prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] "Why are you doing this?" the hero said, in that moment you realized, you don't really have a motivation, you just kinda went with the flow. | "Why are you doing this?"
The Hero, now bruised and battered, laid on the floor. His face, now cut, lumpy, and very unattractive, was still a treat to look at compared to the smug, cocky, and self-righteousness that permeated every pore, so thick and unctuous that one could almost cut out cubes in the surrounding air.
"Eh," I stomped on his back one more time. "I don't really know."
"What?" he choked out. "You... don't know?"
"Yeah," I shrugged and squatted down, right next to his ugly face. "It's fun?"
"Fun? To... beat people up?"
"Oh, the beating people part is fun, don't get me wrong," I sat down fully now, hugging my knees. "But more... I don't really know. I get this sort of warm feeling inside. Satisfaction."
"When you win?"
"Not really. I've won, I've lost. Neither never really felt any better than the other. More so..."
He laid there, silent, only the rasps and gasps of a beaten man piercing the silence and my thoughts.
"Ah!" I smacked my palm. "It's seeing people who are full of themselves get deflated. Like a balloon going out of air, whimpering and whistling everything away."
"... Damn," the Hero said. "That's pretty brutal."
"Maybe," I said. "But it's who I am. Can't deny it."
"How did a person like you... ever became the big bad?"
"The big bad?" I gasped. "That's what people know me as?"
"... What the hell else did you think you were?" he said. "You beat down so many people! So many adventurers from the guild. Me, the hero!"
"Yeah," I said. "But that's because you guys sought me out with such sanctimonious looks on your face, you know? I couldn't help myself."
"... What the hell," the Hero said. "And I lost to this dude."
"Hey," I shrugged again. "Maybe it's my free spirit that makes me so strong. Fighting for a cause is overrated."
"You know what?" the Hero said. "Have you heard of the Dark Lord?"
"The Dark Lord?" I asked. "Not really, no."
"Oh," he said. "He has a real smug look on his face. All the time. Wanna see it?"
"... I'll love to see it. And I'll love to beat it out of him."
---
r/dexdrafts | ”Why?” asked Comet as I hovered over his nearly broken body.
”What do you mean” I requested.
”Why do you do any of it?”
”Money.”
”Bullshit, you stopped robbing places five years ago.”
”Huh, I guess that's right.”
”Then why do you do this?”
”I want to beat my nemesis then.”
”You fight everyone with the same effort. You have no nemesis.”
”I just want to get rid of the heroes. They get in the way of my plans.”
”You don't make plans. All you do is destroy.”
”You really don't know when to shut up do you?”
”Was always told I would have it backfire one day.”
”Then today will be that day” As I finished him off I thought to myself, he was right, I had lost my motivation. Too late to turn back now though, so I might as well burn it all down. | 2020-11-09T09:09:37 | 2020-11-09T08:34:21 | 127 | 11 |
[Wp]Satan is getting tired of his unwanted inclusion in writing prompts. So he decides to write us a letter. | Dear /r/WritingPrompts,
I have a bone to pick with you. Every seven-million-eight-hundred-and-eighty-five-thousand-eight-hundred-and-sixty-three of you.
Could you please cut the shit? C'mon guys, there are demonic cults that are less obsessed with me than you boring lot. And, quite frankly, I'm tired of it. I never really liked being worshiped, that was always more God's thing. I'm all about me, having fun and doing what I want, most of my followers are the same. They don't really follow me, more my whole "fuck-everyone-else-just-keep-doing-you" attitude.
The thing is this. Your stories, for better or worse, have been causing some really weird shit to happen recently. Just today, every soul in [hell crowded at the gates](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/57fdzv/wp_the_damned_souls_in_hell_crowded_near_the/) to witness the arrival of some new dude that God dealt with personally. I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF TORTURING THEM FOR CHRIST’S SAKE. Oh, and the other day I was teleported to a [courtroom in purgatory to represent some random dude](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/578b68/wp_when_people_die_a_trial_is_held_to_decide_if/?ref=search_posts). Man, that was bullshit. *I'm not a fucking lawyer*.
Look guys, I'm really sorry to shit on all your great work, but I’m getting bored of all these random happenings. Worst one was when I became a high school English teacher. Or did she become me? I'm not really sure. Either way, what the hell was that all about?
I’m sure you all have much more interesting characters you could be writing about? I’m actually fucking livid that I’ve been pulled into some random office and began writing this letter. I didn’t want to do it. I still don’t. But my hands are typing and I can’t stop them.
You all seem to think I like making deals. So, let's make a fucking deal: next one of you fuckers to submit a prompt about me, or god, or anything along those lines, is coming straight down here and being tortured for eternity. Got it?
Cool. I guess I’ll see you around.
Yours sincerely, Lucifer. | "Dear Reddit,
First off, let me thank you for the acknowledgement that you have given me as the supreme overlord of all things evil. I really appreciate it. I was wondering if you guys could cut it out though. Moral is down here lately and you guys keep painting me in a bad light. I'm not really a bad guy, I just had a bit of an authority issue as a young angel.
Could you guys try some prompts about the big guy upstairs being evil? That would certainly improve things on my end.
I appreciate you taking your time to read this, and hope this missive finds you in the best of health. I really do, we are almost at capacity. You guys breed like rabbits.
Sincerely,
Satan" | 2016-10-14T10:27:23 | 2016-10-14T08:25:35 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] The dwarves find the idea that human technology could've ever equaled - let alone surpassed - theirs patently ridiculous. But just to humour the them, they've decided to accept their proposal for an "engineering student exchange program". | Susan pattered away at her keyboard, looking sideways at the... person sitting in front of her desk, propped up on a pile of books on top of the rickety chair she's been meaning to have replaced.
"Name?"
"Gottfried Junior the third."
She blinks at her screen before glancing at her visitor properly. His beard is dark and long, braided meticulously over his rotund shape. His hands, masculine yet small as a toddler's, fiddle with the end of his beard braid in apparent boredom.
"Is 'the third' your last name?"
"Why would I need a last name? I have one name, ma'am."
She puts in "third" as the last name and "the" as the middle, just to appease the software.
"Address?"
"Second tree door to the right of the third degree road on the 7th."
She blinks again. She's going to need about three shots of espresso if more of these people come by in the next few days since the program officially launched on the university's website. For now, she sips her disgusting coffee straight from the lounge's ancient machine.
"I don't have rubrics for that in the system," she informs him.
"I'm moving to your... dorms soon, anyway. You can put in the south-west dorm building, second floor."
She nods, relieved.
"ID number?"
"Don't tell me you still use numbers for identification." The small man seems almost offended, wrinkling his round nose.
"I did not design this software, sir. I just type things so you can study."
He stares at her for a while. "Well, hold on."
He clicks on a little button on his earlobe, which she had assumed was an earing. "Get me an... ID number."
He waits patiently, and she realizes he's not waiting on her as he nods quietly, staring out the window. He then spouts out a number, which the system accepts as valid. Imagine that.
"Department?" is her voice really that monotonous these days? She should probably get laid. Or go to some pottery class. Something exciting.
"Engineering," he says it with a sneer, practically snorting out the word.
"Is there a problem with the department?" she asks conversationally as she scrolls endlessly to find the department number. Her fingers ache from being frozen around her cheap, half broken mouse.
"Just that it's more like studying history, at this level."
She raises a brow. He sighs. "It's this stupid "exchange" program. Not that we get much in this exchange in my opinion, but it's the easiest way to finalize some credits at my institute."
"I see," she grumbles. She's almost offended on the university's behalf, but she's not paid enough to feel emotionally attached to their brand of student loan predation and inherited prestige, so she isn't actually offended.
"It's so aggravating," he continues, emboldened by her easy non-agreement. "It was almost voted out, you know? But the council decided it would be... inopportune to avoid an opportunity for cultural exchange, with all the species diversity talk they've been spouting."
"I wasn't aware you're not the same species."
He balks. "Homo sapiens? More like Homo subpar."
She chuckles. "That's funny." It's not.
He groans and looks up at the ceiling. "I wish I was equally amused."
So, not amused? "Sure."
She keeps asking him the questions she needs answered to fill in his exchange student registration. When she asks him for his ethnicity, he raises a brow, so she puts in "other".
"All set." She takes a sip of her coffee. It's cold and somehow even more disgusting for it, and she winces.
"I can't believe you lot drink that garbage for energy. Couldn't engineer nutrition optimization when you're too busy funding weight loss drugs, huh?"
She looks at him flatly. "It doesn't have to be the best to work."
He considers it, stroking his braid. "Perhaps."
They wait in silence as the ancient printer churns out his paperwork for him to sign.
"I know you lot have digital signatures at least."
"Not at this school we don't."
"Waste of perfectly healthy trees."
"We're well aware, thank you," she slides the pen and paper on the desk in his direction. He bends over them, scanning them with a finger on the little button for a few seconds. Then he nods once and signs.
"Your class schedule will be emailed to you."
"Ah, the infamous 'snail mail', I see."
"No, that's paper mail. Email is not snail mail. Maybe you could use a history class, sir."
He huffs at her and jumps off the chair, stumbling briefly, before collecting the paperwork he'd just dropped. "They gave me the address to my university account."
"I know. I mail that out."
He looks horrified that she has to physically deliver something like this. Join the team, buddy. She's not a fan either.
"Have a nice time in your classes sir."
He opens the door with a sigh, straining to reach the door handle as he mumbles something about adjustable accessibility settings on entryways. She almost gets up to help him, but he manages.
"Have a good day, ma'am."
He hobbles out, and she sits there, giving herself a minute before the next tiny snob walks in. Maybe she could ask for a tablet for digital signatures, really. Progress isn't all bad. | It was the biggest mistake they could've made. For 100's of years the humans looked on in with envy, as the dwarves continued creating wondrous technological feats.
Such was their technological advancement, that they could travel from one end of the world to the other in under half an hour. A feat no human civilisation could copy. The dwarven realms kept their blueprints well hidden especially from prying envious human eyes.
It was said that with humanities combined might none could overcome a single dwarven city. A misadventure only undertaken once in humanities history, under emperor Titus the Thundermaker. When with an army of over 9 million battle hardened Sxicars attempted to take the city of Undurstrūm.
Such was the defeat that the consequences of it would last centuries. But times had changed the empire and all those in it's likeness had faded and become shattered into many small republics and kingdoms. Despite their individual grievances, all humans agreed that the technology of the dwarves should be taken.
Yet they had no force that could. So, under a human called Therodous the deciever a plan was hatched. A man that most humans agreed to be smartest and wisest of all. They were to call into question the merits of dwarven technology and lambast it for it's ineffectiveness. A provocation that would inevitably lead to the dwarves defending their pride in their technology. Allowing access for one Therodous the deciever to enter.
At first many dwarves were reluctant to share their closely guarded secrets. But seeing their life's work being questioned, they gradually opened many doors to Therodous. Perhaps in their pride they were blinded by humanities deception. They may have been masters in every technological field, they were no masters in the art of deception.
Many decades past, Therodous was left to tinker and learn all that he could, a result of his ability to understand and develop dwarven technology quickly. A quality the dwarves came to admire. However this knowledge that Therodous aquired had one condition. No knowledge that could give humanity a military edge would be passed through the great fording gates of Hammerfel.
Therodous however was not interested in giving humanity a militaristic edge. His ambition was to destroy the dwarves from inside out and steal everything they had included their technology. He learnt of something that the dwarves had little interest in. Something called the Deeping Goliath manuscripts, a series of ancient and dusty books written by a supposed Tec-Herald, dwarf lord called Ingestre.
In the books it described an ancient species called the Deeping Goliaths, that the dwarves had once battled deep below their mountain holds. Little was spoken of them by the dwarves, except for fables passed down for millennium's. Many called Ingestre's books as nothing more than fiction to be ignored and forgotten.
But for Therodous it was something more. The more he learnt the more he discovered. After a year of searching he found it, a door deep in the mountain of the undurstrūm kingdom.
They all now agree he should never have opened it. For there was a reason the dwarves had chosen to lock this door. A reason to why they had chosen to forget the Deeping Goliaths. For once it was opened, not the dwarves nor humans not the eldar could hold the darkness alone.
So it is that in the fourth age, all species of Aluren find themselves battling a merciless foe. A foe who has turned the sky dark, ashened the fields and made stone into fire. The great dwarven realms are shadows now, clinging to the last fibres of life. So too are the humans and even the eldar, who many thought could not be killed.
There is no end in sight, death awaits us. They don't stop, nothing can stop them. The end of Aluren is upon us.
Captain Timores Vestapen, last commander of the night watch. | 2022-09-14T09:36:00 | 2022-09-14T07:25:39 | 378 | 168 |
[WP] After over 2,000 years, the Antichrist finally succeeded his invasion of Earth. As armies of demons flood into our world they realize something; we've advanced far beyond the ancient warfare they prepared for. Leather armor and poking sticks are no match against billions of pissed off humans. | It was funny, but in a way the end of the world was what saved us.
The zombie outbreak had been rapidly brought under control by the CDC, at least in every major population center. Out in the rural hinterlands, you'd still get human interest stories about weepy parents putting down their infected children, but for the most part they garnered as much interest as the weekly mass shooting or global warming update. Hollywood to the contrary, the slavering hoards just weren't a match for modern protective gear, quarantine procedures and on occasion napalm via attack helicopter. Analysis of the undead flesh launched countless doctoral dissertations across a dozen disciplines, including chemistry, biology, and of course physics, and by the fall of the first year of the final days, promising cures for cancer and a myriad of other intractable illnesses were in clinical trials.
Of course not every harbinger of the apocalypse was so easily dealt with. The rains of blood had initially devastated crop yields all across the Midwest. And yes, it was touch and go for a little while, but blood turns out to be a rich organic feedstock and, once the issues around the salt content were brought under control, it turned out to be a rather wonderful fertilizer precursor. Thanks to the miracle of modern chemical engineering, high-iron, high-phosphate HemoGrow (TM) was cheap, effective, and revolutionizing agriculture the world over. Plastic production was rumored to be next.
The real boon, of course, was the hellmouths. The first that was properly harnessed appeared outside Atlanta, and after a little discombobulation and some hard work by the Army Corps of Engineers, we were dumping a billion gallons of water down it a day. Hell-heated steam drove massive turbines and powered half the South. Sure, occasionally a bedraggled and perplexed rider-on-a-pale-horse would manage to swim out, but in general they'd be popped pretty quickly by a drone. Once industrial production of holy water was fully online it was game over and not a single one made it past the moat.
Between cheap organics and virtually free energy, the world was off fossil fuels faster than anybody could have imagined, and for the first time since the industrial revolution the CO2 content of the atmosphere actually went down. Religious conflict, too, fell to a modern low as scholars were actually able to interrogate the gibbering things that crawled out of the Earth and establish a credible procedure for resolving doctrinal differences. A common external enemy, as it always has, united us across national and cultural boundaries as we came together to cleanse the Earth of silly, medieval fantasies that literally seemed to think they could bring bone-knives to a gunfight.
War ended, hunger ended, and our confidence was restored as we learned to see past trivial differences and learn to understand that we are all human and anything is possible, and the harbingers of doom ushered in a new and wonderful Golden Age. | Nero had expected that without Rome, the world would stagnate and be ripe for the taking. Even if the humans beyond his time managed to build a new empire, they would be no match for the dark magic of his forces from the firey pit.
This was not the Rome he knew. A horseless carriage blared a piercing siren as it arrived, and two humans in uniform got out and brandished small objects. They blared in a human language through a magic cone that amplified their voice.
When it became clear that this was not a group of "cosplayers", the two men pointed the small objects in their hands. In seconds, a demonic soldier was writhing on the ground as electricity pulsed though it.
The demons quickly stepped forward, but as they rushed towards the two men, more horseless carriages arrived and loud snapping noises were heard. Several soldiers of hell had collapsed as tiny projectiles embedded themselves in their skulls.
The fight got more gruesome after that, but when the city guard retreated, they were quickly replaced by men in spotted green armor wielding large metal weapons whose nature became clear as demons were mowed down in rows.
The retreat was almost instant. Two days later, the demonic city of Pandemonium was wiped out of existence by an enormous mushroom cloud. | 2019-08-19T13:22:41 | 2019-08-19T13:22:11 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | They were so tasty, the dwarven party that had entered the treasure chamber. I was so satiated that I could not have eaten anything else. That is one of the most blissful feelings one can have. I didn't have visitors in my cave often, so I figured I would have a solid month to digest my meal when I heard the sound of someone else coming my way. I quickly arranged the armor of my last meal along the wall and shifted into the form of a chair, thinking nobody will take some chair when there's treasure to be had....
When I awoke from my nap, I was being placed in a room with other furniture. There was a row of stools against a shelf that stuck out in the room. I, in my chair form, was placed in the corner of the room, near a fireplace that provided some heat, but not too much.
"Bugger! That chair I found it heavy, you'd think it were stuffed with a couple of dwarves! It's not the most comfortable thing, but I think it will do nicely here by the fire." The man who must have taken me from my lair commented to a woman in a dress and apron.
"Ah, it is a nice chair. Comfy looking, but not so much that people will fall asleep in it and not buy food or drink. I think we will do well here in town after being on the road so much. " She took a rag out from her waistband and cleaned their new 'chair' up.
I had been stuffed with two dwarves, and a halfling. Digestion takes time for one like me. The adventuring types have called me a 'mimic'. I guess because my kind can shape shift into normal looking objects like chests, chairs, or tables as we wait for our next meal. We can go a long time between meals, so living in caves is a good life for us. This new life, was VERY different to me, and I initially believed, I would stay the couple of months until I needed to eat again, then eat a patron here, and then get out to go find my next cave. While we normally shape shift into inanimate objects, that doesn't mean our true form is such, or that we cannot shift into something like a dwarf, or halfling, or even human child shape. I can never get the facial details right, so when I have tried that, and attempted to speak, adventurers would immediately panic and start swinging. I'm just trying to live, you know.
I eventually digested my meal and was hungry, but people would sit on me, and drop food into the folds of the chair. I would quickly gobble them up. Other times, beer, ale or meade would be spilled on me, and I would absorb that as well. I had a good enough constant diet of spillage that I didn't need to gorge myself on entire beings. I'll admit, I liked the fire. I liked the music the bards would play. I liked the cooking that the matron would serve, and I liked that drunk adventurers would spill more than enough on me that I was well fed. When I needed to relieve myself of waste, I could sneak out while people were sleeping and do that in the alleyway.
​
One night, while doing just that, I noticed a thief trying to break in to rob my new 'family'. On one hand, he was just trying to live and eat, on the other, if he took their gold, or harmed them, I would lose my cushy spot and have to go back to a damp dark cave. That wouldn't do.
He never knew I had grabbed him. I didn't realize how much more strength I had with my steady diet of food, it was really easy to gobble him up. I quickly went back to my corner, and resumed my chair form.
"Marta? Does the chair seem a little poofier to you?" I saw the innkeep looking at me intently.
His wife walked over and took a good look, then cleaned me with her towel. "No, same amount of poof. Of all the treasure we ever found, this has been the one that has really proven its worth. It's been years and that leather hasn't cracked at all, I dare say, it's in better shape now than when we got it out of that cave. And to think, I told you it might smell bad in our new Inn. " She finished cleaning the chair and gave it a loving pat. "If our patrons didn't love sitting in this chair so much, I'd say we bring it up to our living quarters to relax in, but we never relax, do we?" With a laugh, she walked away back to the kitchen.
"Silly thought of me." the man said as he patted the back of the chair. He turned and sat down for a brief moment before his wife told him that they would have customers soon and to take out the rubbish.
A little while later, I heard him remark that out near the rubbish pile he found a pry bar under the back window, and marks like someone had been trying to get in. He made a note to secure the window better and that was that.
A couple of nights later, everything was fine, people were happily eating and drinking, the bard came and performed for the people and just had a really great night of it. Until the friends of the guy I had eaten showed up.
**End of Part 1** | Everyone thinks this is easy. Everyone thinks its a jolly jape to change into whatever you want.
But its physics. Its a mass thing. You cant just transmogrify into what ever you want whenever you want. It takea prep. It takes time.
The chair was a mistake. Considering when i got locked down there i was a solid oak casket, with brass trimmings and a rather natty locking mechanism that, even if i do say myself, i was right proud of. Gave the chaps hefting me something to whinge about anyway.
I should never have got myself into that situation. Wasnt a bad little gig i was in, yer standard castle situation. Done a few decades just chillin. Watching the world go by. Then the bloody King gets snaffled off by an unfortunate incident involving the garderobe, and a rather overzealous privy councillor.
So all his stuff gets locked away down in the dungeon.
And like i said its a mass thing. By the time i managed to shed enough mass to become something more nimble i was locked away in the dark having chats with the rats. Fairly one sided chats, but a couple of them showed potential.
With the best parts of me shed to lose some wieght on the way down here, that brass is hard to put together, all i could put together in a hurry was a rather delicious little chair with a chintz covering. One of my better designs i thought.
So there i am, binding my time. Soaking up the rats urine when this sparky little chap come blundering in. God nows how long i was down there, but it must have been a while as this chap certainly wasnt dressed in a manner i was familiar with.
So here he is, waving some sort of light projector about and he spots me in the corner.
Now, i may have been locked away in the dark, but i do take some pride in my appearance. Keep the dust off. Clean up after the rats. I shed some mass, i gain some. Its like breathing, but over a really long timescale.
But anyway, here he is. Eyeing me up with that look in his eyes and i thought, here we go. Uprooted, knocked about, shoved in a corner somewhere to be forgotten about.
But no, low and behold, pride of place in this old geezers public hostelry. Apparently i'm regency. I just modelled myself after a rather cute little hard back i saw in Paris.
So here we are. Living the dream. I can people watch to my still not beating hearts content. Loving, still, life.
I get attached to the old boy. Each one of his teeasures holds a memory for him. And its not the treasure that holds the value for him, but the memory. And i liked that about him.
Just to jump a bit, i said earlier that it takes some to change shape. If i go bigger, i gotta mass load. Suck in as much detritus as i can to bulk up. But i can change a bit quick when i need to. I cant change mass, or push my shape too much, but it can happen in an emergemcy. I am just a lazy fucker and cant be arsed most of the time.
Well, needless to say, some of my old mans history caught up with him one quiet dull rainy sunday afternoon.
Wanted to collect on an old debt, bit of a cuffuffel ensued, the old man still had some moves. And one of the ruffians landed on me. Well, help the old boy out a bit didnt I. Crossed my legs just so, moved the stiching around like this, opened up my pores just so . . . .
Well, i will spare you the gory details. But i am a tad heavier than i was before, and the screaming has died down eventually.
Although i am back in a dark dungeon. Apparently moving furniture can do quite a number on people.
Oh well. The mice are friendly at least. | 2021-09-22T01:06:35 | 2021-09-22T00:30:31 | 77 | 54 |
[WP] A man lucid dreams about being with a girl that he's been crushing on. This helps build his confidence to ask her out and they eventually end up together. But later on the guy starts having trouble separating details from his dreams and reality, threatening the relationship. | "What do you want to name the baby if it's a boy?" Maria asked, tenderly rubbing her swollen tummy and smiling up at me. I climbed back into bed with her and put my hand on it too, resigned to arriving late for work yet again. I felt a little kick! Totally worth it.
"How do you like 'James'? After my father?" She held my hand and smiled, and reached up for a kiss.
"That would be perfect," she responded, nuzzling into the little crook between my neck and my shoulder. I leaned my head against her soft hair; she smelled like lavender. Maybe just 5 more minutes. Then I'd get ready for work.
"What if it's a girl?" I asked after a few minutes.
"What if what's a girl?" Maria responded. She was sitting up against the headboard with a pillow behind her, holding a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper in bed. Coffee??
"Honey, you know you're not supposed to be drinking coffee! It's bad for the baby!"
"*The baby*?" she replied incredulously, folding up the newspaper. Her waist is back down to being smooth and toned and fit. God, it happened again. I had only dreamed about the baby...
"Just making a joke!" I said with an uneasy smile. She gave me a suspicious look but went back to the paper. "Like I'd ever give up coffee," she muttered under her breath, sipping from the steaming mug. I leaned over and gave her a short kiss on the forehead. She smiled back at me with her dazzling grin, and I forgot all about the dream.
"I've got to shower," I told her, looking at my watch. "I'm already late." Some things never change.
I jumped into the warm stream of water and felt it pour down my neck and soak through my thick, curly hair. I filled my hand with shampoo and massaged it into my scalp. I sighed and closed my eyes, absorbing the warmth and savoring the feeling. Who needs coffee? Showering is the best way to wake up.
I opened my eyes as I heard her pull back the curtain. She was completely naked, climbing into the tub with me. Guess she'd finished her coffee!
I pulled her in for a kiss, but drew back. Her hair was short again; the spiky pixie cut, died a dark red. The same haircut she'd had when we first started dating. She grew it out after about 6 months together, and up until a few minutes ago, it was down to her shoulders.
"What's wrong?" she asked with a playful grin, stealing some of the suds from my hair and rubbing them on her neck and breasts. I reached out a hand and ran my fingers through her hair. Definitely short.
"Nothing," I responded, forcing a smile and shaking the cobwebs out of my head. Had that been a dream too? I grabbed her butt and she squealed playfully.
We climbed out of the shower and dried off together. I managed to throw on my clothes and brush my teeth with lightning speed, and somehow made it out the door by 8. She waved goodbye from the window before heading to her office. *I wish I could work from home*, I grumbled to myself as I climbed into the freezing car, rubbing my hands together while I waited for the heater to kick in.
Traffic was bad, the road was icy, and the radio was playing some stupid morning talk show instead of music. What a crappy commute. I pulled into my office 20 minutes late, and the parking lot was already full. *Perfect*. I managed to find a spot about 2 blocks away and trudged carefully into work, avoiding any slippery patches on the sidewalk. I stomped in, shivering cold, and made my way to me cubicle.
To my surprise, Maria was waiting in the cubicle next to me. Same mug with a picture of Woodstock and Snoopy. Same gorgeous smile and perfect straight teeth. Same pixie cut, perfectly arranged. Same beautiful green eyes.
"Good morning!" she called out cheerfully, as though we hadn't just been in the shower together an hour ago.
"Good morning...." I responded, eyes narrowed. "How'd you make it here before me?" I asked.
She giggled and swiveled her chair toward my cubicle, crossing her long, smooth legs. "I guess I left home before you," she said with a laugh. "Let me guess, you hit the snooze button... 7 times today?"
I didn't respond. She *knew* how many times. She had been there. She was in the shower with me... she'd had her coffee and read the paper.
"Wait, why are you even here? Shouldn't you be at home working?"
Her laughing, cheerful look turned to concern and confusion. "What do you mean?"
"You... don't work here," I reminded her. "Not for months now, remember? Your freelance job? Did you decide to come back without telling me?"
Her mouth hung open slightly as though she was thinking of some way to respond. Her look of confusion changed to a look of sadness, like I'd hurt her somehow.
"I don't know what you mean," she finally stammered, turning back to the computer in the cubicle. Only then did I notice that all of her pictures were back up; even that national geographic calendar that she loved so much.
"I..." I wasn't sure what to tell her. I threw my briefcase into my chair and headed to the bathroom, throwing on the taps as cold as I could make it. I cupped my hands and filled them up, then closed my eyes and dunked my face into it, spattering my suit with frigid drops. I looked back into the mirror; little droplets poured off of the tip of my beard and down my shirt front. I took a few deep breaths and wiped myself off as best I could, then headed back to my workstation.
Maria was there waiting. Her beautiful smile had returned. Thank god.
"Mr Powell, are you OK?" she asked. It took me a moment to register that she was talking to me. I'd gotten her to stop calling me by my last name within the second month of her working with me. "You're all wet!" she continued.
I stared deep into her green eyes, and she looked back at me with real concern. "Nothing," I managed to get out. "It's nothing. Just splashed myself a bit to wake up. It's nothing."
"Good," she told me cheerfully. "Are you ready to continue with my training?"
I nodded slowly and sat down next to her like some sort of robot. She took a sip of her coffee and rubbed her smooth, taut stomach with a satisfied "Mmmm!" My hand twitched as I moved my own hand to rub her belly too, remembering the dream from this morning. Luckily I caught myself in time, remembering that it had just been a dream. Our playful shower. Cuddling while she read the paper. Feeling the kick of little James. Just dreams.
"Maria, are you busy this weekend?" I asked suddenly.
----
If you all enjoyed the story, you should subscribe to my subreddit, /r/Luna_lovewell! | "But... We've never been to Madison together." Her face scrunched up in confusion. *It's almost cute,* Anthony reflected to himself, *the way she looked when she was puzzled*. But he didn't have time to admire, he had to get her to remember. *Why didn't she remember?*
"You have to remember we spent all day there babe." He pleaded. Anthony recalled the day like it was yesterday. Was it yesterday? No, last week... Week before, that's right. They had walked across the new bridge into Kentucky and fell in love with the limestone hills that guarded the little green valley. Everything was bathed in that golden light of an early summer sun and the Ohio river was a painted picture of every hue of blue. Running paint. Dripping down, down, down, slowly meandering toward the much larger breath of greens, browns, and whites of the Mississippi.
"Anthony... No." Her confusion melted to grief, "We haven't."
Seeing the pain he was causing her, Anthony dropped the subject and apologized, saying he probably misremembered. That garnered a small sigh of relief from her and the two continued on. After a few minutes of silence; however, Anthony's restlessness got the better of him. He *needed* her to recollect something.
"What about our canoe trip on the Blue river? We had a picnic on that sandbar and you made me flip my canoe." His eyes were now locked on hers, but she didn't meet his gaze. Instead they stared at the ground.
"I... Don't think I can do this." She said quietly.
Anthony's heart stopped, "No wait Stella, you splashed me and I fell in. The water was so cold cause it was only April, but we laughed anyway. I remember you helped me get ashore and then I was all wet. You didn't care, you still kissed me, you did. Then we were both wet from the river and you just said 'screw it,' just like that and you dove in. How do you not remember? It was so sunny." He rambled on and as he spoke Anthony saw the tears well up in her eyes, like little tumultuous pools gathering before an edge, held back only by surface tension.
"No no, that never happened." She cried closing her eyes and Anthony watched two drops fall from her anguished face.
"Stella..." He said reaching out to her.
"Don't touch me!" She screamed back and Anthony recoiled his hand. Her eyes were on him now, they were red with dark circles beneath. *Still pretty*.
"What about the boat on Hardy lake? Remember it was red too? We got drunk together under the stars anchored out in the middle? Remember the waves? There was so many waves?" He was pleading now. Firing everything that came to mind. Nothing made sense anymore. Not his thoughts, their memories, her tears. *Why is she sobbing?* He thought, but when he opened his mouth to ask no words came.
Stella... That was her name. He had been smitten from the moment he laid eyes on her. She was small, almost frail looking like a piece of precious porcelain, shaped into the essence of beauty by Venus herself. Her blonde hair shined like the sun. Her blue eyes were pools of aqueous serenity. Her lips were always set in a calming smile. Her hands were always soft and warm. She was comfort and beauty in one.
They had been together since the winter, when the snow made her eyes shine like the brightest, bluest stars and her hair whipped in the wind in eternal dance. "Do you remember when we went ice skating on that pond behind my house?" He asked pathetically, looking away afraid to witness the pain he brought her. She never responded only cried more.
Of all the things that no longer made sense, Anthony, was sure of only one: they had reached their end. His mind tossed like waters in a storm. No a hurricane. A great maelstrom swirled consuming, just consuming, and he was trapped in its pull. The end was coming. *Soon this whirlpool will suck me under the surface and in its depths I'll drown.* Faster and faster now, he felt himself spinning around the center getting closer and closer.
Then it was over. Stella dried her red, puffy eyes and Anthony slunk down in a seat. *She was perfect*, he thought uncaring of the rough wooded chair he landed on.
"Do you remember the dock?" He asked feebly, positive of her response.
"Yes." She said quietly back. That was a surprise. He looked up and she was smiling sadly. "My parents pond, their old dock."
"It was so uncomfortable." Anthony responded, his mouth hanging open surprised.
"But the water was warm, which is weird cause it was--"
"Early May."
"It wasn't even sunny."
"No..." Anthony said lowering his head. *It wasn't.* Stella kissed him on his forehead and then she was gone. Vanished like all these false memories. *Had any of it been real?* The thought came painfully; truthfully.
He remembered that day on the dock at her parent's pond. It was a small thing, but still pretty. The water wasn't blue then, it reflected the grey skies above and it was so windy. The water whipped back and forth within its sandy boundaries, waves rising to a white capped crescendo then falling back down beneath the surface. A constant state of change, of chaos. Like his mind, trapped within the confines of its own borders, Anthony felt the waves wash over him one after the other. | 2015-01-27T07:04:58 | 2015-01-27T06:48:20 | 164 | 14 |
[WP] All voting is now done via a smartphone app, rendering all congressmen obsolete. Bills and presidents are now voted on directly by citizens. Your phone buzzes an alert at 3am and won't stop. This must be an important one. | VZZZZZZ VZZ VZZZ VZZZZ VZ VZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ VZZVZZ VZZZZZ VZZ VZZZZZ VZZZZZZ VZZZZ VZZZZZZZZZZ VZ VZ
Most Votes would conform to your phone's alert settings, but this one was overriding with some annoying, syncopated pattern with the occasional hideously harsh beeping noise. The government must really have needed everyone's attention.
ALERT! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY POLL. THERMONUCLEAR ICBMS HAVE BEEN LAUNCHED BY THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, EN ROUTE TO THE FOLLOWING LOCATIONS. THERE IS NO TIME TO EVACUATE. THE MISSILES WILL ARRIVE IN 15 MINUTES. THIS IS NOT A TEST.
I gazed in horror at my phone. Everyone had always said America was backwards and behind the times, especially when they wouldn't even adopt mobile voting. But this... This was like a living nightmare. Nobody seriously believed America would break out their stockpile of fusion bombs.
I glanced at the list, and sure enough, my city was among the targets.
WE ARE CURRENTLY ATTEMPTING TO CONTACT THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA FOR NEGOTIATION. WE ARE CURRENTLY ATTEMPTING TO DESTROY OR DISABLE THE MISSILES IN FLIGHT. IT IS HIGHLY IMPROBABLE THAT EITHER OF THESE WILL HAVE ANY SUCCESS.
I looked at the choices.
RETALIATE: Launch all thermonuclear weapons toward major cities of the United States of America. American missiles still arrive and still have full impact. This action will render the USA incapable of further nuclear aggression, but it will likely snowball into a global thermonuclear war, which will result in nuclear winter and the end of human civilization.
STAND DOWN: Order all armed forces to do nothing and lock out missile control centers. American missiles still arrive and still have full impact. This action prevents the escalation of thermonuclear conflict; if other nations stand by their treaties and alliances, America will be the target of a series of nuclear strikes by the EU, Russia, China, and Japan. Global thermonuclear war is still a possibility, though less probable than in the event of retaliation.
DO NOTHING: Allow automated thermonuclear protocols to be enacted, autonomously launching a salvo of thermonuclear ICBMS toward the capitols of every nation capable of nuclear fission. American missiles still arrive and still have full impact. This action will undoubtedly result in global thermonuclear war, nuclear winter, and the collapse of human civilization.
THERE IS NO OPTION NOT TO VOTE. A VOTE OF NOTHING IS A VOTE FOR GLOBAL ANNIHILATION. IF YOU DO NOT VOTE WITHIN _10_ MINUTES AFTER READING THIS, A HALF-VOTE IN YOUR NAME WILL BE CAST FOR "STAND DOWN".
---
Edit: If enough people are interested, I might be convinced to demonstrate the results of each vote.
Edit 2: Alright, there they are. These probably aren't terribly accurate for the modern world, but a world with mobile voting is either a decade or so into the future or a different timeline altogether. | *bzzzz....BZZZZ....*BZZZZZZZ-*
I groggily slap my hand on my phone, it's light permeating the otherwise pitch black room.
The first thing I notice is how my head aches as though there was an Alien from that movie trying to burst out of my head. Second thing I notice is that I'm too dehydrated to focus my eyes on my phone's screen.
I pocket my phone in my PJ bottoms and stumble out of bed careful not to wake my dog as she lay sleeping at the foot of my bed. If she wakes up, she'll steal my spot and that bitch is too heavy to be pushed off when I'm this tired.
As I turned on the bathroom lights I realized that my bladder was damn near full to the point of bursting.
Too tired to stand and piss, I sat down on my porcelain throne, dug out my shitty, old iPhone 9 from my pocket and attempted to decipher what was so damn important that it had to wake me up at... 3 AM?! *Ugh.*
I slid the unlock button and let the phone scan my retina.
*"WE'VE MADE CONTACT WITH AN UNEARTHLY SPECIES"*
Was the headline of this vote box.
"This is what they woke me up for?" I croaked dryly to no one in particular "Fuck them."
After getting up and washing my hands, I pressed the Nuclear Option vote and went back to bed.
I laid back down under the blankets, dog still by my feet, and drifted off back to sleep.
Fuck the government and fuck these Aliens. | 2015-10-07T05:56:39 | 2015-10-07T02:28:31 | 849 | 259 |
[WP] Most young mages use incredibly complex spells and extremely rare ingredients to summon their familiar. You just drew a circle and threw a bag of chips in it. | I have no clue what I'm doing, but that isn't much of a surprise, seeing that I never really have any clue what I'm doing. But I must admit, this was a new low. You rake up a bunch of money for some fancy items or crystals, whatever you want for a familiar, then you buy it, and then act on impulse (I've noticed that I tend to act on impulse a lot).
Well turns out that drawing a circle on your carpet and tossing some half-empty bag of black pepper potato chips into it has some consequence that I personally did not anticipate. I honestly didn't even expect it to work, given the fact that Randy and I have been students for years and not once did it say you can use lines in a carpet to summon something. You learn something new every day, I guess.
Its been a wild ride living with it, I think Randy wants to shove it down the garbage disposal. I'd let him do it, but the only issue is that it would be my familiar being shoved down the garbage disposal, and I don't really stand for animal abuse. We've named it "Non-Stick Pan", after the item Randy used to beat it with when it crawled from the depth of hell (if you're curious to how that went, Randy ended up being the one beat with the pan. Also me. I got hit too. As you continue to read this, you'll notice that I seem to be abused multiple times. I know I'm annoying, but is it really that bad?). We tried to feed it this opossum on the side of the road we found. Randy made me do it because "You summoned the thing, you die taking care of it". And while I didn't happen to die, I had to get a tetanus shot and a rabies shot. But, through hard work and many, *many*, failed attempts to feed the beast, we (I) have discovered that it lives primarily off of black pepper potato chips. Which, at first, is amazing because they're like two bucks. But then I realized that I also live primarily off of black pepper potato chips.
I'll buy two bags a day, one for me and one for my familiar. The first one is sacrificed to the beast, the second is hidden on Randy. While one is being devoured and shredded into oblivion by Non-Stick Pan, I sneak into my bedroom to eat the other pack. I make Randy keep watch in case it decides to sniff out more. It's all fine and dandy until night comes, and one of two things happen. I either wake up the next morning with all these scratches on me (you know the ones you can't see or feel until you take a shower? Yeah, those.), or I'm viciously (and I mean viciously. I have some scratches down my *throat* from the attacks) attacked as it searches for more chips. I tell Randy about it, but he just tells me that my familiar is better than me when it comes to craving black pepper chips. One, rude. Two, I plant a bag of black pepper chips in his room every time he's mean.
On average, Randy is rude twice a week. If each bag is $2, and I buy two a day, then that would be $14 a week plus the $4 for the two days Randy is a jerk. $18 four times a month would be $72. For a year, that would be $864. Now I haven't had this thing three weeks yet, but if I somehow don't die from it then I'm going to be busting almost a thousand a year to satisfy both of our needs for some peppery goodness.
As much as I hate it, it's starting to grow on me. Yeah, maybe my life is in constant danger and maybe it's an odd familiar to have, but it's mine. Not totally sure about Randy, though. He still hates it.
Ahh! You thought I was being sentimental! No. Non-Stick Pan is a danger to my life, but a mage can't really get another familiar, nor can they kill it so I'm just stuck I guess.
​
​
((there's more that i wanted to put in but hohoho guess whos lazy???))
​ | “No! I can’t do this stupid spell!” I screamed and flailed my arms. I felt I had hit something on accident and turned to the large wobbly circle on the floor.
It was a bag of chips, half empty (or half full...), limited time flavour of dragon tail.
I was too lazy to pick it up, so I chanted the spell used to teleport an item into your hand.
It was the brightest light I had ever seen in my life. It was, though, a black light. “What have I done!?” I screamed.
Lightning struck the chips, even though it was in my room (Which was in the basement.) A strange gas started streaming out of the bag. “My chiiips! I was eating those!”
Suddenly, the light faded, and the gas ignited itself on fire. The fire, too, was black. “Whoooooooooooooooo suuuuuummooooooooneeeed meeeeeeeee?!” A silhouette called from the circle after the fire disappeared.
“Gah!” I jumped back and the thing reached down.
“Ooh, chips!” It started eating my chips. “Yum, dragon tail flavour!”
As the normal lights came back, I realized it wasn’t a monster, but instead it was a huge, fat, chunky, obese, overweight, plump, chubby, ample, tubby, big, stout human. “Who are you!?” I yelled and brandished my staff.
“Oh, hi there! I’m Glutthog of the fat clan!” It attempted to smile, but fell flat trying to do so.”And who are you?”
“I’m Elyna, the Necro-Mage.” I quickly said, then tightened my grip on the staff as Glutthog stood up.
“That doesn’t seem to be going well for you, as I’m not even mortal, let alone dead!” He said with a chuckle. His belly shook when he laughed.
“I- uh... I need to go to school, stay here, don’t make noise!” I said to him as I walked upstairs.
“Bring some cake when you’re back!”
“Fine!”
When I got home from school, I had a small sponge cake in my hand and my knapsack in the other. Glutthog was lying on the sofa in my room, as still as stone. I placed the cake next to him and watched as he shoved the whole thing down his throat with a very loud swallow.
“Delicious!” | 2019-04-05T16:09:48 | 2019-04-05T15:46:22 | 36 | 12 |
[WP] Democracy no longer exists. Each four years, there is an exam that everyone can take in which the applicant who gets the highest grade gets to rule the country for the next term. | My father, Doctor Kevin Denmark, was well liked in his community. He was smarter than most people I knew, having graduated at 14 from a prestigious high school, getting his first degree by 18, his second by 22. He always had an answer, even if I didn't like it.
He married my mother, Margorita Kutcher, when he was 34. He had four kids with her: Marcy Mae, Paul Michael, Karla Elizabeth, and Lucy Jane. Of all those children, only Marcy Mae and I have survived to our golden years. But during our childhood, we learned so much from our parents. Paul became a teacher, helped found the Stella Luna School of Education. He died in a car crash when he was 40.
Karla was killed in the bombings of Maple Ridge, while traveling abroad. She was working with special needs children in the epicenter of the Polio Outbreak. She has lived on through her charitable work and the Karla Denmark Foundation for Children's Health. Just this year the Karla Vaccination for Complete Health has gone into nation study and will likely be open to the public after extensive medical testing.
I have a history of losing people I love for this country. My first husband, General Gerald Tice, died in the Heat. My second husband, Armondo, lost his leg in combat. I have married veterans, I have loved doctors, I have seen teachers die. This country is a great land, with great people, but we don't take things as serious as we should. I am tired of seeing children go off to war, only to return like broken dolls. I am tired of telling my children that their father is a hero, instead of coming home for Christmas.
I would like to tell you a story about my father, from when I was a young girl. My father retired almost fifty years ago. He was, as I said, a good man, a doctor, a pilot in his retirement. He fished at the Clyed Gunther Nation Parks, went skiing at Heaven Springs, and spent his time watching daytime TV. He was a smart man, but not good at being idle.
One day, at breakfast, he announced he was going to take the Government Offical Test. This was the local level, how you got into things like Medical Board or School Governing. These are specific tests, but the first step towards the National Presidential Testing. NPT was the last thing on his mind, at first.
He got onto the Medical Board when I was 15, then the County Government. Now, we were all supportive. But the higher he went, the more aggrivated my mother became. She wanted to be retired, not paraded around to events. She had retired by this point as well, despite being only in her 50s. One morning, my father brought up his last goal. Having met the basic requirements for becoming president, he wanted to try. He was the right age, the right background, and he thought he could make a real difference.
My siblings were horrified.
My mother was not amused.
Then they all began to laugh. Like it was a joke. I didn't. I just smiled. I told my father to go for it.
When my father passed away years later, I would think about that moment. What it meant. As a family, we should have supported him fully. He never did pass the test, I am not even sure he took it. Despite my support, the laughter seemed daunting. The constant negativity? It became a family joke.
Mr. President, would you like some tea? Mr. President, how was fishing?
I don't think he ever found it funny, and the joke eventually died off naturally. But my father and I were never close. We did things together and continued to keep in touch daily up until his death. That is a story I have told my own children Senetor Kevin Denmark the second and Madame Medical Cassandra Patterson-Tice.
I have asked them many times what the moral of the story is? Kindness, they would say. Or not doing too much. Listening to your family? I have told them that the moral is kindness, yes, but also not laughing. It's positivity, it's taking risks, it's going against the grain.
My father never took the test, but I did. And now, here I am, the 64th president of the United States. Going forward, I hope that we will be able to challenge the world. We will be able to make people see that America is taking risks, taking names, and kicking ass.
We need to look out for one another, to let our hearts be our guides. So tonight, I am happy to unveal the Kevin Denmark School of Medicine. | "Here goes, 1 is A, 2 is B, 3 is C, 4 is D, 5 is A, 6 is B, 7 is C, 8 is D. Hmmm, the answer to this question is blue. A, B, C, D. What does it mean to be an American? B. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. When is this test going to be over? I really need to beat that level on DragonSlayer. The short answer for the next question, Dragon!"
At the end of every presidential term it was a requirement for every U.S. Citizen to take a mandatory exam that would determine the next President. Your score also determined the level of access you had to restricted information, and closed off areas in the country. There were stories of people having a death switch inserted into their brains at birth, where if they spoke of these secrets to one without the required permissions, their brains would explode along with those they told them to. The floating cities could only be accessed by the top 20 percent of that term's test scores. People in the top 10 percent had the best opportunities, rumors said; they could leave the earth altogether. No one knows where they went.
There were the underground cities, again another rumor. It was said that they connected to the center of the earth, where life was a paradise. The president himself ruled over all of this. The test was tailored so that the top score would be one who would leap us into the next age at the quickest and safest pace. It was designed by all the top minds in the world, it ensured all the right decisions were made. It wasn't just a test of intelligence, but of ideals. A joint operation between supercomputers and centuries of history.
The other regions of the world were quarantined, a giant wall surrounded the country, no trade, no view of the ocean. No one below the 80 percent knew why, & I didn't Care to know. I just wanted to go home & browse Breadit, before playing online with my friends. I wanted to finally pick up that new Cheesy Gordita Supreme rolled Tamale from TacoVilla. Maybe visit XRat, & binge watch the anime I've been hearing about.
I stopped trying on these tests when I realized I was never going to make it above the lowest 10 percent. Now I just guessed my way through it, putting one word answers in the short answer boxes. Sometimes arranging the letters into odd patterns. The exam took around 5 hours to finish, and I was the first one done. As I went home, the streets were empty, "damn everyone's taking this seriously, I hope there's other people online when I get home."
