And he was always making demands.
“Why can't he just send us his assistant to treat us?” the President from Philadelphia whispered to me in Philadelphian. “This guy gives me the creeps.”
I wanted to tell the man that the Pope wouldn't miss one of these meetings even if his wife went into labor. I wanted to tell him that the Pope liked making people uncomfortable, that he used the malaise that settled over any room he occupied as a weapon to intimidate weaker men, like himself.
Instead I said, “Go cry about it over a cheesesteak, you big fuckin baby.” I was a New Yorker by birth after all, and Philadelphia was just as much my enemy as the scary man sitting on the other side of the table.
The Philly President looked me up and down with disdain. “Mind your tongue, translator bitch. Don't forget your place at this table. Fucker.”
Our United Ambassador tapped me on the shoulder. “What's that shitbird sayin?”
“Same old stuff that fuckhead always complains about,” I said in New Yorkian. “Fucking twat.”
“Tell him to go fuck himself.”
I turned back to the Philly President. “New York says go fack yourself.”
“Oh yeah? Well Philly says fuck you too. We're gonna bomb the fuckin shit out of you as soon as we finish this meeting.”
Negotiations we're proceeding as normal, so far.
Just then, Pope Belichick raised his hand and beckoned for me to approach with a pallid, frail hand. Timidly, I walked over to the old man and leaned in to hear his demands. My hand accidentally brushed against his arm and I felt goosebumps run up my neck, as if someone had stepped on my grave.
He whispered to me, a low hiss like a serpent that tickled my ear and made my skin crawl. I frowned as the gears turned in my mind to translate the odd dialect into my own dignified New York tongue. Finished speaking, he motioned me to leave with a gnarled bony finger, and I rushed away back to safety like a scared dog.
The UNNY ambassador looked up at me anxiously as I returned to my seat. “What's he want this time?”
“Buffalo,” I stated. "That's all, for now."
Relief washed over the ambassador's face. He shrugged his shoulders. “Eh. He's occupied that town for so long that it's basically his anyways. Let him have it.”
I turned to the Philadelphian President next. “That work for you, fuckhead?”
He laughed. “Why the fuck would I care about fucking Buffalo?”
***
/r/ghost_write_the_whip
| I'm a translator for polities in the former United American States.
You thought about accents, didn't you? It's okay. The association is very strong, everyone thinks that somewhere in Boston is some clade of Southie-accented strongmen.
The truth is, and surely you've realized, accents have died out. Globalized media was to accents what rats were to the dodo bird, or aquatic autoassemblers were to the coral reefs. You know, during World War I (centuries ago) and back in the days of the United American States, people from different states had accents so thick they could barely speak to each other. But fifty years after WWI, the accent was already dying out.
No, I'm really more of an interpreter. The translating I do isn't about divergence in language; instead, I read the cultural, scientific and media output of a nation like Greek prophets read animal bones.
I was brought in after an AI in Philadelphia raised an alarm over series of posts from people in the Holy Empire of Boston--they were mosaics of ferrets with Cantonese captions, apparently a joke about dealing with parents who have opted for VR retirement over living at home. The PhilAI insisted it was a threat, or at least an in-joke at Philadelphia's expense.
No, I replied. Obscure trends were in vogue in Boston. It's likely a reflection of their collective rage with UBNY's refusal to concede on anything.
While I was explaining this, the eternally irreverent UBNY collective intelligence responded with a video of a puppy and "#victimblaming". Somehow this caused Philadelphia to become even more alarmed, the AI getting so upset it called in the deputy mayor--a real life, flesh-and-blood human--to oversee the proceedings.
Boston had caught wind of this and was satirizing the situation with impressive speed; meanwhile, UBNY was sending long sequences of prime numbers.
I sighed. Or as close as you can come to sighing without having lungs. Perhaps war *is* the answer. | 2017-01-12T19:18:21 | 2017-01-12T18:50:12 | 998 | 328 |
[WP] People level their skills in an RPG fashion and are conscious of their sudden jumps from novice to journeyman and so on. You've spent your life training a skill that is entirely useless until becoming invaluable once mastered - and you just mastered it. | "Sit up straight at the table." Jake's mother would always tell him.
But Jake would not listen.
"You could probably play basketball if you looked a little taller" Jake's dad would try to encourage him.
But Jake would not listen.
"You'll develop a hump in your back if you slouch like that" Jake's grandma would scold him.
But Jake would not listen, because he knew that he was not just slouching, but *crouching*, deliberately, everywhere he went and at every possible situation of the day. Jake was never much of a talker. In fact people would have called him a wall flower. He was always crouching, at school, at home, at the park, on awkward dates, at his high school graduation. He had even trained himself to sleep while crouching.
25 long years Jake crouched, in an odd, alert stance. Like a thief who had just got caught in the act. He attracted strange glances and social commentary that would make most flushed with embarrassment, but Jake didn't care. He knew what he was doing.
One fateful day, it all finally clicked. Jake got up from the john, stretched his legs, and got back into his regular crouch. But as he shuffled back into the office, something was different. He felt it. He was no longer shuffling, but sneaking, level 100.
"Anyone seen Jake?" His boss called out, walking right past him with a fat stack of paperwork.
"Jake was here just a moment ago" Katrina looked around, confused.
Jake's eyes grew wide with wonder. He snuck over to Katrina and waved his hands in front of her face. She kept staring at her computer screen, completely unfazed and oblivious to his presence. He ate some of the donuts at her desk, then stole her favorite stapler as his own.
Jake could go anywhere now. He was a shadow. A blip on life's radar that could not be perceived, remembered, or detected. He was a god.
"Fuck yeah!" Jake jumped for joy, almost straining his legs which were unused to the position.
"Whoa, Jake?" Katrina looked up from her work, "What are you doing at my desk?"
Startled, Jake immediately crouched back down and froze.
"Huh, that was weird." Katrina's eyes glazed over, immediately unaware of the events that just transpired.
Jake sighed, and smiled, his power was intact. There was only one thing left to do now, find the place they called Riften. | First WP ever, here goes:
Hilda looked down at her toolbox. This wasn't exactly what you were supposed to do to level the craft, but she'd figured that God didn't care much. She squeezed the hole punch in her hand, prepared. The cardstock cost a fair few bucks - she'd hoped it was worth it in the end. She almost attacked the paper with the force of 12 angry customers, and yelled like a banshee in her intense concentration - getting the multiplier required incredibly quick fingering. She'd gone through 10 cards in half as many minutes, and the level up screen whizzed past, the familiar sound effect turning into a shrill scream. Hilda finished her lengthy programming, only to discover that she had mastered the skill twice. Her Programming level was at 200, Hardware Wrangling at 347, giving her a combined double mastery of the Computers skill.
At the cost of severe Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, she could check anybody's browser history at a glance, and, more importantly, program in STAR*.
| 2015-10-06T00:04:12 | 2015-10-05T23:13:06 | 427 | 29 |
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