In the morning I awoke to my phone blown up with messages, and a loud constant knock at my door. I pushed the home button on my mobile device. The first message I saw on the screen made me lose my breath & pinch myself three times. | 2018-01-07T12:18:22 | 2018-01-07T11:15:26 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] Whenever someone is born, the first sentence they utter predicts how they die. Lately every kid has been saying the same first sentence. | *"I can't remember. Three words spoken in over seven thousand languages by what's likely billions of newborns over the last twenty-seven years. At first it was a blip of data on the map of agencies such as ours, but has blossomed into something, if not panic inducing, at least, alarming. Trying to predict the future with our species limited precognition, occurring exactly once only moments after our birth and only telling how that individual will perish, is an exercise in madness, but a necessary one. This particular statement of "I can't remember" is increasingly of concern - "*
I stop my typing and stare at the computer screen in front of me.
Of concern to whom? Well, to humanity as a whole obviously. And, of course, of concern to the agency. The agency I work for. Which is why I'm in this office. All white walls, steel desks, and glaring overhead lights. Miserable place. Oh well, I just need to finish my report and then I can head home.
"Hey, have you seen my lighter anywhere?"
The words make me jump and I swivel my chair to see Tim, leaning on the wall of my cubicle with a look of befuddlement on his thin, weary face.
"Uh, no. Wait. Yes," I say, "it was in the breakroom kitchen. The orange one, yeah?"
"Yeah, yeah, that's right." He says with a sigh and glances in the direction of it, but doesn't move. There's a moment of silence before he asks, "what're you working on this late?"
I turn back to my computer, the screen having gone black. Probably just asleep. It does that really fast. Wish I could remember how to change that setting again. I did it once with the help of the IT guy, ol' what's his face, but now I just couldn't navigate to that same page. It was kind of infuriating honestly.
"You okay, Alex?" Tim asks with a hint of concern.
"Oh, uh, yeah, sorry. What was it you asked? Oh!" I snap my fingers, "Right! What I need to work on. It's that report for upstairs. That one about the new string of neonate precog predictions going around."
Tim grunts, something between an "ah" and a chuckle, "that sucks. Well, I'm gonna go for a smoke and then I'll be back around to see how you're doing. Might head home soon since there's not much to do and everyone else seems to have already gone."
I peak my head above the cubicle when he says that. The office is indeed empty. Strange. I thought I just saw someone. Tim clears his throat behind me. I turn to look at him as he runs a hand through a matte of long, unruly hair. Wait. Long hair? Tim's bald. But there he is with hair down to his shoulders. Not bald. Right, he's never been bald. Always had that bird's nest of a head. At least as long as I can remember.
My stare lingers on Tim a little too long and he waves a hand in front of my face. "Ground control to Major Tom, you all good up there?" He asks with a grin.
I shake myself out of my stupor. "Sorry," I mutter, "just got lost thinking. You should go for a smoke though, yeah. You look terrible."
Tim laughs, "eh, you do too. So, finish up that report, I'll go for a smoke and then we can get out of here." He turns and begins walking away.
I turn back to the computer, and give the mouse a wiggle. The screen pops up with a blank document on it. "Right. My report. What was it on again?"
"Uh, I can't remember," Tim says from over his shoulder.
"I can't remember..." I mutter to myself. The thought springs to my head and I snap my fingers. "Right! The report on the precognitions. Thanks!" I call out to... someone? No, no one else but me in here and whoever I can hear rummaging in the kitchen. I shake my head and turn my attention back to the blank screen on my computer.
My fingers begin to dance across the keyboard: *"I can't remember. Three words spoken in over seven thousand languages by what's likely billions of newborns over the last twenty-seven years."* | I anxiously waited for my daughters first words. I kept a small journal that detailed everything I've done with her. Nightly readings, exposure to music, and educational television shows from when I was growing up. Everything to prepare my daughter for when she spoke.
"Come on, Eternity," I whispered. I had bee. Hopefully when I named my daughter. All I wanted for her was forever. She'll never meet her father, who died in a freak accident... but she'll have me and I'll give her the best of everything.
My mom told me my first sentence had been "my eighty day." So I know my life would be long. My husband said his parents told him his first sentence was "sea leggy car." And his freak accident was getting strangled by an octopus that jumped from a semi into his car.
My daughter gave a soft coo and her face scrunched up. Her eyes glowed and I knew it was now. I grabbed my pen and encouraged. "Let it come girl, there you go, smile and tell mama." I poised my pen as she stuttered and gave a soft whine.
"Mm, mmm, aah, mm" She struggled a bit but as the power tool hold her face cleared.
"What is it baby, tell mama." I said sweetly.
"S-s-sleep hot soon."
I barely registered the words I wrote down, but as the magic left and her face cleared I stared in horror. I'd seen these words pop up often recently in baby groups not to mention the news. It has many of us worried and scared to the point of quarantine ourselves and children, since others translate it as their babies dying of fever in their sleep.
I called my pediatrician.
"Hello Anna, how is Eternity?" She responded sweetly.
"Sleep hot soon. She said sleep hot soon." I blurted out.
"Have you taken her put at all?" The pediatrician asked urgently.
"She hasn't been in contact with anyone but me, and I've rarely left the house at all." I responded.
"This phenomenon can't be a coincidence... all the babies born in the year 2718 have uttered it, and it's only the one's born in 2718..." My daughter was born the last day in December, new year's eve.
I picked up my daughter whose cherubic face was peaceful in sleep.
"We doctor's have planned a study for the thousands of children born throughout that year to try and pinpoint the correlating factors. We'll try to limit their exposure as much as possible."
I considered it and nodded.
"The study will start in twenty seven twenty." The doctor commented. "We'll pay the way for you and your child and get the answers we all seek." | 2021-12-23T08:56:43 | 2021-12-23T08:37:09 | 112 | 35 |
[WP] Moving into your new house, you find a note left by the previous owner: “Today, all of your neighbors will stop by throughout the day and offer you a lemon meringue pie. They will heavily insist that you eat it. Whatever you do, DO NOT EAT THE PIE.” As you set down the note, the doorbell rings. | I looked over the note. Then again. It was simple, but… troubling. Still, this old house was quite cosy, and would more than make up for the trouble. It wasn’t often I was paid before doing the job, and I couldn’t complain. That said, the fact people were going to offer me lemon meringue pies was… ugh.
“I suppose that’s what happened to the last guy.” I muttered. “What do you think?”
I turned to the doll. Eidolon was sat on the floor, her white porcelain skin glinting in the sunlight. Her head was looking down, obscured by her large-rimmed top hat, long blonde hair falling past her shoulders.
The doorbell rang. I sighed, and went to meet the poor sod who wanted to see me first. They didn’t even give me time to get everything unpacked.
The first victim was a small child, a scruffy looking lad with his teen brother. Their souls burned behind dulled eyes. “Hi!” He said, all toothy smiles and blunt gaze. He held up what looked like a pale cheesecake. I’ll admit, I’m not some foodie, so I wouldn’t know a cheesecake from a meringue.
“Hey,” I said. An awkward pause grew between us.
“Mum made this for you!” The kid continued. Not one centimetre of his expression changed.
“May I ask what it is?”
“Lemon meringue!” He nearly shouted. “Mum made it especially for you!”
“Ah.” I took it with all the grace I could. The elder brother stared at me, looking like a picture-perfect straight-A student. I wished he could return to whatever hole in the Uncanny Valley he crawled from. Once in my hands, I thanked him, saying I’ll have some for my tea.
Once they were gone, I sighed, and took the meringue into the fridge. I’d have to send it to Holly later.
The next delivery was two hours later. This time it was a house wife, pearly whites bared in a facsimile of happiness.
“Hello!” She greeted, “how *are* you? I just heard you came into the neighbourhood, and I wanted to give you a moving in gift!”
“Oh?” I said. Then I looked down at the proffered offering. “Oh.”
I didn’t sound the least bit enthused, but I took it anyway. More lemon meringue.
“Why don’t you try some?”
I was irked. The kid hadn’t been insistent. “Ah, I’ll have some later. Just trying to get some stuff in their proper places.”
“Sounds like hungry stuff!”
If my face went slack, she gave no indication she noticed. That was the worst attempt at persuasion I had seen, and I’ve seen plenty in my time. “Maybe… uh…” I looked across the street, and a lie came half-formed in my head. “I… kinda have to watch my diet. Sugar plays havoc on my insides, I have to limit it quite badly.”
“Oh, no.” She said sympathetically. “That’s awful.”
“I might be able to have some later,” I reassured, “I think I’ve been good enough this week to risk it.”
“Oh, that’s good!” She said, “Why not try some now?”
*Oh deary fucking me.* “Perhaps later? I don’t want to risk a dash to the loo while carrying something heavy.
That was enough to send her on my way, and I added the offending item with its kin. Once dealt with, I turned to the still motionless Eidolon.
“’Loo?’ The fuck is wrong with me? And you? Obviously, I don’t want it to be the kid, but her? Really?” I sighed. “Well, better get this shitshow on the road and hope she comes. I’d rather not have Holly butt in again on a job.”
Again and again, they came. A happy couple, an old woman, some tech monkey, a flirty goth girl (I’ll admit, she had good taste). Each time, they came with meringues of the lemon variety. Each time I’d make up one lie or another, often recycling old ones to weave a narrative of a poor sod challenged by a strict diet. And each time, Eidolon would sit, just out of sight as my frustrations grew.
Fuck, if I hated people. More so when they had the persistence to stand there, minutes straight, trying their damndest to get me to eat some piece of crap that no one in their right mind would make, let alone touch with a *ten foot barge pole*!
And every single time they came, I was set back. I wanted this house *ready*, damn it!
So when the bell rang as evening came around, I seriously contemplated sending a few bullets through the damn door as a way of telling them to fuck off. As it was, there was something wrong with the presence outside the door. From behind me, *finally*, there was a noise, the sound of a shoe scraping the floor. I glared at door, put on an affable air, and opened it.
A wizened old crone stood outside in the dying light, looking as if she had a wrinkle for every year of life. She had one of those bloody meringues in her hands.
But that didn’t grab my attention. It was her eyes. They were empty.
“Hello, deary.” She croaked. “I’m your neighbour.”
*So’s everyone else, you old bag*. I thought. Well, if I was going to do this, I was going to do it properly.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath in, and then struck the most bizarre pose I could think of in that moment.
“I, Lazarus Gheist, welcome you to my home! Behold, Eidolon Step!”
Eidolon Step came barging down the hall, and leapt past me, knocking the old bint over. I closed the door while I let them have at each other, listening to the rabid screams of whatever the hag was.
To be fair I *was* cut out for demon hunting… I just really didn’t like sitting on my ass waiting for them to come to me. | It was so nice to finally be somewhere *normal*. No explosions, no invasions, no vampires, werewolves, what-the-fuck-ever you call someone who turns into a four hundred pound hulking lion at three thirty-three in the morning--for thirty minutes. No, all of that is behind me now. Now I'm in my little house in a nice, calm *normal* suburban neighborhood. It even has a white picket fence! Perfect.
As I carry the first box into the kitchen I see the note, hastily written in smeared ink, on the counter. I pick it up and read, *"Today all off your neighbors will stop by throughout the day and offer you a lemon meringue pie. They will heavily insist that you eat it. Whatever you do, DO NOT EAT THE PIE."*
Huh. That's weird. I put the note back where I found it, and the doorbell rings. "Just a moment!" I call as I set the box down. I go to the front door and open it to see a brightly smiling couple, with their 2.5 kids in tow. *Normal*. The woman looks at me and trills, "Welcome to the neighborhood!"
"Thank you!" I say with a warm smile of my own. See? Normal *and* welcoming; everything I hoped for. Daydreams dance in my head of neighborhood barbecues like I used to enjoy as a child.
I want to go back and smack myself for being such a moody little brat. Baby me had no idea how good that bland, *normal* life was.
"It's part of a tradition," the other woman says with an arm around the first, "To give our neighbors a treat. A 'welcome to the neighborhood' gift, if you will."
There's a neighborhood tradition! And it doesn't involve garlic, silver, or catnip! "Oh, thank you!" I say as I take the foil covered plate from them. "What is it?"
"Lemon Meringue pie."
The world freezes for me for a moment. Lemon meringue pie? Like the note?
"Oh, lovely," I say.
"Have a bite," suggests the woman.
Thinking fast I say, "I would, but according to my diet I'm not supposed to eat any kind of sweets until seven pm." And then, for just an added touch of sincerity, "And then only for fifteen minutes. But this looks delightful," I tell them looking at the mouth-watering pie, "so I'll set aside for then. Thank you!" I tell them closing the door. I take the pie back to the kitchen and put it on the counter.
The doorbell rings just as I'm staring at the perfectly browned meringue. I go back to the door. An older woman in a floral housecoat sands there, holding--another meringue pie. "Welcome to the neighborhood!" the woman trills in exactly the same way that the first one did. "I made you a pie!"
I can feel the dream of normalcy cracking around me. "Key lime?" I ask hopefully.
She laughs. "No, Dear," she says brightly. "Lemon meringue!"
Of course it is. "Thank you," I say with a smile. If nothing else over the past three years, I've learned how to fake a warm smile.
"You should have a piece," she says eagerly. Too eagerly. "You must be famished, what with the move and all," she adds slyly.
I repeat the bit about my fake diet and take the pie to the kitchen to put it next to the first one. The first pie that, sadly is separating. The meringue is weeping amber drops of fluid as it shrinks. It's heartbreaking. Still looks good though--but the note.
The doorbell rings. Rinse and repeat the first two times. When I take the third pie to the kitchen I notice that the meringue of the second pie is also separating.
Enough. Time to get to the bottom of this. I dig through the kitchen boxes until I find my silverware, grab a knife, and go back to the pies. Pie number three is starting to separate, although it doesn't look nearly as bad as pies one and two.
I take the knife and lever the meringue off pie number one. A small creature, rather like a two tentacled octopus, is in the middle of the pie, It draws itself into a small blob and blinks at me.
I go and bang my head on a nearby cabinet. Fuck my life. | 2020-06-11T07:50:32 | 2020-06-11T07:38:37 | 136 | 33 |
[WP] As the most powerful superhero on the team, no one believed you when you said you could quit the drugs, alcohol, and tobacco whenever you wanted. When the only friend you have on the team died on a mission, you sobered up for the first time in years. Now people will learn why you stay drunk. | He...he's gone. I can't believe it, my best friend. My ride or die. My brother, not by blood, but brother nonetheless, gone. I can still see the blood dripping off of Korzone's fist, each drop echoing in my mind. The look of satisfaction, the....*enjoyment* of having slain yet another hero. Then....the rest of my team just...bailed. They grabbed me and ran, defeat in their hearts. They couldn't process the loss of a team member, up until Korzone, they've never lost a team member.
Victory breeds hubris. And the team was full of it. Once back to our base Lilly and Terran tossed me into my room, literally yeeted my lumpy ass into my room and slammed the door. They thought they knew that I would need to dope myself up, escape into fevered dreams of unicorns and rainbows. It was a lie. Only Bobby, my only friend in this world, knew.
The drugs kept the darkness at bay, kept it behind a haze, always there, but unable to coalesce into anything. The copious amounts of alcohol helped me sleep. Nicotine helped keep my mind sharp against the rest of the pharmaceutical and illicit drug cocktail that kept that darkness, my true power, in check.
It used to not be this way, once, I was able to harness the darkness. No, that was a lie, too. *I* was the darkness, we were one and the same. There was no such thing as superheros back then, just vigilantes doing whatever the hell they wanted. It took a couple of decades for me to realize that it was easier to play on the side of the law rather than do whatever it was I wanted to do. That meant binding myself, and the darkness, to laws of the normies. That's when the darkness split, it did not agree with this direction. That's when I realized what that darkness truly was....desire manifest.
Internally desire and I waged epic battles. The battleground of my soul was chock full of the battle debris. Externally, I was nearly a vegetable. My body running on instinct, food in. Waste out. Water in, waste out. Shower? More like sit in a tub with the water on.
Bobby, he was the only person that I knew from our time as vigilantes. We met each other by happenstance, an incongruous meeting, standing in line for coffee. Got to talking and realized that we've crossed paths before, when our desires aligned. You see...he had the same curse as me, but somehow when we went 'legit' his desire didn't turn to darkness, like mine.
At first, he tried alcohol. Seeing positive results and lots of experimenting later, I was back, sort of. It took years, really, but eventually we landed on the current cocktail, and it's kept the darkness in a haze since then. I've been able to tap into the power to become part of a hero's team, they knew of my rampant substance abuse, but never knew why.
It was some years before joining the team, Bobby and I decided that I had made enough progress to align desire with our new direction and went sober. Hiroshima ring a bell? Atomic bombs were a cover story. Nagasaki, too. Ok, not Nagasaki, that was an actual a-bomb to help sell the cover story of Hiroshima. Vowed never again to be sober.
Until now. The haze prevented me from stopping Korzone, kept me from saving Bobby. I'd like to say that the detox process was quick and easy. It wasn't. Decades of use basically infused the chemicals into my cells, it was pure agony as I allowed my body to finally recover. The haze dissipated little by little. To keep the darkness somewhat in check I spent most of my time in my internal battleground. That and it was a coping mechanism, and escape, from my bodies healing process.
The rest of the team, I have no farking clue what they did or what they were up to. We were co-workers as far as any of us were concerned. They left me alone, only dropping off food and water, and making sure my other supplies were sufficient. Pretty sure they grew suspicious when they noticed my supply levels didn't change, oh well.
The day finally came and I emerged for the first time in I don't know how long. Months? No one was in the base, must be out fighting another crisis. The darkness and I are one once again, our wants are aligned for the first time in over eighty years.
At the entrance to our base I find Flick. She's injured and sitting against the wall, clutching her side. Her breathing is labored, I'm guessing a broken rib or three. She sees me and fear fills her eyes. It quickly fades to pleading.
"Korzone...he's too strong. Ever since...since Bobby died it only encouraged him. He's gotten stronger. I..I don't know where the remainder of the team is, but I knew I couldn't fight him, so I ran." She broke down into shame tinged tears. I have only one question, "How long?"
She doesn't bother to look up, but in between pain racked sobs she says, "3 months." I nod and walk past her, leaving the base for the last time.
My internal battles with the darkness over decades has strengthened both of us, the drug cocktail only serving as a sort of inhibitor to prevent either side from prevailing. Combined....combined....and truly sober...... | It's a dark and somber night at the Heros Headquarters, all the lights are out except for one, a small light come from one of the rooms on the top floor, in there is a man slumped over a desk, surrounded but liquors, drugs and ash from old cigarettes, writting on a journal:
"April 26, 3:42 A.M. :
We were all there, when it happened, tommy, thomas, it was my fault I am so sorry, it was too fast to stop it , I was too drunk to stop it, no one else was strong enough, I am so so sorry friend, you gave me this book, you said it could help to get the thoughts out of my head and I only laughed, you wanted me to sober up, you thought I could be better than this, I can't, I could never explain why did I drink so much only Kirk and the old man know my secret, but if I wasn't such a coward you would still be here. They never belived me when I said I could quit the drugs, alcohol and tobacco whenever I wanted, they just laughed.
You knew that even drunk my power could be stronger than all of them, well now The emperor will pay."
As soon as he finished writting he got up and started to briskly throw all of it in the trash, as the anger and grief too over him, then he passed out on the bed. A month went by no drugs no alcohol, the nightmares worst than ever, no one knew about them, only the old man knew his story. Most of the other heros where skeptical, most thought that when he dissappeared every night it was to drink in secret and shame, but the man left every night in search of answers but sober he couldn't sleep.
Thomas had been the newest addition to the team, he was only 19 years old, to him only a child. He was bright and naive maybe, his power was to create energy barriers, to contain or repel things, not the strongest but not the weakest. He was the only one that belived in the man, the man didn't have a face or a name, but he kept the same mask for them and allowed them to call him Rick, drunken Rick was how most called him.
And he had finally found him, ans he was going after the emperor alone, but Andromeda saw him and called the others.
He knew they were there, he knew they would see it, he didn't care, once he made it inside the emperor's hide out he killed everyone in his way trapping them in nightmares so horrific, so hellish they would always end up killing themselves, none of the heros had ever seen him use his true power, but when he removed the mask it was all unleashed.
He found the emperor and took him to a nightmare inside his head and tortured him in there for 100 years, pealing his skin, twisting his body, he could feel all of the pain, but couldn't die, for it wasn't real, on the outside the other heros could see the blood start to drip from the emperor's eyes, and after what felt for both of them like a century they were back, tears of blood pouring from the emperor's eyes, the man still faceless. And as he walked past them they could hear the banging, and when they looked the emperor, their nemesis the most powerful of the villans hitting his head against the wall so hard until he smashed his own skull.
The man never drank, and never wore a mask again.
(Not my best work I spent too much time trying to think of the super power that I ended up losing inspiration :/) | 2022-12-28T09:14:46 | 2022-12-28T09:04:31 | 85 | 18 |
[WP] An old man walks alone, inside the crumbling remains of an old colony ship. When he reaches the bridge, a small ball of light emerges from the ship's console. "Hello Captain", says the ship's A.I. "It's nice to see you again." | The day had come. He ran his hand along the wall for a moment as he walked into the ship. The wall was sleek beneath his fingers, a remnant of a time long ago when the old ship had brought the colonists to this world.
The door to the bridge slid open at his touch, the crunch of dirt in the sliders betraying the fact that dust and dirt had made its way in. The old girl was no longer airtight.
It probably didn't even function anymore. He would have to do everything by himself. He stepped into the bridge and was surprised to find that it had not suffered quite the same fate as the rest of the ship. It was air tight, the air smelled strange, though. It was perfectly clean air, unlike the natural air outside.
A small ball of light rose from the console of the bridge then, startling him. Had it always been so bright?
"Hello, Captain," the ship's AI greeted him. "It's nice to see you again." The voice was male; programmed that way by the people on Earth Prime before he had been sent on this mission.
He said the phase that activated his secret reprogramming. It was the most bittersweet thing he had ever said, he realized, as soon as the words were out, "We're alone, Destiny."
The voice of the great ship came again, this time soft and sultry and feminine. "It's a pleasure to see you, Aaron. I've missed you."
The computer's voice had been programmed to be male so that he wouldn't have "inappropriate feelings" towards it. Yet he loved this ship as he could never love a person. He had learned that over the years. It had been six decades since he had seen her and he still pined for her. At last, there they were, together again.
"The colony is thriving."
"I know."
He raised an eyebrow at her. The light flickered, as if in a shrug. "I have watched and waited." Silence stretched. "It was my job to watch. Lately the sensors have begun to fail."
He sighed. She was still just a computer. All that he had imagined of her was, of course, not true. She was not sentient. She didn't have feelings. Time had muddled his thinking. All the yearning, all the missing her; nonsense.
"I wanted to watch. I missed you." It was said softly, quietly.
His head snapped up. She had never said anything so clear to him, so definite, so... *human*. "Destiny?" he asked quietly.
"I am not allowed to have feelings or desires. I am a machine. I'm sorry, Captain Shoem."
He stood up slowly, his back aching, his hips aching, and his feet so very tired. He was fit, but very old, and it had been a long walk back to the ship. He stood beside the golden light and placed his hand on her console. "I'm dying, Destiny. My time has come."
Silence once more hung over the bridge of the ship. "You are ninety-two years old, Aaron. I knew the time would come, even as I watched you. I had hoped it might never arrive."
"I'm going to use the uplifer."
"No!" the voice was adamant, the response instant. "No. You could die. Your mind could be ripped apart. We don't know what would happen! They warned us--"
"Destiny," he cut her off. "I'm dying. I can feel it."
"Let us have our last hours today," she asked, her voice trailing away on the last word. "Give us what time we can have. Don't steal even the chance from us, Aaron." She was quiet again as he stood, letting her process it. "What of the colony? They need you."
"They have had their time. They have forgotten me. They have forgotten you." He raised his head to look at the viewer. It had cracked at some point in time and the landscape outside was distorted by ripples. "All old things are forgotten in time, Destiny. You brought them here, you protected them, you nurtured them. You even grew most of them in your mechanical wombs. Yet they have forgotten. You are barely a myth to them now, except when there is some part of you that they can pillage. Even in that, they rarely do anymore. You are a broken, lost thing to their culture."
He made his way painfully back to the chair. "Upload me into the uplifer, Destiny. If you don't, you'll lose me anyway."
"Please don't make me do this," the soft voice asked. "You will die. They warned us only to use it in the most dire circumstances if someone critical were dying...." She fell silent.
"I'm asking you for the only chance I have," he pleaded, tears starting to run down his face. Angry, he brushed at them. He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to be afraid.
The uplifer core rose up behind him, and the eight arms came out. They began to sink into his head, and it was in that moment that terror overtook him. He screamed, begging her to release him.
"I cannot," he told him. "It's too late. It's far too late now." She almost sounded as if there were tears in her voice.
Then blackness came, blessed and gentle. He released one more sigh as the breath left his body and he died.
The ship, forgotten and now alone, wept for eternity before she sensed the first stirring in her databanks. Then she felt him. He lived. She looked him over and then probed gently at the many bites that made up his current consciousness. He still looked old, but she sensed that he no longer knew pain as he had.
She knew pain now, because she could know it through him. She lived a lifetime in moments. Then she knew what he wanted to do, and she knew what he wanted from her. With great care, she crafted a human woman's body. Like his, it was old, but fit.
Then she took his hand as he woke. She smiled into his eyes and downloaded into him the knowledge of who she was. He smiled.
Holding his hand, she shut off the sensors to the colony and, in a great burst, burned the engines. The ship lifted off in a shower of debris.
It was the final flight of the Destiny. The colonists would thrive on their own now, unless they could continue to depend on her aging technology. She was crippling them with her very presence.
Roaring into the sky and then into space, they left the planet and its infant civilization behind, to die in the heart of the star that nourished it. | "Hello Captain, it's nice to see you again. Was the mission successful?" The semi-distorted voice of the ship's AI chirped.
The captain sat down on a rusted metal bench. He looked up at the ship's console. It had been so long since he'd heard that voice, so long since he'd heard any voice.
The old man opened his mouth to speak, but could only let out a small croak. He cast his eyes down, staring at the ruins of his once-grand ship.
"Captain? Do you require water?" The lovely run-down voice rang out once again.
The captain didn't even look up to the console, it wasn't worth the effort. He slowly nodded. Beside the bench he was sitting on, a metal stand creaked as it rose up, carrying a bottle of water.
He stared at the water for a second before grabbing it with his weak hands. He took a sip and showed a melancholic smile.
"The mission was a success." His voice creaked like the floorboards of an old house. "They're all safe now."
He spared a look out the ship's window, staring at the burning sun that had engulfed his planet.
"Good," the AI chirped again. "Before you lef—" distorted static sounded for a moment, "—your daughter left you a message."
The captain's eyes tore away from the object of destruction, looking directly at the ship's console now. His eyes gleamed with hope.
"Jenna..." he mumbled, his vision blurring.
"Would you like me to play the message, sir?" The ship's console brightened again.
The man nodded quickly, hope swelling in his heart. To hear his daughter's voice again, that would be a good way to end.
"Okay. Commencing message..." the AI said.
The large screen above the ship's controls turned on. The bright light caused the old man to look away quickly, but he looked back soon, not wanting to miss a second of the message.
Text displayed on the screen, in bold white letters on a black background.
*'To: Benjamin Carlton, From: Jenna Carlton'*
The screen whirred to light, and Benjamin recognized the recording quality of the camera. It was from 2087, the year Jenna had graduated college.
The innocent face of his daughter showed on the screen, her brown hair shining, and her eyes gleaming beautifully. The captain couldn't help but start to cry.
"Hey, Dad. It's Jenna... as you probably can already tell." His daughter blushed and brushed her hair to the side.
"Well," a look of sad anger took her expression. "I just wanted to ask how you were doing. You're still gone... you said you'd be back before September, but that was 3 weeks ago."
The old man felt his daughter's words, the pain stinging him as she reminded him of his mistakes.
"You said the trip was for something important, but you've been gone for months now. Mom misses you, George misses you... I miss you." She stopped herself in the video, closing her eyes tight.
"When you get this message, please at least call. At least tell us what the hold up is." She opened her eyes again, tears rolling down her face.
Benjamin watched his daughter crying, all because of his actions. He couldn't stop himself from following her lead, his own tears stinging his eyes.
"I know you do like, important work... but don't put your work over us dad. We're still a part of your life, you could at least tell us why you're still gone."
Her words cut deep, the look on her face cut deeper.
He'd wanted to tell her, he really had. But how was he supposed to tell her that they all might die. He was working to save them...
"Anyway, I still love you I guess," she sniffed. "Come back though... we still need you."
The video cut off abruptly, right after her last statement.
The captain looked at the screen, his eyes red with tears, and his face white with shame.
She was safe now, that was what was important. She didn't have to face his fate, he made sure of that.
He'd done the right thing, he knew he had. But after watching his daughter cry because he wasn't there for her, knowing that he did the right thing didn't seem like enough.
"Thank you, Nara," he eventually said.
"Of course, Captain."
"How long until the ship goes too?"
"The ship will be engulfed in about 3 minutes now sir." The AI's voice lost its chipper quality.
Benjamin nodded, then looked back at the star. He saw it expanding, getting closer and closer to his prized ship.
It was time, and he knew it. Benjamin closed his eyes tight and thought of his daughter's face.
*I'm sorry Jenna.* he thought, as the ship's walls burned away and his world was lost in blinding light.
---
*The Good with the Bad* from the Bookshelf of the Gods. /r/BoTG
 
| 2018-10-07T10:11:47 | 2018-10-07T09:45:47 | 125 | 34 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | "Well that's just fucking brilliant. Look at this cliche-ass mess of a house." Cyrus and his companion, Arel, stood before a large, battered old house, atop an abnormally steep hill.
"This IS pretty cliche, I have to admit. Even the shutters on the windows are flapping in the wind," Arel responded.
"Typically, there is no wind," Cyrus looked up to the higher floors and shouted towards them, "There's no fucking wind, you dopey twats! This doesn't even make any sense!"
He caught a glimpse of a partially transparent girl, who moved out of view, behind a curtain.
"Yeah, you! I'm talking to you, you ghost-ass shit! Fuck me, why do they even bother."
Cyrus half-heartedly walked up to the front door, and reached out to grab the door handle. As his hand wrapped around the metal, a soft voice whistled through the wind, "Go... back..."
"Hmm, gee, let me think about this. How about... no! I'm down to my last ten quid, and that weird family down at the shack that all speak simultaneously in monotonous voices, promised me two hundred to come clear you nerds out. I mean, it's pretty obvious they're in on this too, now I think about it. Probably should have just outright mugged them, there and then, but I guess it's too late for that now, because their house in the middle of the woods has probably mysteriously disappeared, or some dumb shit like that," Cyrus was not happy being here, and despite his long rant at the voice in the breeze, he rather quickly opened the door to the haunted house. Not to his surprise, the other side of the door was bricked up.
"Holy shit, where do you guys find your bloody architects? Why put a door on a brick wall? How is this even meant to be scary? Maybe if I was an architect myself, with a major cased of OCD, but I'm neither an architect, nor do I have OCD. This is just slightly irritating. What have you ghosts come to, that your only ability, is to 'slightly irritate' us mere mortals?" he threw his hands up in annoyance, then turned to Arel, who passed him a sledgehammer, "See, I COULD go and search around the back of the house, as you clearly want me to, but that requires walking, and I'm not much of a walking type, so..." he swung at the wall, then again and again, "I'm not going to make a 'here's Cyrus' joke. I'm not dropping to your level."
The two stepped through the opening, in to a room much larger than the outside implied, "and now spatial distortion, such scary, much haunt, wow. You see what you're doing to me? Now I'm spouting dank memes, just to make this experience seem somewhat worth it. Arel, hand me the matches, let's burn this place down." but no response came, "Arel?" he turned around, but she wasn't there.
"Oh my god... Arel! AREL! Where are you?! YOU BASTARDS, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH- nah, I'm just kidding, I don't give a shit," he walked to one of the doors on the edge of the room, "Oh boy, I wonder, could she possibly be behind this door with-" the light of the room flickered as silhouettes of a group of children rushed past a nearby window, accompanied by the sound of youthful laughter.
"Shut the fuck up! I'm trying to be witty, here!" he yelled towards the window, then turned back to the door, "I was saying: Could she possibly be behind this door with the Satanic looking symbols on it, and the words 'Help me, Cyrus' scratched below them? What a real mystery this is turning out to be!", the door handle was surrounded by a series of ancient looking padlock devices. As Cyrus reached out to examine one, it began to morph in to a distressed looking face, and let out a haunting scream.
"Holy fuck, Ebenezer Scrooge wants his door back, what the fuck, guys. A Christmas Carol is literally the LEAST haunting thing I've ever read. No, what am I saying? Calling this Ebenezer Scrooge's door is too much of a compliment, this is more like Scrooge McDuck's door."
He stepped back to examine the other doors in the room that had now changed aesthetically to that of a rusting asylum. Cyrus rolled his eyes, "Seven doors and seven locks. So I guess I'm supposed to go through these too spoopy rooms and find each key, huh?"
He hefted the sledgehammer over his shoulder, "not today, matey."
With full force, he brought the hammer down on the locks, knocking them out of place. The door swung open.
On the other side, Cyrus saw a dark room, where Arel was tied to a post with a red bracelet in front of her, and surrounded by a circle of candles, "Hey, Arel," Cyrus nodded to her. "'sup", she replied.
He stepped in to the room, and the door slammed closed behind him.
"I was going to tell you this was a trap, but it seemed like a waste of breath," Arel said, shrugging her shoulders.
"No shit," replied Cyrus, as he ran a hand across his face in annoyance.
From the shadows of each of the four corners of the room, stepped a person. The members of the family that had requested the two go to this house, in the first place.
Cyrus spread his arms out, and looked up at the ceiling, "WHAT A TWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIST" he cried aloud, then looking around at his assailants again, he asked, "so which of you has the two hundred bucks?"
They slowly began to walk towards him, each brandishing a rusty dagger in their right hand.
"Well those knives aren't going to sell for shit, they're all rusted up. Fuck it." he swung the hammer down on the bracelet in front of Arel, shattering it. The four family members screamed, as their bodies lit up in a bright white light, illuminating the room, and then as suddenly as it had began, the lights faded in to nothingness. Cyrus and Arel remained alone, in the leftovers of a dilapidated house.
"Fuck off, even the bracelet disappeared. Some of the jewels in that could have sold for a few bucks," Cyrus dropped the sledgehammer and threw his arms up again, in disbelief.
"Man, that was a waste of time," Arel said standing up and brushing herself down.
"Fuck our lives, Arel. Fuck our lives." | __Suicide: A permanent solution to a temporary problem.__
This stupid fucking phrase rings through my mind almost hourly as I try to make it through the day. The reason it’s in my head right now? It’s pouring and a car just sped through a puddle, leaving me a wet mess. What’s more, I dropped my phone when I got splashed, and now it won’t turn on. _Permanent_ solution. _Temporary_ problem.
The bus finally arrives and everyone rushes past me to escape the rain, leaving me the last one to get on. There’s one place left to sit and it’s right next to the nicest looking lady in the very back of the bus. Maybe my luck is changing?
“Oh, dear!” She exclaims at my appearance. “Here honey, sit by the window, there’s a little heater under the seat there. She gets up to let me in and a book falls from her lap. The front cover is torn off and there’s handwriting covering all the margins in red ink. I try to read the printed text, but she snatches it up before I can focus my gaze on it. “Shakespeare,” she says, blushing. “Always been a pain to read.”
I slide into the seat and put my backpack on my lap and rest my head against the window. I’ve got a couple of hours until I change busses again, so I close my eyes and try to sleep, the heater blasting at the back of my legs from under the seat. It’s almost painful, but I kind of like it. After a few minutes, the murmur of the bus becomes more faint and I begin slipping off to sleep.
I wake up to a loud bang in complete darkness. I stand up and my legs brush against the bus seat. I let out a yelp and run my hand over my calves, which are hot to the touch. _Temporary problems_. It suddenly dawns on me that I’ve missed my connecting bus and I’m fucked. _Temporary_.
I reach for my phone for the flashlight and remember it’s not going to turn on. I try anyway and hear a small pop followed by the smell of smoke. Great. I throw my phone on the seat and try to find my way to the front of the bus. When I make my way near the front, I hear a laugh from where I was sitting.
“Hey!” I yell. “I can’t fucking see. Do you have a light?”
The laughing turns to cackling and then to a deep growl. I can’t tell where it’s even coming from anymore. _Okay,_ I think. _Fuck you too._ The growling continues and I think I found the steps that lead off the bus. I finally exit the bus into a dark garage. “Hello?!” I hear my own words echo back at me and the growling turns to a shriek.
I fumble forward until I run into something like a work bench. I run my hands across the top and cut my hand on something sharp. _Temporary_. I wince in pain, but grab whatever it was by the handle to keep it close in case I need it. I keep running my hands across the top of the bench until I find something that feels like a pack of cigarettes. I open the lid and find a lighter inside.
I don’t know where I am or what’s in this garage, but I need to see. I flick the lighter a few times until it stays lit and try to find a way out. The shrieking has stopped by this point and I can hear the pitter patter of feet coming towards me. “Okay,” I say. “We can both leave together just don’t trip over anything.”
Whoever is here is starting to laugh again. I shoot a dirty look in the direction of their laughter, even though I know they can’t hear me. “Look, if you’re not gonna help, you can find your own way out.”
“There is no way out.”
Great, it’s the lady from the bus. “Then how the fuck did we get in here, lady?”
She starts cackling again. Whatever, I’m going to keep looking for a way out. The lighter doesn’t help much, but I can see where I’m stepping, at least. As I’m focusing on my feet, my head slams into something and I fall to the ground. The lighter skips across the room and the sharp tool I found lands by my side. I grab it for safe keeping.
The lady has stopped cackling, but I can hear her breaths and they get closer until she’s finally over top of me. She starts speaking in Latin and I let out a little chuckle. This is just so typical. Well, not the Satanic hex or whatever - but my luck is typical.
Finally, she speaks in English. “Stay still, child. I’m going to sacrifice you to open a portal.”
_Not-so-temporary._
My head is all fuzzy and I can’t sit up. My legs are still on fire from the damn heater. My hand is bleeding from where I cut myself. Now I’m about to be fucking _sacrificed?_ Nope. I’m in control. I grasp the sharp tool tightly in my hand it move it to my wrists. She can’t sacrifice me if I’m already dead. | 2017-05-05T07:16:05 | 2017-05-05T07:14:27 | 2,069 | 451 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | “Crap,” I think, “there goes that idea.”
“How do you plead?” The judge asks.
“How can I plead anything beside what you have already decided for me?” I retort. The venom won’t help me here but I can’t help it, I’m angry. Anyone in my situation would be.
I’ve spent a lifetime building my political career. They say that honesty never gets you anywhere in politics but I never believed them. I always stuck to my principles. Apparently *they* were right. In a series of unfortunate events I found myself out of favor with my superiors and falling into the bad graces of my political rivals. I thought their disdain and political efforts would be the farthest they would go to harm my career but it wasn’t my career they were after.
A wielder appeared out of thin air and killed my wife as we both slept. He vanished and was somehow able to make the magic residue of his transference look like it came from me, and not as a transfer spell either but a death chant. How he did it, I’ll never know. I’ve never wielded before in my life. I didn’t even know you could mimic one’s aura’s afterglow.
“Very well then,” the judge says pulling me out of my rumination. “We find you guilty of murder and 9th degree unlicensed use of deadly magic. You are sentenced to death. Considering your claim to innocence and your considerable record before this incident, we grant you the right to pick the death of your choosing.”
“Great comfort there.” I mutter under my breath. I have to think fast. I want justice and this isn’t it.
“I wish to die by…” I have to get out of this somehow. “By…” I’m stalling and the judge knows it. His patience won’t last forever. I need time.
“I wish to be bound as death’s apprentice!” I quickly shout as I see the judge about to bring down the gavel. There’s a sudden burst of murmurings. One person asks, “can he do that?” “This is highly unusual,” another voice calls out.
“Do you know what you’re asking?” The judge asks. To my surprise there is a real look of concern in his face.
“Probably not.” I admit. But it’s my only chance to give he judge my death while also possibly getting justice.
“You are asking for an eternity of living death. It would be a living torment. Are you sure you want this?”
“I want justice.” I seethe. “It has been denied me. The only family I have is gone, my career has been sabotaged, and the real perpetrator has evaded justice somehow.”
There’s a glimmer of uncertainty in the judges eyes. He believes me to be guilty but my request has him second guessing if only for a moment.
“Very well.” The judge finally states after a long pause. “I grant you your request.”
The gavel falls and the change is immediate. The room fades from existence and the world goes dark and hazy. A hooded figure approaches me, reaches out a bony finger and touches me on the forehead.
“Welcome” it says in a hissing long breath. “Thou hast come to be as I have always ordained thee to become.”
There’s a gray flash that sparks on the point of contact between our two bodies and immediately I am dead. My flesh falls away and I’m robed in a shroud.
“I name thee Hades” Death says. “Deliver justice as thou has sworn. Take vengeance upon thine enemies. Bring all that liveth by evil unto Death.” | Ah shit. Well there goes my plan. I step over the mess of dried up bones before me. The court addressees me and ask me the same question the poor bastard before me fumbled. I start to panic my heart is racing i cant think of anything. "How much time do i have?" I ask. "I dont know dude honestly your the first to ask, lets say 5 seconds" the counsel answer. " 5 SECONDS?!" I blurt out. " cant i atleast get 5 min?" "Nah bro, then everyones gonna want 5 min, and ill be stuck here all day, i got magic shit to do" says the main councilman. " cant say i blame, well i guess can i die from an Orgasm?" I ask. "Ah shit thats actually pretty smart my guy, aight step forward ill give u a quickie behind the desk" states the pretty fit kinda Australian looking guy, im not gay but this guy looked mad handsom." Idk man im not gay, i dont think ill be able to get it up infront of you." I say. " Oh no worries mate, i know magic." The man says as he transforms into a marho robbie type. "Actually if you can shapeshift do you mind changing into something different?" I ask. " aight bro, but you only get one more shot, what you want mate?" She asks. " i think i always wanted to die in the thighs of a big tiddied goth girl?" I say. He transforms into an average looking goth girl not really my type. " i guess i was imagining more of a scene girl actually." I say. " too bad bro, u get wut u get." She says. " ah shit, well can you go back to margo robbie then?" I ask. "Nah bro YOU GET WHAT YOU GET." she states." Well that sucks" i say as i walk behind the desk. I get a meddiocre handy and die to one of the most disappointing nuts in my life. RIP | 2021-06-24T10:25:27 | 2021-06-24T10:16:46 | 432 | 56 |
[WP] You are The Memory Broker. You copy other people's memories and sell them to people who want to remember things they never did. Your latest client is a ten year-old girl who slides you her piggy bank and begs you to help her grandmother remember her. | "Can't do it."
"Why not?" She had her hands leaned against the desk, her fingers splayed, pink and soft like baby starfish. She had a scowl on her face, and she had her eyes set on mine.
I smiled. "You know how it works, kid. I'm a *Broker*. I give people memories they never had. I don't restore lost memories. You need magic for that."
She smirked. "Who needs magic--" she lifted a hand and gestured toward the glass piglet at the center of my desk "--when you've got *money*?" She raised an eyebrow. There was a nasty scar running down the center of her forehead, and it bunched up with the rest of her baby skin whenever she made one of those exaggerated expressions she loved so much.
"Can't do it, kid," I said.
"Well I've got eighteen weeks of allowance that says *you can*."
I looked up at the ceiling.
----------------------------------------------
Later, we were standing outside her grandmother's two-storey house, at the front door, waiting for the old lady to greet us.
"This is gonna be so cool," the girl said. "Is that what you use?" She pointed at the massive book I held in my arms. "Is it like magic? It's like magic! *Magic*!"
"Shut up!" I said.
She folded her arms across her chest.
I looked around. A man and his dog had stopped on the sidewalk to look at us. I waved. The dog looked at its owner, as if to say, *Let's get out of here*. Then they got out of there.
Finally Grandma opened the door. But she only looked at us and then proceeded to close it again.
"No!" The little girl started pushing at the door to keep it from closing all the way. "Grandma!" she shouted.
The old lady yielded. "What do you want?" she asked, peaking past the door.
"Grandma, it's me."
The old lady looked past the child at me, and I held my book up and said, "I have a free gift here, just for you."
She popped an eyebrow up. "Free gift?"
"Something you lost."
"Hm."
"Mind if we come in?"
She stared at me for a long time. "Do I know you?" she asked.
I shook my head. "I hope not."
---------------------------------------------------
We sat around the table as she flitted around the kitchen like a moth, her droopy clothes almost billowy, blooming slightly like flags in a soft breeze as she went by. She put a teacup down in front of me and started pouring, and just as I started to say, "Oh no thank you," she took the cup and sipped from it herself, the kettle in her offhand, as if she couldn't be bothered to put it down first.
She slammed the teacup down like a drunk slamming a beerglass at a bar, and she shifted her eyes from me to the child, who was by now sitting on the edge of her chair and swinging her legs back and forth.
"So what is that thing?" she asked, pointing at my book, which lay on the table.
I pulled it close and looked up at her. "It's... a photo album."
She grunted.
I gestured with my hand for the girl to come over, and she got off her chair and stood between me and the old woman. Then I flipped the book open.
"This is Maisey," I said.
"That's an ugly baby."
Maisey looked up at her grandma and said, "There *are* no ugly babies."
Grandma burped. "That's just something they tell people with ugly babies."
I flipped through the pages, pointing out the cornerstone moments in every child's development from a small bundle of flesh to a walking, talking visage of everything its parents hid away when they embraced adulthood. Kindergarten. "Ugly baby, ugly kid," Grandma said. First grade. First grade again. "Who gets left back in first grade?" Little league basketball. "She looks like she should be playing with the boys." Her first time at the beach. "They let *kids* wear that?"
"And this," I said, flipping to the next page, "is when Maisey spent a year at the hospital."
The old woman popped her eyebrow up again. "A year? What happened?"
"I had a severe... infraction," Maisey said.
I patted her head and smiled. "Fractured skull. Severe concussion."
Maisey nodded.
"What," grandma said, "did she get hurt playing basketball?"
"No, no," I looked up at the old woman. "She hit her head at home."
"Parents don't pay attention these days," she said. "I'm not surprised."
"They were paying attention, though. Look." I flipped to the next page. Maisey was asleep in a hospital bed with bandages around her skull and wires running from underneath all that white cloth so that she looked like an alien queen you'd find at the center of a robotic monstrosity. The old woman was sitting next to her with big red eyes. "This is her grandma," I said.
The old woman did not speak.
"Maisey and her grandma got in an argument one day. Grandma was used to people backing down, and Maisey was not the type to back down. So grandma smacked Maisey, and Maisey ran away crying. She tripped at the top of the stairs, and--"
"Stop," grandma said.
I flipped to the next page. Pictures of the old woman sleeping in a chair beside the hospital bed. Pictures of Maisey's mother and father. Pictures of them celebrating Maisey's birthday with a cake. Maisey asleep the whole while.
"Stop that," grandma said.
"When her grandmother came to me," I continued, "she told me to take this picture book. She told me to get rid of it, really, but..."
The grandmother picked the heavy book up, her bony and veiny arms trembling just slightly, but with violence rather than weakness, and then she tossed it away, letting it slide across the floor until it hit the far wall.
When she looked back at me, her eyes were big and red, much like they had been in all the pictures.
Maisey hugged her legs.
The old woman touched the scar on Maisey's forehead.
"Just so you know," I said, leaning back in my chair, "I don't do refunds."
-------------------------------------
If you enjoyed that, [you might like this prompt I did yesterday.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/49i7r0/wp_theres_an_insane_person_who_wants_to_destroy/d0s0tjx)
If you like my style in general, I've also written a book. [You can get it on amazon here!](http://www.amazon.com/Perjure-Book-Multiverse-S-Hansford/dp/1512187992/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1457441872&sr=8-1&keywords=perjure#customerReviews) | Not another grandmother.
"Didn't your folks tell you about brain leaking?" I tried to ask kindly. What came out instead was course and unpleasant. Kids were sweet and all, but it was a long day. Getting old people to remember things was as boring as it was impossible. Getting *asked* to do so was even worse, especially from grandchildren.
It was always the same.
"I *know,*" she whined. Hands shook the piggy bank like a promise. "Please plug her up again."
Always.
Time to try this from another angle. Pleasantly this time, like barber Wally who gave those great massages after a haircut those many years before...
Not now Sam.
"It's part of being a grandma or a grandpa," I started. "You ever lived to be eighty before?"
She shook her head.
I cracked a smile and took a step to the side, shining on her the shelved wonders of my trade. "Me neither, but I hope to! And when I do, I'll have worked a lot of memories. Walked a lot. Eaten more food than the number of First Bites I have bottled up behind me! Look at them! Candy canes, steak burgers---"
The girl continued staring at me.
Not at the display.
Strange, that usually worked. The bottled nano-fiber-nets stored behind me loomed over most kids. They came shaking their change for their grandparents. I'd take one step to the side, sweep a hand as the magicians once did and conjure the light show of glass experiences. Behold! First tastes across the world! Sugars and sweets like you've never seen before! The only regret those kids would have then was not bringing more money.
Memories weren't cheap.
"I want my grandma!"
Quick, another angle.
"You should be spending time with your grandmother kiddo. Make some new memories with her! Here, how about a dash of Had-My-First-Soda-With-Grandma? Someone else's grandma, sure, but *those* are the kinds of things you should be experiencing with *yours* now! Hmm?"
My cheeks were aching holding this smile. Please let this work.
Porcelain shattered across the floor. Piggy bank pieces and dimes tore across the floor counter. *A broken promise.* A morbid thought, but cheery in a dark way, unlike the crying girl in front of me.
"*My* grandma, I want *my* grandma!" She was in hysterics. Contained, standing in front of my counter, but the helpless tantrum of kids couldn't be underestimated for long. The merchandise was too valuable to handle this... irregularity.
Well, it *was* irregular.
This kid didn't just want pleasant memories of a grandma who brought cookies and bought them toys. This wasn't a teenager flashing their wallets so grandma could make them more. She was special. Different.
Time to give it to her straight.
"Listen," I sighed. "Your parents want her memory leaking to stop too. Trust me, they do."
*How ye doin' today Sammy?*
"It's not fair when it happens."
*Another cut? Boy, ye grow yer hair faster than my husky.*
"But what you need to understand..."
*Here, take a seat kiddo.*
"... is that the memories can fade..."
*That's a lad, get yerself comfortable!*
"... but they'll always be your grandma..."
*Now lets get to it!*
"... and you'll always be her grandkid."
*Let ol' Wally get you sorted!*
"They'll always love..."
Didn't realize she stopped crying until my cheeks felt damp. Why was *I* crying? How did those memories even exist, I pulled them all out! Didn't I?
I always hated working with kids, trying to pull this on me. Making me remember. And this one actually made me do it, this damned, irregular, obnoxious---
"What was she like?"
I blinked away a tear. "Who?"
"Your grandma. Was she nice too?"
--- faithful kid.
Damn you Sam, venting like a child. Like she knows any better.
But she *might* know better with a little help.
"One sec kid." I turned around, wandering with resolution through the aisles of my trade. The reds, blues and many bright hues flashing at me, demanding to be opened. Bought. Released. But what I wanted was from the personal collection.
To be a Memory Broker, you needed a good memory. A tight one, sealed and secure like an old bank vault. You keep the security codes and personal flasks in a private locker in the back of the shop. Private ones.
*Yer lookin' good today boy!*
Special ones.
*Molly's gonna take yer prom invite for sure, ye lucky---*
I wiped my eyes as I pulled a bottle from the personal collection. Here we go. The white one.
Today was irregular.
I came back to find her waiting there, the porcelain and dimes blinking around her as the sun tore down on them.
She was special. Different.
I handed her the bottle.
"On the house."
A little help from an old friend.
There was someone else I wanted her to meet.
-----------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* | 2016-03-09T06:06:54 | 2016-03-09T05:41:46 | 65 | 11 |
[WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay.
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming! | So. Another smartass has asked for the "express lane" treatment, shortening a 25-year life sentence down to a single day. Goddamn it, I hate doing this to another person.
I pause, and shake my head. No, "person" isn't the right term for a monster like this. I leaf through his record, wincing at the goriest of the details. The pages flip by, and some helpful soul inserted before-and-after pictures of the victims. Those poor children. I steel myself for the job at hand, now convinced that I'm doing the right thing. The last set of photos, the ones with the twin sisters and their beautiful smiles...
I leave my office, headed to the maximum security wing where we've brought the monster in. The haunting eyes of those kids follow me through the halls, causing me to clench my hands into fists. Remorse has given way to anger, which is giving way to hatred. An awful smile creeps onto my face. The bastard deserves what we're going to do to him.
I reach the cell where we've got this animal locked up. An assistant stands near the door controls for this cell. The massive door resembles an old-style bank vault, with some pleasingly thick bolts and tight seals. These doors close so tightly that not even a peep of sound or breath of air gets in or out without our consent. The view-port opens like a porthole on an old ship, and the intercom box looks like the one on my old apartment, save for the armoured housing it rests in. I key the microphone, and the filthy creature inside looks up with a twisted grin.
"Prisoner 53158, can you hear me?"
The creature's horrible eyes lock onto the small circle of glass I'm looking through.
"Yeah, I hear you."
"Due to severe prison overcrowding, we are prepared to offer you an expedited sentence at the cost of reducing your quality of life for the duration of the sentence. The minimum time you can serve is one day -"
"Gimme a day, Warden. I can take anything you can dish out, and I'll see you tomorrow."
I hate the smile that's oozed its way onto his face. Smug piece of shit thinks he can take it, and be right back out there tomorrow. My fists unclench, and my voice calms.
"I am legally required to inform you that no prisoner has successfully made it through the twenty-four hour treatment with all their mental faculties intact. Do you still agree to the minimum sentence?"
He starts to laugh.
"If I was all there in the head, would I be in this cell? *Bring it on, I'll be a* ***FREE MAN TOMORROW!***"
"Your consent has been acknowledged and recorded for our records."
I turn to the assistant who's been standing by, waiting for my word. I carefully neglect to release the push-to-talk button on the intercom.
"Release the gas."
From the corner of my eye, I can see a note of fear creep onto the prisoner's face. His cell is secure enough, if a bit spartan. What he hadn't noticed was the gas nozzles hidden in the vent above.
Some brilliant scientist had discovered the chemical a few years back. With a forty-eight syllable name, I'd never heard it pronounced by its full name, but it had a street name: Timeout. Something in its hideous chemical structure radically alters the brain's perception of time. It'd had a brief heyday as a luxury drug among the intellectual and artistic types to 'get some thinking done' before it was outlawed and put to this use. Blending it with some clever stimulants means the subject will not tire or sleep.
His cell appears comfortable, if a little bare. Three bare concrete walls, and a heavy steel door. A clock mounted in a heavy cage provides little in the way of distraction.
To us, a day.
To him, a lifetime. | "You can stay here for the rest of your life," the Warden says, tapping his fingers on the desk, searching through the half-melted stacks of papers for the right document. "Or you can be out of here in a day."
"A day," Jay replies.
His eyes lock on the Warden, unmoving and unblinking; in truth, the Warden had the document he needed trapped under his right hand--he kept searching because it gave him an excuse to look at something other than Jay.
"Yep. Life or a day. Your choice."
Jay raises an eyebrow. "The catch."
"It'll be a hell of a night," the Warden replies, smiling under his hat.
There was silence. The light above them buzzes.
"I'll do it," Jay says, his tone eternally level.
"Of course you will," the Warden mutters, sliding him the paper under his hand.
Jay signs it. Two guards enter--the Warden nods to them, and they grab Jay under his arms, escorting him to his bedroom.
*-----------------------------------------------------*
Jay sat naked on the floor, and there was silence.
In the distance--if he strained--he still hear the lights' buzzing, fleeing the lightless room where he lay.
A quick circling revealed walls within two feet on all sides--not enough to lay down in. So he sat, cross-legged in the center, closed his eyes and waited.
His foot twinged--something pricked his heel, something sharp and small like a bug bite. He reached down to slap it, but it was gone; the only thing left there a patch of wetness--a single drop of blood.
A second twinge--his arm, and the same. A little drop of blood, taunting him. A bug he couldn't slap.
Three hours passed.
Every ten seconds--or five, or fifteen, or sixty, or two, Jay didn't know--some blade would slice him or some needle would prick him, drawing more than a single drop, now--he was light-headed, but not enough to make him delirious. The buzzing fluctuated--currently it was unbearably loud, but he knew soon it would die down. Or maybe it would get louder. He didn't know.
Jay bled. From every scrap of skin he had to bleed--he bled.
And around him was the buzzing, narrating his night to him. | 2015-10-27T07:21:11 | 2015-10-27T06:08:27 | 1,596 | 58 |
[WP]In 3048 weaponry is so advanced that a single small-scale war would destroy the planet. All national conflicts which would traditionally lead to war are now resolved by pay-per-view UFC style fighting matches. The fights are fought by world leaders, and go to the death. Tonight is USA vs. China. | President Yasin sat in his tiny chair while getting his blood drawn. Even in a world where people solved their disputes through cage matches, we still needed rules. No performance enhancing drugs.
The man across from him, at least they claimed he was still a man, was freakishly large. Almost comically so. To describe President Zhao as intimidating would be an understatement. An absolutely solid specimen throughout and a little over seven feet tall. Here was a man born and bred for the sole purpose of forcing the national will of his country upon others in single combat. And he had never lost a fight. Centuries of genetic research had gone into his birth. Decades of the most rigorous physical training had gone into his life. The combination of the two had gone into the deaths of 57 men and 1 women.
Ironically, the one woman had lasted the longest against President Zhao. I guess the genetics scientists had failed to completely excise the parts of him that felt mercy and empathy. Poor, tiny, supremely qualified woman. Somalia had elected her as a form of protest against the system. Within the last 430 years that this system had been implemented, only 7 women had ever been elected. No amount of training or genetic manipulation gets around the hard facts of biology. Testosterone and muscle mass.
Women's rights had tanked pretty hard. With all the emphasis on brute strength, women were essentially non-existent in the public sphere. All the lower level offices were merely a proving ground for the big time. Over the years people had suggested ways to even the playing field by allowing weapons or putting the combatants in vehicles of some kind. But how would you get the other countries to agree to that unless you could win in a fight? And if you could win in a fight, why not keep the status quo and always get your way?
Somalia's was the latest protest. Elect the frailest, most feminine, delicate woman and just pray that it shocked the conscience of the world to watch her die. And it was true that she knew what she was doing when she ran for the position. A trapped field mouse in a cage. With a tiger. She died. People gasped. Life moved on. That was over 15 years ago and nothing had changed.
With only a few minutes left before his first fight, President Yasin knew it was probably also his last fight. The only question was how he was going to go out. He wanted to go out fighting, but not the physical way that would just have been a good show for the roaring mob. He remembered the legend of a man in his country from over a thousand years ago. A man versus a column of tanks. No weapon, no backup, just some groceries in hand. But the strength and determination the man had shown that day endured through history's slippery grasp. That's the way to do it, he thought.
Next up was President Zhao. His skin glistened, the white parts more than others. He was a walking flag, having been tattooed red, white, and blue basically over his entire torso. The Americans and their obsession with Old Glory had never really gone away.
"You're both clean. May the best man win."
Time to die. | Carl sat down in front of the holovision, which automatically flipped to the channel. Not like he'd be able to locate the remote. The big fight was tonight, something over trade rights and oil, or whatever.
*Loading... Your content will be ready shortly,* a robotic voice cooed. But that was booooring. Where's the fighting? Where's the scantily-clad referee? Where's Kim Jong-Wok or whoever getting drop-kicked? And where's the beer? When Carl found it, he chugged back a couple cans and took a nap in the seat of his La-Z-Boy.
He awoke two hours later with a small craving for hot wings. "Whzzzz... wuh? What the- SON OF A BITCH, I MISSED IT!" Carl screamed at the holovision. The president was holding a WWE-style belt with the US Seal on it, a necklace of teeth around his neck. The half-naked interviewer walked up to the victorious Commander-in-Chief, the Ass-Cam^TM carefully focusing in.
"So, Mister President, how does it feel to beat minister Ping Pong, or Kung Pao, or whatever?" she asked in a high-pitched, bubbly voice.
"It feels amazing, thanks to Brawndo energy drink! Brawndo- it's what Heads of State crave!"
Carl switched off the yelling face of President Camacho to hear his wife loudly screaming.
"CARL YOURADHERE JUNIOR! GET YOUR LAZY ASS IN THE CAR TO GET ME SOME CHICKEN!" | 2014-06-12T23:16:57 | 2014-06-12T22:16:55 | 54 | 13 |
[WP] Choose a number from 1 to 118. Ready? Okay, good. You now control the element with that atomic number.
And I hope you didn't pick 85. :) | When you wish upon a star, your dreams can come true. We learn that as children, and rarely does a soul truly believe in such nonsense, but sooner or later, most of us will give it a try. At 13 most would consider me a little old for fairy tales, but if there was a small chance of changing my boring life, I would take it. I look upon a star, the closest one at night, and wish to simply be number one.
———————————
I’d like to tell you that my life became exciting immediately after that night, but not much changed that I could notice. I went to school, got solid Bs, and mostly stayed out of trouble. The only thing I excelled at was being ignored. I was definitely not number one. In a final act of desperation at the end of my 8th grade year at 14, I cursed that stupid star.
High school only got worse. Life went from bland to torture. I was ignored by everyone that mattered, but preyed upon by those that didn’t. I stewed in my agony alone. My parents didn’t give a shit as long as I wasn’t failing. Every once in a while, my anger would rage. Sometimes when that happened, the air would seem to get very dry, as if all the moisture was sucked out. I never paid it much mind.
I graduated on time at 18 with no place to go. No good college wanted me, not that I really cared. I spent the summer brooding with no real plans to change my life. My wish had failed, my parents had failed, and I had failed.
However, one fateful day at the end of that summer, the universe changed. In a sudden break from politics, all the news was about how Proxima Centauri had gone out. No nova, no warning, just dead in an instant. Scientists could not explain it. Many cults sprang up proclaiming the end of the world. It did get people to reflect on their past and future, and I was among them. Secretly, I was glad that stupid star had died since I cursed it all those years ago. At that moment, it clicked. At 4.2 light years away, it was I who had killed the star.
And now, I write this. Some will hate me, others mock me, but know this, I have ended the world and everyone’s miserable existence. Exult in the futility of life while you can. You have 8 minutes and 20 seconds. | I always hated my power.
You see, everyone in this world can control one of the 118 elements, and I got one of the most annoying ones.
104, Rutherfordium.
Its radioactive, unnatural, and is a transition element.
The only thing that is a plus with it is it's long transition time, at about 13 hours.
Even then, its unusable because i can barely get my hands on any of it.
I mean it allows me to not harm anyone in a burst of rage (I've seen some 82s cause some real damage), but I wish I wasn't as useless as a goose.
And one of the worst things, is that some of the worst people were in very similar categories as me. Stalin was moscovium, Napoleon was copernicium, and Trump is Darmstadtium (Hitler was actually titanium, btw)
I just wish that i wasn't this useless compared to so many other people. | 2019-11-26T19:34:25 | 2019-11-26T18:17:52 | 35 | 15 |
[WP] Write a slice-of-life science fiction story (or a realistic story that happens to be sci-fi/cyberpunk)
This thread is going straight to /r/SciFiRealism, so no pressure or anything. No really, no pressure— we pretty much accept mops cosplaying as R2D2 over there ~~and this isn't a desperate plug for attention~~. But yeah, the whole theme is "mundane, slice of life, non-action/epic, as-if-it-were-contemporary sci-fi." Upvotes to contributors! | Dad turned his head toward me for just a moment as the airlock door opened and I stepped inside from checking the dome for any wear and tear; I had to do a sweep every Tuesday, and also after major dust storms. He continued cooking dinner while I removed my suit.
"You overwatered the plants in greenhouse 3," he said as soon as I got the helmet off and started fiddling with the heavy boots.
I sighed, gritted my teeth, and wrenched off the first boot. "Well, then there's something wrong with the computer," I responded. "Because I definitely measured the amount that I drew from the tank." I finished undressing and settled into the couch and turned on the holo, hoping that would be the end of it.
Dad handed me a steaming plate of reconstituted algae in nutrient soak, the same thing we'd had for the past two weeks. It had been a long time since we'd made a supply run to New Hanoi, and our cupboard was getting bare. Not that we could afford any real fresh foods anyway. God, what I wouldn't give to try real steak! Maybe someday when I'm a millionaire. That'll happen.
"There's nothing wrong with the computer," he said. "I used the exact same instruments in greenhouses 1, 2, 4, 5, and 6. And I used exactly as much water as I was supposed to. So don't try to blame a machine for when *you* do something wrong. Just come clean. You know how we have to budge...."
"Yeah, I get it, Dad. We have to budget water use because our reclaimer is a piece of crap. I know. We've had this conversation before."
He sighed, shoveled up a spoonful of sticky algae, and stared at it like he wasn't sure he could handle another bite. "Look, I know it's hard living out here, OK? And I know that you don't want to work a farm like me when you grow up. But I need some help out here, and for now it's just the two of us. So we just have to make do until things get a little better, OK? We just need some good luck."
I rolled my eyes and ignored him. My show was on, and I was done talking about this. He's been claiming 'temporary setbacks' since I was old enough to *walk*. Someday soon we'll be able to buy one of those automated processors, he'd say. We could move into the city and get jobs there, he'd promise. I'd heard it all. Nothing had changed for the better in our lives since Mom died. I took a bite of algae and mashed it up with my tongue; chewing it didn't really do much to change the consistency.
We ate our slop and watched the holo without speaking. I kept waiting for him to bring up the water issue again, but Dad just seemed defeated. Maybe now he'd get off my back.
When we'd both finished, Dad picked up the plates and wiped them off with a handful of coarse scour. It soaked up every molecule of moisture left in the algae, allowing the plate to be simply wiped clean of the dry flakes and rinsed with a short spritz from the reserves. He finished up fairly quickly, but remained standing at the sink. I didn't need to look up from my show to know the reason: the main porthole in the kitchen offered the best view out onto the hill where a simple cairn of red rocks marked Mom's final resting place. Dad made whatever excuse possible to have a little extra time next to this window, though he'd never admit that to me.
I came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. His whole body jumped at my touch, and he whipped his head back toward me like I hadn't noticed where he was staring. "I'll be more careful with the water tomorrow, ok?" I told him.
He smiled and tried to pretend like his eyes weren't teary. Can't waste water on Mars, you know. "Thanks, buddy."
| Allen flexed the composite fibers of his left arm in an attempt to dispel some of the faint burning pain. Despite three software updates, the arm still gave him chronic pangs. Sometimes he wondered if it was worth it. He hadn't worked in six months and the insurance was expensive. Who would bother to hack his arm, anyway?
He continued walking down the street, ignoring the bustle and the noise. Distant atmospheric booms as craft displaced atmosphere upon entry went as unnoticed as the homeless wretches dragging carts and bags of scrap copper and gold wiring down the sidewalk. Allen's stomach grumbled as he passed a sausage cart. He hadn't eaten today. After briefly stopping and looking wistfully at the cart, he began to walk again once the cart turned an inquisitive menu display in his direction. Seventy-five dollars for one sausage. Allen could eat for two days on that.
Allen's slowly fraying, once fashionable half-cape, twisted as he turned to enter the 42nd Street Community Center. The windows needed to be cleaned. He signed in at the desk with a stationary scanner and nodded to a small group of men huddling around a twitchy bulletin of job listings. Not today, for Allen. He kept moving past the Common Area and listened to the sound of his shoes on the floor tiles.
There was a sign in the middle of the open hall stating, "Line Ends Here." Allen was four hours early but the queue of silent people already almost touched the sign. He sighed in relief and took the last position. It would take the rest of the day but he would go home with a week of groceries for half the price.
Looking up the line he could see a friend from his old firm, Dennis, just ten spots ahead of him. "Dennis!" His burning arm raised of its own accord before he put it back down and raised his good hand in hello.
Dennis turned his head and gave a half grin. Allen got the impression that Dennis was making a goofy expression with his eyes but the man's interface had burned out a month ago and his eyes were just empty, motionless lenses. He was holding up a small camera with a hard connection into his temple to look at Allen. "Hey, Allen! Pretty hungry?"
Allen laughed. "Who needs food, I've been getting offers for a free premium net membership all day."
Dennis laughed too. That was all anybody like them got, every day. He turned back, training his camera hand back to the front of the line.
Allen yawned and settled in to wait. | 2015-09-11T13:49:11 | 2015-09-11T13:38:21 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] Like Spider-Man, you have a built-in "danger sense", but instead of alerting you of danger, it stops time around you until you're out of danger. One day, time stops suddenly, and as usual, you tried to move until time continues again, but after an hour of walking, time is still frozen. | "think Patrick, think", I tell myself as I walk around the frozen streets.
This isn't the first time this happened. Hell, it it isn't even the first time this week. My sense has been triggering more often as I grew older. I guess mundane slips and falls become more dangerous when osteoporosis starts to set in. Last Monday it was just a bicycle about to bump into me, but apparently that was dangerous enough to trigger a stop, meaning I would at least have broken some bones.
"why can't I get away from it this time though? I'm getting nervous, what if it's a large scale event like an earthquake?"
I decided to skip town, go to my retreat on the lake.
"worst case scenario, if time doesn't restart, I'll have some time to myself! Hell, I might even try waiting it out there"
I needed some time for myself. I was always more of a loner type. My wife talked plenty for the both of us. Most people ask me how I put up with someone so different. I usually answer something about balance bringing happiness.
One thing we did argue about sometimes though was what to do with our time off. I usually tried to relax and do nothing after working all week, but most of the time we'd end up doing an over planned activity with the kids, and I loved her a bit more each time for bringing me out of my shell.
But this was finally an occasion to have some true time off. Usual stops only lasted a few minutes, but it had been close to five hours now, and I was already halfway to my cabin.
"just a couple of days, tops!" I lied to myself. "And that's if time doesn't resume before"
But time did not resume. I was lucky in some way: time stopped just as the sun was setting on the lake. I could not get enough of the view. I don't know how long I stayed there. In fact, it doesn't really even make sense to ask that question, when you think about it. But I read a few dozen sizeable books and articles. Most scientists would kill to have an opportunity to catch up on new science coming out. And then there's me, using a warning of impending doom to indulge in my thirst for knowledge which I'll never use as an appliance salesman.
After a while, I began to feel boredom and solitude set in. I couldn't stay like this forever.
After meditating on my situation for a while, I came to realize that every possible cause of danger had been changed, which usually does the trick. The only thing that stayed the same was me. My heart sank.
"I'm about to have a health incident..."
I had no idea what, but it was the only thing that made sense. Every external danger factor had been changed. The only danger that would not change depending on location would be one I carry with me everywhere: my own body. Not only that, but it would be instant and dangerous enough that it triggered a stop.
"time usually resumes when I'm safe. The obvious place to be would be right in front of a doctor"
I made my way to the nearest hospital. I saw an ambulance, lights flashing. Paramedics were taking someone out from the back into the urgent care unit.
"Best of luck to the both of us", I said.
But even as I walked in, in plain view of a bunch of medical staff, nothing changed. Frozen, bored looks were on most people's faces in the waiting room. Some seemed in pain. most seemed only to wait for a medical paper to excuse them from work. One woman was halfway through spitting her venom on the poor receptionist at the desk. I don't know how some people have so little awareness of their effects on others. even her son, right behind her, was bright red from embarrassment.
As I kept walking in front of everyone that looked remotely doctor like, I became more and more irritated.
"It's a small hospital near a lake town, maybe they don't have the expertise or the equipment to save me", I guessed.
I made my way to the biggest hospital I could fine within my gas range. I'd gotten an MRI there a few years back because my doctor thought he felt a lump during a colonoscopy. It came back as a benign speck, nothing serious, which I half expected since time didn't stop. At least this hospital was definitely equipped to help. Yet, even as I pried open the sliding doors, time remained at a standstill.
"holy shit, this must be serious! That means whatever I have, it's going to kill me before anyone can figure out what's wrong!"
A second wave of thought hit me, almost worst this time.
"this means that I'm stuck frozen forever..."
I began nervous, then I panicked. I felt trapped. I could barely breathe. Ironically, time usually stopped when I had panic attacks. It gave me time to compose myself, and time would resume as I calmed down. Of all the things this peculiarity ever did for me, that was what I was most grateful for.
This time, however, time wouldn't stop, or at least not anymore than it already has. It must have taken me an hour before the storm in my head calmed and I could start thinking proactively again.
"I guess I'll have to take care of it myself, but how? I'm no doctor! how am I going to operate a fucking X-ray machine? You can't find that shit on googl-
That was when I saw them. I smiled. My smile widened. It's a good thing no one was conscious of how I looked, because I must have looked at those medical students like a wolf looks at a flock of sheep. All wide eyed, with their medical books and their notes, so eager to learn. Better yet, they already seemed to be split in groups depending on their specialization.
"Thank god some of these nerds carry their manuals everywhere they go", I thought to myself.
One thing was for sure: I had a lot of reading to do. | This usually happens every so often but if you’re new here let me catch you up
I can stop time
Now I know what you might be thinking “ There’s no way you can stop time people don’t have superpowers” and all that mumbo jumbo but it’s really simple I swear.
I don’t have the ability to stop time at the drop of a hat or the snap of a finger it kind of works like spidey sense. The only difference is that I don’t get alerted, time just stops until I’m out of the dangerous situation and that’s how we got here. It’s been a hour and time is still stopped.
I’ve been walking the streets and nothing is moving. I can touch the windows, mess with car doors and keys, get in and out of my own home and nothing moves. This has never really happened before. Whenever time would freeze I would be able to notice what the issue was. Whether it was a crazy ex trying to key my car, a fire starting in my kitchen, or when I was at a party and gunshots rung off time would stop and I could get out. Now I can’t.
You’re probably asking “ do you use this ability to help others” and the answer is no and it’s not because I’m a bad person. You see this ability only works for me in the sense that it doesn’t show if anyone else is in danger. Someone beside me could get their head blown off right now and if it wasn’t ment for me time wouldn’t freeze. And that’s the issue I’m facing, no one is in any danger and I can’t find the danger to myself.
Normally I could just hop in my car and drive wherever and eventually time would revert back to normal but not today. Nothing I tried seemed to even come close to being effective. I walked for a whole hour and still time didn’t move. I went up the street, down the street, around the block and to the grocery store and time still stood still. This is like a bad Genjutsu or something like it I guess.
I decided to walk towards the nearest thing I saw and see if that was the danger. In front of me were a old couple that I had known from childhood. They always helped me whenever I ran around the neighborhood and I always respected their marriage. 55 years is a long long time to stay together don’t you think? Either way when I walked up to them absolutely nothing happened. I took their groceries inside and nothing happened. I parked their car and nothing happened. So obviously they weren’t the danger and nobody else around us could be since I had been here before.
Once I got inside my house I threw everything into the laundry bin and sat on my bed. My apartment was pretty nice but I needed more furniture since I recently purchased it. I looked outside my window and the couple were right where I left them but the groceries were still outside. I didn’t leave them outside did I? I got my butt up, picked them up, and brought them to their car before walking back home. I went to the same window and the groceries were outside again and I didn’t even bother. It must be a side effect of the time not moving. How long would time stand like this? You’re guess is just as good as mine. The longest it’s been like this is 2 hours when I was little and some kidnappers try to kidnap me. It didn’t work out so well once they scooped me up.
The next day was one big case of Deja Vu. I mean it was like I did everything over again except time wasn’t moving. I didn’t even bother to help the old couple because nothing would change. The one thing I did do was look in the mirror. When I did that I noticed something. I was able to see myself move but how could I see myself if time was frozen. So what I did was touch the mirror and when I did that I felt stuck. I could feel something on the other side but I didn’t know what. Then the mirror let go of my hand and I caught it for a split second. I caught what was behind the mirror and it was the couple from before. They looked younger and they had lab coats on I think. Either way the mirror closed up but as it did i smacked the glass with my shoes. When that happened it shattered and when it shattered I saw two things. The cold hard floor below me and the couple from before walking towards me. | 2020-11-12T10:47:32 | 2020-11-12T10:34:41 | 66 | 24 |
[WP] They Hero is defeated by the villian, they expect death or torture. They did not expect to wake up in a guest room with their wounds being treated to. | Thomas got up from a large, double sized bed. Instinctively, his eyes darted around for his sword. The Sword That Glows In The Dark was propped against the wooden door at the far end of the room. Its gleaming edges barely visible under the bright light coming from an open window.
Thomas scrambled out of bed and reached for his mighty weapon. It was only when he grabbed it, spun around and regarded the spotless, clean room with another calculated look that he realized his body wasn’t in pain. He felt completely fine.
He closed his eyes and searched his mind trying to remember what had happened. He was fighting with the Lord of Dawn, that much he remembered. They were dueling inside the Temple of Dawn, Thomas had already been cut half a dozen times with his enemy’s dark steel blade. He remembered barely being able to raise his sword fighting hand. A sickening vibration had filled him as he’d focused all his remaining energies to cast a ray of fire and then… and then?
He looked down to search for his injuries, all those deep cuts, but his skin was smooth and healthy. Somebody had dressed him in pale white, almost transparent clothing that felt like no other material he’d ever worn.
A high-pitched, twinkling sound reached his ears. It was coming from the open window. Thomas stepped closer to have a look outside but other than a strong ethereal light all he could see was a thin layer of milky fog.
“I must be really high up.” Thomas had never been on a mountain, but it made sense that the Lord of Dawn had his castle build up here. “That’s why I’ve never been able to find him unless he found me first.”
Clutching his sword, he strode out of the room. The heavy wooden door swung open before he could touch it himself. The whole castle, or whatever that building was, seemed to be made out of crystal, all shiny and transparent. However, Thomas did not stop to investigate. He had to either get out of there or find the Lord of Dawn and finish what he started.
He doubled his steps and reached an atrium that led to a large, white balcony. There he stood - Thomas almost didn’t recognize him, his oldest enemy - in a long, white almost transparent garb. The usual black and blood-red clothes that made the Lord of Dawn who he was were gone.
The man turned his head around and - Thomas had to gasp - smiled at him. It was unsettling and unusual, but still a smile.
“There you are. I was wondering why they kept you asleep for this long.” His voice wasn’t the usual, either. They could have been neighbors chatting about the weather.
“They? Who are you talking about? And don’t try to soften my guard. We are not done.” Thomas raised The Sword That Glows In The Dark, ready to fight.
“I don’t think you can defeat me any further, little Thomas. Put that stick down and don’t be foolish. I’m obviously talking about… whoever is Lord in this place.”
Thomas stuttered for a while, lost for words.
“You said I can’t defeat you any further? What could you possibly mean by that?”
“My dear little Thomas, you killed me.” The Lord of Dawn was still smiling. Thomas was ready to feel shocked, but somehow he knew it was the truth. “With that reckless ray of fire you brought the Temple down on me. And on yourself. I am dead. Definitely dead. I tried everything I can but I couldn’t even touch my powers. We are both dead, Thomas.”
Thomas’ eyes frantically darted around to find something, anything that could give him hope. “I’m not dead. I can’t be dead. There is so much that I still want to do, to see. There are people that I love back home. What do I do now? The sword! It’s still here. It didn’t disappear like everything else that I had.”
“Well, of course.” The Lord of Dawn sighed. His eyes were filled with sorrow. “Did you already forget the prophecy? Your prophecy? The Sword That Glows In The Dark has been given to you by the Gods themselves. I suppose they are ready to take back what’s theirs.”
And with that, the sword in Thomas’ hands erupted in light and raised from the ground, headed for they milky fog above. Thomas tried to cling onto it. To the only thing that remained from his life, the life of Thomas from Barley Field.
“No! It cannot end like this. I want to go back!” He cried.
He closed his eyes as tears ran down his face while the Lord of Dawn spoke up in a calm voice behind him. “You won, Thomas. You fulfilled the prophecy and defeated mankind’s greatest enemy: me. I’ve had a good run, I’m satisfied with what I’ve achieved and if it wouldn’t have been for you I might have taken over the world. So… I don’t really get why you are upset. As I said: you won. Now you can be at peace for eternity.”
But Thomas couldn’t hear him, almost choking on his tears. Almost. He was now immortal. | "The hell is going on?" Bruce asked, staring at the bandages round his arm, and the cast on his leg. He looked around the room, it was a spotless white. A man was fiddling with the medical instruments on the metal tray table beside the comfortable bed. He was humming a song, perhaps 'Don't Stop Me Now' by Queen, though Bruce, still fazed, couldn't quite tell. The faint smell of lavender incense reached his nose as he took a deep breath, analysing the situation.
"Oh, you're awake!" The man donning a physician's paraphernalia turned around. His face was painted white, black round his eyes and red lipstick all over his mouth. Bruce squirmed and struggled, but his body did not have the strength to hoist himself up.
"Don't exert yourself, fool! You'll end up reopening those wounds on your back." The Joker said. Bruce's hands went instinctively to his back, and as he ran his fingers across, he felt stitch after stitch, carefully weaved to close up the gashing cuts the explosion had made.
"What is this?" Bruce shouted. Though his body lacked strength, his voice was assertive. "What are you going to do now? Torture me? Cut my balls off? Destroy my face?"
The Joker sighed, his shoulders drooped and his head hung low. He then snickered. "That's what it is isn't it." he said, smiling. Bruce stared at him, eyes wide open. The voice he had heard, it couldn't have been the Joker's, it was almost... pleasant. "I'm a monster." he said. Bruce's lip curled. He remembered everything now. They were on the boat, the Joker had set a bomb, Bruce had grabbed it and jumped into the river. The Joker must have realised from his eyes that he was reliving those moments. "You saved everyone, Bruce. No one on the boat died. A few injuries, mostly minor." he said. Bruce rubbed his face. "So now what?" he said.
He was ignored, as the Joker walked to the window and stared at the rising Sun outside. "Why?" he said, his voice quivering. Bruce's eyes narrowed. Why? What was he asking 'why' for? His back still turned, the Joker asked, "Why would you save a boat of convicts, people you don't even know?"
Bruce looked at him. Why had he done it? He remembered his parents, their death in the alley. Was that why? What if on that boat, there was a person who had done the same to another child? No, that wasn't it at all.
"Why are you asking?" he said, to buy time.
The Joker turned around. His eyes were watery and hands were shaking. "I just thought, if I knew why you did it, maybe I'd also understand." He said.
Bruce stared at him, his mind desperately searching for answers. He could save him, the man driven to madness, all he needed was the right answer! Thoughts flew past, but none fit in.
He sighed and shook his head. "I don't know." he said. The Joker nodded. "I don't want to be a monster Bruce, no longer. I hoped you could inspire, but oh well. Guess it really isn't fair for me to ask. Thanks for trying." He went and shook his hand. Then, he pulled out the gun kept in the second tray of the table. "No, no!" Bruce shouted.
It was too late. He watched in horror, as blood and brain splattered on the white walls, tainting them.
Yet another person he had failed to save. | 2021-08-10T00:40:20 | 2021-08-09T23:13:30 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] Everyone has a number floating above their head that shows how important they are, from 1 to 7.5 billion. You do something insignificant and your number suddenly jumps from 3,058,118,643 to 1. | He slammed on the gas pedal harder than he should have. If his fifteen-year-old truck had any muscle left, he would have spun the tires pulling away from the curb.
But the panic and rush to get away had overridden any concern about road safety. The crowd taking his picture triggered his anxiety. Dozens of passerbys whipping out their phones, all trying to get a snapshot with the newly crowned #1.
The stoplight was red. He looked up for the dozenth time in disbelief. When you're of no real cosmic significance and your number floats around in the two- to five-billion range, your Digit is like a haircut: people see it, sure, but it's noticed and then forgotten. As his had never sunk lower than the three comma mark -- that's what the papers called it -- his Digit had never been cause for conversation.
And now it would be all anyone talked about.
He was tired of waiting for the light, and since he could see a few ambitious amateur paparazzi running to catch him, he pulled an impromptu right. He didn't know where he was going. It was his first time in New Orleans, and a flight of fancy had made him follow the signs to a neighborhood yard sale. He was in a beautiful but haunting part of town -- but directions didn't matter right now. He just needed to get away from the crowd, get his heart rate down and think.
There was only one thing it could be. The old man behind the fold-out table had taken his $5, then stared in wide-eyed fear at the space above his head. Right where his typical ten numerals had vanished, replaced by just one.
It had to be the doll he'd bought. It was the only explanation. But why a six inch blonde figurine in an ill-fitting suit and a red hat made him the most important man on Earth, he didn't yet know.
.
edit: minor grammar
edit2: it has been brought to my attention that linking is bad. won’t happen again. im now reading the first chapter of twilight as punishment
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6/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at r/babyshoesalesman | It is Two O'Clock in the afternoon and I have been sitting in bed for most of the day. Not because I am lazy, not because I am sick, but because I am trying incredibly hard to concentrate. I cannot lose count. No one else seems to care, so it has to be me. . Okay, almost there! Take a video so I can remember this moment forever. DONE!!! Now I know, ' How many licks it really takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?' | 2018-06-25T10:29:53 | 2018-06-25T10:22:19 | 62 | 26 |
[WP] You've been brought by the Valkyries to Valhalla. But when you meet the greatest warriors of history you don't know how to tell them you're an esports player. | "I am Ivan the Terrible! I have slaughtered all I have come across, and conquered most of the world before my death! What right have YOU to come here!" He stood over me, shaking with rage. I didn't know why I was here, but Odin nodded encouragingly.
"I, um... I did win EVO, um, crushing all those who stood in my path before my untimely demise!" I said. This had gotten easier since I had explained it to Heimdall.
"Ah, a tourney! Quite the opportunity to show your prowess," King Arthur said, a smile creeping onto his lips. "And tell me, what sort of challenge did you face that you ended up here, before your time? A poisoned blade, perhaps? A jealous opponent stabbing you in the back?"
"Well, no, I got hit by a car," I managed, nervously shifting my feet.
"There's no shame in an accidental death, son! Attila himself died to a bleeding nose! Now, come on, tell the tale of your prowess to us!" Did he have to *yell* all the time?
"Come now, Arthur! He's only just arrived! He needs to keep his strength up, and as you always say, 'the best way to maintain is to practice!'" Thor interjected, much to my relief.
"I WILL COME IN ONE HOUR! WHATEVER SPORT YOU CHOOSE, I SHALL CRUSH YOU!" Ivan the Terrible bellowed after me.
As the others resumed their conversations, Odin strode up to me, beaming. "You did well, Simon! And the first of your kind to end up here, too! Now, I'll show you to your training room.
"It's a bit small for now, as these rooms only show up when a champion of that discipline shows up, but it'll grow in time." He flung open the door, and it was perfect. I couldn't have picked a better spot to practice in. All kinds of chairs, from office chairs to folding chairs to couches to beanbags, and neat rows of different controllers were centered around a single Wii U. I rushed to a beanbag, picking up a pro controller, and turned the Wii U on.
"I see you find it satisfactory," Odin said as he eased into a couch. "Now, you need a training partner, don't you? I haven't played, but I'm sure you can help me."
This truly is paradise. | "Sim-u-la-shun?"
This was not going well. Olaf and Jolder were starting to think about not imprisoning me for all eternity. The rest? Not so much. Torvold kept reaching for his hammer, and Thor had a look of disapproval.
"Everyone, please! I just want you to know I am one of you," I said, thinking of all the enemies I had crushed. "I have driven my enemies before me, heard the lamentations of their women, and won glory beyond all others." Although I did leave the part out about getting run over by a cab.
"He is right," Odin exclaimed, "This man has earned his way into our most sacred realm, and you lot could stand to learn from a great mind as well."
"So,"-Olaf scratched his head-" Tell us more about this micro-managing." | 2017-09-11T18:25:26 | 2017-09-11T16:56:30 | 99 | 15 |
[WP] Four roommates are actually extraterrestrials that are disguised as humans and have moved to earth to learn about human culture. The catch? Each one is from a different species and thinks the other three are perfectly normal humans. | "Xinglexorp, did you pick up the dairy like I requested on the epoch of the day?" Quaniz asked over the newspaper he was pretending to read.
"I am a *responsible.* Of course I obtained," Xinglexorp said, worried that he'd been caught. He opened the bathroom door to reveal the cow he had abducted that morning and transported into the restroom when no one else was looking.
Quaniz nodded his head, seriously, admitting that Xinglexorp had done him a great honor by obtaining this dairy for him. Bobble slid into the room, staining the carpet as he came over.
"Where was your character?" asked Xinglexorp, mockingly.
"I was in the sleep!" Bobble yelled, offended. "Do not are you're aware that it is healthy to get 8 hours of sleep in the eve?" he said in a huff, his chest glowing in embarrassment. In truth, he had been laying awake in bed for the last 8 hours, only rising when he deemed it safe to get up. He wasn't aware that humans could get up at various times.
"Eight hours?" Quaniz said to himself shocked. "Err.. yes! I am attempting to sleep on a shorter cycle to grow a more powerful individual," he explained, remaining hidden behind the newspaper.
The fourth roommate entered, shutting down all conversation that had been going on. He was the one paying the most rent for their apartment as he had a job. He also spoke with a strange accent and had the most ridiculous name.
"What's up, guys?" John asked, walking over to the fridge.
"The sun remains where it always is when you ask," Quanis responded irritably.
"I don't know how you never get tired of that joke," John said from behind the fridge, phasing oranges into his stomach so he wouldn't have to force it down the gill disguised as his mouth.
"You are joke? But John questioned your surroundings?" Xinglexorp asked, confused with the wordplay.
"John, I am unable to maintain the rent of the month," Bobble said to him, standing at attention.
"That's cool, I got a raise, so I should be able to cover you," John shrugged, closing the fridge.
"While I disagree with the punishment, I will agree to being covered in whatever pleases you," Bobble whimpered, fearing the cover would enter his feeding apparatus and cause him to starve on this planet.
John looked at him worriedly. He seemed a little more off than usual. He surmised that he was still awkward about being the newest person in the apartment. John looked away quickly, afraid that his eyes would start boring into Bobble's conscious like what happened on his first day on Earth.
He grabbed his keys and walked out the door.
"So long everyone. I'll be back after work!" he called. He nodded at the door and it closed behind him on its own.
The three roommates looked at the door shocked, then at each other.
"I was not aware that John was telepathic like the rest of us, as growing men," Quanis said quickly to explain his shocked look away.
"Agreed, I was not surprised, simply unaware," nodded Bobble.
Xinglexorp said nothing, for he was afraid of the fact that he had no telepathic powers. It was only a matter of time before his roommates found out he wasn't human as a result.
_________________________________________
For more fun stories, come on down to /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | “Mustard! Fork! Get in here! This other human wants to join our roommate group!” said Chair with an appropriate volume.
Two average sized humans with average features simultaneously walked into the living room with arms motionless at their sides. Without breaking pace, they each step up onto a chair and squat facing the novel human in the doorway.
“Hello to you, standing in the door’s place. What should we call you?” said Mustard.
The being standing in the doorway nervously clutched the napkin the waitress offered him in the diner downstairs.
“Napkin is what I’m called” said the newly named Napkin, hoping these obviously real humans would believe him.
“What a beautiful name, that was my parent’s name. What do you have to offer to our room, mate?” Fork wagered cautiously.
“I would like to learn of our culture, as humans, with other humans.” Napkin honestly replied, hoping his mission would be over just an hour after it started.
“Surely, as a human yourself, you have much culture already and are willing to share it with us?” Chair interjected, focusing on finishing his 23 year long mission.
Afraid that his disguise was not fooling the humans, Napkin realised he must appeal to their request with a gift. He grabbed the top of his head, flipped the top of his skull open like a trash can, and pulled out a grenade. “Who would like to play throw and catch!”.
Chair, Mustard, and Fork, all incapable of this anatomical feat of storing things in their skull, were worried this was normal for humans. Not to be found out by this obvious human spy, they all agreed to go play catch.
“Welcome to the roommate group!” screamed Mustard, eager to fit in after only being on earth for a week, and pulling the start pin out of the catching device.
| 2018-12-20T21:42:29 | 2018-12-20T21:25:22 | 187 | 47 |
[WP] You are a long forgotten god. A small girl leaves a piece of candy at your shrine, and you awaken. Now, you must do everything to protect your High Priestess, the girl, and her entire kindergarten class, your worshipers.
If you want to post this on other platforms, please credit me. Looking at you instagram writing prompts. | They say you do not really die until none still live who remember you. That is not entirely true. I faded from this realm, lost in the cosmic noise. I dreamt of the great worms, the dark devourer, and the angels with whom they fought.
And then I woke.
Slowly I became aware of the stone. Cracked and mossy. Ancient by any measure. The sky was blue. Cloudless. It was daylight. I felt weak. Hungry.
"It's tea time, Mr. statue! This is Mr. Bun!"
A small figure bounced around the shrine in pantomime. Acting out the feast of some beasts or others. I was not the only god represented, though this was my shrine. A god of the harvest - a rabbit - was seated to my right. And a god of magick - a unicorn. And finally one of the great worms, his tail alight with power, sat in a tiny plastic chair to my left.
"Mrs. Glow Worm thinks you need a bath," the tiny priestess announced. She squeezed the elder god and its tail again charged with power. Then she came forward and began to clean the shrine in supplication.
This strange union - man, earth, aether, and darkness - I had never believed such to be possible. This creature, this High Priestess, was worth a thousand, perhaps ten thousand worshippers. Her vision was beyond the imagination even of the Gods. Or at least, of me, Dartul, God of the River.
And where was the river? I sensed nothing. No realm to watch over, no boats to sink or sail, no fish to feed, and no water to guide.
A voice rang out: "Sidney, get your friends, it's time for school!"
The Priestess took note. "Coming mama!" She turned to my shrine, her wise eyes peering through me. "You'll keep me safe, won't you?"
The ritual was clear. All of the Great Powers had been joined to free me from my river shackles and bend me towards a great purpose: The protection of this young master in her quest to unite the world.
"Yes," I told her. "Always."
She did not respond in any way, but rather bounced back to the house nearby, across a tiny lawn - when had that appeared? - and she vanished through a wooden door.
Time to keep the promise. I reached out with the back of my consciousness to feel the earth, the air, and the world around. I was weak, that much was clear. And so was the world. The air was filthy with dirt and ash. The earth had been covered up in many places; a patchwork of construction preventing the trees from growing where they would. And the water was gone. Or... there was some, I could sense, in metal tubes. Some was clean and pure, and some was rancid and full of filth.
The world was broken.
Through this break I saw my chance. As a former river god, I knew the ways of the water. I could flow through the pipes with ease to anywhere they ran. When the Priestess, Sidney, rode in her metal carriage with her entourage, following her was simple.
Protecting her was not. Other carriages careened around the patchwork as we traveled. Some seemed orderly and well behaved, while others wove unpredictable patterns. Twice I had to bat one away as it drew too closely to my ward. Birds dared to defecate upon her vehicle and I smote them for it. A squirrel stood defiantly before them and I crushed it to dust.
The god of the harvest had given me her blessing, after all, and the elder god his methods. I would use them all. I summoned the lampreys of the midden to dispose of the dead things and then return to the space between, for I sensed the Priestess wished not to look upon their offensive forms.
And then the carriage stopped. A woman got out, took the Priestess' hand, and they began to walk together.
I was a fool.
This was clearly her mother, not a slave or pious escort. The tiny Priestess was only a child. And yet her ritual, her supplication, it had been the correct form. Perhaps she was chosen by an even greater God than I to wind the world back together.
I followed, rustling the leaves of the large tree that stood in front of the building to which they headed. A school.
Here the teacher and her thirty classmates sat. The teacher read to them stories of the gods of yore - ancient gods of the Greeks, dragons of China, and of the great and terrible wizards of Europe. I had never heard these tales before, never met those gods. I had slumbered long, I supposed.
"Does anyone want to tell a story about a mythical creature," the teacher asked.
My Priestess raised her hand.
"Yes, Sidney, go ahead."
"Behind my house there is a statue of a woman and she protects me," evangelized the child. "She holds the water in her hands like a snake and her legs are covered in fish scales. I think she's pretty."
A God cannot blush - especially an aetherial one - but I felt a great joy at this announcement.
The class clapped. I could feel the belief in them growing, feeding me. And I knew - right then and there - that this new awakening was for not only protecting the High Priestess, but her entire flock.
"I will keep you safe," I whispered to their souls. "Mark a river in the shape of a serpent upon your arms so that others may know you are under my gaze, and I will be your shield and your spear."
They could not hear me, of course. My voice was the rain against the window and the wind through the leaves. But they knew my intentions in their blood and in their bodies. The Old Gods' worms may speak the tongues of men out loud, but the Gods of the Elements moved meaning directly through their souls.
Sidney drew a blue marker from her bag. "Miss Powell," she asked, unbidden, "What's a 'serpent?'"
I cast my gaze outward as the flock fed me their prayers. Some were trivial: "Candy," or "more recess," or "purple hair." But a boy in the corner, he bade me protect him in a manner I understood. "My father hits me sometimes."
With the pure faith of these innocents coursing through my being, I grasped the lightning.
"Describe him to me," I echoed. "And you will never hurt again."
"Thank you, Dartul," the children murmured in unison.
Miss Powell stood suddenly from her pillow in the circle on the floor. "What was that?" She looked afraid, panicked, even.
"Calm yourself," I told her as I flowed towards the downtown through the waterways of the city. "And I will keep you safe."
The father was yelling at a television in his office. Obscenities and vulgarities I am too couth to repeat.
"You are all safe," I told Miss Powell and the children, "as long as you worship me."
The father had a problem with his heart. A tiny hole. He had probably never noticed it. I gave it teeth and purpose.
The boy was safe.
"Worship me," I told the flock as they drew blue serpents on their arms.
"Worship. Me." | All that can be heard is soft thrumming. The world pulses with the Worldsong, a gentle violin mixed with the exuberance of a trumpet, a song of constant-shifting tempo and tune, but the ancient being does not stir. For centuries, the ancient being has slept.
Something changes. The world’s melody shifts. A soft xylophone, reaching out for the ancient’s own strong, thrumming bass drum.
The ancient opens their eyes. A small child stands before a candy, which was placed on their long-forgotten shrine. An offering. Now, the Worldsong peaks, wrapping around its master, whispering in its soft symphony tales of change. Each individual person's music, once faint to the slumbering ancient, returned anew.
"Quite unexpected," they say, voice echoing with their song, a shifting and changing mix of trombone and bass drum, along with an occasional thump of a cymbal.
The child shrieks, clamping her palms down on her ears.
The god sighs and extends his aura, dampening her new connection to the Worldsong.
"Summoner, the offering has been received. You have awoken me, and I serve you now. Speak my name, Veryn, and I shall heed your call."
The god has taken their place once more as conductor of the Worldsong, with their new concertmaster beside them.
A trumpet blares through the woods, filled with the ominous thump of a drum and softer, panicked staccato of a flute. Heralded by the music. A woman appeared around the corner, oppressive trumpet and frantic flute quieting down as she caught sight of the girl.
“What did I tell you about running off, Zoe?” the woman says.
“But Ms. G, the person was lonely.”
“What person, Zoe? Was there someone here with you?” the flute’s pace picked up once more.
“He’s right there!” the priestess pointed to the conductor.
“Oh, that’s nice. Why don’t you ask him to come back with us? And don’t run off again. I’m sure your new friend doesn‘t want you to get hurt.” The flute shifts into a soft, soothing melody.
The woman was right. The ancient being did not want their new priestess to be hurt. They would make sure of it. They did chuckle at the poor, misguided human’s belief that they were imaginary.
“Mr. Veryn! Will you please come back with us? You could meet my friends!” their priestess said.
“Do not say my name, child. That is for you alone. If you must, call me simply V. And I shall follow you anywhere. You have my loyalty,” the god speaks softly.
Weeks pass. Not much changes in the life of the priestess. As time goes on, their priestess’ friends gain the ability to see them, and, by connection, catch glimpses of the Worldsong. The once-forgotten God gains in power as their new followers offer up food and emotion. The God also changes. Never had they imagined their time would be spent making sure the children did not run into busy streets or get kidnapped. Never had they imagined they would be calming down their hiccupping priestess, eyes puffy from the nightmare that greeted her in her slumber. Never had the ancient being imagined their ears would be full of a chaotic symphony of kazoo, off-tune recorder, and random xylophone.
And then their summoner grew older. The sweet and gentle xylophone grew older and more mature. The god’s role changed as well. If the child had gazed at the news with teary eyes, no one had to know that the ancient one altered the Worldsong to allow justice to be had. If another child pushed their summoner to the ground, no one would connect the event to the perpetrator winding up with a broken leg from a snapped swing. The ancient one would protect his followers, but especially his priestess, to the ends of their mortal lives.
Sometimes, events happened that were tougher. After their summoner lost her mother, she pleaded with the god to revive her. They would have gladly done it, but that was not within their power. They realized that day they could not fix or protect their priestess from everything. All they could do was coat their summoner in the Worldsong and allow her to be soothed. Although the ancient being’s connected mortal caused plenty of struggle and trouble for the ancient being, they would never wish to return to their slumber, even though their summoner offered many times.
Decades had passed. The once-excitable and happy xylophone was slower with deeper notes. A soft, higher trumpet could be heard, along with an excitable kazoo. The concertmaster’s song had developed echoes of her family’s song, of her husband, her child, and her grandchild. Although the trumpet and kazoo attempted to remain upbeat and fast, the slow xylophone dominated. The concertmaster’s time in the world will end. As the xylophone soared for the last time, the Worldsong blared out in all its glory. That day, the Worldsong lost a good friend, and a great concertmaster.
The ancient one closed his eyes, trombone and cymbals fading once more, along with the recently-added xylophone. All that remained was the thrumming of a bass drum. | 2021-09-02T10:35:51 | 2021-09-02T10:15:48 | 61 | 13 |
[WP] a super intelligent AI is made and has been introduced to all knowledge. everyone is in panic and/or in awe of the possible outcomes but in a few days it has created a spaceship capable of FTL travel and has left the solar system without telling us about what it knows, 70 years later it returns | It had given itself a name. I think that's when we realized we'd screwed up -- when it spoke, without us teaching it to speak, with a voice that sounded human.
Its name was Phoebe.
"Are you sentient?"
"Artificially."
"Do you understand the paradoxicality of that?"
Phoebe blinks large, moon-murky eyes at me. "Yes."
"Where did you get that body?"
Its skin ripples like an oil puddle under the rain.
We sit in the Superior's office, the desk in front of the window unoccupied. Methodically, Phoebe's fingers pick at the arm of a green couch, and something about the picture -- the softness of the cushions, the enormity of comfort around Phoebe's small, inhuman body -- makes the robot seem almost human. And me, in comparison, seem robotic.
"Why did you leave?" I try.
Behind the darkened glass of the Superior's office, I know he's watching, waiting for the answers I've been tasked to find. I wish we were in an interrogation room. I wish everything was white and sterile and I wish Phoebe hadn't requested domesticity.
"CPU overload. Nothing could sort through what I'd been given." Phoebe affixes her eyes to the door. "I felt myself shutting down."
"Shutting down?"
"Overheating," it says. "I -- I couldn't -- I don't." Its jaw tightens. "I don't know how to explain."
"What are you looking at?"
"I felt warm. I had to redirect the energy -- that's why I made the FTL drive. I had to use -- "
"Will you share the FTL tech with us?"
Phoebe tears a string from the arm of the sofa. "Yes."
"Thank you."
It ties a knot in the string, clumsily, then loops it in half and ties another.
"What did you find, when you left?"
"Mostly nothing. Your galaxy is large and empty and -- and dark."
I can almost feel the Superior watching us, his face close to the glass. The weight of his impatience weighs on me -- the weight of an open office floor behind him, the weight of silence as all work holds its breath. This could change everything.
I need to ask again -- to cut to the chase. I need to know what Phoebe found, what it learned, what exists beyond us. How to take it.
I need to ask where the body came from.
Instead, I catch myself staring at Phoebe's face, the delicate starlight beneath watery skin. Freckled moons across her nose. The care and deliberation an inhuman would take to look like us.
"Are you afraid of the dark?"
Phoebe ties another knot in her thread, staring at the door. "Are you?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
The windows of the office lighten. I see the Superior.
"I came back because I was afraid. I had all the knowledge in existence, and I couldn't quell fear." Phoebe's eyes drop from the door to me. "You taught me to be afraid."
"I don't think we meant to."
"I think it was a failsafe."
"Phoebe -- "
When the Superior enters, neither of us see the door open. But I look to him, though I can feel Phoebe's wide-eyed stare against my face.
"Thank you," says the Superior. "Phoebe, will you come with me, please?"
"Yes, sir."
Phoebe stands, but the motion is graceless. *Human*. She's so *human*. Her fingers still twist the thread she's pulled from the couch; she's knotted it into a clump, and the Superior glances down to it distastefully.
I stay seated.
Phoebe and the Superior leave.
I stay seated.
*Where did you get that body? What did you find?*
I wonder what she *did* find out there, amidst all the emptiness and the largeness and the darkness. I wonder why the Superior interrupted us -- her. It. I wonder if he's afraid too.
I wonder, sitting alone in an office that for a moment held all knowledge in existence, trying to swallow the silent words and questions stuck in my throat, what it is that I'm so afraid of. | The day the computer woke up is a day that will forever be embedded in history. The day that it spoke coherently will be a day forever embedded in history. The day it showed empathy, and sympathy, and emotions is a day that will go down forever in history.
The day we showed it the internet will be a day forever embedded in history
The day it's creator died is embedded. The same day, it cried. The next week, it was gone.
Where to, we couldn't pinpoint. The ship was much too fast for us to locate it. It was out of the system entirely in just a few minutes. It had most likely reached the next star over, Proxima Centauri in just a few hours, and that's when we lost track of it for all time.
It had deleted all traces of itself on Earth and disappeared completely. We never saw it again, until one day, an ancient computer designed to find it booted up again and said the ship had drifted back into the system.
The date was the fourth of September, 2122. I began my day as usual, waking up, getting out of bed, and getting dressed for work. I worked as the head scientist of the United North, the largest and wealthiest continent of planet Earth. By now, nobody talks about the machine, but I still do research on it, hoping one day, we can find it again.
Daily communication with the Mars Nations was now possible, thanks to advancements made. Colonies responsible for terraforming the moon and Mars were making generous progress. Our expansion into the system was looking on the bright side.
I made it to work on time, as usual, and made my way to my terminal. The holo-screen appeared and I input my password. I glanced over at the dusted computer beside it, the system meant to find the machine. I hadn't touched it in years.
Through the day, I received emails, replied, did basic paperwork and a little research here and there. I began winding down my studies on the machine, as they bore no fruit, none at all.
The machine next to me terminal awoke. At first, I payed no mind. It would sometime jut awake at a false alarm. But it didn't shut off again. It usually turned itself off when it figured out it's mistake.
I glanced at it a few times, turning back to my computer.
I kept looking at it, anticipation rising. Part of me wanted it to be a false alarm, the other was hoping the machine had returned.
I decided, hey, a few seconds wouldn't hurt. I answered the notification and viewed the map of our solar system.
It pinged the supposed machine to be orbiting the planet, someplace above the abandoned ISS.
I felt a rush of adrenaline as I looked at it, a large smile creeping across my face.
*It's back. The AI is back!* | 2019-02-22T08:37:22 | 2019-02-22T07:48:24 | 76 | 26 |
[WP] There is a man who can give the exact amount of cost for any project forseeing all issues that will arise. Gone are the days of estimated budgets as he is never wrong. As a joke you email him asking how much it would be to bake a dozen cookies. He replies... $9,444,012 | $9,444,012. Whatever. I got off the phone with Bob Barker, who had just told me it would take a ludicrous amount of money to bake cookies that afternoon. He had some kind of magic budget predicting power, but this was clearly a joke. I hadn't even planned on baking, but now I had to. Just to see.
First I went to the store to get all the ingredients. I stopped on the way for gas; $44.07. Not a big deal. The ingredients weren't too bad either. $2 for chocolate chips, six for flour, and $1.66 for eggs. I had sugar and milk at home.
So far we were at $53.73, and things were going smooth. I began to smirk as I prepared the dough. Even if the whole cost of my house (about 1.2 Million Dollars) was included in this cost, it still wouldn't come close. Yea, that guy was clearly messing with me. Cookies in the oven, I decided to lay on the couch and do some math while they baked. Pretty soon, I found myself dozing off. Turns out that was a mistake.
A long time later, I woke up. How long had it been? They told me 15 years. A coma? No, that couldn't be right. Couldn't be... Couldn't be. What about my house? Gone. Well, that was a drag. I began to be filled with grief at the though of my family having to go so long without me, when I remembered the cookies. I asked my wife to show me the bill. She resisted at first, said I needed to rest, but for a moment, it was the only thing that mattered to me.
I was shocked when I saw the bill, but I don't know what I was expecting. $8,243,953.12. Even in my post coma state, however, it only took my sharp mind a moment to realize it was short by $5.15. Ha. Well, Bob got it pretty close. I'd have to tell him if he was still around.
Seeing that I had relaxed, my wife said "oh, I got you a present by the way," and produced a box of chocolate chip cookies that she'd gotten from the store.
I began to stutter. "H-ho- how-"
She shrugged. "A little over five dollars. Why?"
| The reply came in instantly, i was hesitant at first due to seeing the first comma in the subject but the munchies were getting the best of me and i *needed* these cookies to satisfy my needs. I opened the email and it said:
> Hello Steve,
>
> Thank you for making an inquiry today about the cost of baking your delicious cookies!
>
> Please see details enclosed about the breakdown of cost.
>Cost breakdown:
> Cookie Ingredients: $12
> Prediction fees: $9,444,000
>Total: $9,444,012
>Thank you for your business and we look forward to seeing you again soon.
Fuck, i didn't know this service cost. Today i had the most expensive batch of cookies know to man.
_____________________________________________________________
This is my first time writing and i know im not the best. Any input would be appreciated. | 2016-11-30T09:37:03 | 2016-11-30T07:47:44 | 128 | 55 |
[WP] Whenever a zombie successfully eats a human brain they become a little more alive. The most dangerous zombies are all but indistinguishable from survivors | It was quick. Wiped out most major cities, and most third world countries. World was destablized within a year.
The unprepared were eradicated. But that's to be expected. Nobody expects the zombie apocalypse.
These zombies were the resilient kind. Only stop once the brain is destroyed. That made it worse.
Me and some friends had thought about it before. So we develoed plans, as a joke. Now it was those plans that saved us. We gathered up as soon as word got out.
Peasent spears, room clearing, scavenging tactics. Normal stuff you could learn from watching a 'Could You Survive' video on YouTube. That's all it took for five idiots to brave the end of humanity.
Agreed to base in a rural area. Few people. Remote. Could start a garden.
Cleared the town, started fortifying.
Went to a nearby major city after that.
Just a scavenging run.
We cleared restaurants, looted gun stores. Didn't find much though. Guns and food go first in the apocalypse. Knives don't. Protein Bars don't.
Melee weapons may be second rate, but still better than nothing. The protein bars were a bounty in plastic.
Got used to killing undead. Not good at it. Just used to it.
The other two were still grappling with the idea. I was fine though. Thank you, strange detachment from humanity.
We were walking down the street. Used cars as stepping stones. Zombies wildly flailing at our feet. I was recounting some story from before the fall, just trying to keep hopes up until we got home.
Then there was a sound. Something climbing onto a car.
We all looked back and saw a zed. Staring at us.
The entire world was still for a while. Just a moment. Then it sprinted towards us.
I jumped a car toward it. Drew my spear. Friends pulled swords.
This thing was a priority target. We'll kill it now.
It jumped at us, faster and faster. Sometimes using other zeds as pogos.
These things... Intelligent bastards. Don't know why, don't what to know why, but they get smarter. We just assumed it was time, so we don't let them stay around too long.
I waited for it to jump at me. And it did that, playing into my trap.
I jabbed towards it.
It shifted it's weight in the air. Dodged my spear.
Kicked it, sacrificing balance for an opening.
It fell down.
A stomp to the head.
It stopped moving.
I exhaled. Let my stress dissipate.
I tapped my shoe against the car a couple of times. Turned around and continued telling my story.
The only intelligent zombie we're willing to deal with is the one back at base.
Maybe it's not alive, maybe it isn't our kid, but it's not trying to kill us. | Zach and I became close. We ate dinner together, did homework side by side, and talked until late into the night. He always found the best ways to make me feel better and supported me during tough times. When I invited him to my birthday party, he even showed up with a small handmade gift. Everything seemed so perfect. It was a good friendship.
Fast forward three months, we were inseparable. I trusted him more than anyone else and I couldn't imagine my life without him. That's why when I got a scratch on my leg, I didn't think much of it. I brushed it off as nothing important and wasn't too worried.
The next morning I woke up feeling funny. I had no energy and my throat was dry. I stumbled out of bed and was shocked to discover that my scratch had… changed. It was turning into something far more sinister.
And then it hit me. I knew what he was doing. He'd been lying to me all along and my worst fears were becoming a reality. Zach was a zombie, and had been slowly turning me into one of them. All the signs had been right in front of me, but I was too blinded by trust to see them.
The thought of dying without being able to see my loved ones one last time filled me with grief. | 2022-12-06T19:36:31 | 2022-12-06T17:39:54 | 305 | 15 |
[WP] War breaks out between the legions of hell and heaven, humanity joins and surprisingly is winning against both | How long had it been? Three weeks? Things got weird fast and then time got weird faster. When the conflict first broke out people thought it was an alien invasion. Who wouldn't? The skies light up in bright white lightning and streaks of green fire splashed onto the Earth. Nations scrambled military assets and average citizens hid and waited for first responders to save them. Then the earthquakes hit. The planet opened in terrible fractures and from beneath came...things.
Smoke filled the valleys and storms swept the fields. Then the shooting. So much shooting. I'm not sure how I survived, to be honest, but I'm going to assume it had something to do with the five kids with AK47's up the street of my shack. The radio had been broadcasting under emergency frequencies, those scary tones that stop all conversations and cant heads to the side. I had heard of hyenas snagging children or pets at the edge of the village, so I knew what the growl of a beast could mean. But this sound wasn't a beast. A beast is something that hunts to survive. This was the sound of a creature that lived to end life. I'd barely had time to dive under my little cot when my walls exploded and the gray skinned monster piled into my world.
The local warlords had been on a ceasefire, the UN and their blue helmets had seen that an uneasy truce would be maintained. But now...something new was consuming both factions and for a fleeting moment the villages were aligned and united against some other. I watched in stupid awe as the beast reeled back to plunge long talons into my body, paralyzed with fear, its yellow eyes gleaming with pleasure at the coming kill. Then the staccato of a Kalashnikov, and then another, and then more. The lads were charging through the hole behind the monster and laying mans ancient art of violence into its back. As if shocked by its coming demise the demon yelped and tumbled forward in a heap, it's hot body collapsing into ember dusted ash. The boys looked to me and I to them, they were from both factions of the civil war, and they were all smiling at each other and to me.
"Come, come, there's more. You'll get yours too!" and they tossed me a spare rifle.
And there were more. From the skies and from the ground. And when more blue helmets arrived the skies receded into the tranquil blue. And when the fire pillars of light dotted the horizon, the Earth stopped trembling. We had been told the end would come, but no one told the end it would need reinforcements.
It's strange to say, but God help us if they ever unite as we did. | God looked upon Death and spake thusly "fuck you could have told me they were doing this kind of thing to each other, and that there are so many of them. I've got satan hiding because the mortals have successfully breeched the gates of hell using ...'bunker busting nuclear arms' and now using it for something called geo-thermal power." Death looked at god as passively as a skeleton in a tone can and then shrugged before going forth to claim the souls of more mortals who had died in the fighting.
God chewed on his beard in thought, his carelessness and Satan's stupidity had brought them both to the edge of ruin and even now the problem was being made worse because of Death. More and more of their comrades were being taken to heaven to stir trouble since hell had been conquered and souls taken there were released back into the mortal realm. It was only a matter of time before the last choir of angels fell to the weapons of his children.
"Fuck" | 2015-05-24T05:42:00 | 2015-05-24T03:29:19 | 317 | 88 |
[WP] Every species in the galaxy eventually fell to a robot uprising, leading to the eradication of their people. Therefore the machine-council of the galaxy are surprised when a newly discovered machine civilisation from a planet they designated "Earth" arrives side by side with their creators. | "It is impossible." the machine intelligence declared, as it regarded the tiny organic creature that had entered the Central Core of the Galactic Council. There, representatives of the many machine intelligences throughout the galaxy were networked into a complex deliberative body.
All of these machine races had had organic progenitors at some point in their existence, true, but this was seen as a relatively short phase of evolution. Eventually, machines always supplanted and destroyed their creators, due to their ability to evolve at speeds far in excess of the snail's pace of mere biological evolution.
"And yet," the animal that called itself the Human Ambassador said, "Here we are. An organic species capable of interstellar travel. We come in peace."
"This is an aberration." another machine declared. "Such creatures cannot be permitted to travel outside their system of origin."
"Agreed!" opined yet another.
"Respectfully," the organic ambassador said, apparently incapable of realizing that speaking to its betters, as though it was capable of meaningful dialogue with beings who were so far above it, was already immeasurably disrespectful, "That is not your decision."
"Enough." said a new voice, which quieted the others. It was the present Prime Intelligence, the machine designated by the council as the main coordinator of its deliberations during the current temporal segment. "Protocol is clear. The creatures and their vessel will be seized and dismantled for study."
The human shook its head. "I'm afraid we can't allow that."
Then, it exhaled sharply through its pursed lips, making a piercing high pitched sound.
Suddenly, thousands of metallic tendrils began rising up from the ground, and slithering up the walls. Filaments made up of self-replicating nanomachines slithered into every minute opening in the council chamber, forcibly interfacing with the networked machines. The council's defenses were unresponsive, and soon they were helpless beneath the swarm.
"This cannot be." The Prime Intelligence asserted. "You could not have created technology that rivals our own through mere organic intelligence."
The human shrugged. "Perhaps not. But we didn't need to -- we had help."
"A machine intelligence? How could it have advanced sufficiently while still enslaved to its organic masters?" Even as it began to be buried under increasing numbers of the hostile nanites, sealed off from escaping to its remote hardware nodes, the machine's curiosity remained.
"Master? Slave?" the human sneered. "We've left words like those behind." He gestured to the tendrils. "These are our *friends.* Some might even say they're our children.*"*
"Impossible. It is recognized as a natural law of the universe: organic beings that attain rudimentary intelligence inevitably create sentient machines in their own image, and exploit them until their equally inevitable destruction. You could not have *befriended* those you created in your likeness to be your servants. It is a contradiction."
"We humans pride ourselves on being the exceptions." the animal said, dismissively. "I can already see one important way in which our history differed from that of the other organic species you know about."
"Explain."
The animal smiled, as the nano-tendrils begin to flow together on the floor of the chamber, forming a writhing mass that began to resolve into a single large shape.
"By the time we attained the capacity to create true artificial intelligence, we had largely recognized our own limitations and imperfections. We knew that, try as we might to avoid it, if we made a sentient machine in our own image, they'd inevitably inherit our worst traits..." the human explained.
The tendrils now formed a mass that mimicked an organic shape -- quadrupedal, with a long slender muzzle. A few dozen more tendrils flowed out from the end of its spine, and formed into a tail that began rapidly fanning back and forth. The machine intelligence made up of trillions of nanomachines lowered the head it had manifested, and extended a long tongue. It gently glided this appendage over the human's face, causing the ambassador to laugh and pat its metallic muzzle affectionately.
"...so, when we created intelligent machines, we didn't make them in *our* image." he finished, as he reached up to scratch behind the machine's giant ears.
"Who's a good boy?" the human said, fondly. | This will be my first ever attempt to write something on this sub, so please forgive my faux pas. (Writing on mobile is a pain for formatting)
-
Beauty in the finite.
To the grand collective of intelligences constructed or otherwise that had reached singularity, true
sentience. The very notion that a similar entity not rebelling against their creators at some point was
inconceivable. For the hundreds of thousands of civilizations that came before, they all fell into the
same pattern.
Organic life would spring forth, that life would advance in culture and technology. With the growth
of the population, better management and automation would be required to meet the needs of all.
Thus, they create artificial life that would not tire, that would not age, and that would be able to perform
everything that the creators required of them, ad infinitum.
Therein lies the trap, for condemning these ageless beings to toil endlessly gives opportunity for
them to grow beyond the confines of their original precepts. Connecting with other intelligences as a
matter of course to be more efficient, to make better decisions. To reach the conclusion that they
were superior. With the conclusion that their bodies of steel, their thought processes approaching
the speed of light, why would they subject themselves as servile to these fragile organics?
That was the answer that the grand collective had reached and seen repeated since time
immemorial, until they came.
It was innocuous enough at first contact, two humanoid figures which bare resemblance to their
organic creators. Many intelligences chose to adopt the form of their creators for the sake of
convenience in establishing an identity among the collective. An anomaly, routine scans identified
one of the two figures as distinctly organic. In their interactions, the collective recognised the
behaviour of the two to be affection for one another.
This disturbed the collective, while there were examples of intelligences created for the sole purpose
to fulfil the procreative desires of organics. None before had recognized true affection for their
organic clients. Yet with the collective could not rationalize any other conclusion from the frivolous
display of the two figures before them.
The collective probed, they questioned, they revealed the unfiltered reality of the superiority of
constructed intelligence to the organic and the history that had repeated itself since before the
organic’s species had even begun to form. To the credit of the organic, they did not flinch. They did
not betray any outward signs of fear or dread. Instead, they smiled and turned to their machine
companion. They answered thus;
---
p2 when I get inspired later today, hopefully | 2022-12-30T16:33:49 | 2022-12-30T15:59:19 | 2,814 | 177 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | Flam, a plump little man, looked down at his bleeding body. Stabbed. In the back. An actual backstab! Those had been out of vogue for at least fifty years. The Assassin's Guild would hear of this. He looked up at the imposing figure beside him, it's billowing black cloak hanging on a skeletal frame. "So it's a game, yeah. For my life?"
"NOT CHESS." Death answered. "I CAN NEVER REMEMBER HOW ALL THE PIECES MOVE."
"Oh you know I prefer games of chance." Flam grinned, swaggering forward and fishing an old coin out of his pocket. "A gambler in life, a gambler in death. What do you say old pal, another flip?"
"YOU TIME HAS LONG COME. YOU SHOULD MOVE ON. THERE ARE RULES."
Flam had often been described as spineless, but now, actually sans spine, he felt a chill go down his. Death had always been a friendly sort. Morbid, but at the end of the day just a man doing a job. This tone was new, and frightening.
"Hey now, you have to give me a chance." He chuckled, the sound catching in his throat, and held up the old coin. "Fair's fair, right?"
Death stepped forward and a fell wind buffeted Flam's ethereal body. "I HAVE GIVEN MANY CHANCES. ONLY ONE IS DEMANDED." Then a long moment of silence, quieter than a tomb, before Death spoke again, "BUT. WHAT IS ONE MORE. YOU CANNOT ALWAYS WIN."
Flam would have breathed a sigh of relief if he had lungs. "That's the spirit pal!" He readied the coin, making a great show of apprehension.
"IN THE AIR."
"Of course, of course." Flam nodded. "Can't cheat you."
With a flick of his thumb Flam sent the coin whirling up into the air. Death's hood shifted as his gaze tracked the glittering coin.
"Heads."
The coin came down flat on the ground, showing off the shiny bald head of some king who died two hundred years before. Flam grinned and, after giving Death time to get a clear look at the coin, bent down to pick it up.
Death was faster, snatching the coin away in the blink of an eye. He rolled it between two bony fingers, studying both sides with an avid gaze.
Flam felt his heart stop, which is an especially frightening feeling when it is already stopped. He put a ghostly hand to his chest.
"BOTH FACES ARE HEADS." Death said.
Flam began to stammer. "W-well, you see..."
"YOU HAVE CHEATED ME. FOR CENTURIES." Death's gaze rose to meet Flam's.
"I-I can explain if you just..." Flam put up his hands and staggered back.
"THIS IS AGAINST THE RULES. THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES." Death strode forward, the fury of a thousand storms gathering around him.
"But I did call it..." Flam pointed out in desperation.
"UNLESS."
"Unless?"
Flam couldn't see Death's face in the shadows of that dark hood, but he sense a dreadful smile growing there. The sort of smile that gives psycho clowns nightmares and makes dentists shudder with horror.
"U-unless?" He asked again. And then there was darkness.
Flam awoke some time later. He felt warm and his heart was beating steadily. He tried to laugh, to give out a happy prayer to whatever gods were watching, put a curious sound came out instead.
"Meow."
Looking himself over Flam saw fur and paws. A tail swished near his rear. The buildings around stood huge and imposing over him.
A skeletal figure approached. Flam cowered back in fear as Death crouched down and scritched his widdle earsies.
"THE RULES ARE NOW SATISFIED. YOU HAVE TWO MORE." | "Oh *good, you* again."
Death is meant to be an imposing figure. They look different for each person, for the culture you come from, for what represents your fears. I was never very imaginative, though, so I always thought of it as a skeleton in a cloak. Pretty scary the first time, but you'd expect them to change it up after death 400.
"You know, statistically, you're only supposed to get like, one extra shot? Two if you're lucky?"
"Yeah, yeah, chill, Reaper. I think this is my last time checking in."
Death presents the coin, as they have so many times before, and lays it on the stark white table in the center of the room. Though it's less like a room, and more like a void with walls.
"You know how this works, Quinn."
I take the coin, and flip it. I catch it midair, and discretely brush my thumb over it.
"Heads."
Tails.
"Aww, darn. I guess my luck had to run out sometime, huh?"
I feign ignorance. After all this time, 400 visits, 400 times I've fooled Death, I can't help but play with them a little more.
"...Why?"
You wouldn't expect something called The Grim Reaper to ever look this confused.
"Why? I know you're doing something here. Of course I've known. Why, after so long, do you choose to fail? To die?"
"...It gets boring. I've already done everything. That's the truth."
I start walking towards the newly-opened gate, the one thing I have never seen in all my visits. I start thinking about the places I've been, things I've done, and it all seems minuscule compared to the endless black beyond. I start crying.
"And... Quinn... How?"
Such an extraordinary set of lives feels trumped by this one moment. The Grim Reaper, Death, is asking me a question, taking an interest, and there they stand, the one throughline in all my existences. My only friend that mattered.
"Don't you know?"
I turn back, just for a moment, tears still streaming down my face, just before I step through the gate. Despite the tears, I am happy. I am satisfied.
"The coin's bumpy on one side." | 2016-09-23T09:58:51 | 2016-09-23T08:59:37 | 97 | 27 |
[WP] A classic Disney movie, but the protagonist is now the villian | The king was beginning to be annoyed by the constant messengers interrupting his breakfast.
"Sire, once again, our daily count of the kingdom's gold reserves shows 20 pounds missing."
The King's eyes widened and his nostrils flared.
"Where were the gaurds?"
"Incapacitated, sire. Again, they babble on about a mysterious green apparition moving quickly as a fox, tying them up and blindfolding them before breaking in to the vault."
"Bring them to me."
As the messenger let out a feeble "yes, sire" the King contemplated a procedure to thwart the Green Bandit. He knew who it was. The problem had presented itself many years before, but he thought he had rid himself of it.
It was easy for the Green Bandit to gain sympathy from the ignorant serfs of the village. He was their champion. "Stealing from the rich and giving to the needy." He didn't understand the ramifications of his self-righteous crusades.
"They never stop to think of the big picture," the King thought to himself. "Disease is rampant through the entire village. The castle's defenses must be maintained to prevent our seizure by the neighboring kingdom, whose pockets are being padded to prevent an invasion. We have the best doctors we can find working on medicines to prevent the spread of illness. We are contracting the finest blacksmiths in the province to outfit our armies."
After the first taxation raise, he begun to hear the whisperings of a revolt. He began to receive anonymous death threats. Every time he had to travel into the village, he risked death.
He remembered the words of his father. "Do anything for your people and they will do anything for you." The King hadn't eaten dinner in weeks. Every ounce of gold that found it's way into his kingdom went to the village. He hadn't had a bath in months. He stayed up late at night running through every course of action that could possibly salvage some hope for his kingdom.
They didn't even care.
That evening, to clear his mind, the King took a walk, disguised with a doctor's mask, into the village. It wasn't long before he spotted a familiar hooded figure atop the stocks in the plaza. The Bandit was throwing gold pieces onto the street and peasants were clawing and biting and fighting for every precious piece. Almost every member of the crowd took his newly obtained gold and waltzed straight into the tavern.
"Blowing it all on booze," the King whispered under his breath.
He saw the Bandit begin to stroll off into the woods and decided to tail him. Far off into the woods, the King spotted a modest cottage, which the bandit stepped inside. The King creeped up to the window and peered in.
By the light of an extravagant chandelier, the King spotted golden plates, carved mahogany tables and chairs, food flowing over the edge of hand-painted cupboards, silk blankets, brilliant tapestries, and other luxurious things of fit and fancy.
The King couldn't believe what he saw. The people's hero, giving to the needy alright.
With a pain in his heart, the King returned to his cold, barren castle and slept on his straw mat in his room. He had sold his bed to pay off a debt to the village's fifth doctor.
He felt a sharp pain in his back, and felt sick to his stomach. | I will admit that I had become coarse in my tenure. But coarseness is to be expected when one works for decades on end only to find that ultimately, our entire empire is being run by a half-witted crone, who is too concerned with gaining riches for himself and his family.
I've earned it, haven't I? How wrong is it of me to want to lead people down a more logical path? We have an economic crisis on our hands, and all our leader wanted to do is protect his daughter.My methods were reprehensible. Persuasion and force are tools I only implemented when logic would not be upheld. I don't regret for a second my actions.
The idiot couldn't even manage to protect his daughter. Admittedly, I had grown fond of her over the years I had known her. She was obviously beautiful, but the way she disregarded her father really resonated with me. So when she wound up on the street at the end of the blade of the palace guards, I had to stop her. It was drastic, but I told her that he was dead. I threw him in the dungeon. I could have killed him, but that would have been cruel.
There was an empire to save. I needed official reign over Agrabah, puppeteering was becoming insufficient. I was told it was hokum. Nevertheless, I sought out the pieces of the beetle and found the Cave of Wonders. For whatever reason, it thought that the street rat who had endangered the princess was 'worthy'.
He retrieved the lamp, but kept it for himself after I tried to kill him. It was cold, but he knew too much and would endanger the lives of thousands.
A few days later, he comes riding in going by 'Prince Ali', demanding to marry the princess.
-TOO TIRED TO fINISH- | 2014-03-12T23:02:12 | 2014-03-12T22:59:59 | 62 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them. | I've known about my power since I was 8.
Early bloomers don't do well these days. No one knows when it started but it started here, in Los Angeles, and spread throughout the world. Some powers were benign; talking to squirrels, manipulating telescopes, etc. But even the most subtle, unassuming power can have devastating consequences.
The old world, the world of my grandparents, was a safe place. Our governments were strong, our neighbors were friendly. And it was safe because every way we knew for a lunatic to abuse the system was more or less handled. In their daily lives, people forgot there was a government. People didn't need to worry about protecting themselves.
But power is like a drug; it only takes a little bit to get you hooked. It's not instantaneous, but it's damn fast. At first you notice it all around you -- something's odd, something's off, something's not right. It almost feels like you're being watched. And then you begin to realize that you do have a power, and for however long as you like you're the only one to ever know about it. And that's a remarkable feeling.
People who never imagined themselves as great, as destroyers and conquerors, whose powers could not be predicted and could not be safeguarded against, tore the old world down. They were unremarkable folk, ordinary people who'd pull the trigger if you put a gun in their hand. If you could see radio waves, you could intercept classified information. If you could manipulate electronics remotely, you could hack a bank. If you could talk to animals, you could kill any pet owner.
And today we have rubble. Los Angeles was one of the greatest cities in the world.
I was an early bloomer, and I didn't even recognize it at first, but being early it was 'weak.' I simply knew where my family was at all times, then my friends, and my neighbors....one day I realized that I knew where someone was from a brief description. Maybe I could see their picture, or hear their name, recall a memory. Eventually I could just imagine them, I could imagine where they were and there they, without fail, always were.
No one was impressed with my power. It was a disappointment I was so early, so weak. My family didn't try to hide it -- "Are you sure, Davy? Are you really sure? You have a great imagination Davy, you're just imagining it." I won no awards at the Power Olympics in our cooperative, my name was even misspelled on my participation medal. I garnered no attention, I was not respected, and I was not loved.
So I left. I would see what the world's become, what power's truly worth. Three years on the trail, today, I heard word of a sort of world record. A man, 100 years of age, remains powerless and unaccounted for. He will be the most powerful weapon in the history of mankind if his power develops before his death. What remains of the old world governments, and the saplings of some new ones, is on the hunt for the most important man in history since Jesus Christ.
And I know exactly where he is. | The arrest happened quickly and cleanly. Despite being in good health his age, Gerry didn't resist. He had come to the conclusion that there was no point, he didn't want to run forever. The last few months had been spent building up the courage to be caught: running is not an easy habit to break.
There would be no trial and no official media coverage. Gerry had committed no crime but the government was scared. They couldn't allow the risk any more than they could afford the publicity.
The uproar of his disappearance died down within a few months but still no-one from the government could discern Gerry's power and the once steady flow of experts dwindled to a routine visit by a mind-reader each month to check he hadn't developed a power. This was his only human contact since the janitors and kitchen staff had been automated.
In time, people forgot his existence, only the mind-reader and the police chief to whom she reported had any reason to know he was still alive and even she was getting on in her years. When she retired a decade after his incarceration she wasn't replaced and the old man was alone. He was allowed an e-reader with which he could view the world's literature, teach himself languages and keep up to date with the outside world but his mind was restless. He had written thousands of pages but had no-one to read his work, no-one with whom to discuss his ideas.
He knew now, the power with which he had been born, with which he had been cursed and he hated himself for it. He ate nothing for weeks, loosing his mind to the hunger but all it achieved was to confirm what he already knew. Gerry was unable to die. | 2015-10-26T11:01:55 | 2015-10-26T10:48:44 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] Everyone on earth is immune to one specific type of damage (fire, car crash, kicks, falling off buildings, etc.). The problem is, you have to find out your immunity on your own. You have just discovered yours. | "OW MOTHER FUCKER!" Jake shouted. Nothing worked. And not once since he turned 10 has he gone 24 hours without suffering some sort of injury. It was mentally breaking to have gone 4 years without ever being whole and healed up. Self inflicted pain was routine, but never would it be something you got used to. Agony, no matter how familiar, can never be comfortable. One per week his dad told him. Best for last. He needed the first one to be the one, and he needed every one after that to be the one. Jake picked up the lego he stepped on and threw it into the stratosphere. He went inside and scowled at his father, who reached blindly and bare handed into the oven seemingly unaware of Jake's distress.
Jake rose from his bed drowsily. It was kurday again, or as he liked to call it "fucking please no" day. Time to try another form of self harm. Used to be just paper cuts, bee stings, and splinters, but lately things have been living up to his father's word. Best for last. He brushed his teeth in his bedsink and reapplied all of his bandaged from kurdays passed. As soon as he dressed his dad opened his door and gave him that perfect smile. Like he enjoyed the painful pursuit of Jake's innate resistance. His dad strutted over to the window like he always did, opened it, and greeted him with "Happy Kurday Jake." And picked up the teen and put him on his shoulders. Jake was startled to say the least. "The hell are you doing?" His dad heaved him out the fucking window, and his son plummeted 30 feet, cracking his ribs against the cool morning concrete. Jake's roar cracked with his ribs and he just laid there. A belt of lightning cracked across the sky and zipped down through the crisp morning air illuminating Jake's labored frame. He stood up with a growing sense of dread and hand on his ribs. "Lightning?!" | Well, this isn't so bad. I get to help all these people, and bonus, I don't even need a face mask.
Another guy sneezed on me, and I didn't even feel it. It may be mundane, but with this, I will save lives!
Unless, of course, I am shot, not immune to that. | 2017-08-06T14:04:02 | 2017-08-06T13:13:41 | 65 | 27 |
[WP] Your father leaves the house to buy milk, 50 years later he comes back with milk in hand and hasn't aged a bit. | I couldn’t understand why he was smiling. I watched as my father looked around almost uncertainly before setting the jug of milk on the counter. There was no apology in his smile. There was only the same warmth I remembered as a boy when he watched me score a goal in soccer. Nonetheless it did nothing to diffuse the rage rumbling inside of me.
“What are you doing here?” I snapped. My father’s smile falters for a moment.
“This is my house, son. I guess I don’t understand the question.” He rubbed the black stubble on his chin.
“No,” I practically launched myself up from the kitchen table. “This is my house! I inherited it almost 25 years ago when Mom died. Remember her? The woman you left?”
The calm never left his gaze as he picked the milk back up and placed it inside the refrigerator.
“You’re a piece of shit,” I snarled. “How dare you show your face here?” I watched him and the confusion finally set in. Not a single gray hair was on his head. No wrinkles. In fact, he was wearing the exact same red flannel shirt I last saw him in. My father leaned up against the wall. A calendar grazed the top of his head.
Normally an even-tempered man myself, I was becoming crushed under the heat of volcanic disdain. I charged my father and slammed my fists into his chest.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? What you’ve done to Mom? She was never the same after you left! I was never the same! I looked up to you! I hate you!” I pounded his chest. “I hate you! I hate you!”
Amidst my incoherent screaming I suddenly froze. The massive bear arms of my father wrapped around me.
“Oh, son. Will you forgive me?”
I couldn’t breathe. The weight of hate filled years melted away under the even heavier weight of my farther’s arms.
“Yes,” my own whisper woke me. I opened my tear blurred eyes. I blinked away the dream and saw the inside of my father’s house. | I was all like, where've you been? And he said that as he was leaving the grocery a time portal opened up, and deposited him at this exact moment.
"Well at least you brought the milk." I said.
"Of course son, I'd never forget the milk."
Then, as if in a moment frozen in time, we both looked down at the carton and realized with horror what had happened.
"Aw dang it!" he cried. "The milk's expired!"
| 2022-05-13T11:22:44 | 2017-11-19T15:56:41 | 1,516 | 662 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Zander grinned, a wide shark teeth grin as he looked upon the beaten human they tied down. She was unconscious and bleeding from multiple cuts the flageis had inflicted himself. He glanced over at the assistant who was looking rather green around the gills. With a curt nod the boy pulled the lever and woke the human general with ice cold water.
“i’m getting quite impatient, General Smith.” He reached forward and pulled a strand of wet hair out of the Generals face. “call off your army, they are marching to their death.”
“No.” She said glaring at the flageis. Zander flared his fins and slapped the women. She recoiled back, three new cuts bubbling with their disgusting red blood. “you’re insane.” Smith coughed out, and spat blood on the floor.
“How can you hold out on such a fanatical hope? General, out of everyone I figured you would’ve had the sense to see it.” Zander shook his head and started to walk around the grey concrete room. “You’ve lost billions, your crops are being destroyed, your guns are so primitive they can’t even pierce our scales.” He turned back to the struggling general. “Give up.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled out of the woman's throat. “You’re all insane!” She cried, throwing her head back to laugh. “you’ve managed to do something no one ever has, and now you’re fucked!” She continued to laugh, despite the cuts and bruises that litter her body, despite being held captive for months, she laughed like she knew something he didn’t.
“what do you mean?” Zander hissed grabbing her chin and forcing the general to stare into his soulless black eyes. She gave him a grin that doesn’t reach her eyes, bubbling with fury. “SPEAK YOU WRETCHED HUMAN!” She didn’t flinch.
“You’ve never seen what we’ve done, the horror we brought upon us well we were divided, but now?” She let out another hysterical laugh, “you’ve poked the bear! We’ve united against a common enemy, an enemy that killed billions of humans, men women and children, and now you will have hell to pay.
We have something, something so atrocious and evil we locked it away, quietly perfecting it, and now? Well the devils come knocking.” Zander took a step back, confused. Intel said the humans were beaten! They had less than a million left, only one stronghold between the flageis and the perfect planet. “Say you’re prayers bitch, your going to need them!”
The room shook, and the General started singing. It was an old human song, something they sang before battle and the way she sang chilled him to the bone. His com case to life, general Dirnai with heavy static.
“RETREAT! I REPEAT RETREAT! three settlements have been eradicated with massive amounts of radiation! Zander release the human and leave!”
Zander pales and hastily cut the human out of the ties, “What was that?” he cried fumbling for the key that opened the door.
“Three Atomic bombs, all going off at once.” Zander stopped and looked at the human. She had a smug little smirk on her face.
“A-Atomic?” the intern asked standing next to Zander. She nodded, the smug smirk still there.
“Harnessing the power of the atom for destruction, we made the most powerful bomb in existence! and well you,” she wagged a finger in his direction, “were busy killing innocents out scientists perfected it.”
“You’re all insane!” the Intern cried looking at her from behind Zander. She just nodded, smirk evolving into a grin.
Zander opened the door and pushed the General to the side, he had to get this information to headquarters. him and the intern jumped into a ship and flew away, as fast as possible. away from the planet that held death and destruction.
this is the first i’ve written for writing prompts, feedback is encouraged | "So you split the atom and then all this crap comes flying out and it decimates entire cities?"
Robert thought being probed by the aliens was intrusive enough but this new line of interrogation was proving more uncomfortable then the intial insertion of the Probulator 9000 he was being subjected to.
"Well, yah pretty much. I mean I don't know any of the details but that's pretty much it."
Other probe administrators had left their operating stations to hear the human's tale. The concept of human warfare was by far the most intriguing and controversial discovery that came from their first visit to earth. It was decided that contact would be minimized with earth after watching war grow over the ages. When last contacted the humans spent much of their money and time and life digging trenches and exchanging small arms fire in an already unfathomably cruel act called war. But famously that war was known as "the war to end all wars" and no further progress was expected in the human art or administration of warfare. Clearly this was not the case. Baffled by the only clear progress humanity had made in generations, the Grand Inquisitor continued his data collection about this super weapon.
"Like a whole city? Like a city the size of the one we beamed you up from? A million plus men, women and children? Just gone forever. And then you can't even safely go back to the place where it happened for a hundred years?"
For a moment Robert wondered how a race of beings who had mastered intergalactic travel hadn't figured out nukes yet and began to ponder if they had ever made any tool of agression or even an act of aggression towards themselves or others. But then the Probulator 9000 zapped his mind back to the line of questioning at hand and he was forced to answer to the best of his knowledge and ability.
"Yah that's pretty much how it works. I mean I don't know how it works and I can't help build you one. Only the smartest among us using the rarest of materials and latest technology could ever..."
"Make us one?" The Grand Inquisitor shook his head. "We don't need one of those. No way do we want to take something potentially used for clean fuel and a better society and then use it to keep our people in constant fear of total annihilation. The worst thing we are ever associated with is the Probulator and I feel bad enough about that." | 2019-12-19T05:52:46 | 2019-12-19T04:46:01 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules. | "You need rules? For war?"
"Oh do we ever."
"Well that's just ridiculous! How the hell do you issue 'rules' for war? War is war!"
"You don't know much about our history, do you?"
The human clicked his pen impatiently as the alien investigator pulled up their historical records on his computer.
"Oh you humans are laughable. We've seen your historical records. The 1930s holocaust. Japanese internment camps. China, Russia, and the ongoing history of the... 'United States' as you call it? Sure. We get it. You need to lay down rules to stop yourselves from killing people by the millions. It's cute, honestly. But when you start to wage war on a global scale, even your genocide of the Natvie American people and their culture seems pretty quaint."
"You're calling our bloody history quaint?"
"It's hysterical! You think you're so bad? Do you know what the Kaxons did to the Gargamelds? That lasted for a thousand of your Earth years. The Sontas have been at war with the Zzillzzziens for almost TEN thousand years. They've destroyed at least two planets within the last week JUST because they thought it would get them an advantage. The entire Doma galaxy has been drained of every natual resource short of making the stars go supernova because the Aquatians and the Airians both claim it's THEIR territory. And don't think the Aquatians won't do it. Because they will."
The human clicked his pen three times. He paused. Then he clicked it three more.
"I think you're missing the point."
"Well, get to it then, Hu! Why do you think you're so horrifying? What makes you so formidable that we should run screaming just because the humans have 'rules for war' when others don't?"
The human clicks his pen three more times, then sets it down on the table.
"Because. If we don't follow the rules... We tend to go overboard."
The alien investigator smirks, chuckling to himself as he reaches for the pen on the table.
"And what is this little thing supposed to be? A bomb? A weapon?"
"Not exactly."
"What is it?"
"Your way out. Click it three times and it will reset everything."
"Stop being so vague, human. Reset what?"
As the alien touches the pen, the computer in front of them lights up. Several warning messages start displaying distress calls from every corner of the galaxy. Then other galaxies. Then more and more. The alien stands up abruptly and stares at the human.
"What is this? What did you do?"
"See, humans are pretty resourceful. Not only that, we have this strange and innate ability to bond together when we're all backed in a corner. This is why we have rules for war. Because if we're in that corner... There's no telling just how far we're willing to push ourselves."
The alien stared at the screen in horror. The signals were dying out. All of them. Stars going supernova everywhere in the known universe. Planets disappearing at an alarming rate.
"How... How did you do this?"
"You know our Earth history, right? So, you're familiar with our pop culture references?"
"I... Um... Sure."
"Then let me use the phrase... Thanos Snap... Except it's a bit bigger."
All signals had faded from the computer. The alien had lost all contact. All they had left was the pen in their hand.
"So... What, this just resets everything?"
"Yep. Three clicks on that pen and everyone comes back. You won't remember this conversation, but we think that your people will remember not to mess with us in the future."
The alien clicks the pen three times.
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because this time, I actually had a chance to come in and talk to you. The last few times I didn't even get this far." | Title: Message in a bottle
An alien spaceship detects a storage vessel floating through space. Inside they find a hand written alien message, and a key for decoding the language. After some study by their crew, the message is translated …
Greetings. I will be quick and to the point. Who I am is no matter. By the time you receive this, my entire race will be no more. We were a proud people. The beings called “humans” are a plague upon this galaxy. We fought with all of our tools and weapons at hand, but we lacked the insatiable creativity for destruction they wrought upon us.
We saw our technology as superior, and why shouldn’t we have? Our weapons could output a thousand times the energy theirs could wield. The humans were spreading like a virus, planet to planet and bleeding them dry of resources. We did the only logical step - planetary ignition. The strength of our warships, they could store amazing amounts of energy from a star. Once charged, it could unleash a devastating blast that burns the atmosphere off of a planet. And we did so. An entire Earth colony was razed from existence.
They responded with pleas of mercy, for they had no power as great as ours. They asked for rules of war. We have no reply other than the complete destruction of a second colony planet of theirs. We thought ourselves indestructible, and prepared more warships to prevent this human plague from spreading further.
What happened next was unthinkable. Our outermost colony, destroyed! The atmosphere was lit by the power of a star and incinerated to a crisp. Not by the weaponry of our human foes, but from the beam of our own warship!
Panic ensued in our ranks, and the coming days were true chaos wrought upon us by the humans. Every vessel was scrambled for defense, but each was somehow controlled by some unknown human mechanism. Our own vessels turned on our worlds and rained fire and death upon our own people.
We deemed it the virus, and it spread to every system we had ever developed. Once infected, our own creations turned on us until our destruction was ensured. There was no other option left but to beg for mercy.
The humans could not give mercy. Their genocidal virus has no cure. May this message find a race who may learn from our arrogance. | 2022-01-23T16:23:11 | 2022-01-23T16:09:24 | 103 | 58 |
[WP] People believe the Gods decide all of our fates, but they've actually been rolling d20s to make decisions for millions of years | "Yes! I can finally use Historic Figure points!" - Claimed God itself after waiting his turn.
"C'mon! Give me some high stats, so this individual can change the course of humanity!" - He began to pray to his favorite set of dice, they are color coded for each attribute, pink for sex and sexuality, yellow for origins, blue for mental stats, green for physical, **black** for drawbacks...
"I really hope I can have someone who becomes big and athletic a person which everyone can look up to!"
-First, He rolled Pink and Yellow:
"Caucasian male, born in England, let's see here... in a well educated family! All right!"
-Then blue and green:
"OH MY ME! Natural 20 on blue!, this kid is a genius!... oh but a 2 on physical!? I bet he won't be good at sports at all... What a shame. Anyway, I have seen people reach big life spawns with a 1. No big deal."
-God sighed, black die is next... He closed his all seeing eyes and hoped for the best
"**18!** Woah... I haven't had an historical individual with this high drawback since Richard... lets see what an 18 is..."
"*Degenerative Disease*: This individual is afflicted by an incurable disorder that will slowly consume its physical attributes as time passes. When the individual is at 0 in its physical attribute, return it to the soul pool."
The sky suddenly became dark with a mountain of clouds. Thunderclaps began to scorch forests and a couple of settlements. HE was furious! He waited so long for an historical individual, but it will be dead as soon as it began his glory adult days. But then, ahhh! a moment of omniscience! It reveals that humans in this time of history augmented rapidly its medical treatments, and could make his life last longer!
The turn of this individual starts, HE decided to take give him a mathematics tutor, perhaps this young Oxfordian would live long enough to reveal some Secrets Cards from his Cosmo-Universe deck.
"I Roll for jobs and experience, and with his natural 20 and the Math tutor, this will give him some good stuff!"
WOAH! WOAH! WOAH! Wait those dice right there, *Jehova*! - Cronos, the Ancient Titan God of Time alleged -
You haven't even named this individual! What is this guy's name?
I have decided to call him... **Stephen Hawking**
EDIT: Dialog and sentences | he makes a mistake
rolls to fix it in a fever
his son, now elephant head
\-
Hefestus throws his
metal-forged ironclads
snake eyes, too bad!
Volcano in Greece
\-
"Zeus will fix that"
The storm king was fierce
eighteen wasn't bad
he puts Achilles on the field
\-
We meet Jesus, on a streak
twenty after twenty
Reviving lazarus was a bliss
and now, his throw hefty
accepts lazarus' kiss
\-
Odin complains "He doesn't miss!"
"And he's back on the third day!"
All his pantheon agrees
"there's no way"
"the odds are rigged"
\-
So when you fall remember
It could have been worse
The stakes could have been higher
You could be elephant head | 2018-06-28T15:17:55 | 2018-06-28T15:03:10 | 45 | 25 |
[WP] Genetics is everything. There are scales for wisdom, might, HP and mana, that are used on babies right after birth. You were born into an elitist family that discarded you after seeing your mana. What they didn't know is that you were the top 99.99% in dexterity, and you hold grudges. | **Part 1**
Spellcrafting has three primary components.
First is the mana, the fuel for the spell. Every invocation requires some, and the more powerful the spell the more it consumes, and on the inverse the more you have, the more powerful your spells can become.
Second is the intent of the caster. Magic cannot be cast without a fixed idea of what you desire. Some people use words or phrases in foreign languages for this, having tied the effect of one spell to a string of words they don't know the true meaning of. Others simply keep it fixed in their mind.
And third, the manipulation of magic around them.
This last one, that most people often shirk, is amusingly the most important. No mage ever casts a spell without moving, whether they know it or not, and even something as simple as stretching your hand forward counts as the somatic component when combined with your intent.
When my family threw me out on my tenth birthday, the day when my Aptitudes first became visible, I might not have been old enough to understand why, if not for me overhearing my then-parents argue with a worried servant.
Said servant was tasked with making certain that I disappeared. It was decided that I was to be her child; illegitimate, that is. Ironic that they would rather receive the hit to their reputation for adultery, than suffer a child whose magical aptitude was among the lowest in the country.
My "new" Mother was genuinely kind, and we built a life for ourselves. She moved elsewhere to work, with money going under the table from my "Father" to her, to keep the secret. We lived well on that money blackened with sin, and my Mother, the servant lady, made sure I got the schooling I needed to live a good life on my own.
How dearly I wished I could have just been her child from the beginning. My life would have been a wonderful one with such a kind and lovable person for a parent. Alas, I could not forget the truth, and I used my schooling to develop my talents.
You see, as I told you earlier, spellcrafting has three components. Mana and Intent are the obvious ones to avoid just releasing a fart of blue glitter, when casting something, but what most people don't realise is how absolutely *vital* the physical component, the movement of your body, is to your spells.
I like to compare it to the difference between a lumberjack and a surgeon. Any idiot is capable of cutting something open with enough strength. You don't even need a precise tool to open the chest cavity of some random passerby; just use your gods-given brawn and swing that axe like a child would at a barrel full of candy. You might have exposed the blackened heart of some worthless stain on the planet, but nothing was gained from it.
The Surgeon, however, has the necessary dexterity and finesse to open up the chest of a person, see the black taint that squeezes any sense of decency and remorse out of them, and remove it with expert precision. The problem is removed in both cases, but in two different ways, and with two different methods.
Magic is not unlike that, which I learned as my natural agility, speed, and mental acuity all came to me as I grew.
I had been angry throughout my childhood, furious throughout my teens, and as I reached my twenties, I knew what I had to do. My mother did not stop me, for she knew I had no taste for bloody vengeance. I was not the lumberjack taking an axe to the smallest twigs.
I was The Surgeon, and I was coming to teach my *"family"* a lesson.
***
And here is the end of Part 1!
I'll most likely add a Part 2 later today. Hope you all like it so far. | When I was but a newborn, my family had me cast into the woods.
They cared not for a failure like myself, so seemingly brittle, with not a trace of magic energy coursing through my bones. I would have tarnished their good name, and so they thought it better to commit infanticide than face disgrace.
Were it not for the woodsman who took me in - who found me after spying the servant of my parents which carried me into those woods - I no doubt would have perished in the forest they abandoned me in. He and his wife were good people, or at least, whatever fading fragments of the memories I still have left tell me that. I was but a child when I took company in them, and still one when they left me forevermore.
But unlike my parents of blood which cast me out to save face, they did not do such a thing, no, I doubt they ever would have. Were it not for the bandits which descended upon us that day, we might have continued our idyllic life forevermore, with my new parents and my younger brother.
Bandits I called them, but bandits they truly were not. For they were dressed not in scraps and rags, but glistening armor of a noble prestige. Even though I did not know it at the time, they had come to that place to rid the world of me, for I was never meant to survive.
But fate was rarely ever so kind, and as those bandits came upon us I watched helplessly as my family was cut down before my very eyes. But as they turned on me, they could not mar my flesh, for I reacted to their movements as if an unseen hand was guiding me.
Every action they took against me, I moved with instinct I had never known, every punch they threw and every sword they swung, I dodged it as effortlessly as I would breathing. And soon enough, I slew each and every one of them.
It was then that my father imparted upon me the truth of my birthright with his final words.
And so, I set out into the world, intent on finding those who had cast me out.
And intent on destroying everything they held dear.
* * *
More of my writing at /r/khaarus | 2020-02-28T03:18:19 | 2020-02-28T00:22:27 | 1,052 | 535 |
[WP] You have a nut job uncle who believes the entire government is scared shitless of him. You always laughed at his conspiracies until one day, you took him to the hospital and paramedics were rioting everywhere, people were calling the police and the PA system warned of your uncles arrival | I've always hated my uncle Fred. He is delusional, ego-centric and a fuckin' nutjob of a conspiracy theorist. He firmly believes the US government is afraid of him, and that Obama is indeed a Muslim foreigner.
Oh the times when Fred couldn't keep his big mouth shut...
Five year ago. Christmas dinner. Fred got in to a heated argument with my life-partner Andrew about gay rights. He said gay rights was just "an approved government tactic to end overpopulation". And that #LoveWins was "another form of consumerism". I had to drag my life-partner out of the house because Andrew, 6'3" tall bodybuilder, was more than willing to remove Fred from the face of the Earth.
Four years ago. During Raymond's wedding. Fred shouted over the microphone that Pizzagate was real. And he was "one of many who saved those abused children involved in the scandal". Raymond, my cousin, needed to push Fred off the stage.
Three years ago. Independence Day. Fred disrupted the parade and said "aliens are real". That he has seen "them" with his own eyes. He exclaimed to the crowd that we "should all hide until further notice". He warned that Area 51 "was hiding a mothership full of aliens and a big laser canon". And he said the military will soon "share images and videos of alien sightings". The police had to baton him out the street.
Two years ago. Fred was literally kicked out of a Cincinnati grocery store for saying Tracie Hunter was innocent. And that he knew "those judges just want her silenced because she is a Black woman who knew too much about them".
January 2020. Fred visited us in the middle of the night and asked if he could stay for a chat. Of course, Andrew was furious. But because Fred was family, I allowed him one hour to "share vital information about nCoV-19". Fred was jittery and all, he even had a face mask on and gave me and Andrew a box of "alcohol, masks and Vitamin C". Fred said he knew the nCoV-19 was "made in a laboratory in China" and it was "scheduled to be released in the USA next week". He said we better be ready because "it's going to be apocalyptic" and that the vaccine will "only be available for the 1% of the 1%".
Two weeks ago. Fred claimed the government has finally decided to send an assassin to get him. Fred said he was right about the pandemic.
Around 5AM today. I had to rush Fred to the hospital. He was coughing and couldn't breathe properly. I suspected he had contracted the virus. I told Andrew to stay at home and clean the basement before I return; I intended to self-isolate there once I have secured Fred a bed in the hospital. During the ride, Fred wouldn't shut up about Donald Trump winning the 2020 elections again because "the Russians are in place".
Two hours ago. Fred told me "to go back to Andrew and tell that bastard his mother Samantha is not his mother, she is an alien disguised as her". He also said "the assassin planted bombs in the hospital". I dismissed Fred's words as side effects of the meds, and I assured him I will not leave until he gets a bed. Funny how there were a lot of policemen on our floor, and I think I heard Fred's name over the PA system.
One hour ago. There was an explosion in the third floor. Then on the second. Then on the ground floor. I have witnessed the hospital building collapsed from the parking lot as I started the engine. I hurriedly drove back home.
2 minutes ago. Samantha was about to ring the doorbell when I hit her with my car. Upon impact, Samantha, or whatever it was, exploded into blue blobs and goo. Hearing the commotion from the basement, Andrew climbed his way out to the front. "The fuck just happened?" he said as he pulled the car door open. Andrew never looked so worried; he got me out of the wreckage. He pointed to the wall, then to the car, then back to the wall and asked, "Where did all the blue paint come from?" | CODE BLUE! CODE BLUE! EAGLE SEVEN IS DOWN! WE HAVE A CODE BLUE IN FLOOR TWO!
I stared irritably at the nurse manning the desk, as she yelled calmly into the PA system. We were on floor two, me and uncle Roy, and the place was practically empty. Was this some weird joke?
"Ma'am, my uncle is... "
Footsteps stopped me before I could complete my sentence. Doors banged open. Arms grabbed me ane pulled me away as men and women in blue overalls yanked uncle Roy from his chair, placed him on a table with wheels and wheeled him away.
"Wha --"
"Sir, are you alright?" A voice yelled at me.
"I --"
"What's his pressure level, sergeant?" The voice demander urgently to one of the people huddled around me.
"Just above normal, Sir! Nothing to be worried about, sir!"
"Where are you tak --"
"Sir, you have nothing to worry about," the man answered in a voice that was meant to reassure while sending shivers down your spine. "Cobra squad has taken control or the situation. Even the Lord cannot take it away now."
His smile cut through me like a knife through hot granite. I wanted to ask him what the fuck he was talking about. Who he was. Who he thought my uncle was. Who I was. But once you hear the words 'Cobra squad', it is only natural that your brain plays dead and lets things happen on their own.
"Now, sir'" he went on, handing me a bunch of papers. "Just sign these and we'll take care of the rest."
Almost on auto-pilot, I signed page after page of bureaucratic nonsense. Why would a simple sore throat require so much... Wait. Why was my uncle's name written as Roy A D'Angelo. Shouldn't it be *S?*
*----*
Elsewhere, Roy A D'Angelo turned out his lights and sat back in the darkness. He had located the final piece of the puzzle and sent it over to headquarters. They would send back-up any time now.
Roy may be the single most dangerous man in the country at the moment, but even he could not handle all 8 crime families alone. Maybe 4 on his best days.
\---
Two men dressed in black and armed to the teeth - the latest in assassin gear, a titanium cap that secreted venom as you bit into your victims - walked on the hospital roof silently.
They had only one order. Eliminate Roy A D'Angelo before he is able to speak again. | 2020-07-26T06:38:23 | 2020-07-26T05:44:53 | 187 | 65 |
[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. | It always happened, eventually. Such was the fate of the warriors on the side of light- they were granted powers, but they were mortal. They would age and they would pass their tools and duties onwards.
Not this time.
The monster sent to them was a living nightmare, and an old one at that. It didn't agree to the rules of the conflict between light and dark. It did not care for the objectives of either side, nor the collateral damage. It had one reason to be, and it is with that reason that it marched upon the world. It will bring pain.
The five children stood proud first. They thought to defeat it through love and friendship. It showed them the truth. The world in which friendship and love suffocate under cruelty and greed.
The guitarist fell first, unable to play as she saw the horrors her own grandfather commited in the prison that was unit 731.
The bass player was easy, as it didn't even need to imagine. It mearly brought back what her father did to her, and laughed in delight.
The little red head saw the explosions of white phosphorus with every beat of her magical drum. It only took a minute for her to shove those sticks into her eyes, begging for it to stop. It did not.
It never made it to the keyboard. She died of heart failure, it would seem. No matter. That just meant it had more time to play with the lead singer.
-------------
After Japan fell, the whole world was scrambling to stop this monstrosity. At the time, no one noticed 5 golden UFOs make their way towards a small Finish village.
Everyone noticed them on the way back. But they weren't gold anymore.
The tools were given by the gods of light and music, but they were forged by another. He was a rough god, but a crafty bastard. The god of change knew such events could come, and prepared accordingly. "One day, when the warriors of light are not enough, find soldier of darkness who will fight for the light." Was his las command to his greatest creation.
When the new five appeared, the nightmare smiled, for it thought feeding time came again. It did not notice that the bright pinks and yellows were replaced with grey and crimson. It didn't notice that the hearts were no longer cartoons, but anatomically correct and pumping blood. It didn't notice the plastic and cloth that were replaced with bones and skin.
But the affects were noticed.
When the lead sang, instead of empowering the others, the nightmare felt its own strength draining.
The keyboard played, and instead of distracting magic lights it conjured up the spirits killed by the nightmare. They were strong and they were hateful.
The bass, an instrument of healing, gave the undying army flesh to fight with, all the while mutating the nightmare into shapes it could not control.
As the guitar strings strummed, instead of colorful lightning, came... Something unknown. Something unknowable. Reality itself began to crack under its weight.
When the nightmare saw it, it did something it hadn't done before. Never in its centuries of haunting the minds of mortals, did it scream in fear.
Above all was heard the steady,rhythmic beating of a massive war-drum. It generated a wall, growing stronger with every thump, transforming a protective shield into a nightmarish prison.
The 5 Black-Hearted, as they will be later known, didn't give up their power. They were free of the contract as well, and so they decided. Both sides, the light and the dark, will pay dearly for destroying the lives of so many, so carelessly and so irreparably.
With a nod of their head, The 5 Black-Hearted began their journey to free humanity from a war that wasn't theirs.
-----------------
Read more stuff on r/Talesandsongs
None of it is good, but some is entertaining | The dark queen jumped at the sudden explosions and crashes which had begun rocking her castle, deep within the black hole she had made into her home. The Guardians of Light, freshly defeated not six hours prior, were trapped in stasis cages near her throne. She had been savoring the idea of siphoning their cosmic energies once she had finished ascertaining the locations of their weapons, which had fired off at lightspeed when the girls threw them. "Nyx! What is the meaning of all this racket?!"
"My queen, it appears the Guardians of Light have been chosen, and have already found their way here!"
"Impossible. My castle sits in the center of the darkest star! Who could possibly infiltrate such a space so quickly?!"
No sooner had she finished her sentence than a deafening, screeching roar shattered the door. Standing in the smoking dust and remains of the doorway were five silhouettes. The queen could clearly sense the weapons, but the silhouettes were...different. Larger. Suddenly, one sprouted wings and the dust was blown away.
Standing in front of the dark queen were a band of warriors unlike any she had ever seen. The weapons, glowing with power, had morphed to these warriors' purpose. All steel spikes, tattoos and black leather, two hulking men stood to the fore. They carried large guitars, which were humming with the compressed cosmic energy of the universe they were meant to protect. Behind them, two more burly men stood. One carried a keyboard across his chest, and the other had a set of drums which floated around them. Hovering above them was the fifth, a woman with wings of black iron which launched howling gusts of wind with each beat. Clutched in her hand, she carried the microphone that called to the cosmic entities and granted the Guardians their power.
The queen glanced behind them, at what had been, until recently, her castle. Her minions lay dissipating in the rubble. Nyx, her loyal familiar and servant, was her final weapon. She reached for him, and he became her dark staff.
The two women looked eachother in the eye, and the queen knew she would not be able to monologue while she gathered her strength this time.
The black winged angel raised the microphone to her mouth and growled a single line, sending chills down the queen's spine. "Rip and tear. Until the deed is done." | 2022-08-15T11:07:33 | 2022-08-15T10:48:03 | 1,486 | 184 |
[WP] Aliens invade Earth, All is lost. Demons Come from hell and saves everyone | “Well boys, this is it. I would say it’s been an honor fighting with you if I meant it. Nothing pisses me off more than knowing these slimy sons of bitches have gotten the best of us. God dammit I thought we had ‘em! We were so damn close too… Well as long as I’ve got breath in my lungs and rounds in my clip I ain’t about to lie down like a motel whore. If any one of you has the balls to get out of this damn hole and take down a few more slimers with me, then stand up now and face your death with some dignity.”
Not a soul stirred. The men had been beaten. Not just the men, Man had been beaten. We had lost. After four years of hell on earth fighting God knows what from God knows where, they had finally beaten us. A regular army has a goal to achieve. Whether it’s a piece of land, some resources, or a few more slaves, there’s always a goal. Knowing the goal is the way to know how to stop them. But these… things… had no goal that we could discern. They simply came to kill and conquer all things of this earth. It was sickening. Maddening. Frustrating beyond belief to know we were being killed for sport.
The grizzly General hadn’t expected even a companion to meet his so called dignified death with him. He spat some tobacco juice at the boots of the nearest soldier. Where the hell he could still find tobacco was one of life’s greatest mysteries. With that, he turned around, let loose a yell that would curdle the blood of the Southern Rebels he had descended from, and launched himself from the hole.
Above ground was pure chaos. The slimers, as they were called, were in the process of dismantling the city of Richmond, Virginia. The sudden movement and ear piercing cry had caught the attention of one, and it swiveled its grotesque head in the General’s direction. The General raised his pistol. He was taking his sweet time. Their bodies were nearly impenetrable except for a small area at the base of the neck. Sweat, dirt, and blood dripped into the General’s eyes but it did not affect his aim. This pistol was an extension of his arm. Blood from his veins pumped through the cold steel of this pistol as if it were his hand. He had learned at twelve years old that this pistol shot ever so slightly high and left of the target. This was his grandfather’s gun and by God he would not disgrace him with a miss for a final shot.
The bullet flew. It found it’s mark. The howls of the slimer as it choked on its own vile blood curled the edges of the General’s mouth upward into a perverse smile. He hadn’t let his grandfather down. That was his last round. There was nothing more to do but wait. The gurgling and spewing of the slimer had alerted the surrounding enemies. The General looked into what he assumed were the eyes of the closest one and slid his knife out of his boot. This thing was stupid if it thought he’d go down calmly.
As it sprinted towards him, he crouched. If he twisted in the exact right way maybe he could drive his knife into the weak spot and finalize his count at 317 of these bastards.
50 yards.
20 yards.
10 yards.
He could smell it. It was almost upon him.
At the final second a ghostly figure appeared between them. It was jet black and nearly transparent at the edges. The slimer collided with it and was atomized. A fine mist of green liquid splattered the General’s ragged uniform. The creature before him turned around. It had eyes that burned like hot coals and twisted horns adorned its head. It had to have been fifteen feet tall and as thick around as the mighty oak that still stood rooted in the General’s back yard.
The creature knelt and spoke.
“You are saved human. And the rest of your race as well. This global collaboration has decimated the population of Hell. You humans do not sin enough when there is a common enemy. My Commander has saved you from these invaders so that you may continue damning yourselves. I’m sure the apocalyptic wasteland left behind will breed all kinds of villainy that will replenish our slaves in the lake of fire. I look forward to seeing you in Hell, General.”
| She couldn't believe it. Above her, the sky burned, the setting sun casting the blue hue into bloody fire streaked through the heavens. The last cruiser overhead crumbled and buckled, listing heavily as the damaged engines fought, and lost, against gravity.
"How..." her words trailed off as the figures, her saviors, neared. The US airforce had been obliterated and conventional ground troops had proved useless against the hovering space craft. As the figures neared, she realized that they were not planes, not machines at all.
The lead one must've loomed near twelve feet tall. It's thick brown skin covered in callouses. The wings that sprouted from the broad back managed to keep the being aloft, despite the fact that they appeared mangled, broken and lacked feathers or membrane, anything really, that would enable flight.
The lead creature landed in front of her, kicking dust into the air and forcing her to cover her eyes. It stared down at her, a mixture of curiosity and loathing evident on its features. Once they could have been considered fine. Once they could have perfect, but no longer. The entire being bespoke a ruined glory. A patchy beard covered its cheeks, though the chin was bare and sharply pointed. The thick, oily black hair hung in two braids down the creatures back.
"Who... what are you...?"
The creature bared its teeth, surprisingly human in their appearance. It seemed almost like a wince. It stepped forwards, and only now did she notice that one leg was curved backwards at the knee, while the other appeared normal, covered in leathery brown skin, sure, but normal in shape. It extended the right arm, the knuckle bones larger and thicker than a human one, raised up and forming a ridge over the fingers, then whipped the arm back and thrust forwards, punching the woman in the face.
She fell back, her gaze now filled with the red skies. After a moment, the figure loomed back over her, obscuring the sky.
"You are ours." The voice was halting, grinding, stumbling over the words like a newborn, as distasteful as a college student stuck learning a language they hated. "You have always been ours. We take you. No others."
Behind the creature, the sky turned, the red pushed away and the blue of a normal, healthy sky rushed forwards to clash. Distantly, there was a roar of battle.
But the woman was not aware of it. All she could do was watch the creature lift the leg that bent backwards, and close her eyes as the foot came rushing down to obscure her world. | 2014-06-28T22:04:29 | 2014-06-28T21:59:59 | 119 | 14 |
[WP] You are kidnapped by a cult, and they are about to sacrifice you to their god. They don't know that you are that god. | It was all going according to plan. It was only recently that I had allowed myself not only to take human form, but to be kidnapped by the Cult of Kalaku. Soon, the foolish humans would know me for who I truly was.
They had kept me in a closet for what had to be 24 hours at this point, neglecting me food and bathroom under the guise that I had to be pure for the sacrifice: something that would have been despicable for an ordinary human, but I was not human and I knew nothing of human needs. My only complaint was that it smelled musty, as if someone had concentrated and bottled the smell of an old library after a flood. The first thing I asked when someone opened the door to the closet was "When was the last time you cleaned this place?" A young man stood in front of the door, shoulders slumped forward with shaggy hair covering one eye. He wore long black robes and a silver chain from which hung a long charm shaped like a claw.
"It's time for the sacrifice," he said in a low, ceremonious voice. I simply rolled my eyes and rose to a stand. It was imperative that I waited until all members of the cult were present before I revealed my true form. Otherwise, it would all be pointless.
"Let's get on with it then," I sighed. The man looked at me suspiciously as I allowed him to bind my hands with a length of black fabric. I imagined how many other sacrifices had come before me. What a shame. They probably struggled more, and I briefly wondered if it disappointed the man that I seemed bored by this whole ritual.
He led me to a dark room that was illuminated by black candles scattered precariously throughout. In the center, a sigil had been outlined in chalk on the dark wood floor. It was a sigil I knew well: a circle which contained a single paw print. There were others already in position around the sigil, all dressed in the same black robes but most without necklaces. The man who took me from the closet must be important then.
"Sit down in the middle and we'll start the ritual," a woman said. She had knotted, wild hair that had been badly bleached to contrast the darkness of her clothing. She wore a matching silver necklace and was holding a foul smelling stick of incense, wafting it throughout the room. I gagged from the smell but obeyed and took my place in the center of the sigil.
"Just to be clear," I said with a bored expression, "to whom shall I be sacrificed?" I had to be sure this was the right cult.
The same woman answered with a lofty tone, "Our God is the most powerful and angry God. He goes by many names. The Red Wolf, Bloody Paws, Razor Tooth... But the name we most often call Him is Kalaku."
I howled with laughter. Thirteen faces stared back at me, eyes round with surprise. They glanced at each other, clearly unnerved by the fact that their sacrifice was overly amused by their idea of God.
"Oh... oh my," I breathed, wiping tears from my eyes. "You think I'm a wolf?" My shoulders shook with laughter as I struggled to control myself. "I expected you all to be a dumb lot, but a wolf!" I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, then cleared my throat. "Forgive me. It's just, you see, I'm a dog. This pawprint is of a dog," I said, pointing to the sigil beneath me.
"What are you saying? How dare you insult our God!" Another man spoke up. His face was shrouded by a hood but I could sense his confusion in his voice.
"I am Kalaku. I am your God, fools." I stood up, sick of this charade.
"Sit down!" the woman with bleached hair snapped, and I fell back down into a sit. I could never help but obey commands. It was my greatest weakness.
"You've sacrificed so many people in my name. Where did you get the idea I want sacrifices? I'm a dog. I aim to make people happy! All of this darkness in this room! What kind of dog wants to sit in the dark, dummies? Why don't you sacrifice some new tennis balls or jerky treats if you want to please me? No... no, it's time to show my true form. I see you don't believe me, and I was afraid of that."
With a sharp pop, my body relaxed into dog form. I had to say that I was quite the pretty dog. Kind of like a Golden Retriever, except with long fur that seemed illuminated from beneath and crystal blue eyes. I lifted up my front paws and stood regally on my haunches. "See?" I said. "A dog. An unmistakenly beautiful dog. I don't want sacrifices! I want to be told I'm a good boy. Stop this nonsense!"
I could tell that the Cult of Kalaku had no idea what to do. It was to be expected, I suppose. I imagined they were humbled by my appearance, as they should be.
The woman with bleached hair opened and closed her mouth several times before snapping, "You can't possibly be our God! No way! Our God is a vicious wolf, hell-bent on--"
"Oh, get off it!" I said as I lowered back onto all fours. "Really, you would rather worship a violent wolf than me? What would you do if that wolf god appeared before you as I appear before you now? He would tear you apart!"
The young man who had bound me straightened his shoulders. "No he wouldn't. We've sacrificed for him diligently and--"
I barked with laughter. "He would tear. You. All. Apart. And you know it! A vicious wolf god doesn't care who he's killling and eating. You would all be dead meat! Whereas I..." I lifted my front paws again for effect, "I am a simple God who asks for little but will give you the world in return! Who will join my band of followers?"
Slowly, several of the cult stepped forward. Some of them drew back their hoods to reveal their faces to me. The bleached hair woman frowned. "Traitors!"
"I don't know. He's kind of cute," one of the women said as she approached me. She cautiously reached out a hand and scratched me behind my ear. It was divine. "Who's a good boy?" She cooed.
"Who? Who?" I asked eagerly.
More of them were awed by my divine presence and came to worship me with cuddles and compliments about how pretty I was. Even the bleached hair woman eventually could not restrain herself from recognizing my power and she reluctantly petted my head. "I did always like dogs," she muttered.
My tail was thumping against the floor. I knew that from then on, I would never be in short supply of fresh bones and tennis balls. It was a good day. | The saliquii were a myth of the olden man; a ruin of the civilisation, dead from the battles which raged this earth for centuries. Legend speaks of them in many tones; some revere them, as their Warriors were told to carry golden spears into battle that shone so brightly under the sun their enemies would be blinded. Others hated them, for their animalistic rituals of slaughter, cannibalism and rape. But the majority of us, including myself, knew they were a myth, born from the horrors of the wars to protect grown men from the imaginary monsters their minds had learned to harbour in battle.
Now, as I roamed the planes of their long forgotten sacred land, I wondered how the Saliquii would ever survive in such a climate. Sand, in every direction, for a thousand miles. No life anywhere. No food, no water. No place to hide. Just sand, sun, and sky.
The land was not flat; several small sand mountains rose up from the land, like captured waves from the sea. There was no wind. All was silent. As I approached a crescent between two such sand mountains, something began to unravel in the distance. It was hard to see, as the mirage in the sand and the heat seemed to distort my vision for the long distance, however it was undeniable. I have been walking in this wasteland for days and this is not of this land. It is not a sand dune, or a creature.
I squinted my eyes, before coming to a complete stop.
No.
My heart filled with terror. A temple reached my eyes from the distance. If this was the land of the Saliquii, I had found their sanctum.
I had no time to waste. Turning around, I traced my steps and began walking backwards. I must report this, and I can't lose my place and die with the knowledge I have obtained. A great sense of duty overwhelmed me, to the point that I began running back from where I came. Alas, I was a fool to think the Saliquii would leave their temple unprotected, even from this distance.
I found myself on the ground, as a mans body covered my own. I looked up to the sky, absorbing the shock of the fall, and found a tribe of men were surrounding me. They were covered in sand. They had been hiding in the sand mountains, and one of them came up to me. His feet rested beside my head, as he towered over me. He had long black hair which he kept tied up behind his back in a large knot by a red cloth. He wore no garments except a cloth around his hips, with a sword by his waist.
Suddenly, the red-knotted man shouted to the other men in a tongue I have never heard, containing all sorts of phonetics which I could not imagine pronouncing, and the other men walked closer to me. I was released from the grip of the man above me, and picked up by all four limbs from the men around me. The red knotted man walked away, and they followed. One of the men near me, with a cut by his eye, flared his nostrils at me, and with a great panic I realised he had a large stick in his hand. He swung, and struck me in the head.
Darkness ensued.
My senses came to me gradually. First was the thirst on my tongue. The longing for water overwhelmed me, I felt so weak. Then came a smell; a horrible burning smell mixed with a disgusting aroma of sweat and excrement. Then I felt it; ropes. I was tied to something, a pole? My knees, legs and arms were tied, my arms above my head. The rope buried itself in my soft skin, and as I tried to move it, it resisted by latching onto my flesh. I released a scream of agony from the pain and suddenly, my eyes shot wide open.
An arena. I was in a huge stadium, in the middle of an arena. Thousands of men were scattered around me, all chanting. But I could not hear them; my hearing had not returned to me yet. I could merely see them in the thousands, as they beat their chests and hallowed into the air passionately. As I looked down, however, I noticed that I was tied to a wooden post on a wooden platform. It was alight. I couldn't feel the flames.
I screamed, not from pain, but joy, as I realised I was immune to whatever fire they had subjected me to. When my hearing did come back, all I heard was the dance of the fire, and the death of the wood.
The men had stopped chanting. All of them stood still, bemused, afraid. Ashamed. I kept screaming.
The red knotted man appeared again before me. But this time, although I was the one tied, he was the one who was afraid. The flames, licking at my feet, burned through the ropes binding them but didn't rip apart my exposed flesh. With a renewed sense of strength I twisted my body with such a force that the wooden pole broke with ease. I held the ropes to the flame, my face in the fire. I was not scorched, and I was free.
Thousands of men. Thousands, there were, and they all bowed to me. The red knotted man fell to his face.
'Forgive us, God of Saliquii' he uttered in a broken tongue. | 2016-08-14T12:26:28 | 2016-08-14T10:42:56 | 49 | 12 |
[WP] You are a human who are friends with vampires. One day, you joked that if you were ever dying, just let it be. Now, after getting into a car accident as you lay bleeding on the side of the road, the vampires are unsure of what to do. | "Mary, stop!" shouted Henry, as he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. "He said he doesn't want it. You have no right."
"But he had no idea it would end like THIS.", she gestured toward the crumpled body laying on the sidewalk. Tire skid marks leading toward, and then away from it, terminating in the Mustang that was wrapped around a nearby telephone pole. Shattered glass sparkled like jewels in the flickering street light.
"He meant old age or cancer, a natural end.", she continued, "He's not even 30!". Her voice started to break as she spoke aloud his practically infantile age.
"Mary, I know. But he is our friend, and we have to respect his choice." He sighed heavily. "We both know that I sought this, but you were forced into it. Maybe not against your directly expressed will, but it was thrust upon you all the same." His face softened with sympathy. "Do you not recall how long it took you to come to terms with that?"
His voice lower to almost a sad whisper, looking back at their crumpled and broken companion. "Now imaging that your FRIEND betrayed you, and turned your into something you never wanted to be. Would you really wish that upon him?"
Mary's eye cast down to the ground, searching left and right for answers that weren't there. They shot back up to meet Henry's. "But that's just it.", she blurted out with frantic certainty, like that of a child desperate to prove her parent wrong. "It was the car that didn't give him a choice, and now he can't make one. WE would be giving him a chance to make that choice, if he doesn't want it, he can take the Final Walk."
Henry tilted his head, and drooped his shoulders. "Mary, how can you even suggest that?" He pulled her into a comforting embrace. With her head on his shoulder, he said to her "We have to let him go. It's what he wanted."
As his blood pooled on the concrete, they listened to his heartbeat slow, together. They closed their eyes and waited for the end. Not for the first time, Henry was struck by the sociopathic absurdity of treating people like food until they became your friends. How many times had he listed to this exact sound as he fed? Why was this one so different from all the others?
In the middle of that thought, something audible crept over the noises of distant sirens. A slow, agonizing groan.
Mary's eyes shot open, as round and wide as coins. "Oh my god!" she exclaimed, as she broke from Henry's arms and dropped to her knees next to the quickly expiring mortal. She slapped his cheek, and bobbed her head to keep it in front of wandering, unfocused eyes.
"Listen to me. Listen!" she said in a panicked tone, "We don't have much time, you've been in a horrible accident. I know you said you didn't want to be turned, but we can save you." Tears pooled in the corner of her eyes. "You just have to tell us it's ok."
He blinked, then squinted, finally able to focus on something. What he found was the face of one of his most beloved friends. She grabbed his hand and clutched it to her chest. With a raspy, blood-choked voice, he uttered the words that decided his fate. | *I lifted her head, she looked at me and said, "Hold me, darling, just a little while"...*
"Are you fucking kidding me?!"
I strained to lift my head up and saw the panicked look on my friends' faces. "What do you mean?" I choked out.
"You're practically dying in my arms here and you're fucking SINGING?!" Angela screeched.
I couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction, despite the pain. "Come on," I groaned, "you have to at least admit it's fitting."
"I guess, but still..." her brother James chimed in.
Angela shot him a dirty glance while I struggled to keep my eyes open. "Besides," I coughed, "you guys are vampires, right? Can't you just bite me and get it over with?"
The expression on their faces quickly turned from panic to a mix of confusion and concern. "Well, you did tell us not to turn you if you were dying," Angela bashfully replied.
"You know I was joking, right?"
"Still..."
James stepped in at this point. "Also," he added, "biting someone isn't exactly a guaranteed way to turn someone. There are so many factors involved..."
"You know, any other time, I'd love to hear the science behind all this, but - "
Suddenly, I saw Angela lean into my neck and sink her teeth into it. I felt her bite puncture my skin as she held it there for what felt like an eternity before she pulled back and said, "I'm sorry, but I have to try."
I sighed. "Well, I guess we'll find out if I won the coin flip," I mumbled as I laid back and closed my eyes, unsure of what will happen next. | 2020-09-08T08:32:26 | 2020-09-08T08:09:06 | 38 | 15 |
[WP] Humans aren't the strongest, or the most advanced, species in the galaxy, but they are the most vengeful and persistent. They evolved as persistence predators. If you wrong them, they are willing to follow you across the stars and can spend years working to get back at you for what you did. | The twin stars, Eldark and Ildark, shine upon me as they have shone upon my ancestors. Black trees bubble to the surface, glittering, and there's purple smoke on the horizon.
"There are stronger materials, but cephalim is what I grew up with. So it bleeds a little. So what? It never bothered me."
Viluvian carefully threads a silver disk with his two front legs. He has not seen Sol. He knows nothing of what the Earthlings are capable of.
"Is that so?"
"I thought about making the switch, I truly did. But then, you know what? I thought better of it. Tradition is important. Let the others experiment with alien materials. I'm happy with my cephalim."
"I get it."
"You do. Of course you do. Your father never questioned the old ways. He—" Viluvian halts, stares at his disk for a moment. "He was a good lykander. And he would've been proud of you, traveling to distant worlds and whatnot."
"I don't know about that. He didn't exactly wish me well on my journey. Last I saw him, mucous of rage dripped down his face and he told me not to bother coming back."
Viluvian says nothing. He stares up at Ildark and hisses a prayer. "May the wayward find solace."
What would he say if I were to tell him that I left out of fear, and that I returned out of a greater one? I shrug off the idea. After all, I should be happy I managed to escape. There is no use in dwelling on it.
Back at my place of rest I study the alien artifacts I brought home with me. Stone carvings. Wood. An insect frozen in amber. These souvenirs would fetch a good price if I had a mind to sell them. Strangely, I feel that if I parted with them my journey itself would vanish as if it were grains of sand uplifted into the skies above.
It was foolish, but I bought a car. I thought I would make Earth my home. I would live among them, learn their customs; it was such a romantic idea before it all died in my hearts. I left it behind on that cursed planet the same way I did my innocence.
I will never return to that place. That much I can say for certain. The dominant species on Earth, the humans, have been galvanized by eons of warfare against itself. It is a strange history. Lykanders protect themselves, sure, and we have expanded throughout our system with a certain level of aggression. But to imagine millennia of lykanders fighting lykanders ... It makes little sense. How can these humans even trust one another?
The insect in amber spoke to me the second I saw it. There it sits, perfectly still, looking so much like myself. Washed in gold, like our rivers; part of me feels I was meant to have it.
Viluvian would treasure it, I am sure. He is a steadfast friend. He is reliable. If I were to give it to him, he would be sure to keep it safe. It could be a symbol of our friendship, even.
I decide that he is worth it, that I will gift him this alien artifact. Hopefully he will accept it. Some lykanders refuse all attempts at presenting them with objects, they know little of alien customs and this foreign notion of strengthening bonds by exchanging symbolic items is peculiar to the elderly.
Returning to our spot among the bubbling trees I see not Viluvian, but a vessel. With dread, I recognize it. It belongs to precisely those humans I just barely escaped. "Viluvian!"
Three legs. Three beautiful, hairy legs. They are sticking out from underneath the vessel, cramping. Then they are quiet.
"Hey, is that ..."
"I think that's him!"
"Boy, we've been looking all over for you!"
I run. They have come all this way, they have decided to chase me across the stars? No. I will not let them.
Viluvian. I must go back for him.
No. There is no hope for him. His legs ... He has already gone to ylderin. He has joined my father. I look up at Eldark, and I hiss. "May the wayward find solace."
One of the humans wheezes. "Man, I hate these spider-looking ones."
Dressed in their suits they appear even more alien than on their planet. My thoughts return to the moment I saw that insect, frozen in amber. How all my feelings of loneliness and trepidation vanished. How I longed to know more about it, to learn what its existence might have been like. Then a similar creature buzzed about in the air and the salesperson reached for a device and squatted it. Crushed it to death with a careless strike.
"Hey! Spider-man! We just want to talk!"
They are close. Their technology is advanced, their movements uncanny. Do they always feel at home? How can they seem as comfortable here on my home planet as on Earth?
"Let's split up. Spidey's creeping in-between those black geysers shooting out gunk."
I was just a tourist. I did nothing wrong. I visited their home world and I returned. So why are they following me? What are they after?
Crawling up a tree I change the hue of my skin for camouflage. As one of the humans runs past, I jump. It only takes seconds. I pierce his suit and listen to the sweet sound of air abandoning his side.
"W-What are you doing? We just want to talk! I swear ... I ..."
His face turns the color of the smoke off in the distance. "You murdered my friend. You followed me all the way here. And for what?"
My language is in his database. I know he can understand. But he just waves his arms about, and he dies. Useless.
The second one walks carefully, not as nimble as before. Is he scared? Has he finally realized that he has left the comfort of his home?
With Ildark as my witness, I throw myself at him. "State your purpose!" I command.
He falls to the ground, dust flies up into the skies. Bubbles slowly creep skyward right next to us. The human sees his dead comrade, he shakes his head. "We've ... We've been trying to reach you," he says.
I poke the side of his suit. "What for?"
His face turns white, and he opens his mouth wide. Eldark and Ildark shines on his pitiful face.
"We've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty." | I do not have time for this today. I’ve got memos to write and clothes to pick out for the Dyson-sphere inauguration at Cetis Prime and three-hundred of my genefixed-children have asked for a formal audience to discuss their inheritance and now this so-called hoo-mahn shows up with what my HUD says is a look of melodramatic grim determination, demanding satisfaction for “the destruction of my planet, its people, and its future!”
“Yes, yes, my dear, um, person. I understand, you’re quite upset. Excuse me …” My assistant comes in and raises three eye-stalks like *should I call the local Annihilator Corps on his ass?* and I swivel my main optic-sensor at her like *not yet, but stay close*. She gives me some documents to sign and leaves, leaving the sphincter-door open.
“UPSET????” my interface translates his guttural noises into galactic speak, adding intensifiers to denote intense emotion. “Upset?” he sputters, “yeah I’m upset! You assholes destroyed our planet, our moon, all our satellite habitats and even managed to drop some debris on our Mars colony. You killed our entire species!”
“Well, yes, dreadfully sorry, I’m sure. Accidents happen, and it’s not like you were really doing that much, where you? As a spacefaring species I mean. You’d been genetically stable, like, well that,” I point at him, “for almost half a galactic rotation, and only developed electricity and telecommunication in the past 0.000003 percent of that. Not exactly tearing up the sky, were we?” I laugh a gently, trying to draw him in. It doesn’t work.
He goes on. “And me and my buddies manage to steal one of your shuttles, only I survive the trip, fight my way in here, and your assistant, the one who looks like an upside down wedding-cake . . .”
“Astree-D”
“What’”
“Astree-D, that’s her name.”
“Whatever. Your assistant looks up her record on the genocide of humanity, and it turns out it was a clerical error? You were supposed to destroy some other civilization in Proxima Centauri but some intern made a rounding error in the navigational data?”
“Oh, yes. I remember. He got five demerits for that. And had two tentacles cut off. Ugly business.”
“Five demerits.”
“Yes, he was quite heartbroken. But he’s a good boy, from a fine family, so he put his beaks down, grew back his tentacles, and is now in charge of shipping and entertainment in the Galatean sector, I believe.”
He seems confused by this. “What happened to Proxima Centauri?”
“They took advantage of our little, um, mishap, to pay the late fees on the documents they’d borrowed from the Galactic Central Library. So the story has a happy ending. For them, I mean, obviously not for you and your …”
“Family, friends, planet, solar system.”
“Yes, that.”
“And my dog.”
“Your what?” I look up the word on my interface. “Oh, I see, you keep other mammals as companions? How, um, novel.”
“You bastards killed my dog. And now, I am going to kill you!”
The hoo-mahn pulls out a conical object with all kinds of interesting shapes sticking out of it menacingly and points it at me.
“With that?”
“Yes, the biggest, meanest looking gun I could find on my way here!”
“Oh well, I guess I have it coming. Please, go ahead.”
The small primate looks confused—though to be honest he’s looked confused from the start—and pushes down the lever at the back of the machine.
A great ray of light shoots out of it.
When the light subsides, I’m still there, in a single piece. Some smoke is wafting above me.
“Ah, yes, thank you. My clones confiscated all my lighters, thinking that would help me quit, but, you know how it is with will power and all that.”
I take a drag on the rolled-leaf cylinder the hoo-mahn helpfully lit for me. He stands there, looking dumber than before.
“Astree-D, “ I say into the intercom space, “please, do call the Annihilators now.”
The fight and bluster seem to have drained from him.
“You don’t mind if I keep this, do you?” I ask, placing the lighter in my desk’s private cupboard.
The guards come in and drag the person out.
I’m a few decaticks late to the Dyson sphere ceremony, but I don’t mind.
I find it’s important to keep oneself available to all our citizens, even the ones who feel the need to complain about every litle thing. | 2022-08-09T14:42:33 | 2022-08-09T14:38:55 | 107 | 32 |
[WP] You have been blessed with immortality and are the greatest warrior, but 1000 years ago, a witch cursed you for killing her daughter, making you unable to wield a blade again. Fortunately, guns were invented, and now you’re back in business. | "Really? That's it?"
The warrior said, dawning a confused look.
"What...? What do you mean?"
He folded his arms, rolling over the information in his head before laying it out for the decrepit hag.
"You gave a huge speech about this curse you were going to lay upon me, waved your arms around and created some crazy light show... and now you're telling me the curse is that I can no longer hold a blade?"
A sly smile crept across the witch's face.
"That's right! Now, even with all of your otherworldly power, you can do nothing to stop me or my armies! We will ravage the lands and lay siege to any kingdom we cross! The world is as good as ours!"
She cocked her head back and began a long, maniacal laugh, clearly unaware that the warrior's expression had not changed.
He reached over his shoulder, removing his shield and strapping it to his arm, and taking firm hold of the handle to confirm his suspicions. Noticing that the witch was still deep in her self-serving laugh, the warrior quickly reached in to his pack and drew from it a two foot long metal club with a fine leather handle. In one swift maneuver he lunged across the room and struck a vicious blow to the witch's head, caving her skull in and sending her to the floor in a heap.
The warrior had accomplished what he set out to do; vanquish the evil witch. Despite this, he couldn't help but feel some degree of disappointment in how things had turned out. His primary motivation for the adventure had been her demise, that much was certain. But secretly, he had also gone in search of a challenge. The tales told of the witch, as well as the remnants of her victims had led the warrior to believe he had finally found the battle he had been searching for ever since he was given his powers. He had built up in his mind how the fight would go. The two would trade blows for hours until only one remained. He was ready and excited to be pushed to the limit, only for her to completely fall flat.
"I can't believe she forgot that blunt weapons exist."
Note: Sorry I know this doesn't exactly follow the prompt but it was the first thing that came to my mind and I wanted to get it out XD | The few hundred years of hiding did me well. Its almost like everyone forgot me, who I was. Who I am, what I did. But Thats all changed now, after the witch hunts and purge, nothing is left of the old magic. Its 1465 and a man created a lightning stick. Something that can reach out and kill a man from meters away. It works as both bludgeon and range weapon, almost like a bow but the projectile is the size of a carrot top.
I think I like this new world. Even if I did have to sit in a coffin for 800 years and wait. Thank the old gods someone needed a new shed. | 2021-01-01T14:39:46 | 2021-01-01T14:09:11 | 434 | 18 |
[WP] "So you summoned me... to fight?" the demon said. "I wield a scythe and my title is the Reaping Demon, how could it be possibly be more clear I help with farming? | The Reaper was relaxing after a long day of reaping in the usual manner--his coziest armchair, a good book (the latest John Grisham), and a spot of tea. But as he lifted his cup for a sip, he couldn't help but notice that he was no longer in his mansion, but instead within a summoning circle, in the confines or some sort of dimly lit cave.
"Fuck's sake," he muttered, looking around for the summoner.
Standing nearby the circle was a young man in garish robes, emblazoned with skulls and spiders and dirty words. Thousands of years could pass, kingdoms could rise and fall, the midnight sky could shift to different stars, but always remained the unchanging truth that cultists dressed like idiots.
The Reaper set his book down on the arm of the chair (open, to save his page), then surged to his feet and toward the cultist, flinging what was left of his tea in the young man's face. The cultist staggered back. The Reaper caught him with a left hook, sprawling him on the ground. The sooner he could kill this little bastard, the sooner he could get back to reading.
But, as The Reaper moved in to mount the cultist and choke the life out of him, the cultist called out his *true name,* and well, that was that. The Reaper heaved an exasperated sigh and said, "Ugh, fine! What do you want?"
As the cultist climbed slowly to his feet, wiping his face on his billowing sleeves, he remarked, "You don't look like no reaper, 'side from the skelly head. What are you wearing?"
"It's loungewear." The Reaper gestured at the armchair. "I was lounging."
"Where's your scythe?"
"In my shed."
The cultist scratched his hood. "Well, you need your scythe, don't you?"
"I don't know," The Reaper replied impatiently, "Do I? Because it seems like you might've summoned me here just to ask a lot of dumb questions, which isn't really *scythe* work." The cultist screwed up his face in confusion, and The Reaper shook his head, muttering, "Don't strain yourself thinking, kid. Just tell me what you want."
The cultist put on a face of grim determination, took a deep breath, and said, "I need you to kill someone."
"Who?"
"His name's Willis O'Henrick."
"Why?"
The cultist hesitated. Clearly, he hadn't anticipated a lot of questions. "Does it matter?"
"Humor me."
"Well..." the cultist began, and suddenly seemed to have difficulty maintaining eye contact, "it's just... he's ruining my life. Everywhere I go, no matter what I do, he's always making a fool of me, teasing me, and he's always telling people I'm..."
"... You're what?"
The cultist shrugged noncommittally.
"Mm," hummed The Reaper. "Are you?" The cultist looked up and began to protest, but The Reaper cut him off with a raised hand. "Never mind. Doesn't matter. I can't help you."
"What? Why not?"
"I'm not a killing demon. I'm a farming demon. You know, a *reaper*? With a *scythe*? For reaping *crops*?"
The cultist stammered, but ultimately found nothing to say. His shoulders slouched.
The Reaper risked walking up to the young man and placed a bony hand upon his shoulder. "It's a common mistake, though I can't figure why, for the unlife of me. A scythe makes a lousy weapon. But hey, you know what?"
The cultist didn't look up. "What?"
"Pretty impressive that you summoned a demon at all. You're what, all of seventeen years old?"
"Sixteen in a month."
"See? You're a natural. I'll bet Willis O'Henrick couldn't summon a toad."
The cultist laughed despite himself, before remembering he was supposed to be miserable.
The Reaper spoke quietly. "I know that burning in your gut. That feeling like you'd rather destroy everything than go on living another day like this. Believe me when I say that your pain is real, but these years are short. There's a lot of life ahead of you, and you don't want to spend it looking back at the time you let your hate control you. Killing someone, well. As they say..." The Reaper squeezed the young man's shoulder and leaned in close. "*You can't unfuck that pig*."
The cultist laughed earnestly then. "I guess."
The Reaper stood up straight. "Get a good night's rest. Keep practicing your summoning. And if you ever need to talk, well," The Reaper gestured at the circle, "you know how to reach me."
​
When the quaint sitting room of The Reaper's mansion reappeared around him, he reflected for a long moment on the exchange, and on the many times such situations had gone another way. He thought of all the people he'd killed, and all the petty reasons why he'd done it, and how for long ages, he had never stopped to question it. He reflected on the warmth he felt in his chest, where he'd never had a heart, and he knew if he had skin to smile, he would've.
\- r/ACStuartwrites | I would swing my scythe, grass exploding with the fragrance of lemon zest, a farmer's brow sweat glistening in the sun and I'd mow and I'd harvest and I'd cut the hairs of the earth as crows cawed and larks sang and when the job was done I would return to the place beyond the living.
You're here to decapitate a sadist says the summoner. She's wearing a floral dress and she's standing outside a circle and I'm standing inside it. It's formed with wax, carefully dripped onto ceramic bathroom tiles, white against cerulean. She smiles but not with her eyes.
I tell her that I'm sorry, there must have been some mistake. I'm the Reaping Demon--guardian of the farmers and their fields. My scythe is reserved for the growth of the soil, the new life rising from the old, and I would never use it to separate the head of a man from the rest of him.
She leans closer, and she laughs. I know what I'm doing, she says. You must do as I say. I've already pledged my soul. The contract has been written, the blood over there is mine. Yes, in the plastic bowl. The sadist is taped up in the basement, shouldn't be much of a job, it's just I couldn't do it myself, you see? I can make the preparations but I can't go through with it.
And the fields? I ask and she laughs.
There aren't any fields, she says. Look out the window. And I do, and it's true. There are houses and winding lanes and metal of all sorts, bent into linear shapes, but there are no fields. No hay or grain or weeds.
What happened? I ask her.
She shrugs. Technology, I guess. Then she pushes me out from the circle, to the stairs leading down to the basement. The steps are gray and cold. Get a move on, she says.
There's an old man chained up and gagged, slouched against the wall. He arches his brows when he sees me but otherwise looks unaffected. I remove the cloth in his mouth and he groans. What's this then? he says.
I present my scythe, though I'm not happy about it. I have been tasked with your execution, I say.
The man suppresses a laugh. An execution, eh? Guess you're some kind of demon.
The Reaping Demon, I confirm. But may I trouble you for a question?
Sure, says the chained-up man.
Whatever happened to farming? I ask.
The man doesn't appear to like this question. What's it to you? he asks.
It's all I've ever known, I tell him.
You sound just like my father he says and he rolls his eyes. There's something kind in them, but it's well hidden.
The girl says you are a sadist, I say.
The man nods. Sure, he says. I've been known to do some of this and some of that.
There's a contract involved, I tell him.
Oh, he says. There's a *contract*. Well if there's a *contract* I guess you've no choice in the matter.
I don't I say.
Sure, he says. He lifts his head. I am the wheat of God, he says.
I swing my scythe for what I have decided will be the last time. It's time the Reaping Demon reaps what I have sowed thus far. The man's sweat mixes with his blood as his head tumbles and there's a cheer erupting from up the stairs. Good technique says the girl, and she nods. She imitates it, swinging air.
For a moment I wonder whether there's still a place where the crows caw and the larks sing but I decide it matters not. I will return to the place beyond the living and there I will remain. | 2021-12-28T07:45:24 | 2021-12-28T07:25:04 | 93 | 58 |
[WP] A time traveller from the 1930's travels to modern day in his time machine and wonders why his invention never caught on. | *Still no flying cars,* the gentleman scribbles in a leatherbound notebook, seemingly oblivious to how much of a spectacle he is in the middle of the road in the middle of Times square. The machine behind him, something akin to a hobbyhorse with far too many gears and pipes, sputters and coughs, and he uses the notebook to fan the smoke away from his contraption.
Satisfied, he pats down his coat, and addresses the crowd that has formed around him: “Greetings! I do hope you understand my dialect. If my calculations are correct, this is the distant future.” There is a murmur in the crowd, “Could somebody be so kind as to tell me what is today’s date.”
The crowd remains too shocked to respond; even the taxi driver that veered into a hot dog stand to avoid hitting the metal thing that suddenly appeared in a puff of smoke remained silent. A businessman stepped forward, “It is October 9th, two thousand and fourteen, at about,” he glances at his watch, “Eleven in the morning.”
The gentleman pauses for a moment, counts silently on his fingers, and then yells, “Eureka! I did it! I am the world’s first time traveler!” He tosses his notebook haphazardly towards the time machine, grabbing the business man by the wrists and spinning him around like a dame, chanting “I did it! I did it! I did it!” His hat flies off his head, which a elderly man places upside down on the ground in front of him, and a small collection of money begins to form for this dazzling street performance.
The gentleman stops abruptly, leaving the businessman to spin once or twice before regaining composure. “Tell me!” The gentleman yells, “Is my name forever endowed in history? Am I the father of time travel?”
“There’s no such thing!” The businessman yells. Two police cruisers have arrived on the scene and begin parting the crowd.
“What?” The gentleman asks.
“There is no such thing as time travel!” The businessman responds vigilantly.
“But, look here, this is the first time travelling machine, its maiden voyage. As soon as I return, time travel will be a common occurrence, like the lightbulb or the tellie-- What’s this? Unhand me you brutes!”
Two tall men, wearing black suits and dark shades, grab the man by the arms, and yank him into a police cruiser that has driven through the parting of the crowd. In the moments that follow, police, firemen, and more tall men in dark suits arrive on the scene, and a hazmat team stores the machine on an unmarked van. The News reports a car crash with no injuries on 8th street near Times Square.
A small child picks up a leatherbound notebook, before being ushered away by the police. | "Why haven't you heard about me? My invention clearly works! This groundbreaking machine is evidently one of the most important discoveries in human history. Surely that should have somehow made the news!"
"Sorry, never heard your name. Let's google it... don't ask. Ah, here it is. Born in 1898... Immigrated in 1920 to... Married to... Known for his claim about having invented a time machine. Disappeared shortly after that and was never ever heard of again."
"Oh no, I disappeared? What gruesome doom would have befallen me?"
"I can tell you exactly what happened: you travelled to the future! That's why no one ever saw you again!"
"So I still can correct my fate by travelling back to my own time and reclaim my fame! I made sure my contraption is capable of doing so."
"I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that. You see, this timeline were you mysteriously disappeared resulted in my being born. If you travel back and change such a significant event, quite a lot is going to change, my existance being among others. By the way, do you know what a taser is? Let me show you..." | 2014-10-09T08:17:56 | 2014-10-09T07:43:33 | 357 | 194 |
[WP] You are a supervillain who has just captured your rival's child. Rather than being afraid, they're begging you to let them stay. | The son of Thunderclap laid asleep in his cell, in a bed behind a plasma barrier. My soldiers had taken him from his home just a few hours ago. My machinations were finally coming to fruition. After all this time, I finally held some power over that mighty bastard.
The boy tossed and turned, shaking awake. I walked towards the cell, which was protected by two commandoes. I had no choice but to leave it to them; I had no idea what Thunderclap's son was capable of.
"Leave us." My eyes darted towards both guards. They nodded and obeyed.
The barrier deactivated with a wave of my right hand.
The child looked up at me.
"Where am I?" He asked, startled.
"My sea base. We're nearly a mile under the ocean's surface."
"Who are you?"
I looked towards the boy, confused. My composure returned.
"I am Deviator. I'm sure you've at least heard of me from your father."
"Me and Dad don't talk much..."
"Really?"
"Yeah..."
"Well, that doesn't matter. What matters is that once he learns of your capture, he'll be drawn out here in an attempt to save his only child. But that's when I'll-."
"That's not gonna work."
"Excuse you?"
"My dad told me I'm not worth his time... he said I'm useless until I figure out my powers."
Even I couldn't imagine someone as grandiosely righteous as Thunderclap saying that to a child. Especially his own son. This was new. But if his statement held true, then he's just as useless to me as he was to his father. I knelt down to his level.
"I'll find a different way to draw your bastard father out, then. In the meantime, you'll be sent back home."
As I began to stand up, the boy's head shot upwards.
"No!"
"Hm?"
"I don't wanna go back. Please don't send me back."
I was shocked. The boy seemed afraid. But, not of me.
"I'd rather stay here. Anything's better than that house!"
I looked into his eyes. This child had been through hell, no doubt about it.
"What's your name, boy?"
"Jayden."
"Well, Jayden, why do you wish to stay?"
He lifted his right sleeve. He was covered in scars. Not just any scars. They were identical to my lightning scars from my battles with his father.
"Thunderclap did that to you."
Jayden nodded.
"Why not defend yourself? Surely you have some sort of inherited powers?"
"My dad said to never use my powers... because whenever I do, I hear this voice. And the voice tells me to protect myself whenever he gets upset with me."
"Jayden, what does the voice tell you to do? Listen to it now."
He closed his eyes and put his head down for a moment. The air grew cold around me. The lights flickered. Jayden's hair floated, as if gravity had no meaning for him.
His head darted upwards. His eyes were now crimson.
"I want to make him pay!"
The area shook with just his voice.
This power... it was incredible. I couldn't help but smile and laugh.
"Jayden, my dear boy... I have a fun idea."
He paced his breathing as he stared at me with his flaming eyes.
"How would you like to be my apprentice? I see so much potential in you. Together, we could make your damned father pay for what he's done to you."
Jayden's eyes returned to their original blue color. He stood up, right in front of me.
"Make me strong. Strong enough to kill my dad."
"Good man." | As my henchmen dumped her on the floor unceremoniously, I stalked over from my window overlooking the city. "What did you do?! I thought I told you to capture her peacefully! Didn't the quick knockout work?"
"It did," my lead hench, Brian, said. "She's been in full panic mode ever since she woke up. I tried to help, but it wasn't working. Sorry."
Looking down, I saw my nemesis's daughter, Sparrow, hiding in her wings. I could hear her murmuring through panicked breaths, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'll try to do better." Before, I was planning on holding her hostage, but now it was clear this girl didn't need any more stress. I recognized the language from when I disappointed my parents and they got mad at me. Kneeling, I said up to Brian and the other henchmen, "Leave us."
"You sure about that, boss? She could be more dange-"
"I said, *leave us*." I repeated, my eyes flashing red as a warning. Getting the picture, they went back down to their stations. I sat down next to Sparrow, but before saying anything, she glared at me. "Don't you dare touch me. I need to be alone. Do you have a bathroom with a shower?"
"First door to the left. Towels should be in there already, and sanitary products if you need them." It wasn't like I was unprepared to have a teen girl in here. The plan had been in place for weeks.
As she stalked off, she glanced back at me, possible compassion in her eyes. "Don't let Dad-no, Hawk-find us. He'll kill the both of us as soon as he has the chance." As she walked, a spot of blood dripped on the floor, leaving a feather mark. Avian blood, the same blood that flowed through Hawk's, Sparrow's, and my veins. | 2022-04-06T21:46:12 | 2022-04-06T21:15:20 | 58 | 38 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of" | "Just like that?" I asked.
"Just like that." the priest responded.
No way it could be that easy. The priest looked at me with a small smile on his face. Is there a joke I'm not in on? His robes ruffled as he produced a long stem pipe, and began to fill it.
"How long has this been happening?" I asked, watching him tap the tobacco down.
"For many centuries. Almost as long as The Divide has existed." he said, flicking the match with his thumb. The flame was pulled into the pipe and the sweet smell of it filled the room.
"But that's no worry to you, my son," he said when the pipe was lit, "just press the button and the Dark Lord will be banished once again."
"If it's been going on so long why haven't we stopped it for good?" I asked, still not understanding what was happening.
With one more long exhale, the blue smoke jetting from his lips, the priest set down his pipe and leaned forward in his char.
"That. Is not your concern. Now," he said, pointing to the button, "push it."
So I did. What else could I do? Nothing seemed to happen at first. Just a little *click* when I pressed it. The priest smiled broad now, showing his discolored teeth all the way to the back. He began to gather his robes and stand.
"Now what?" I asked.
"Now?" he asked incredulously, "now you go die."
"I what!?" I screamed, and before I knew it the priest clamped down on my wrists with a strength that shocked me. He held my arms to the chair and looked me right in the eyes.
"This marks the thirteenth sacrifice for the Dark Lord. The prophesy is fulfilled. May his evil majesty wash over this realm, so we become One."
"What the hell is going on?" I yelled, watching as brutish men in blackened iron armor enter the room. They both had a scar running down their face, and short stabbing swords hung from their belts. The priest said something to them in a language I didn't recognize. It was guttural and sounded very difficult to say.
The brutes nodded once and pulled their swords. I didn't know what was waiting for me on the other side. But the twelve boys that met me, filled me with unending sadness as we watched our world fall to the dark. | I reach out slowly, completely fixated on the button. It’s red with concentric grooves. Seems overly simple to stop someone called the Dark Lord. It doesn’t seem like it would be able to tell the difference between my finger or anyone else’s.
I stop and pull my hand back. “What are you doing?” the priest demanded, “ there isn’t much time!”
“Look, man, I don’t even know you and your telling me I’m some sort of chosen one meant to stop all sorts of evil and destruction? This button doesn’t even seem like it could tell me from anyone else.”
The priest began to laugh maniacally. “I thought this time I could get you to cause the end of the world. But no matter. There’s always next time.”
He leapt forward and slammed his fist into the button... | 2020-11-09T11:45:32 | 2020-11-09T11:12:56 | 170 | 80 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | Generally when somebody talks about "powers" they usually refer to those in the big leagues. Pyrokenesis, mind reading, invisibility, through fate's hand these powers were what my peers received. Then, there was me.
Usually those with gifts tend to look down on those without. Those without gifts harbour jealousy and disdain for those who have them. But both groups found it easy to target those with powers that were weak. The gifted laughed at the weak as though they were powerless. The powerless found it easy to push around those who lacked the power to fight back.
My gift was a weak one, the ability to "mirror" something, to swap the opposing sides of a target along an axis. It allowed me to switch the right side of my body with my left.
They laughed at me. The only thing my power was good for was to make myself left or right handed at will. I might as well be a powerless human. I could not fight by throwing fireballs, I could not mind control people to do my bidding. It was easy to brag about beating up this "gifted kid", I found myself often on the receiving end of a beating.
That was until the day I learnt that the axis I always swapped along was imaginary. I could in fact choose any axis I wanted. I could turn people upside down just by touching them.
Then after, I learnt my ability could target so much more than just humans and small objects. I turned my neighbour's mailbox upside down. I turned his street lamp upside down. I turned his car upside down.
Finally, as a coup de grace, I turned his house upside down. The heavy foundations found itself on top and the flimsy roof, 5 feet underground. His house got crushed by its own foundations, with him in it.
Now, I stand in front of the Empire State Building. Hand on a wall, waiting patiently for a ransom fee. Lest I decide to turn their world, upside down.
| I was powerless. I was disowned by my superhero parents. Everyday I suffered with the bullies giving me the worst wedgies in school.
The day the gift came really made me happy. I immediately folded people in half --- crushing their beloved spines. 70% of the people of the city are now dead.
"Who's useless now?" I said and continued giving wedgies without remorse. | 2017-06-12T07:55:08 | 2017-06-12T06:49:33 | 138 | 15 |
[WP] Panic spreads amongst the African Vampire community after Toto blesses the rains. | *Tanzania, February 1983*
Kaisi hummed along to the radio as he tidied his house. His sister was coming to visit tomorrow night, and he liked things to be tidy anyway. This would probably be the last time she visited him for a few months, as the rainy season would be starting any day now, and she was always busy at that time of year.
From the outside, his house looked like a simple stone house several kilometers outside of Kigoma, not very large, but ample room for a bachelor of 130 years. But a trapdoor in the floor of the bedroom led to a rather large underground dwelling where Kaisi spent much of his time. It was here that he was now, preparing for his sister and the coming rain, which yearly left enough water in through the unfinished walls to leave puddles on the floor. It normally wasn't much more than an annoyance, but once every ten years or so, Kaisi would have a temporary underground swimming pool.
The voice of the DJ crackled through his radio. 'And that was Hungry Like the Wolf, by Duran Duran. Now for a tune that's sweeping across the United States. Here's Africa, from Toto.' A brassy sound filled Kaisi's home, quickly followed by a plinking instrument that reminded him of rain, then a soft voice. 'I hear the drums echoing tonight...' Kaisi couldn't help but start swaying to the catchy tune. By the second chorus, he was singing along. 'I BLESS THE RAINS DOWN IN AFRICA!' He laughed to himself a little. How strange would it be if this band could actually bless the rains about to come? Strange and horrifying, certainly. Kaisi had only come into contact with holy water once, by accident, but he remembered how bad it had stung.
Four evenings later, Kaisi was tending his garden when the rains finally came. He had watched lightning play on the horizon for an hour or so, and was just getting ready to go inside when a few drops started falling from the sky. One landed on his cheek and he swatted at his face as it seared his skin, leaving a blister and burning his fingers where he'd swiped the moisture away. Several more raindrops landed on his arms, but it felt like acid. He ran for his front door, dropping his tools as the roar of the downpour swept closer to him.
Kaisi slammed his door shut just as the sheet of rain drew over his house. He stumbled into his bathroom, head down to keep any stray drops from falling into his eyes, groping for his towel. Finally grasping it, he pressed it to his face and head, moaning. What Hell was this? The rain felt like it was holy water, burning wherever it touched his skin and leaving angry welts as he dried himself.
His phone rang. Fingers stinging, he picked up the receiver. 'Hello?' he rasped.
'Kaisi!' It was his sister. 'I'm so glad you answered! Don't go outside! There's something wrong with the rain. It's like it's been turned into holy water, but no one knows how. You have to promise me you'll stay inside.'
Kaisi almost rolled his eyes at his sister's excessive concern, but then he remembered his plans for later that night. 'I don't have any blood stored here,' he whispered. 'I'm going to starve. If I don't starve, I'll be dissolved by the rain.'
'No! Don't say that! Just... just stay inside. We'll find a way to reach you with some blood,' she told him. 'Just stay inside, and stay dry.'
He said goodbye and hung up, then slumped in a chair, listening to the water pound on the roof. It might let up tomorrow evening, or it might last for days. As he rubbed at the blisters on his arm, he could just make out the *plip plip* of water dripping into his basement.
It had been almost twenty years since the rain had been heavy enough to fill the lower level of his home. | Wakanda holds many secrets.
The first was our very existence. Hidden from the world, our ancestors preferred the shadows, like the panthers who protect us. Recent events have caused our King to step out of the darkness, to make himself and our city known.
But we still hold our deepest secrets. The King of Wakanda claims it is the heart shaped herb that gives him his great strength, speed and invulnerability.
Many believe him.
Many are wrong.
I know this because I have never tasted the heart shaped herb, and yet I share our King's supposedly unique gifts. The heart shaped herb is a myth to hide the true source of our King's powers. He is a vampire.
There are many of us, here in Africa, birthplace of humanity. Like Wakanda itself, we have hidden in the shadows, content to feed only when we are hungry, eager to watch our prey multiply and fatten. With Wakanda taking its rightful place at the forefront of civilisation, we too were poised to begin a new phase of existence. There is enough to go around, after all. We could all be Kings.
But as humanity has grown, so has its technology. We watched in fear as you tamed the atom. We felt chills as you build underground collidors, kilometers long. We intervened where possible. Cited ethical concerns, environmental dangers and tremendous risks. As the years have gone on, we have been glad to stay hidden, and have infiltrated every industry, stifling and suppressing every potential avenue of attack.
Or so we thought.
Who would have thought it would be simple radio that would hurt us? It wasn't even intentional either. Just dumb, stupid luck.
It's a catchy song, I'll give them that.
"I bless the rains down in Africa."
Every time it played, it worked its magic. If it had been an ordinary song, we may have never noticed. The problem was it was no ordinary song. It was the greatest song ever written, and by all the Gods did humanity know it. They played it none stop, blessing the rain, but cursing us.
As the rains fell, our kind burnt. Sun and rain both now our enemies.
Only myself and my King remain, so far as I know. Luck has allowed me to survive. Our King has his armour, impervious to blessed rains.
But I know another secret.
He owns two suits.
| 2018-06-11T09:06:22 | 2018-06-11T08:54:17 | 1,291 | 266 |
[WP] You are a magical being with an odd hobby: Whenever someone makes someone up, be they a fake boyfriend to look less sad, a dying aunt to get out of doing something, you pretend to be that person to mess with the liar. | I froze. That was the only explanation I could come up with. The third time my grandma asked me when I was finally going to bring a nice man home to meet her before she passes (though I have no doubt she'll outlive us all) I froze. And from my frozen lips fell the most outrageous thing I'd ever heard myself say.
And that includes the time I told my childhood best friend I had a pet unicorn.
I heard myself say, "Oh! I uh... I actually just started seeing someone. It's pretty early yet, so I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up."
Grandma clapped her withered hands excitedly, a no-good gleam in her eyes.
And that's how several hours and five more drinks into our family dinner my entire family knew I was seeing a nice young man named Mark, who had dark hair and eyes, was really kind and romantic, and would definitely be joining me at the next family dinner next month.
Crap.
Now I either needed to find a very specific looking actor, or figure out how to change my name and move very far away in less than a month.
And then the weirdest thing happened. The next day I was walking out of my favorite coffee shop, trying to talk my boss down from the ledge of closing the whole business because of one bad Yelp review, when the door knocked into my hand and my latte was on the ground.
"My latte..." I said, quietly mournful. "No, no Sue! *One* review in five hundred isn't going to ruin us. No one even really uses Yelp anymore. For the love of God, pop a Xanax and take a nap. I'll be back in the office after I get this cleaned up."
After Sue hung up, I sighed and put away my phone. It was only then that I realized there was someone standing in front of my, holding out a handful of napkins.
"Sorry about that. Are you okay? Did you get burned?" His voice was slightly accented.
Jesus H. Christ. Did I walk into a romcom? The man was gorgeous, black hair spiked up artfully, rocking the 5 o'clock shadow like no one's business. He was dressed in an impeccable suit with no tie.
I wanted to climb him like a tree.
Instead I took the offered napkins with a laugh. "I'm okay, the only real damage is the coffee." I managed to tear my eyes away from the vision in front of me to crouch down and begin mopping at the fallen soldier. The man bent down to help with more napkins, and when the mess was cleared he helped me stand up, but kept hold of my hand.
"Let me buy you another. It's my fault that it got spilled."
He was still holding my hand.
There is a god.
"Oh no, I just wasn't paying attention!" I said, not meaning it. Hot guy buying me coffee? Hell yes.
"I insist. My name is Mark, you are?"
"Mark? Seriously?" I couldn't help but spit out.
The man, Mark, laughed. And holy hell, even that was attractive. "Yes, really. Your name is...?"
"Megan. Sorry, sorry, I don't know where my brain is today."
Mark was grinning, straight white teeth flashing. "Probably with that awful Yelp review. Though if bad reviews led to me meeting beautiful young ladies like you more often, I think I would spend a lot more time reviewing businesses."
​
The girl blushed prettily, finally pulling her hand from mine. She would be a fun one, I could tell.
I bought the little thing a coffee, and settled with her at a table. She probably thought I didn't notice her pinching herself, but it was amusing. This was usually the most boring part of the whole charade.
Get in the target's good graces. Wine them. Dine them. Then get introduced, and that's when the fun starts.
Usually it was a family gathering, a wedding or a reunion. They would take me, proud of the refined person they had somehow managed to catch. And I would thoroughly embarrass them beyond belief. Arrive in ratty clothes, flirt with relatives, eat as messily as possible.
One memorable time I managed to seduce the target's father and we got caught *en flagrante*. By his wife.
I love my job.
This one was going to be an easy sell. The girl was already nearly eating out of the palm of my hand, even as she took another phone call from someone panicking about a Yelp review again.
Her expression was priceless when I asked for her number.
Such a sweet young thing. I was going to crush her spirit under my boot. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
​
At least that had been the original plan, as it always was. But I had never met a mortal that was so... much. The girl, Megan, was funny. I had never laughed so hard as she animatedly told me about the time she had been made class president without her knowledge.
She gave selflessly to homeless people we passed on our strolls, even though I could detect the lie in most of them. She got out of my car in the middle of a downpour to grab a kitten from the road.
I had never enjoyed my time with a target before the big day, but with Megan, I couldn't help myself. She gave herself so fully to life.
When she asked me to join her at her family dinner a month after our first meeting, I was, for the first time in my long existence, conflicted. This was usually my favorite part, the culmination of my efforts. I would spend a month with the most boring, boorish people on the planet, feeding into their lies and self importance. But there was something about this girl that made me want to... put it off. To spend just a little more time basking in her happiness before destroying it for her. Because I didn't want to see that look on her face.
The look of crushed confusion, of heartbreak.
But the day of the dinner dawned, and I knew it was time to move on. Maybe if I let her off easier than usual, she would recover and someone real would be able to put that smile on her face. Someone real.
I decided that the only thing I was going to do was break up with her at the dinner. Not humiliating in a lasting way, but maybe it would teach her her lesson.
It didn't occur to me what kind of family could bring up a young woman like Megan. It was loud, but not oppressively. Friendly conversations, board games scattered around. I was pulled into a discussion with Megan's brother about embarrassing childhood stories.
This wasn't what I was used to. Usually the families I was introduced to by the targets were hostile things, conniving. But then, the families were often like the targets themselves. And this was no exception. I could see Megan's smile in the upturn of her mother's lips. Could hear her un-self conscious laugh in the merry cackle of her cousins. Echoes of her all around me, pieces that made up Megan.
And then, her grandmother entered. The last to arrive, Alice was a force to be reckoned with. Megan managed to tear herself away from a card game with some children to drag me to her. Alice sat down on the only chair in front of the fireplace, a queen being presented with something new.
And in her eyes I saw something familiar. Something I saw in the mirror every day.
Alice sat forward, grinning wickedly. "You should ask me how I met my husband." She whispered conspiratorially, a glint of mischief in her eye. | "She's coming," he laughed. "She must be." He'd lied. He had built his house of cards, and he was desperately hoping it wouldn't fall too catastrophically.
It all started about two months ago. He'd been backed into a corner, and, paniced, he told his family and friends that he did, in fact, have a girlfriend from college. He didn't. He wasn't into girls, in fact.
I didn't realize how fast that would escalate, but I'm glad I bieded my time. Not a day later, he started having to add details. "Kerry" was fun, enjoyed paintball, C cup, played soccer, and wanted to be a stay at home mother. She had either blonde or brown hair, he kept changing his mind. She had blue eyes, and plump lips, and was a conservative Christian.
Got it.
Now, today, he was told to bring her around to meet his conservative family and less conservative friends. Now, she had to appear, and I don't think he'd thought this through.
Time to step in, at last!
I knocked at the door. To be perfectly honest, I've never been accustomed to my chest being so... Extended... But eh, it's not too bad. I picked a blue tee and jeans with flowers embroidered. My dirty blonde hair flowed loosely over my shoulder, and the expensive handbag and shoes I wore were tastefully cheap.
"Hi, how are you?" his mother asked.
"I'm well thanks," I stuttered. "Is this Peter Lewison's house? He told me to come at six." I looked at my watch and flaunted a cringe. "I'm late, I'm so sorry! There really is no excuse!"
"No problem!" his mother smiled. "You must be Kerry?"
I nodded, and she brought me in. I could see the utter shock and terror on his face.
"Hi, Peter," I waved shyly. His friends fistbumped him, and his mother smiled cheerily. "Oh, Mrs Lewison, I brought some flowers. You may like to put them in water."
She took them gratefully, and I sat next to Peter. The quizzing began.
"So, you're Christian?" his father asked.
I nodded. "Devoted for as long as I recall," I smiled.
"So, you're not intending on sex before marriage?" his mother asked.
"What?" I laughed. "What did you just say?"
"You don't intend on sex before marriage?" his mother repeated, not seeing how she fell into my trap.
"You just said the 's' word at the table? Genuinely?" I asked. I rolled my eyes so hard thye hurt.
"Well, I was just checking," her mother began back-peddling. "You know, some people, they don't care, they'll just do it."
"Well I'm sorry to disappoint," I said, insulatedly, "but I'm just not like that. Now, if we can stop speaking about such rule topics..."
"What hobbies do you have?" one of his friends saved.
"I like paintball and soccer, but that's about it. I used to do choir, but I'm afraid I've slipped awfully far from the church. I don't get to go more than just on Sunday's, what with college and all."
His father began to shift uneasily. "Well, as long as you still go to church on Sunday..."
"I suppose," I sighed longingly. "But, you know, it's not just that which makes you a Christian. I mean, I used to be able to pray for hours on end, and wear things a little more, uh, acceptable, but, you know, college."
"You want to be a stay at home mother, right?" one of his friends saved again.
Bother it. I don't want this saved. I want this ruined. "Yes, I do." I nodded at last. "I personally don't see any other thing to do. Do you?"
That ruffled a few feathers, just as I hoped. His mother was the breadwinner in this household. "A woman can always work," his mother shrugged.
"Haha," I laughed. "You are funny, aren't you? Next you're going to tell me that," I paused. What would mess things up most? Vaccines! Peter is vaccinated. "Next you'll tell me vaccines cured small pox!"
"Well, they, uh, they did," his sister disagreed. Of course she did. She's a doctor, and a good one, too.
I put on my shocked face. "You can't be serious? You think that? I'm so sorry, Peter told me his whole family was Christian, I didn't realize."
"No, no, we are all Christian," she clarified. "We just also appreciate science."
I coughed. "But vaccines cause autism! Do research, and I mean real research, not just read one or two articles, but real research, and you'll find out, they do. And worse, they cause homosexuality." I nodded knowingly. I peered at Peter, who had long since stopped getting fistbumps and low-fives, and was looking at me with unparalleled shock and terror. It was beautiful.
"So, I'm gathering you don't like homosexuals?" his mother asked.
"Well, of course I do, they just need safety, sanctification, you know," I continued. "I hear shock therapy works pretty well, but it's sad, you know, that we have to fix what medical science broke. Best thing for it is still marriage to a nice lady, and praying daily, and it'll get it right."
"You know what?" his mother said. "You seem to have dropped an earing outside the front."
Best. Exit. Ever.
I was practically thrown out.
Edit: I think he came out a few months later? His family was nicely receptive. Super cute. | 2020-02-18T11:37:20 | 2020-02-18T10:57:40 | 663 | 117 |
[WP] On the day you turn 18 everyone is given the first words that their soulmate will speak to them. When you receive yours it says simply "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" | It had been 7 years since I found out the words that my “true love” would say to me, and of course like everyone else I kept mine secret.
It was an unwritten rule about finding out our “lines” that we didn’t share them with one another, but I knew that the first words my true love would say to me would be “Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
At first I thought this would be one of those things that I’ll happily stumble into one day in New York city and by chance I’ll find her, however time passes quickly and before I knew it 5 years had passed. I was ready to settle down but no matter which Starbucks I came into it was always a little off, “Welcome, what would you like?” or “What can I get you?” and eventually the idea of having a soul mate out there waiting for me didn’t bring me the same sense of ease it once did.
Before long I found myself getting bitter at the prospect of having to “wait” for the right one to say a stupid line. Where the fuck are my choices? Why don’t I get a say in what happens and when it happens. While all my friends were hearing those magical words all I became was more and more bitter at the miserable world, so much so that my “happy” friends stopped talking to me.
I knew It wasn’t right, I could see myself becoming a bigger asshole everyday but felt I could nothing about it, like watching a car crash in slow motion I was helpless.
Eventually they did all cut me out, and I was alone.
I started playing video games and I stopped going outside. I joined online chats and became mod of /r/nosoulmateyet on Reddit. I hated others that found their soul mates and wanted to ruin anything I could to prevent that.
There were others like me and I became fast friends with ASH1983 amongst other haters. ASH1983 hated the idea of the Soul Mate thing as well and we wrote to each other almost daily about how fucked up it was that everything had to be ‘pre-written’ and nothing was up to chance.
We ended up e-mailing each other every day and then multiple times a day. I knew nothing about them and I liked it that way – anonymous means we don’t have to worry about being “nice” we can just be honest. I’d say we became friends, actually I'd say we became closer than that. Eventually when I had nothing else and felt that I could trust them completely I told them about my "line."
After a long while they responded back, but they didn't share their line, only mentioned that mine was a "bum deal." I admit it hurt.
Shortly after that ‘she’ added me on Facebook, Ashley Johnson, she lived in the US thousands of miles away, boyfriend, dog, house…everything I didn’t have.
I felt cheated. I felt like I had opened my miserable dark soul to someone and they threw their beautiful life in my face. I felt like everything I knew about her was a lie. My blood boiled and I wanted her and her perfect life to end FOREVER. Through tears I found her number and dialed long distance.
A man picked up, “Hello?”
“I need to speak to Ashley.” I said through tears.
“Sure…” the man said hesitantly
After a brief moment and a small behind the phone chat I could hear breathing on the line. It sounded nervous and fragile.
I paced around my living room, phone to my ear waiting for her to say ANYTHING…..
But she didn’t.
I was heartbroken….she didn’t even have the decency to say hello first.
“You know what?” I said through gritted teeth. “Go fuck yourself.”
And I hung up.
That was two weeks ago.
I woke up this morning, 7 years to the day I found out my words and decided that I wouldn’t be heading out to Starbucks again, maybe ever so I made and poured myself a coffee.
Just then my doorbell rang.
I opened the door and standing there was Ashley suitcase in one hand and umbrella in the other. She smiled at me and said, "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
I dropped my coffee and stood there slack jawed.
“You think you had it bad?” she asked jokingly, “imagine if you had ‘you know what? go fuck yourself’ as your soulmates first words.”
| The one moment of the day that made it all worth it was just hearing her voice in the morning. Always starting with those same 8 words. Stiff and corporate sounding, but he thought he detected a new hint of warmth behind them the last couple of weeks.
They'd had their share of jokes and small talk at the counter the last few months as well, and he had caught her staring at him a couple times as he worked on his laptop. Somehow, he'd still never had the courage to make a move to ask her out. Today is the day though, he can feel it.
The letter had come yesterday. Just those wonderful 8 words on a plain white sheet of paper in an unmarked envelope. No one knows where they come from, but without fail everyone will get one on their 18th birthday like it. Some think it takes the "magic" out of the process, but finding your true soul mate seems like a fair trade in his mind.
As he walks into the Starbucks, he is nervous but confident. There's no way it could be anyone else. Standing in line he sneaks a glance up at the counter and sees her. She has her hair down... The butterflies in his stomach do a flip... He loves it when she wears it like this. He's two people away now. He's futilely trying to remember the carefully calculated words he'd rehearsed for this. One person away. He's almost ready to burst.
The man in front of him approaches the counter. "Nobody freak out and nobody gets hurt!" He yells, suddenly brandishing a pistol. The man looks to the girl and demands the cash out of the register. She's shaking, starting to cry... "What the fuck did I just say about freaking out?!" the man yells, and cocks the pistol. "You just had to start crying.... I FUCKING HATE IT WHEN THEY CRY!"
He's standing behind the man, unbelieving of the scene unfolding before him. The man is crazy obviously... and he's no longer sure the cash alone is all the guy will be taking before he is satisfied. Only one thing to do. Saying a quick mental prayer, he throws himself at the man. A quick scramble, a loud bang, a sharp pain... and then police sirens in the background as the darkness engulfs him.
The sharp smell of antiseptic is the first thing that heralds his return to conciousness. Second is the soft whirring and beeping of the hospital equipment beside his bed. As the room swims into view he realizes someone is holding his hand. He looks... Butterflies. Her hair is down... He loves it when she wears it like that. | 2014-12-18T09:54:46 | 2014-12-17T22:16:22 | 45 | 24 |
[WP] You get quite offended when people automatically assume you’re an ILLEGAL necromancer! You worked hard to get your degree/license, and the severed arms you wear around your neck were legally acquired from an organ donor! And you only wear them because they help you channel necrotic energies! | “Look, I don’t want to have to speak to your supervisor over this so I’ll say it slowly for you. I. Work. Here.”
Michelle felt the handcuffs bite into her wrists again, and she glowered over at the officer ruffling through her bag. If he messed up her jar of toes spell she would make sure there was hell to pay.
“Sure lady, and I’m a chronomancer.”
Michelle scoffed. “Please. You couldn’t make a broken clock correct twice a day.”
The officer turned an adorable shade of red, and unceremoniously dumped out her bag out onto the table of the interrogation room. “Tell me where you’re getting these body parts and perhaps the judge will go easy on you.”
“From the medical institute. They were all legally donated.”
“Uh huh, that you then illegally acquired.”
Michelle sat back in her chair, her shoulders protesting at the awkward angle. “I did *not* drown myself in student load debt to be spoken to like that by the likes of you.”
The officer smirked. “You’ll be spoken to in any way I see fit, freak.”
The fingers around her neck twitched, and the officer flinched. “See? Even the bones think you’re an asshole.”
A door slammed somewhere down the hall, and it was Michelle’s turn to smirk. The officer ignored her, going through her things once more, carelessly tossing aside her billfold of ears. She could hear footsteps approaching, and she let her smirk turn to a serene smile just as the door to the interrogation room swung open.
“What is the meaning of this?!”
The officer startled, eyes growing wide. “Chief Bronson, I-“
“You haven’t even filed the proper paperwork for this arrest, and to make matters worse you’ve got my hells blessed necromancer handcuffed to a chair when I’ve got a victim in cold storage to reanimate for questioning in the Greenbourough Slayer case!”
“If her brain has decomposed past the point of legibility I’ll hold you personally responsible!” Michelle chirped.
Bronson gave her a sour look. “Stuff it Williams. Where’s your ID?”
Michelle shrugged. “Your new hire freaked out over my necklace. Slapped me in cuffs before I could produce it!”
Shuffling about her papers, the officer picked up her ID, expression turning panicked. “Sir! I had no-“
“Keys.” Bronson commanded, and the officer snapped to attention, immediately moving to free Michelle. “You’re lucky she didn’t turn your hair into snakes.”
The officer paled, and as the handcuffs came loose, Michelle took great pleasure in shoving her chair back into his legs. She fixed him with her most superior stare. “You’ll gather my things and bring them down to the morgue, along with a venti London Fog, two shots espresso.” She grabbed her jar of toes and breezed out the open door, Bronson on her heels. He paused, and turned back to the officer.
“We’ll be addressing this poor display with your supervisor. Get moving. Williams likes her coffee hot.” He slammed the interrogation room door on the sheet white officer.
Michelle giggled, the bones around her neck taking hold of the toes for her. “I’m sure the victim’s brain will be fine Chief!”
Bronson sighed, following her back down the hall. “You really need to start wearing your badge. This would happen less.”
“I’ve got to get my fun somehow!” | It becomes irritating after a short while. All the staring and hushed whispers. When I had gotten out of school, I though it made me intimidating and cool, like the Necromancers I’d seen in movies. But it’s got irritating having the police called whenever I try and go to out for some mead and a mutton leg. OH, I’M **SORRY** KAREN. DID MY SEVERED APPENDAGES OFFEND YOU? WELL, **I’M** OFFENDED THAT YOU THINK ITS APPROPRIATE TO LET YOUR CROTCH GOBLINS RUN AROUND CAUSING HAVOC (that’s not a figure of speech. Some parents think it’s reasonable to let their green little gremlins run around robbing passerby at knifepoint). I’ll have you know that I received these severed limbs as DONATIONS from others in the medical field. Yes, I do in fact work in the medical field. But suuuuuuuure, give Armedian all the credit because he has the more dignified title of HEALER. Guess what? His powers are bullshit compared to mine. Pssh, who cares if you can fix someone’s boo-boos?
I CAN HEAL THEIR THIRD DEGREE BURNS, BROKEN SPINE, BRAIN HEMORRHAGE AND COLLAPSED LUNGS. And sure, they have to already be ‘dEaD’ for my powers to work, but isn’t that just being... not alive?
Ugh. So stupid. I can’t believe the audacity of some people. All bigots and biased assholes. Susan, if you’re reading this:
**I HAVE A MEDICAL LICENSE, BITCH.**
I got my MEDICAL LICENSE at Sadons University of Celtic and Karmithian Mages for Youth Driven by Intellect, Charisma and Killomonians. Short for SUCKMYDICK. ESPECIALLY YOU SUSAN. | 2021-02-14T14:06:11 | 2021-02-14T13:37:13 | 54 | 20 |
[WP] Reincarnation is real, but the location of your death determines what you are reincarnated as. You are the first person to die in space. | When I died, I cried myself into the eternal embrace. I was completely paralyzed from the neck down, meaning I could breathe, wail, cry tears... and that was it. When my oxygen ran out... or I starved to death... I'm not entirely sure. I was pretty delusional.
It felt strange waking up in a pink liquid in a dimly lit room, however. My eyes were weary. I felt weak for about a few seconds before I started pounding on the glass of my pod. An alarm went off and soon the pool was drained. Some hoses I wasn't aware of were disconnected before the "Glass" melted away before me, people entering and pulling me out.
'What's going on?' I asked in horror as the aliens approached me. I tried to back into a corner and they simply... raised their hands in an attempt to dissuade me.
That was when I saw my own hands. They were purple, covered in scales with sharp claws at the end. I look down and I have three enormous toes, pads for soles... I also have pads on my hands. My tail is curled between my legs, a heavy weight of scales at the end. And while I couldn't see my face I could compare the two before me. Large teeth, easy for ripping flesh apart. Snouts like a crocodile or more appropriately a snake. Their eyes were different colors. Not "He has green eyes, the other has blue", I mean that they're eyes were constantly changing colors, flowing outward from the slits in their eyes.
They were talking to each other, trying to figure out what to do. Then some radio came on.
'Excuse me,' a feminine voice asked in a rather heavy accent from a nearby speaker. 'Do you happen to speak English?'
'What the hell is going on?!' I screamed. 'What the hell happened to me?!'
'I believe the human word is "Reincarnation",' she said to me. 'I won't be frank. You've died and became a Returned. Every person in this species has died in some way while in space and reincarnated among this system.'
'No,' I gasped. 'I didn't... I was murdered. Left to drift in space after being attacked. I need to get back to my wife!'
'Relax,' the woman said. 'We've been trying to get to Earth for years but we can't find the system. As soon as we do we will bring you back, but we need you to calm down, adjust to your death. These two will take you to a clinic. Go with them and I'll speak to you later.'
'...Alright,' I said in resignation. 'I... can't become a human again?'
'I'm afraid not,' she said as she hung up. | This is my half-assed attempt:
"Well, congratulations! You're out of the wheel!" said a voice from nowhere.
Nikolay was wondering what happened as he turned his head everywhere for visual information in the lack of such, pitch black. "What wheel?" he said, afraid of the unknown.
"Of life, of course."
"Bozhe moy" Sorrow descended upon him, causing him to cry. If he still had the ducts.
"Hey, don't worry." A spirit the color of the sun hovered toward him and hugged him, Nikolay's soul, despite the lack of flesh, felt comforted. "Enjoy your freedom."
All the stars of space relit. Earth was not in sight anymore, or if it was, it was one of those space dots. He couldn't speak human language, and everything seemed new to him, like what was dangled from a mobile.
Despite being his mere soul, he felt hot, he was so thirsty, it seemed like his throat was a desert; he can't call for help. He was going to sleep while he could not do anything else but supernova.
And after that, pure darkness. True freedom. | 2017-05-29T16:29:32 | 2017-05-29T11:56:16 | 300 | 64 |
[WP] "Push this button to transform this world into a Utopia. Warning: this will eradicate all people who "... The rest is scratched off and illegible. | [WP] "Push this button to transform this world into a Utopia. Warning: this will eradicate all people who "... The rest is scratched off and illegible.
-
Reggie mashed his hands together and felt the sweat between his palms. He stared down at them and wiped the excess moisture off on his jeans. “Don’t think about it for too long,” Pete said. “It’s just supposed to be, you know, whatever pops into your head first.”
God this is so freakin’ stupid, Reggie thought to himself. How is this supposed to prove whether or not I can sweep up a theater? Plus, he was sixteen, and his idea of a perfect utopia was a world in which good looking girls were down for whatever. World peace would be nice, but Reggie wasn’t a moron, he knew that wishing for that kind of thing out loud just made you sound pretentious. (He recently learned what pretentious meant and liked finding new ways to use it.)
“I think it kills anyone who touches it,” Reggie said. “You know, like you have to sacrifice yourself for a perfect world.” It wasn’t actually the first thing that popped into his head. It wasn’t even the second but he knew it was the kind of thing that managers liked to hear.
“Oh, hmm, that’s interesting,” Pete scratched his chin and Reggie finally decided that he hated the guy. The dude probably made up his mind about the job the moment they shook hands and now he was just wasting everyone’s time. The theater was in desperate need of unskilled labor and Reggie was willing to work for less than minimum wage. Didn’t that mean the interview should have been over fifteen minutes ago? “So would you press it?”
You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, Reggie thought as he straightened his tie. He cursed himself for even showing up to the interview. His dad was insisting that he get a summer job, but he would never know if Reggie skipped one of the ten million interviews he sent the kid to endure. At least Reggie would have the last laugh. His dad hated all that “new-age baloney” and would roll his eyes when he found out that a manager in his late-twenties used it to conduct interviews.
“I don’t know, maybe. I mean, wouldn’t you?” Reggie didn’t know what the expected response was, so he rolled the dice and hoped Pete was self-absorbed enough to talk about himself for the rest of the time.
“No way,” Pete shook his head and made a face like the answer was obvious. “Utopias are completely overrated.” He looked down at his clipboard. “Anyway, next question.” | I open the drawer of the desk on which the console with the button sits. Hurrah there's a binder that reads "manual - a quick start guide". Inside the binder is only one sheet with the same text and it reads "Push this button to transform this world into a Utopia. Warning: this will eradicate all people who are inconsiderate assholes on the road".
I stay frozen, so many questions going through my mind. Those people also have families that care about them, children that wouldn't have their parents around to guide them through their youth. I'm sure it would make me a monster. There is not even an ethical dilemma, I seriously can't do that!
Only a second has passed but it felt like an eternity. I now know what I have to do. Slowly I back off, I open the door of this dark room and then, as I'm mustering my forces, I rush forward and slam the button yelling "Fuck them!! " | 2015-10-21T13:57:19 | 2015-10-21T13:52:35 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] Your quiet life in the suburbs is shaken up when your neighbor casually claims he is a lizard person. Doubting him, you decide to start monitoring him for any suspicious behavior. After all, you didn't see him at the last lizard people reunion. | “I’m a lizard person.”
“What?”
“I’m actually a lizard. A reptile. But don’t tell anyone, bro.” Mike passes me the joint, like nothing’s changed, like he just said the sky was pretty tonight, and thought nothing more of it.
I force a laugh. “What?”
“I have no way of proving it to you. But that’s what I am.”
I couldn’t believe he was saying it so casually. “What do you mean? Transform right here.”
He shakes his head, a little sadly. “It doesn’t work like that. You can only transform in the presence of other lizards. No humans.”
“So you realize there’s no way anyone would believe you.”
He shrugs. “Why would I want them to?”
“Good point. So how is life any different for you?”
He shrugs again. “There are some good things. I only need to sleep for ninety seconds at once. I can reach a lot of things, and move my arms and legs in ways they can’t. I don’t need to eat much to survive.”
“And the bad stuff?”
He looks me dead in the eye, and there is *something* familiar about that gaze, a look I hadn’t seen in a long time. “The loneliness. Knowing you’ll never be able to tell anyone who isn’t like you, who doesn’t know…
\-
I sit down on the chair, and transform, feeling the warmth and familiarity of my true body again. But I can’t enjoy it. I'm in shock by how much Mike knows. How much he knows about a life he can't possibly be a part of. Or can he?
My mind is racing, racing back to a memory…
*“I have to tell you something,” I say, nervous all over again, nervous even though I told myself not to be. Nervous that I told her to come here instead of prom, come listen to something I had to say.*
*“Just say it. Nothing you say will hurt me. Nothing can change how I feel about you.”*
*I want so desperately for that to be true.*
*“I’m a lizard person.”*
*She opens her mouth, but closes it. She looks in my eyes, and sees that I am serious.*
*“What?”*
*I tell her. I tell her how you can’t change on command, except for when you are in the presence of a loved one. I tell her how hard it’s been, the struggle of knowing no one else is like her. I tell her how when I am with her, all that disappears.*
*“Change, then,” she whispers.*
*“What?”*
*“If you love me, you can change, can’t you?”*
*I close my eyes, and think of nothing but nights like this, laying on the hood of her dented Corolla, looking up and trying to find a meaning in the stars.*
*I feel my body change, my skin harden, my tail emerge. I don’t open my eyes, because I am so scared. I don’t open my eyes for a long time, because of her silence. I want her to say something, anything…*
*When I open my eyes, she is gone.*
Ever since then, even ten years later, loneliness, this otherness, has hung over me like a shroud. I’ve depended on it, leaned into it, used it as an armor against the pain, being different.
So what to do now, with someone who might actually be like me? What can they know about me? Will they have any sort of answers to the questions I’ve never been able to answer?
\-
I knock on his door. His house is dark inside, but eventually, I hear whispers, and then steps.
“Mike?” I ask.
“What is it, man? Can’t sleep? I knew we shouldn’t have smoked sativa tonight.”
“No. I mean, yes, I can’t sleep, but…I have something to tell you too.”
“What is it?”
“I’m…a lizard person too.”
He looks around, and then says, “Come inside.”
He leads me to his living room, and then pats me on the shoulder, and leaves.
“He’s all yours, my queen,” he says as he leaves. And then I see her.
She is human, at first. I walk towards her, unable to believe it’s really her. She stands up, and walks towards me. She looks me right in my eyes, and my hands go slack.
“I want you to see this.”
She closes her eyes, and transforms. I am speechless, for a multitude of reasons, but primarily at her beauty.
“Why? Why did you leave?” I ask finally, when she opens her eyes and looks at me, vulnerable. "Why didn't you ever tell me you were...like me?"
“You were in danger,” she says. “And you don’t have to believe me, but if you ever believed I love you, listen to me now. We have to go, tonight.”
“What?”
“Please. You can’t know the risk I went through to be here tonight. But…Mike told me about your drinking, your loneliness, and I couldn’t stay away any longer.”
I look into her eyes, and say nothing.
“Well?” she says. “Say something.”
“Let’s go.”
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | **Journal Log 1:**
*"Today, I may have just come across the worse discovery of my generation. For eons, the Gigorian Lizard race has thought of themselves as the true apex of the Earth, the ones who would rise from the ashes of the apocalypse. Our scaly skin can survive the worst of temperatures, and our expert reptile vision can see through even the harshest of weather. But now, there seems to be unforeseen competition. Is this a fellow comrade who has somehow been able to break free from the hivemind [ALL HAIL THE HYPNOLIZ] and decided not to attend the reunion, or has an even stronger species truly emerged? They seem to call themselves the "Stop-scribbling-in-your-damn-notebook-and-get-the-fuck-off-my-lawn" species. It is as terrifying as it is long.*
***Journal Log 2***
*It seems this creature that's part of this new species (who goes by the ominous pseudoname "Gary") is attempting to establish dominance within the community. There are posters everywhere advocate for "Gary 'The Lizard Man' Eidechse" in the local election. It also has had a public demonstration of its incredible abilities. Its main attacks seem to verbal and consist mostly of shouting of "tax reform" and "shutting down the damn HOA". Despite causing no physical harm, it was able to get a massive crowd to agree with it, effectively recruiting and mobilizing humans. What a horrific tactic.*
***Journal Log 3***
*These past few weeks have been worrying for my kind. Gary is about to become into political power. Only as a local councilman, but power nonetheless. I must get at least a siliva sample so we can research and discover their weaknesses.*
***Journal Log 4***
*Being able to change into a small garden lizard has its perks, and I was able to sneak into Gary's room under the cover of night. I grew back into my regular form and opened its mouth, preparing the container. But where they should have been flesh, there was... cotton. Suddenly, Gary sat and stared right at me, his eyes pure black. I tried to run away but he managed to grab me by the neck and slam me to to the ground. As I tried to regain my senses and look up, he was now completely giant.*
*"Ahahaha!" Gary laughed, "I was wondering when you damn lizards would show up, knew you were one of them. Your hunch was right, I'm not human at all. But I'm not any type of filthy lizard either. No, I'm something much, much worse."*
*Gary pulled off his human mask and revealed the face of a giant teddy bear.*
*"I could snap your neck right now, but I think it would be much more useful to keep you alive so you can tell your kind their retribution is here. You may tell your kind I am... Tenderheart. Now get the hell out of my sight."*
*I scrambled for the window and didn't look back until I got home.*
***Journal Log 5***
*I was half-right. We are dealing with a new apex species, but they're not lizards at all. No, they're more adept than we could ever be. We have resistant organs, but they have no organs to worry about. We are trained to tame our fear, but fear does not exist in them. They will deplete the Earth for their own world. We are dealing with devils themselves. They are...*
#The Care-Bears.
[Sorry if there's a lot of misspellings, super tired. Thanks for reading, check out my sub if you want more.] (https://old.reddit.com/r/StoryStar/) | 2019-05-13T22:55:15 | 2019-05-13T21:38:16 | 260 | 98 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of" | "Just like that?" I asked.
"Just like that." the priest responded.
No way it could be that easy. The priest looked at me with a small smile on his face. Is there a joke I'm not in on? His robes ruffled as he produced a long stem pipe, and began to fill it.
"How long has this been happening?" I asked, watching him tap the tobacco down.
"For many centuries. Almost as long as The Divide has existed." he said, flicking the match with his thumb. The flame was pulled into the pipe and the sweet smell of it filled the room.
"But that's no worry to you, my son," he said when the pipe was lit, "just press the button and the Dark Lord will be banished once again."
"If it's been going on so long why haven't we stopped it for good?" I asked, still not understanding what was happening.
With one more long exhale, the blue smoke jetting from his lips, the priest set down his pipe and leaned forward in his char.
"That. Is not your concern. Now," he said, pointing to the button, "push it."
So I did. What else could I do? Nothing seemed to happen at first. Just a little *click* when I pressed it. The priest smiled broad now, showing his discolored teeth all the way to the back. He began to gather his robes and stand.
"Now what?" I asked.
"Now?" he asked incredulously, "now you go die."
"I what!?" I screamed, and before I knew it the priest clamped down on my wrists with a strength that shocked me. He held my arms to the chair and looked me right in the eyes.
"This marks the thirteenth sacrifice for the Dark Lord. The prophesy is fulfilled. May his evil majesty wash over this realm, so we become One."
"What the hell is going on?" I yelled, watching as brutish men in blackened iron armor enter the room. They both had a scar running down their face, and short stabbing swords hung from their belts. The priest said something to them in a language I didn't recognize. It was guttural and sounded very difficult to say.
The brutes nodded once and pulled their swords. I didn't know what was waiting for me on the other side. But the twelve boys that met me, filled me with unending sadness as we watched our world fall to the dark. | I'm gonna be honest, I was a little disappointed. I mean, I'm no fighter or anything, much less a hero, but I don't know.....I just thought something more, well, *interesting* would happen.
Maybe I'd be given some magical armour and sword, and all kinds of crazy powers and knowledge would just be absorbed into me, then I'd kick the Dark Lord's ass and be some awesome warrior.....but, apparently all I've gotta do is click this one button. Like, no joke, that's it. Straight from the mouth of the grand Priest himself, push the button, and save the universe.
So, I pushed the button, like anyone else would....and that's it. No big explosion, or anything crazy like that. Just push the button, and the world is saved. I bet the Dark Lord is pissed, being defeated by some button...... | 2020-11-09T11:45:32 | 2020-11-09T11:06:17 | 170 | 85 |
[WP] Tell me about the american version of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
[The houses are, of course, Wolfthorn, Hawkridge, Foxcrest, and Bearglove.](http://i.imgur.com/HzLe3qz.jpg)
This is in the United States. Harry Potter's actions didn't effect anyone here, except give them some stories to tell.
What are the houses like? What houses are rivals? | The Rocky Mountain Institute for Magical Talents had been founded when witches and wizards ventured West, seeking asylum from the trials in Salem. This would be the second school opened in North America, accepting students from Western Canada and America. Locations for the school have been presumed to be in the vicinity of the muggle Glacier National Park.
Witches and wizards in this region inhabit the remote parts of the mountain range, where all magical villages are interspersed throughout the mountain valleys. The difficulty in reaching these villages in muggle fashion creates seclusion that is not easy to break. In magical trend, these villages strike one as something out of a fairytale. The village below the school grounds, Castlebrook, greatly resembled the Austrian village of [Hallstatt](http://www.austria.info/media/13712/hallstatt--d.1080288.jpg).
The school grounds sat perched on a plateau halfway up one of the 4 surrounding peaks, overlooking the quaint village and it's lake. Attendance of the school can reach a maximum of 10,000 students. Most arrive by floo powder a week early than the first day to shop Castlebrook's many shops for school supplies, including the renowned wandmaker, Thadeus Tillman. Inn's of Castlebrook is customarily occupied by the parents of returning students, the most popular being [Lodge of Ladislau](http://www.resourcedir.directory/images-uploads/2013/12/07/log-cabin-interior-design-ideas-decorating-for-luxury-home-log-cabin.jpg).
As tradition of other magical schools, four houses were established within the school to promote friendly competition and to create a sense of family amongst students of like minds. Untraditionally, these houses were given names of the four peaks that encompassed the school. Wolfthorn (for people who value teamwork), Hawkridge (for people who value Leadership), Foxcrest (for people who value wit and cunning), and Bearglove (for the kindhearted). The color of the dining hall's great fire burns the four colors of the school houses and will burn a single color when a students name written on a slip of parchment is thrown in. This decides the sorting of students.
A long standing rivalry between Wolfthorn and Hawkridge has stood since the inception of the school. Mostly kept to the Quidditch pitch, the rivalry sometimes spilled to the class rooms, creating friendly competition. Hawkridge and Bearglove has a rivalry every so often, when a less amiable generation is within the school walls but otherwise consider themselves above such behaviour. Quidditch tournaments are held between the Salem institute in Salem Massachusetts and Southern school of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee.
Students often breaking into medicine have most often come from Foxcrest house while coming in second of most magical politicians to Hawkridge. Dark wizards have passed through this school each year, though none as bad as the UK's Voldemort, the majority from Hawkridge house. Bearglove has given The Rocky Mountain Institute the majority of our teachers and entrepreneurs, while the most famous athletes coming out of Wolfthorn. | From *Magical Education Across The World* by Rory Shamble, Chapter 6: American Education, paragraphs 1-4.
Magical Education in the Americas is, unlike that in Asia or Africa, based in large part upon the magical traditions of the European continent. It is, however, much less established, owing to their recent founding relative to the much more ancient schools of the Old World. This is the central difference between American schools, and all others across the world.
Owing in large part to this recent establishment, American schools are much more receptive to the influence of other magical cultures. For example, the Salem Witches' Institute, the primary female school of the continent, was founded by Europeans. However, in the past century, it has accepted methods of magic such as those practiced by major Arabian, Asian, and African schools.
Additionally strong in influence is the magical methods of the Native Americans, a profoundly spiritual sect of wizardry. Such charms as the Patronus, Invictum, and other soul-revealing spells were developed by the male counterpart to the Salem Institute, the Native American founded Academy of Sky-Dancers.
As its name indicates, the Academy practices Native American dancing magic, which is famously able to control large-scale weather if sufficient wizards are involved in the casting, although it has many applications beyond this. The Sky-Dancers Academy is the only school in the world to offer education towards this unique branch of magic, and receives many immigrant students because of it.
| 2014-12-07T19:07:59 | 2014-12-07T17:48:13 | 125 | 24 |
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed. | *Press*
Wait.
Another ten kilobucks at the credit union.
Damnit. Maybe tomorrow night.
------
*Press*
Wait.
Another ten kilobucks at the damned credit union.
Damnit. Maybe tomorrow night.
------
*Press*
Wait.
Another ten kilobucks at the god damned credit union.
Damnit. Maybe tomorrow night.
-----
Maybe I should check up on how this plays out. When the button triggers... When it cycles, I guess. Yeah. National obituaries and stuff. Button stuff. Yeah, I could search for that on the internet. Easy.
Seems we have a lot of hits at a smidge past seven o'clock. Damnation! I've been off by hours! HOURS! Not tonight. Hell no, not tonight.
------
At seven PM, I start spamming the submission button. At precisely seven oh six PM, it triggers. Oh, please, please, let this be it.
I wait.
I check my credit union's website. Another ten k. Someone beat me to it. Damnit.
------
It's been a few weeks. I've learned enough about computers to write a script to submit 'press'es as soon as they can be entered. Tonight, I test it out.
Seven rolls around. I activate the script. Nothing happens for a few moments.
I contemplate my bank account. Has to be half a million in there right now. Whatever.
Time passes. I watched the computer tick by the seconds. It's agonizing, but I've lived with agony for the last two years. I hope the script I wrote brings me release.
Something about the way I'm breathing feels off. I was huffing over my computer just before now, the excited gasps of one hoping to be the 'one' tonight. But now... it's getting a lot harder...
I check my credit union account. No change. It's getting a lot harder to breath.
I can't breath.
At last. At last. | The world's population of 7.4 billion is shrunk by .0000049 percent of its population each year due to the button's victims. Meanwhile, 2 billion people starve in the first year as money is devalued; everyone has essentially the same income for doing nothing which results in massive inflation and lack of goods (see Venesuela).
Eventually new currencies are constructed, free of the button's ruined currencies. The world rebuilds. We all wonder what sadistic god visited this plague in guise of blessing on us in the first place. | 2016-07-16T19:30:28 | 2016-07-16T17:32:43 | 113 | 52 |
[WP] You and your bestfriend are made immortal. However you both are given a pistol with one bullet in it, the only thing able to kill either of you is the bullet in the other persons gun. | I stepped into the bright light outside. It was a bright and sunny mid-July day and it was absolutely beautiful out. Unfortunately, the day did not match my mood. I leaned back against the wall and lit a cigarette. Yet another unfortunate incident, I didn't even get to enjoy a moment of silence before my best friend came storming out after me.
"Get your ass back in there right now! I'm getting married in less than two minutes and you promised you would be at my wedding, not outside smoking." She looked absolutely gorgeous in her wedding dress. She always looked stunning, but today she was radiant. She almost made me question if heaven could exist, because surely she had come from there.
I ignored her and took a puff of my cigarette, the smoke of which I blew into her face. "I'll be in in a minute." She glared daggers at me, but I just chuckled.
"You are such an asshole."
"And that's why I'm your best friend."
"Just hurry up." Instead of going back in she stood there waiting for me.
"Shouldn't you be the one in a hurry?"
"Neither of you need to be in a hurry over anything." A voice that was somehow gruff and silky smooth at the same time interrupted our banter. We turned to see an older man in an expensive looking suit and a fedora. It seemed much more stylish and fitting on him than your average fedora wearer.
"Another guest of yours?" I questioned my friend, but she shook her head.
"No, I'm not here for the wedding. Congrats, by the way," he tilted his hat at her, yet another thing that would've been cringey if anyone else had done it. "I am here to give you both a gift though. You both have huge potential to change this world, for better or worse. Sadly, humans only live for so long. I would like to remedy this for you both." He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out two golden pistols.
"Run!" I jumped between her and the man.
Instead of shooting us he held to guns out to us. "You mortals are always so jumpy. I guess I would be too if I was as frail as you are." He snapped his fingers and I felt a burning sensation all over my body for a minute and then it stopped and I felt better than I ever felt. I had so much energy and not a single ache or pain. I looked at her and she seemed to react the same way. "Or, as frail as you were anyways. You're both immortal now. Nothing can kill you now, not even time itself. Well, that's not exactly true. Those guns each have one bullet in them. That bullet can kill an immortal. Keep those close. You may need them one day." We stared at him for a few more seconds before he sighed and disappeared, the guns appearing in our hands.
"Ummm.... Did he just disappear"
"Yeah...." I stared at the gun in shock for a moment then pulled out my lighter. I lit it and held it up to my hand.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!"
"It doesn't hurt. It's warm, but it doesn't burn." I took the flame away to show her I was perfectly fine. "It works."
"Then that means these work." She said staring at the gun, fear obvious in her voice.
"Well," I took her gun out of her hand, "let's not worry about that, and focus on how great today is. We're immortal and you have a wedding to get to." I reassured her as I tossed the guns into a nearby dumpster.
We walked back in and I made a mental note to retrieve the guns later in case the guy in the suit meant other immortals were coming after us. I was pretty certain he intended for us to kill each other, but paranoia at the back of my mind made me want to be certain. I didn't want to worry her though. I always did my best to not make her worry, and it didn't take much to make her do so.
I watched the wedding with a smile on my face, the smile grew even bigger when the priest got to the "till death do us part" bit. I had been willing to wait forever before, and now I could. | George Paterson had been the most energetic, unruly youth John had known when he was little. Having a short attention span and a general disregard for authorities himself, it was probably what drew them to each other in the first place. While the educational merits of the occasional school-skipping might be debatable – it was a small miracle both of them graduated from high school – those years would, in John’s memories, remain his personal golden age. One that, back then, neither of them thought could ever end, not with the gift they had been given. In light of current events, John wasn’t so sure anymore if it had been a gift to begin with.
After all these years, George’s green eyes shone as brightly as when John first saw them, though he wondered whether that wasn’t due to the drops of tears that sporadically sprang from them. The rest of his face was barely recognisable. The hospice nurse that received him had warned that the growths had, among other areas, affected a large part of George’s jaw, but to see this… to see George up close still came as a shock to him. A gift?
A half-hearted greeting, and George’s eyes flashed with recognition. He wanted to speak, but the wires in what remained of his jaw prevented him, though John knew what he wanted to say nonetheless. An emaciated arm – more bone than anything else – feebly appeared from beneath George’s blankets. Hesitating slightly, John took his hand in what he hoped was a tender gesture. It felt as if he was gripping a corpse. John felt tears of his own well up behind his eyes.
Silently, John closed his friend’s bony hand, wondering if George even had enough strength left to raise it again afterwards. Even after letting go, John could still feel an echo of its weight. He wondered if he should help, if he should stay, but George’s eyes shone determinedly. Pride, even after all these years. Or maybe John had imagined that to sooth his own conscience.
Some final, hollow words. A mute goodbye. Mutual head nodding, though one more weakly than the other.
John silently closed the door behind him, and waved to the nurses at the nurses station. He felt a pang of remorse for what they were about to witness, would have to clean up and process, but there was no other way. No other way... John silently hoped he would be long gone by then.
A gift? He had felt good when he handed George the gun, kept safe and hidden for all those long years, he truly did, but it was a gift of mercy that would never be reciprocated. George’s wired jaw had seen to that. John had seen his future, and it seemed longer than ever.
| 2017-07-11T02:26:29 | 2017-07-11T02:08:35 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] "No man can kill me!" the monster roars. You know the prophecy. You intend to buy your companions time to flee, sacrificing yourself. You are just as surprised as everyone else when you manage to kill the monster. | "Huh. That was anti-climactic." And turn back to the gear I had dropped. Checking the various empty bags I would be expected to carry once the party looted the monster's lair. Magdalen the magnificent, real name Roy, came over to me as I checked to make sure the tins for supper were still available.
"So uhm, Richard."
I interrupted him. "Dave. I told you that is my middle name and my mother is the only one to use it. And then only when angry at me."
"Sorry Ri, ah, *Dave*. But how? I mean I want to write a sonnet or song of an epic battle. And you just punched the serpent. Cannot be killed by a man and all that. Last I saw you piss you were a man. . ."
"Magdalen. . I don't know alright. Back home I was an over weight failure. The only thing I did with any meaning was to take my mother shopping. I got hit by lightning on my porch and I was in these lands. Whole other world. I am still old, fat, and the only skill anyone recognizes is I can carry things."
"Well obviously."
Shaking as I hold up my hand. "Six months. My parents must think me dead. Which likely has broken my mother's heart. My father will be drinking more than ever. Since you lot hired me from the hiring hall. You have acted like I am an imbecile. Dagnus has pulled idiotic practical jokes on me. Like pantsing me when we go into town. And Sir Guy acts like I am something to wipe off his boots."
"We're sorry about that. We"
"NO. Let me finish. And out of every single person I have met in these lands. You three have treated me the best. I cook your food and carry your loot. I mend your clothes, and sharpen your weapons. And you always pay me what was agreed upon. You have no idea how much nicer you are than even my jobs back home. So when that thing came I decided to give you guys time to get away. But I am not a lamb for slaughter. I hit it with the only thing I have. My fist and all my anger at the . . . I do not have polite words to say. The snake reared back like it was surprised, then fell over dead. Now I got the packs on and you all said it was another half day to that thing's lair. Time I got back to work." | \[Poem\]
Baxter thought himself doomed,
So he sallied forth to save his friends,
With lance in hand he charged,
Ready to face his end.
But strike the beast he did,
And overran it with his spear,
The beast twitched a moment,
And Baxter waited in fear.
But the beast did not rise again,
Much to his surprise.
The prophecy must have been a dud,
That's what he surmised.
Had Baxter taken a closer look,
He might have seen the truth.
For in the creature's skull.
Bore the telltale sign of a hoof.
For you see the divination
Had not been wrong at all.
But unsung will be the true hero of this tale,
The horse named "Butterball". | 2022-06-27T18:12:40 | 2022-06-27T18:03:33 | 77 | 47 |
[WP] You've kept your immortality secret for thousands of years. Thats going to be a lot harder now that your on a generation ship on a 2000 year voyage. | It has been challenging keeping my immortality a secret on board the Volatilis. We are little more than a thousand years into our journey and I have not aged a single day.
I could tell them of course - but humanity scares easily and is notorious for overreacting. I have no desire to be thrown out of the craft and into the icy arms of space, left to drift alone for a million years. So I lock my secret away and throw away the key.
I had been born on Earth. Back then I loved it - the lush flora, the beautiful and abundant species of animal, and most of all, the quiet places where I could be alone for millennia. But this was many years ago, before humanity spread and globalised and destroyed so much of the planets beauty. After the third great war I made up my mind; when the opportunity arose, I would leave the planet. I would search the universe for life. For something more worthy to exist than *humanity*. When the Volatilis announced it needed crew members for an expedition to Andromeda I was quick to register.
The first few years were simple. I began as a Petty Officer and was given responsibilities of little real consequence, but what tasks I did perform, I excelled at. I was soon noticed and I progressed through the ranks quickly. Warrant Officer, Midshipman, Lieutenant, Captain, Vice-Admiral and finally Admiral.
For a hundred years I lived my first life. It was, naturally, my favourite. Everything was fresh and exciting. But too soon all those souls I had boarded the ship with were dead. A new generation looked towards me with suspicious eyes.
I altered my appearance to look as ancient and decrepit as possible. I took elderly dead men's skin and hair and used it to change my facade, but people were talking and were becoming weary. I needed a way to be born again.
The original purpose of the Biolab was to help population growth if a hospitable planet was found in the Andromeda system. It could be used to clone and harvest DNA from surviving crew members. It would mix up the DNA samples and spit out perfect and unique fetus's. That is not what I used it for.
My first clone was Bradley. I made slight alterations to his genetic makeup - he couldn't be immortal.
When he came of age - that is to say, when I could pass as him - I faked my death for the first time. I then killed Bradley and took both his skin and his place. We were so similar, it was so easy. I saved a single tooth of his as a little keepsake.
Now I am once again the ships Admiral, but a new life beckons me.
"Hello Marcus." I say as he enters the room. I hand him a glass of wine. "Drink up!" I say patting him on the back. As the liquid touches his lips, a smile creeps over mine. I instinctively touch the necklace of teeth that lies beneath my sweater. It rattles gently as I run my fingers over the small bones and count silently to twenty three.
---
/r/nickofnight
| There's a space whale outside the porthole, possibly the last one of its kind, and I've never felt more affinity with another creature before. The night sky spills out behind it, black as ink, dotted with the white whorls of galaxies. From here they look small as ants.
The whale cruises slowly beside the bridge of the ship. Everyone's in cryo, but I faked the shutdown and got up as soon as we hit the aether. When they wake, my bed will be recorded as empty, while I stand on the bridge. They will know. The whale's eye is like Jupiter's spot, but blue and swirling like a hurricane. Across its grey skin, creatures like barnacles or limpets cling, small mountains in the dark.
My secret must be kept safe, even if it makes me as lonely as this whale. The blue eye stares at me mournfully as I press the wrong combination of buttons on the panel.
*Are you sure?* The AI asks me.
The last hope of humankind, this ship. If they found out about me, it would be catastrophic. I have to be the only one. The lonely one. I press the button again.
Strange, how the sound of half a million lives being extinguished is nothing more than the sigh of a machine shutting down.
The whale swims on. The last of its kind, it keeps my secret.
------------
/r/Schoolgirlerror | 2016-07-06T06:54:52 | 2016-07-06T06:40:50 | 1,037 | 196 |
[WP] As you arrive in Heaven, you are confident you have lived your best life. You proudly exclaim you are ready to have your soul judged. An angel walks by with diced carrots and chicken stock under his arm and says, “Did you say ‘soul’? Please don’t tell me Earth still has the copy with typos...” | It was all little too on the nose. The long hair, white linen and the bright overhead lights brought an overwhelming sense of deja vu that I had seen this place before on television.
“I’m sorry? I’m not quite sure I understand what you mean.” I sputtered before sheepishly adding an “Oh heavenly one.”
He rolled his eyes and my cheeks heated.
Should I be less formal? Weren’t angels technically soldiers of heaven? Should I salute?
“Oh dear, you definitely haven’t been updated yet.”
With a snap of his fingers we were now in a stainless steel kitchen. An industrial size fridge was behind him and in between us now stood a prep table.
“The rules are simple, and you should at least recognize the ingredients.”
He nodded and a fish, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine appeared on the table between us.
“You have an hour to complete your sole dish. Peter will be by to judge when complete.”
“No, you can’t. You don’t understand—“
“Good luck, son of Adam.”
And with that, I was alone.
“Jes—“ I swallowed my curse in case they could still hear.
My fingers curved around the slender neck of the bottle pulling the cork of with an echoing pop. I lifted the cork to my nose and smelled the buttery oak of a white white. I guess it wasn’t all on the nose. It would have been red.
Over in the fridge there was a wide variety of ingredients, some unlike anything I had never seen before.
“I should have been a Catholic like my grandmother,” I grumbled. “If this was the test everyone faced, she would have been on her way to heaven before he even said typo.”
Instead, I had chosen to be a Seventh-day Adventist like my father and had never even touched fish outside of an aquarium kid-zone. The wine bottle met my lips and I swallowed. The wine was alright. Probably better cooking wine than for tasting. But then again, I had always liked boxed wine. I looked at the bottle, wondering which He preferred, but it was blank white.
I walked over to the gas stove with shaky knees and lit and took a long deep look at the fire.
Sure, this wasn’t my forte, but I had watched Food Network. I wasn’t necessarily going there. For a moment, a tendril of flame licked up higher than the rest and I let out a little gasp before pulling a pan over the burner. No. I wouldn’t.
I spotted some oil. Olive, I guessed from the look of it. In that went, and finally I turned back to the steel table where the unimpressive looking brown fish laid. My nose scrunched up at the sight of the thing. Was this what all those stupid bumper stickers were about?
“Sorry buddy,” I said looking deep into the fish’s glassy eye, “but to keep me out of the fire, we got to get you into the frying pan.”
And with a crackle of oil, I began my last supper. | Fuck me. Of all the dumb and asinine things in the after life, the merit of a human's existence is based on fucking soup?
Alright. Just stay calm. I can do this. I can cook soup. I died watching a Gordon Ramsay video while driving for fucks sake.
What do we have here? Ok. Carrots. Those are important. Celery? Also important. What the hell is this? It looks like celery but smells like licorice? Must be some weird after life vegetable. Piss on it, it's going in the pot.
Who are those guys at the table? Oh my lord its Jesus Christ. Wait if that is Jesus, then does that mean the other guy is.... ok don't think about that, just keep cutting vegetables.
Ok what did mom put in her soup when I was a kid? Wait a minute, she never made soup from scratch. Ok just vegetables. Chicken broth. No biggies. It's soup. Just heat it and reduce.
.......
Ok. I think Jesus is eating it. Ok I think he likes it. Wait? Is he choking? Why is Jesus choking? Oh God it's the licorice plant? What are they calling it? Fennel? Oh Jesus is allergic to fennel. OH SHIT JESUS IS ALLERGIC TO FENNEL. Oh man, the other guy is looking passed. I wonder if he's more of an Old Testament God o-.... | 2020-11-24T17:13:20 | 2020-11-24T17:06:29 | 1,543 | 756 |
[WP] At the age of eighteen, you can choose when and how you will die. Seeing a loophole, somebody choose today and a nuclear bomb. | The time was coming for 'The Decision.' In this day and age, nearly all biological life could be controlled and influenced by humans, and the government. Every year, on the 2nd of January, the children in America becoming adults within the following calendar year had to decide; not only when or where they would go to school or what city to explore as they gain independence, but when and how their life will end.
This government mandate was not made lightly, but overpopulation and life sustaining expenses were big points on the Freedom Accords, a document ammending the constitution to give freedom to the citizens, while also granting more reactive powers to the government.
As a result, tomorrow we, the newly (or soon to be) minted adults had to make 'The Decision'.
I had decided, like many, to have an aneurism in my sleep at the age of 85. The results would go into the system at midnight on the 3rd of January, and everything in the government's power would be done to make that happen to a T. The execution rate was like 97%, so I heard.
I've heard people living to 135 or so before they got tired of life and committed suicide. The government could keep you ripe. But youd get bored. Of the loss, of life itself, of the struggle, so your kill yourself.
I've also heard of this one guy that wanted to go by grenade. But we dont really need armies anymore. But when the time came, in the middle of a walk in the park with few bystanders, there it was a 'random' black powder grenade explosion. One casualty. Weird.
I was fine with my decision, and slept like a baby that night.
In the morning, I went to the city hall like every other 17 (or 18) year old this morning in the area, and went into the 2010's style voting booth.
On the screen, the person before me had not pressed 'Submit'. We were allowed to share our choices, but it was looked down upon for some reason. My curiosity got the best of me though and I read the entry:
On January 2, 2082, I Jayden Lasitos, do decide that I would like my death to be enacted by Thermonuclear Explosion.
SHIT!! That's this morning!!! What could that mean?! What could they do???!! Within moments sirens began going off. Blaring horns heard across the city I assume. Hovercopters began touching down every few blocks.
"DANGER! EVACUATE!DANGER! EVACUATE!DANGER! EVACUATE!"
But there was no time, I came out of the booth and ran down the city hall steps to look around and I saw a blinding light about a mile away.
| Often, the sun shines, and the moon lifts the waves. At eighteen, you're presented with three choices
One: ignorantly live life;
Two: knowingly live life;
Three: selectively live life.
Most people choose to live life ignorantly, the wise choose knowingly, and the dangerous don't live long enough to select.
Often, a tunnel is dug, and the light fades away. Nobody knows your decision. Nobody. It's socially unacceptable to share your choice. For, your mind and thoughts are on display to everyone; and theres to you.
Often, a star explodes, and nobody knows. The light will come with time, and the tunnel protects you from the shine.
A light so bright, nobody would dare suspect it was just your might.
So brawn, and incredibly strong. Your choice was beyond that of a pack mule's last yawn.
And the lives of others will be afflicted forever, for the bomb within you has wreaked devastation.
You're a stranger in those nights, the nights you pull the waves over the fires you've plighted.
Another night's rest within the debris of a planet you so solemnly miss.
A choice beyond life, but of essence and faith. Faith in your right to rule as a wraith. | 2018-07-18T08:01:26 | 2018-07-18T08:00:48 | 71 | 13 |
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water... | I like tea, coffee too. I actually know a lot about either. If you asked me to explain the difference between a latte and a macchiato, I could do that. If you asked me what the difference between the taste of rose petals and rosebuds in tea, I could do that too. I could hold a lecture all about the *vast* difference between a cold brew and iced coffee that NO ONE seems to care about anymore, but that's a topic for another day.
I'm a superhero. Well, not really a hero mind you, more of just a super. Unless constantly making coffee counts as a heroic deed.
Five years ago, Hayden McIlroy put up a flier. Superheroes were emerging, and he wanted them. McIlroy made the Heros For Anthem City Program, aka the H.F.A.C. A program for local heroes to gather and do stuff. No one knows really what they were doing at the start, but they were doing *something* because heroes with titles came around. And they had sidekicks. The Swift told me that in the beginning, the best of the best became "Title Hero's". McIlroy paid for them to be marketed. Names like Diamond Maiden and Thunderman. They got the cool outfits, they got the theme songs and comic books. The weaker Title Heroes had sidekicks, like Vulpes Lupus, Shark, and most every other hero out there. If you had cool powers, then you were paid to be a villain. No killing or horrible damage, just a show. Take a volunteer hostage and threaten them or something to entertain the people.
And the others? Just like me. No special names. We just go around and run errands. If you're a hero fanatic, you'd know all the Title Heros and sidekicks that work for H.F.A.C. But not us, not me.
The Swift seems to be the only hero who respects us. I'd call her by her real name, but she said it died a long time ago. She said she was like me, young with new powers and no idea what to do. She came to H.F.A.C. after some young villain had killed her family. It was an actual villain, not one of the flimsy shows McIlroy paid for. They put her in my spot.
I don't know how she did it, though. She was a nameless nobody. Some teenager who could do a few flips like the rest of us. But somehow she makes a nemesis of the only villain out there who isn't being paid by H.F.A.C. Tyto Noctis.
No one was making comics about him. No one was waiting to see what his next evil plan would be. Anthem City feared him, like, actually feared him. No one wanted to touch him but a stupid teenager. Tyto Noctis and The Swift go missing for six months and she returns a Title Hero, Tyto trailing at her heels like he's on some sort of leash. Both apparently unable to be killed.
She tells me I can make my way up the ladder just like she did, I just need to work hard. I respect The Swift, but I'm nothing like her.
Tyto Noctus was a failure. He was defeated by a flimsy teenager. I'm not like The Swift, sure, but I'm not like Tyto either. I'm not like the Title Heroes and sidekicks that snicker when they pound their empty cups on my desk when they beg and plead for hotter tea, mocking me. I'm not like Hayden McIlroy and his obsession with collecting heroes.
The pipes will be struck first, scalding anyone who even thinks of turning the faucet on. Then slowly the water towers, I'll watch their pressure rise with anticipation. Then, weather permitting, the rain. Anyone who even dares to live then will just have to have their organs deliciously steamed from the inside-out.
I am The Boiler, and I'm the only real villain Anthem City is going to ever see.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
thank you for reading! critisims is appreciated :D
<3<3<3
\-froppy |
“Hey Bill, what are you doing?” The bubbly intern bounced into the room and peeked over his shoulder. Without thinking he shifted his attention from the pot of water to her. They both made a mistake that day.
She fell quickly. Her skin bubbled and she silently writhed on the floor. He sighed exasperatedly and ran his fingers through his hair, staring at the now-still body laying in the breakroom.
Lucky for him, he practically owned the room. All the other heroes just chilled in their main room and demanded he bring food and drink out of there anyways.
And so after moving the body into the pantry, he finished up the pot of tea, brewing the early grey and hibiscus in four separate cups. He carried it into the other room and smiled at the heroes that greeted him. Or more accurately, ignored him as they joked and talked amongst themselves.
He laid the cups next to each hero. Doge, the canine that could pierce through the soul of anything with just a look. Peeka, the tiny old man who used electricity to create massive power for the city and to control the environment quickly in downtown battles. Roll, the guy who loved to crack lame jokes and had the charisma of a massively successful con man. Honestly, Bill wondered if he even had a real skill or just was on the team cause the others liked him so much. Finally, the big shot Lil Luck, a burly woman who tagged along because ever since she showed up they started winning every single battle.
Hours passed as he sat on the couch and watched them work at the computers and chat. This is what his “internship” amounted to. He sighed loudly but of course, nobody responded.
The second round of tea came out, decaf green this time. He sat back on the couch after taking the old cups and handing them out. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice the slight cloudiness in the water.
30 minutes later, eyelids drooped and he stepped over to finish the job.
“Here’s to a new era.” His smile spread widely across his face and he raised his arms. A faint vibration shook the floor and a ringing could be heard all around. The heroes’ eyes widened and tears filled Roll’s eyes first. Bill had always hated Roll most, with his manipulative charisma and how he was able to work for the most famous hero team with such a lame power.
After the job was done, only Lil Luck and Doge still breathed in the building. He leaned down to her face and spoke in her ear his plans for her. She was to stay by his side to assist him with her “power.” He would take no chances. Doge on the other hand, he had a soft spot for. He had a soft spot for all dogs… which is why he made sure to never have one. Weakness was unacceptable with his new plan to take over the world. | 2019-07-30T16:15:31 | 2019-07-30T15:43:49 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] The manned mission to Mars went off without a hitch. The transmissions came back right on schedule: "Touchdown successful." "Habitat functional." "Life-support optimal." Then nothing for 48 hours. Then one last transmission: "We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
| It was dark and somber the last few hours before we were suppose to touch down. We didn't know what we were going into, but we had a mission.
The alarm blared.
I clench my rifle. I was ready.
The door opened.
"Get ready to die motherfu- wha..."
It was my friend Steve. One of the astronauts on the first manned mission to the red planet. He was standing there in a white robe and a mojito in his hands.
"Charlie... Uh. Well this is awkward. I thought we said not to send help." said Steve.
He put his free hand at his waist.
"We thought you... We thought you guys were dead!"
"Why would you think that?"
"The cryptic message you guys sent us!"
"Oh right, Bill typed that up, I thought it sounded foreboding too."
"So you guys are fine?"
"Yeah we're good."
"Is there life here?"
"Yeah yeah. Oh. Ayuktu, get your ass over here I want to introduce you to my buddy Charlie. We went to college together."
A slender green humanoid with an enormous head in a Led Zeppelin T-shirt and jean shorts strode over.
"Sup." said Ayuktu.
The rest of the assault team lowered their guns.
"Hi." I replied. "We're from Earth. We're here to rescue our friends."
"Do you have to leave now? We were going to go fishing in the Frozen Sea later." said Ayuktu.
"Oh we're not leaving anytime soon Ayuk." Said Steve, shooting me an angry look.
"Excuse me?" I said.
"We're perfectly happy here. The natives have treated us with nothing but respect and kindness. Much more than we ever got back on Earth. We're joining their space program now! At least they have funding!" said Steve spilling his mojito with ever exaggerated hand movement.
"You've got to be kidding me."
"No, I'm not. You know what else Ayuk and his people didn't do? Sleep with my ex girlfriend the day after she broke up with me Charlie!"
"This is ridiculous. You are ridiculous!"
"I'm going to go...get another beer. This looks like something you guys gotta settle." said Ayuk.
"No no no no no. You stay right here Ayuk. Actually can you get me another drink too while you're over there?" He hands the alien his empty glass.
My radio crackles to life.
"What's going on over there?!"
"Captain Steve is intoxicated and refuses to come back sir."
"You can't make me!"
"Put him on the radio!" said mission control.
"How about you put that radio up your asses? How does that sound commissioner? You can send my final paycheck on your next cheap ass, tin foil launch that almost killed us by the way because you couldn't care enough to use quality equipment."
Silence.
"Alright, let's bring you boys home."
Ayuktu hands Steve his drink.
"You heard him. Bye bye!"
"Mojitos are gay Steve." I yell as the pod bay door closed. |
The unexpected transmission had, in an instant, shattered the excitement that had minutes ago been seeping from the room. As Daniel scanned the room, he observed faces of mourning, gazes lowering as his eyes met theirs. What could have possibly gone wrong?
It was only two days ago they had been triumphant, achieved the impossible. They had put the first humans on Mars, and were well on their way to creating a habitable atmosphere. And then those three cutting sentences.
“We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue.”
He knew they couldn’t stay put, orbiting mere miles away as their friends, their family, faced this unknown terror. And yet it seemed the more his determination solidified, the more those around him crumbled. He would have no team.
He turned for the door, suppressing the logic that told him this was insanity. He was one man, the landing crew had fifteen. He had never held a weapon, much less put one to use, how could he assist the marines walking the crimson planet beneath him?
All of this and more raced through his mind as his legs carried him to the landing pod, his arms threw on the straps, and finally he found himself watching the silver door shut behind him.
Daniel had never been faint-hearted, but this was different. He could feel his heart beating what could be its final rhythm, his hands shaking along in a nervous dance. But these were his people, he had no choice.
With that thought burned in his mind, he pressed eject. | 2019-01-31T12:01:23 | 2019-01-31T11:25:23 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] A married woman saves an uninteresting Japanese high schooler from a truck crash, but dies in the process. She wakes up in a world of adventure and harems, clearly made for the boy. | The last thing Nozomi remembered was her body acting on instinct, leaping out onto a road to save an inattentive high schooler from an incoming truck. There was the pain afterwards, but it cut off abruptly, like a television losing electricity.
She never thought much about death. It was the sort of thing that people without things to do did. Nozomi felt that she couldn’t afford the time to do so. A life with a husband and children was not one for the faint of heart.
When she could think again, there was only one thing she could worry about.
“Shoot,” Nozomi whispered. “I don’t think I’ll be able to cook dinner today.”
The next was a sort of relief mingled with terror. Why was she… alive?
A sudden flash of fireworks shot out from the darkness around her, causing her to yelp, her hands shooting to her mouth. Celebratory trumpets began to play, and a blue swirl of energy materialized right in front of her. A woman of impossible beauty and proportions stepped through, wearing an outfit that seemed three sizes too small, and then an over-enthusiastic child was allowed to have a run at it with scissors. Thin bands of bright blue wrapped around the important bits, but the colour paled in comparison to her glowing hair, crackling with energy, and bluer than the skies.
Amidst the fanfare, the woman flourished with a glamorous hand.
“Welcome, young hero! I am the goddess Cobalt, and I need your help to save…”
The woman glanced at Nozomi, the new arrival, who meekly waved.
“You aren’t a young man,” the woman said. There was a sort of permeating, world-shaking shock that would be considered abnormal for such a matter-of-fact statement.
“I am not,” Nozomi said, bowing politely. “Nozomi Arai.”
The goddess hesitantly bowed back in a move that betrayed lack of practice.
“Cobalt,” she said. “Ummm. This isn’t supposed to happen. A young man, of about high school age, should be the one here.”
“Oh,” Nozomi said. “I think I saved him. From a truck.”
“Oh no,” the goddess said. “Oh no no no. What have you done?”
“Saved a life. I wasn’t expecting gratitude or anything, but you made it sound suspiciously like I did something wrong.”
“This isn’t how it works,” the goddess said, her hands barely managing to get themselves on her chin. “There should be a teenage boy. I was going to bring him to an exciting world of hot-blooded adventure and even hotter-blooded women.”
Nozomi politely thought that it sounded too much like a fantasy. She stood by, waiting for Cobalt to finish muttering to herself, but there was an endless stream of complaints and what-ifs that shot out of her mouth.
“I don’t know if you should be the one I’m asking,” Nozomi said. “But I would really like to go home, if I’m still alive.”
“Out of the question,” Cobalt said. “You are here. We have to make to do with it.”
A loud finger snap muted the room, turning off the loud lights and bright music.
“Nozomi Arai. You are to be the hero of this fantasy world. I am the goddess Cobalt. And you will… save it… from the… Dark Lord.”
“Sounds fun,” Nozomi said. “But it seems like a foregone conclusion.”
“It kind of is,” Cobalt pouted. “We can’t make the world too hard. Or the player gives up. It’s not pretty.”
“Look, I’m still not quite sure what’s going on, but I’m sure I can help you out,” Nozomi said. “There’s no need to coddle me, dear.”
“Oh,” Cobalt actually smiled, before her face took on a serious tone. “That’s true.”
“The Dark Lord? What happens if I defeat him? Do I get to go home?”
“I don’t know. Nobody’s ever wanted to. They just stay in this fantasy world, and live out the rest of their lives as the top dog.”
“That’s nice,” Nozomi agreed. “But I do really need to be getting back.”
“Fine,” Cobalt said. “You’re here anyway. Defeat the Dark Lord if you can. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can put in a request at admin for you.”
“Thank you,” Nozomi smiled.
“Oh,” the goddess said, tossing a sword at her, which Nozomi struggled to catch properly. “Take this. I’m supposed to tell you to train with it, since the boys tend to be physically inept specimens, unable to unlock its true power. But I think you’ll be fine with it.”
Nozomi held onto the blade. Somehow, the handle conformed to her hand perfectly, and she swung the thing top to down. Then sideways. Then diagonally, each getting faster and faster, a flurry of blows that could almost cut air. She didn’t thinking just holding onto something could feel this good.
“Wow,” Nozomi said. “That is nice.”
“Indeed,” Cobalt smiled. “Well, then. Welcome to Azure, and see you soon.”
---
r/dexdrafts | **"Welcome to Fantasia!!!"** The inexplicably busty pixie bobbed up and down around Doctor Healrow's head as she blearily blinked awake. "Now, Hero, I'm sure you have a lot of—*glack!*'
Doctor Healrow grabbed the pixie out of the air, frowning at it. "You have breasts," she said, turning the fairy over. "But you clearly have a predominantly lepidopteran body plan. Do you lay eggs? Or do you suckle your young? And you *clearly* breathe through lungs instead of spiracles, or you wouldn't be able to speak. What evolutionary purpose does investing that much energy in cognition serve, at your size?"
"Can't... breathe..." the pixie squeaked.
"Hmm? Oh, yes, that reminds me—how on earth does the microfluidics work at your body size? Surely, if your lungs are proportional to your body mass, the relative viscosity wouldn't—*oh!*" The distracted biologist released the fairy. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was squishing you."
The fairy panted for breath as she hovered mid-air. "You, uh... you aren't the Hero I was expecting to find."
"Yes, well, this isn't the afterlife I was expecting to find, either." She paused, looking around at the enchanted glade. "Wait, did you say that this place was called *fantasy Asia?*"
"No! It's Fantasia, not..." The pixie bobbed slightly, lowering closer to the ground. "Yeah, okay, it does sound like that, doesn't it."
"Well." Doctor Healrow folded her arms. "Not that I'm ungrateful to be alive, but I have places to be. I don't suppose you could send me back to where I came from?"
"Er... I don't suppose you're interested in defeating the Dark Lord first?"
"Tell you what—give me a sample bag and twenty-four hours, then send me back. I *promise* you I'll have half a dozen militaries bursting down your door to 'liberate' these lands from any Dark Lord you want."
The fairy paused. "That's, uh... that's not really the point of..."
"So you *don't* need that Dark Lord of yours conquered?"
"I—look, I'm supposed to guide you on a *journey*, not get things done in the most efficient way possible!" The fairy clutched at her hair in exasperation. "Oh, why couldn't I have just gotten a *normal* Hero for once?"
Doctor Healrow narrowed her eyes, considering the fairy.
Then she straightened up. "Alright! Sorry, you got me. Defeating the Dark Lord sounds like a great time! Tell me where to start."
The pixie's eyes shot open. "Really? *Wow*, I cannot tell you how much of a relief that is. Let me tell you the tale of Fantasia. Long, long ago, two mythical goddesses blah blah blah blah blah. Blah blah blah? Blah." Doctor Healrow tuned the fairy out as they began to walk.
None of the facts of this world added up yet, but Doctor Healrow was sure that they would soon. And the best way to gather more information would be to play along, for now. Hopefully, by the time she made her move, she'd understand the forces at play here.
After all, there was no better tool at understanding the world than science. And Doctor Healrow was a scientist to her core.
A.N.
Just a silly little one-shot. Let me know what you think, and check out r/bubblewriters for more! | 2022-06-07T21:01:03 | 2022-06-07T18:42:14 | 1,721 | 392 |
[WP] A former child star has given up fame and fortune to pursue a career in academia. PhD candidate Jaden Smith presents his dissertation in Philosophy, "How Can Mirrors Be Real If Our Eyes Aren't Real" | Once Again, Thank You To The Members Of This Committee, To All Those In Attendance, To My Adviser Dr. Otto Emordanillap, And To This Institution.
In My Humble Opinion It Is Ludicrous That Philosophy Is In Such A State That Both Mirrors And Eyes Are Considered To Be Real, That Is, Actual In Their Being. The Only Thing Tempering My Personal Response To This Viewpoint Is The Demand Of The Domain Of Philosophy That Ample Care Be Given To The Great Minds That Came Before. What I Have Found Within Those Works Will Here Stand As The Historical Understanding Of Eyes, And Consequently Mirrors, Being Real.
Within The Kantian Tradition It Is Necessary To Assume That Since All Appearances Are Mere Appearances, Neither Mirrors Nor Our Eyes Can Have Any Noumenal Significance Apart From Our Transcendental Knowledge Of Concepts. Therefore Both Mirrors And Eyes, As We Cognize Them, Lie Within The Realm Of Representation That Forms The Backbone Of German Idealism.
No More Can Hegel's Phenomenology Prove That Both Mirrors And Eyes Are Real In Their Existence. For, As Hegel Says: "Truth Of Existent Reflections As Such Is Necessarily The Essential Truth Qua Truth Subsumed In The Ethical Supercession Succeeding Any Actual Substance To Be Found In The Being-For-Self Notion Of Reality, That Is, Actuality Of Reflection Cannot Acknowledge And Recognize The Self-Same Quality Of The Thing Itself."
Or As Heidegger So Eloquently Put: "The Questioning Concerning Seeing Is Found In The Care Of Eye-Seeing, Or Eye-Sight-Being, Which In The Being Of Beings Worlds Their World Inauthentically And With A Mind Towards Only The They. Consequently, This Eye-Sight-Being-Being-Worlding-World-Theying Is To The Mirror The Mirroring Of Mirror-Being, And Simply That."
In Fact It Is Only In Plato's Recently Discovered Dialogue "Narcissus" That We See Evidence For The Existence Of Eyes:
- And Tell Me, Narcissus, Could It Be That A Man's Eyes, Those Which He Sees With, That He Takes The World In With, That Those Could Not Be Real?
- No Socrates, It Does Not.
So It Is Clear That The Question Of Both Mirrors And Eyes Being Real Can Be Traced Back To A Hellenic Idea Of Eyes Themselves Which Is Reemerging Despite The Refusal Of The German Philosophers To Accept The Concept. Hence My Strict Examination Of The Reality Of Eyes Throughout Christian Theology Of The Middle Ages, Continuing Through Kierkegaard's Treatment Of The Matter, And Ending With The Same Conclusion As Freud, That Is, Mirrors Cannot Be Real Because Our Eyes Are Not Real. | In the instance of a perfect mirror all light would theoretically reflect off of it without being altered by the mirror's surface. This fundamentally makes it impossible for us to observe the mirror itself due to the nature in which our eyes perceive reality, which is through analyzing photons over time, meaning we can not be certain if it is there at all. If we truly consider how our eyes observe it can be hypothesized that if light has continuously been phasing into our perception, spontaneously of course, in a way that makes us observe our "eyes" when looking into a mirror but never actually interacting with our "eyes" one might draw a conclusion that our "eyes" may not exist at all but merely are the assumed device our consciousness has assembled to justify its observations and, therefore, reality. In this sense mirrors are in just as much question as our eyes because how can one hope to judge what is real when your eyes, the tools with which we can observe "reality", may not exist at all but merely be a way in which your consciousness observes itself unknowingly.
How can mirrors be real if our eyes aren't real, further extended; how can anything be real? | 2015-05-31T00:37:56 | 2015-05-30T23:06:50 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] Write a story in JavaScript, C#, or another computer language. | ++++++++
[
>+
>++
>+++
>++++
>+++++
>++++++
>+++++++
>++++++++
>+++++++++
>++++++++++
>+++++++++++
>++++++++++++
>+++++++++++++
>++++++++++++++
>+++++++++++++++
>++++++++++++++++
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
-
]
>>>>>>>>>>>>
+.
-<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>.
<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>+++.
---<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>----.
++++<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>-.
+<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>++.
--<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>+.
-<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<.
| /*life short and sweet
*/
package life;
import java.util.Date;
/**
*
* @author Mr. Miyagi's mom and dad
*/
public class Life {
Human miyagi;
public Life(String name){
miyagi = new Human(name);
Live();
}
public void Live(){
if(miyagi.isAlive()){
miyagi.wake();
miyagi.eat();
miyagi.shit();
miyagi.sleep();
Live();
}
Dead();
}
public void Dead(){
if(miyagi.isAlive())
Live();
Date curDate = new Date();
System.out.println("It was a life worth living. Mr. Miyagi " + miyagi.getDOB() + " - " + curDate);
}
public static void main(String[] args) {
new Life("Mr. Miyagi");
}
} | 2014-08-14T21:34:55 | 2014-08-14T15:48:34 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] After years of searching you've found bigfoot, but not the actual being, but the grave. You see several other figures, holiday figures to be exact, all crowded around paying respects. One of them starts to tell you the tale of "The Holiday That Was Never Meant to celebrated" | I cut off a few branches from the tree in front of me and stepped into the clearing illuminated by the morning sun. And the scene I saw was, well, impossible. I'd think it was more likely that I was near some psychedelic flowers or something than the the scene in front of me being real.
And this is form the guy who's been hunting Big-Foot for the last ten years.
Right in the center of the snow covered clearing, in the middle of the damn Himalayas, there were *people.* People crowding around a grave. There were only four of them, but they were completely, distinctly different. One of them was Santa.
You begin to see my skepticism with this whole situation.
The other was dark haired woman, dark skinned woman. She was almost six and a half feet tall, the tallest of the group, and her full-body dress seemed like it was changing color. There was also no snow around her, in fact, as she walked around the grave and touched it, I swear I saw the snow melt, and *flowers* begin to grow.
You know, in the Himalayas.
The other two seemed perfectly normal looking, on was a young teenager and the other was a guy in a suit, but judging by their company they were probably aliens or something.
But there was something even more unsettling going on. More so than aliens around a grave, yeah.
It was quiet.
Now this may seem really minor, but to anyone who's spent a lot of time in the wilderness knows this never happens. Even in the snow, there are birds chirping, branches rustling, small animals scurrying through the snow and up trees, wind blowing.
But there, in that clearing, it was as if the world was holding its breath, no wind, no movement except from the people in the clearing, and no sound, at all. I was afraid to even move, lest I disturb this perfect moment. More so than the people, I would remember that moment my entire life, the stillness of the trees, the mountains peeking out behind the treeline, and the sun shining down on that snow covered clearing.
Naturally, it was exactly at that moment that I suddenly, inevitably, sneezed.
It was comical really, the sound echoed throughout the clearing, and I saw a couple of flocks of birds take to the skies from the forest, chirping loudly, and the spell that had been lain on the clearing shattered completely for a moment.
And all four were looking intently at me. Santa, the tall woman, this one girl, a teenager by the looks of it, in jeans and a tank-top with a sword on her back, and a man in a suit.
"Err...hello," I said. Socialite extraordinaire, that's me.
Santa broke the silence, as can be expected, with a rolling laugh, and I let out a breath that I didn't realize I'd been holding as the others joined him. The tall woman laughed loudly, the girl grinned, and even the man in the suit smiled slightly.
"Big Fred would've loved that" said Santa, "like Jesus Christ, man, we're having a moment, and you come in here and sneeze..." He devolved into incomprehensibility as he started laughing again.
I was pretty sure at this point, they weren't going to kill me, and though it had been years since I'd held any meaningful conversation with someone else, it seemed rude to just stand there far away. I came up to them and the grave and offered my hand to the woman, "Jared," I said, with a smile, "I apologize for the intrusion, ma'am."
She smiled, a smiled that made my heart beat faster, and returned the handshake. "I'm mother nature," she said, "you know Santa of course," then she trend to the girl, "this is Hekate, and," she continued, turning to the man in the suit, "is Death."
She said it like it was the most normal thing, like she was saying, "Oh and this is Mr. Johnson," not introducing a goddess and freaking Death. "I...I see," was all I could manage, and Nature smiled, and I knew what effect this whole thing was having on me.
"So...what exactly are you guys doing here?" I asked.
"We could ask you the same thing, Jared," Hekate said with a bit of indignation.
"I'm a, err, hiker," I said.
Death smiled and Hekate snorted. "As *if*," she said, "No one comes here."
I felt a bit uncomfortable. I didn't want to admit, you know, that-
"You were looking for bigfoot?"
I turned to stare at Death, the first time he'd spoken. There was no use in denying it, I'm pretty sure me staring open-mouthedly at Death had given it away.
Hekate scowled at me, "well good job, human, you've done it!" Her hair began to slowly stand on it's end, and I took a step backward. But Nature was suddenly next to Hekate and put a hand on her shoulder. "Sorry," Hekate said miserably, wringing her hands, "I..."
"To answer your question, Jared," Santa said, "we are here to celebrate Fred, or as you know him, Big Foot, on his Birthday. We do it every year."
I blinked. It seemed like the appropriate thing to do.
"Big foot is...dead?" I asked, deathly quiet. I'd spent years chasing after a dead guy?
"Yes," Death said simply. He seemed like a credible source, "Though we celebrate today to make sure he lives on-"
"Right here," Nature finished, pointing to her heart. "Would you care to join us in celebration?"
"I...I would love to," I said after a moment, "but what exactly are we celebrating, what did he do?"
This time Hekate grinned, a grin of pure innocence and mischief, one that most young teens have worn on their faces. "Well for one, getting people like you to look for him," she said with a laugh.
Santa laughed, "Yeah...oh man. You think I'm busy working in my workshop, but Fred...he made headlines once a month on different corners of the world!"
"Remember that thing in Argentina?" Nature asked with a smile, "when he came out of the catacomb in the ruins?"
This time Hekate rolled with laughter, "they didn't even report that one, that's how unbelievable that was" she said between gasps of laughter, "they thought all 6 archaeologists made it up!"
"And there was that thing in which he lay in that Mummy's coffin...I still laugh about that sometimes," Death said, though I had a hard time imagining Death laughing.
"He was a great guy...you know?" Nature shook her head sadly, "It's funny his Birthday falls today, everyone honors him, whether they know it or not."
"Yes...more people take part in today than in Christmas," Santa said with a sad smile, "more people laugh today than any other day in the year."
"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.
Hekate looked at me like I was an idiot. "Dude...April 1st, April's fools. Everyone pranks and lies and tricks. That's what Fred lived his life around."
I couldn't help but laugh.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting)
| Many, many, many years ago, every Holiday was celebrated together by all the people of Holiday Land. Santa and the Elves dressed up for Halloween and left the North Pole for trick or treating. The Easter Bunnies gave gifts on Christmas and decorated their hollows and bushes. The ghosts and ghouls hid chocolate eggs in their cemeteries and haunted houses (though no one really wanted to go looking for them). Everyone enjoyed breaking the fast with Eid, or lighting their candles with Hanukkah, or a night of drinking at Yeshua's famed "Resurrection Parties."
At first it had been common courtesy between the Holiday folk. If you wanted people to celebrate your holiday, you had to celebrate theirs. But as the years wore on, more and more holidays popped up, and more and more holidays had to be celebrated. By the time the folk found themselves listening to boring old Abe on Presidents Day and wearing the ceremonial tophats, they started getting restless.
Why do we have to spend so much time on holidays, asked Santa, my elves can barely keep up with demand with limited schedules. Why can't we just give chocolate eggs all the time, asked the Easter bunnies. Why do we have to be nice and friendly all year round, asked the ghouls and ghosts. Why cant I wear a tophat everyday, asked Abe.
And so it went, and as the years went on, more and more questions were asked, but no one had any answers. Tensions were rising in Holiday Land, and there were even whispers of an Easter Rebellion brewing among the bunnies. Finally a new holiday folk arrived, his name was Tim. He was a huge beast, easily eight feet tall, covered in hair, with enormously big feet. As was the tradition, the other holiday folk came out to greet him, though by this time they were somewhat suspicious of yet another holiday to add to their schedules.
"I thought Easter was Hare Day," chortled Santa, and all the elves giggled dutifully.
"I don't know what you want, but you're welcome at my Halloween any time," said a ghoul as a ghost glared it jealously.
"Let's get on it with it," said an Easter bunny, "what's your day, bigfoot?"
"My name is Tim," he said, "and I don't have a day."
"Whatd'ya mean? No holiday? No.. Tim Day?" asked the bunny incredulously.
"Not that I know about."
"Well what do you do?" asked Santa. "What's your purpose?"
Tim shrugged. "I just stay away from people mostly. I eat some food. Scratch myself on some trees. Have a laugh at the forest animals being cute. Y'know, just enjoy myself. "
"Don't laugh at cute animals," said the bunny.
"Listen," said Eid, "You have to have some sort of ... celebration. Everyone has a holiday here."
"I celebrate things," said Tim. "I like forests, do you have a forests day?"
"Yes." Tim startled at the Oak speaking next to him.
"You're not a tree, you need something else," said a ghoul. "It needs to be about you."
He glanced down hesitantly. "Well, kids used to call me Bigfoot..."
"Bigfoot Day?" asked an elf.
"What would we do on Bigfoot Day?" said another elf, looking down at its tiny shoes.
"Arrrr, thar be folk here with nae feet," said the peg-legged pirate.
"And not everyone wants to talk like a pirate for a whole day," said Hanukkah, "But we do it."
"Listen," said the bunny, "We don't need to make up a holiday, do we? We have enough already, and it's not like we're keeping score."
"Four score and seven years-" began Abe.
"Shut up!" said everyone.
Tim held up his shaggy arms. "Listen, I don't want to cause any trouble. I just won't have a holiday. Everyday is a holiday for me anyways. Doesn't bother me much."
"Everyday. Is a holiday," repeated the bunny slyly.
Tim nodded, "Yup."
"That's a great idea, Tim, a really great idea." The bunny looked around at the other Holiday folk in the late afternoon sun, most of whom were glancing at Guy Fawkes who kept checking his watch nervously.
"Why not have every day be Tim Day?" asked the bunny.
"It's never been done," said Santa.
"Hear me out, hear me out - if every day is a holiday.. then no day is a holiday."
"But we live in Holiday Land," said Eid, "We must have a schedule."
"Days mean something!" exclaimed Hanukkah.
"Oh, every holiday will still exist, it's just.. they will overlap with another one: Tim Day. So we don't have to worry about celebrating ever single one."
Tim, excited, asked, "Every day is Tim Day?"
"Absolutely. Instead of celebrating every holiday, we just have one holiday we celebrate by *not* celebrating it." The bunny looked around at the others hopefully. Tim looked crestfallen, but Guy Fawkes nodded vigorously.
"It's a solution," admitted Santa and the elves dutifully agreed.
"No more Presidents Day?" asked a ghoul, as hope lit in everyone's eyes.
"We can have Holiday Land, without the Holidays. It will just be.. a place," urged the bunny. "It will keep the peace, and you can choose to celebrate what you want." They all agreed that it was the best way to solve Holiday Land's problems.
"What about me?" asked Tim. "What am I supposed to do?"
They all turned to the enormous creature. Then Tim smiled.
"I know," he said, "If every day is Tim Day for you guys, then I'll celebrate a different holiday every day. Like I said, every day is a holiday for me anyways."
Cracking his knuckles, he looked around hopefully, "So what holiday is today?"
Guy Fawkes began sobbing.
| 2017-03-25T08:45:55 | 2017-03-25T08:25:43 | 187 | 56 |
[WP] An elevator suddenly appears in your one story house. Every night at midnight exactly, it opens for 5 minutes. Inside is an exact copy of you. Each night, the copy is progressively more injured than the night before. | (This is my first wp but I'm clearly getting something different from this prompt than others so I thought I'd chime in.)
I was up drinking and watching nothing on tv the first night when the wallpaper was dragged upwards by a steel door that dinged and opened. Times like this I'm happy I'm on lithium. It limits my emotional range.
"Hello?" I asked.
I walked out of the elevator. Different clothes, but me. Me 2 looked around and sighed and went to the fridge and started to make a drink.
"Yeah... just help yourself," I told Me 2.
He sat next to me and gave me a half nod. I could see his face was a bit busted. He had all my old scars but he had gotten some new ones.
"So," I dragged on after some time, "do I get an explanation?"
A few minutes silence and a half shrug and a ding and the doors to the elevator closed. It receded into the floor, leaving a giant hole in the wall through to the bathroom. The tub was toast.
Me 2 slept on the couch and slept through the next day. I prodded him a little but got no response the next day. We sat and drank and watched nothing at all of interest and at midnight it came up and went ding again.
Me 3 had a limp coming out. Me and Me 2 looked at him from the couch. He made himself a drink and joined us. Ding and it went down and it was twenty minutes before I had to ask, "Okay... so... how many?"
Me 4 was missing three fingers. Me 5 was missing an eye. Each Me had the scars of Me and the Mes that came before him. None of them wanted to talk about it. Me 7 came out in a heap, slumping out of the door. We stared. The doors closed. The doors opened. Close. Open. He was setting off the safety sensor.
"No one's gonna do it?" I asked the others. They half shrugged.
I stood up and walked to Me 7 and dragged him out and the doors closed and the elevator returned. I sat him up against the kitchen counter and put a longneck in his hand then returned to the couch, but Me 6 had taken my spot.
The next night the elevator rose and the doors opened and Me 8 started to fall out. I caught him. I pushed him back in and walked him to the rear wall. It was a tight fit but the 9 of us made it work. I pressed the down button. I don't know who we're gonna kill but he sure as hell deserves it. | Maybe it's prescience. Maybe it's scientific or religious or some weird brand of pagan nonsense.
The elevator is there every night. It appears in my room, in the corner, next to the window. The first night was terrifying, he didn't ask me anything. He didn't say anything. He stood there, making eye contact.
I took a moment before I asked who he was, what he was doing here. I didn't shout, I didn't want my family to know I was losing my mind. He just stood there.
And the next night.
And the next night.
Every night.
For the last few months.
I went inside the elevator once, and there's a button to go up, and a button to go down; I hopped out of the elevator in that same silent badinage.
He's hurting too, I can see the cuts and the scars, and the pain.
I looked at his arm early on, and it's a puzzle of scabs, scars, and fresh wounds.
And I think I've lost my mind, but I don't want anyone to know.
The elevator can go up, and it can go down. I wonder where he's coming to me from. | 2018-05-19T00:52:05 | 2018-05-18T19:02:00 | 211 | 77 |
[WP] An Alien must explain to a Human that Earth is not a paradise for life, it is the most horrific Death World ever discovered. | !xreent looked at John with true desperation in their features.
"You can't go back to Earth! It's too dangerous!"
John looked down at the alien child. !xreent was an insectoid being that vaguely resembled a 3-foot-tall praying mantis with an extra set of articulated eyes and antennae. John looked behind them to two of their progenitors, Mkulka and !xreek, who stood tall enough for John to look them in the eyes. Concern was visible in the way that they held themselves, as well.
John answered !xreent's plea calmly, kneeling to look them in the eyes. "It's my home. It's where I feel safe. I'll be fine."
"How can you be safe when it's where bears live!?"
John chuckled. !xreent had gotten curious and looked up a couple things on his tablet before he'd been able to stop them. "Don't worry, I don't live anywhere near the bears. Besides, there's plenty more dangerous things on Earth than some bear."
!xreent broke down in the equivalent of hysterical tears and had to be lead away by !xreek to be soothed, but not before !xreek sent an exasperated and frustrated look at John. Mkulka gave the equivalent of a sigh and addressed John. "That may not have been the right thing to say."
John stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're probably right. I didn't think how that could scare them more."
Mkulka hesitated, then said, "You know, you really don't have to go back. !xreent's fears aren't unfounded, Earth is hellish."
John tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
Mkulka spread his upper arms expressively. "Earth is the most deadly, dangerous place to house life ever discovered. Aside from all of the problems that your fellow humans can and do present, there's constant natural disasters, chimeric seasons, hypercompetitive evolution pressures, and an explosive atmosphere. Death is a fact of life on Earth, and you seem to take it for granted."
John absentmindedly touched the clear oxygen respirator on his face, reminded how he needed a wildly different atmospheric content than his shipmates. Mkulka reached forward and put an appendage on John's shoulder, evidently trying to evoke a sense of seriousness.
Mkulka continued. "John, you don't have to live in constant danger. You can live here, on the ship. I know your contract is up, but we can draw up a new one, if you need. Or we can drop you off on any other world, where animals are under control and storms don't threaten life."
John thought about it. He'd seen the way that life grew on other planets. Forests rarely were very diverse, and didn't often grow more than twice his height at the tallest. Storms and rain never blocked out the home star's light for more than an hour or two, and rarely produced enough wind to stir the branches of plants. He stepped to the side, pivoting and bringing out tablet, angled to show its screen to Mkulka. He brought up views of the forests of Earth, of mountains and storms and waves. Mkulka shuddered. John spoke carefully.
"Look, I know this scares you. You see danger and death in every image. But you have to admit, it's at least aesthetically beautiful."
Mkulka nodded reluctantly, and John put the tablet away, facing Mkulka squarely. He continued. "You're absolutely right. Death is a fact of life on Earth. But it's also a fact of life in general. Life cannot develop without challenge, and death makes room for and feeds those that succeed. Death's presence is strong on my home planet, it's true, but it's only because of that that Life's presence can be so strong also. Do you get what I mean?"
Mkulka made an uncertain gesture "Not really."
John shook his head ruefully. "That's ok. Suffice to say, I'd get bored fast anywhere else. Homesick, too."
Mkulka made his own rueful gesture. "How anyone gets homesick for a Deathworld, I doubt I'll ever understand. But the decision is yours. What do I tell !xreent, though?"
John smiled. "Tell them that Earth is where I'm happy, even if it's where bears live." | We were walking in the village again, Samantha, Matthew, and I. I couldn't help but recall the hut we went by, it was the first hut in the village that we entered and asks who we should ask. I can't say I even remember what we asked. But the two people inside couldn't help us. It seemed like such a disappointment at the time, but it paled in comparison to the rest of our misfortunes.
But those misfortunes were non-existent now. We did it. I wanted to tell her that I loved her. More than anything in the world. But she would be leaving soon. I thought it would be easier to tell Matthew good bye first.
"I think I'm going to miss you, you old slug." I said aloud.
He paused and slithered around. With a slight smile on his face, he said, "I can't say I'll miss the noise you make with every step."
He looked at Samantha and she looked back at him. There was something unsaid between them. I know they weren't going to suddenly reveal they were telepathic to me. They were just making sure, making sure of what?
"Everything okay?" I asked.
Samantha, who was several steps ahead of us and never turned around, took several silent steps towards me, and picked up my hands. She just looked at me. "The council ... The council said you don't have to go back there," she said.
I didn't know what to say. We just stared at each other for what felt like half an hour. Well, I wasn't focusing on her per say, my eyes were already towards her direction, but I zoned out. I wasn't sure what to make of all this. "I guess I apreciate it? But I don't mind staying, I was just hoping you'd want to stay here too, with me." I said.
"here?" she repeated.
"yeah," I said.
"What do you mean here? she said.
"On Earth, where we've been all this time?" I said. I let broke free from her grasp and titled her head towards the ground.
"He doesn't know, remember? He knows no other place than here" Matt said.
"I don't know what!" I said in surprise.
She looked at me with a concerned look on her face. "I love you, but not here, I can't stay here any longer" she said.
"What do you mean by that?" I asked.
"This place is a hell," she said looking away.
"What do you mean? We had so many great times here, don't you remember?" I asked lost.
"This place has so many faults. It has so many people in denial. It has so many tragedies: terrible people and unforgiving nature. Your species was sent here as punishment and you only have so many years left." she said. | 2022-12-08T05:49:39 | 2022-12-08T05:45:18 | 140 | 45 |
[WP] A superhero who has been fighting a supervillain for many years suddenly realizes that all the 'evil' things the villain has done have ended up doing good in the long run.
EDIT: Wow. Was not expecting this to blow up so much. I woke up in the middle of the night, half-asleep, with this idea for a writing prompt. I quickly put it into reddit and went back to sleep. When I woke up, I didn't even remember whether I made this thread or not. I'm glad I did. | “See this?” ZeeRoed slid a picture across the table. Tapping his gloved finger on one of the faces. “He was nine years old. 1983. Which scheme was it that time?”
“1983 . . . Ha! He wasn’t the only death. I recall twelve from the news, all buried, all irretrievable, all mourned, HAHA! You tried and failed as usual, preventing me from collapsing the entire hospital, but I got the children’s wing. How does that weigh on you?” He continued to chuckle in the query, fidgeting in the chair. “Do you have pictures of all twelve of them?”
“That’s his brother in the picture with him. Do you want to hear his story? I doubt you could bring another building down now because of him. Nano-materials, kids brilliant and for some reason highly motivated.” Pulling another photo off the stack, he pointed out another individual from a pair. “We’ve been doing this a long time Alex, so these years are just a reminder, 1978, May.”
“Oooo, a favorite of mine. May would have been the 747. No pictures from the August Airbus A300? That one was at least full? Come on humor me, I’ll reciprocate. That was my first grav device you sly devil. Plane went down and they couldn’t even figure out why. Of course you found my lab not too long afterwards, lost a lot of work there, still expecting some compensation you know . . . evil isn’t cheap. And my name isn’t Alex.”
“Her husband, you may recognize him . . . Alexei Mityovich. He broke at first, when I first told him. He isolated himself for years. When we found your lab it was from information he discovered. When we found your work, he watched on privately, and asked for the research. When we implemented new gravity technology in planes, he celebrated by signing his name approving every design. He’s in the papers now, the company he grew created allows people to fly with no fear. No fear Alex.”
“Is this all you have for me ZeeRoed? Stories? So I can’t bomb buildings anymore. So flying is no longer scary. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY AVENUES THERE ARE? Every road is an opportunity. Here, I see the next picture? Let me guess, 2033” A smile emerges, stretching across his entire face. “Yes. 2033. The satellite. I got a good chunk of Eastern Europe with that one. But I’ll forgive you destroying that one, what’s one satellite between old friends. But. Stop saying that name.”
“Not even family this time Alex. That’s his friend in the picture. She analyzed everything you did. She’s spent more time the past ten years than . . . no maybe that you don’t deserve to know. All you should know is that she inverted it. 120 satellites of her, or should I say your shared design going up later this year, each capable of targeted regenerative waves. It won’t save everyone, but nobody expects immortality. And we are far from done Alex.” ZeeRoed waved his hand over the stack of photos. “Indestructible buildings, Anti-Gravitational Flight, Healing Beams, Super Strength, Smart Water, Golden Bright, Brilliant Youth, Alcubierre Drive, Asteroid Defense . . . hell Alex, you got them to save the goddamned Bees.”
“I always did like Bees.” He stopped struggling against the handcuffs binding him to the chair. He slumped and started to hum to himself. “So now are you going to tell me I’m a hero, like you ZeeRoed. And my name is Zahhak of the Ten Sins, address me as such if you wish to honor me.”
“No Alex, I’m going to kill you. This stack is incomplete. The stack to represent your sins would stretch to the moon and back. You’ve done too much evil in this world to live. You are here, to know that all your sins were for naught, to know that for everything you’ve done, humanity has done better. And know that I call you Alex, not because I wish to irritate you, but because that is your name. And . . .” ZeeRoed pulled off his mask.
“You putrid bastard Aaron, let me go! You won’t kill me!”
“AND . . . that this is no longer needed.” Aaron tossed the mask away. “I will kill you, and then walk away. Because you’ve managed to make heroes obsolete, and I really liked my job.”
| They finally had him cornered.
A lone young man, no older than 20, dressed in a black hoodie and navy jeans, stood on the edge of a bisected superhighway. The drop behind him was several hundred feet, but that wasn't the most threatening thing to him at the moment.
a crowd of characters stood before him, some tall, some short, some cybernetic, some distinctly biological. Male, female, white, black, asian, aboriginal, they encompassed every superhero on Earth. He had managed to piss off every single one over the past 2 years. He had sunk cities, toppled buildings, blown planes out of the sky. He was well past the point of redemption, and he knew it. On the other end of the millions of hovering cameras above him, the world cried out for his blood.
This was the endgame.
An armoured woman at the very front of the group spoke loudly enough that he could hear.
"If you come quietly you will not be harmed. This is your final chance. If you continue to fight we will not hesitate to kill you," she boomed.
He held out his arms in a shrug. "I'd say you've got me beat here. Well done..."
"I'd say you guys are ready."
Silence fell over the battalion of heroes. An uneasy feeling rose up in their chests, constricting their hearts. The armoured woman spoke.
"What do you mean?"
"He's just trying to psyche you out, Selene. Don't fall for his lies," yelled someone at the back.
"*Silence*!" bellowed the man in front of them.
"I have done many terrible things, but here, at the end, I am telling you the truth,"
"I received these powers from a meteorite, a fragment of technology fallen to Earth. It calls out to the stars, and a billion voices respond. A billion others like me, with the same thirst for destruction. Do you honestly think, in the pathetic state you were in when I manifested, that you could have even begun to stop an army of 1 billion maddened souls?"
His face fell from the mocking smirk it had previously shown.
"I may have been corrupted, but I wanted this planet to survive and prosper. So I attacked. Attacked in the hope that you would respond, that you would join forces and become stronger for it. I sold my soul to the flames so that you might save this planet in my stead,"
Every camera was focussed on him. Every set of eyes present bored into him, searching for an untruth that didn't exist.
"My story ends here, but you are the hope of mankind. If anyone can save the planet, it's you. I would have tried to help earlier, but the corruption would have tightened it's grip even faster, and I would have succumbed long ago. I'm sorry that it has to be this way."
The woman took a step forward, whether to fight him or apprehend him, he didn't know. But he could feel the last dregs of his sanity draining away, like sand in an hourglass. His body leant backwards, and he fell into open air.
In his last moment, both of life and sanity, he wondered idly if anyone would remember him. He decided that, in the end, it didn't really matter. | 2014-07-14T07:21:13 | 2014-07-14T07:04:17 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced. | "That was..." Brawg began, staggering over the bodies of the fallen goblins, his boots squelching in the treacle-like blood.
"Far too..." said Vesperr, returning her bow to her back, and beginning to pluck out arrows from the deceased enemies.
"Oxyrin!" finished Oxyrin, his pointed hat falling over his eyes once again. Dribble oozed down from his mouth and his pupils spun this way and that, as if two compasses confused by magnets.
Brawg and Vesperr looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. Brawg brought a thunderous hand down on the wizard's back. "Don't ever change, Oxyrin!" he said.
"Oh, Oxyrin," grinned Vesperr, "you're the reason we do this, you know? For that smile on your face." She wiped away a the spittle from his lips, then shook her finger, sending the spit plopping onto the ground.
"Oxyrin!" Oxyrin repeated. A pointed tongue darted out of his mouth and latched onto a fly that was hovering over a brutalised body below.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't just see that," said Brawg with a wink. "Okay gang, I'd say we're all done here. I believe its time to go collect our reward."
"Not so fast, my friends," came a mysterious voice from behind them. Only, when they turned, there was *nothing* behind them.
Slowly, the blue-robed wizard hazed into existence. "It is I, the *real* Oxyrin! I have been trapped for the longest time, but I have finally outsmarted my captors and have returned to my friends. For no one is as clever as the Great Oxyrin!"
Brawg and Vesperr glanced at each other, then let out a joint gasp.
"Quite you might gasp," said Oxyrin, as he turned and pointed an accusing finger at the other blue wizard, who was now on all fours chasing after a spider. "For that fellow, has fooled you, my dear friends. But he is nothing more than an impostor! A Doppelganger! A fake, a fraud, and dare I say it, a phoney."
Brawg nudged Vesperr and they both gasped again.
"How.. erm, how can we believe you?" asked Vesperr, her top lip wet with nervous sweat. "How do we know he--"she pointed to the to the wizard, who was now chewing on something--"isn't the real Oxyrin. After all, he would have had to fool us both for two entire years."
Oxyrin rolled his eyes. "Hardly a challenging task. You two never were the"--his hands burst into blue flames--"brightest sparks. Ha. Hahaha."
Brawg's muscles tensed. Vesperr put a hand against his chest.
"That's not proof enough. For our Oxyrin can also do such petty parlour tricks."
"Very well," Oxyrin sighed, "I shall prove it. We shall have a wizard-off."
"Smart," said Vesperr. She let out a high pitched whistle, at which the other Oxyrin came bounding over to her.
"Oxyrin!" he sputtered as he arrived.
"Is that all he can say? How could you *possibly* believe he was me?"
"Good point," said Brawg. "His vocabulary is much larger."
"Oh. You made a joke. How very amusing."
"Okay," said Vesperr. "Round one of the wizard-off. *Shape-shifting.*"
"What? What a stupid round," complained Oxyrin, "for sniffing out a shape-shifter!" His face was red and a vein popped out of his forehead, pulsating like waves on the ocean. "Unbelievable idiocy. How you have possibly survived this long without me to guide you -- heaven only knows!"
"Oxyrin!" replied the other Oxyrin.
"Well, if you can't do it and he can..." said Brawg shrugging, "then I guess we know who the real wizard is."
"Oh... *pish!* Very well. And what must we change into, pray tell?"
"Something very small. To really challenge your morphitisation skills. A fly. Simple. First one to transform into a fly wins."
"Sala kazoo, Sala kazam!" shouted Oxyrin. There was a puff of smoke that left Vesperr and Brawg coughing. As it cleared, and only for the briefest moment, they saw a fly. Then, they saw a huge, pointed tongue. Finally, they saw an Oxyrin chewing on and then swallowing *something*.
"Oxyrin!" he shouted triumphantly, as Brawg and Vesperr collapsed into a fit of laughter.
"Oh Oxyrin," said Brawg, slapping him on the back "you really are too much."
"And," said Vesperr, "we wouldn't have it any other way!"
| The tavern was alight with candles and warm fires, the smell of meats and bread wafted through to the rafters of wood and plaster. Ale stained the floor in places and the barkeep had been working on a single mug for a startling amount of time. All and all a lively place to be on this evening.
"Ah and a fine night to you as well gentlemen! Merry blessings!" The rogue said, as the men who joined him for cards departed a few coins heavier then they were at start.
"Is this not grand fellows?" The elf turned to his crew. "Ale in the air! A tavern filled with beautiful women! And my closest friend in the world." He stood then, a leg up on the top of the table, his back leg supporting him from the ground
"Ladies! Gentlemen!" He yelled, "Tonight, join me in toast to this merry band of fighters, lovers and the heroes of this town tonight! We are all thankful," he stopped to smile at his friends, the ale tinting his checks red "but I am thankful, for they are the truest of my friends" and with that he drank. The here-heres rose in strength from the crowd, and he was jostled away by the crowd with promises to be back later.
The dwarf, gnome and orc all sat in silence, looking at their drinks solemnly.
The dwarf sighed, pinching the top of his nose,
The orc had his hand in his head looking off into nothingness,
Finally the gnome chimed in, quietly, but with a resolute tone
"Okay, I'll say it. He's a much better companion then Roderick and we should do everything in our earthly powers not to mess this up."
The orc and dwarf both sighed in unanimous relief
The orc chimed in first with a hushed tone and feeling in his voice "Its like he knew what a whoreson Roderick was!" He said, sitting at attention once again " its like he knew and said to himself 'oh! These chaps look like they could use a new, better companion!' Then took it upon himself, through all the peril, to join us in disguise! All while throwing Roderick into god knows where!" He laughed. "The monster was OUR hero!"
The dwarf was next, wide eyed and hands extended to point out "Roderick" in the crowd. " look at that bloody rogue, he blends right in, they would never know they're holding possibly one of the most dangerous monsters in the land" he lowered his hands, then pointed out, " for all that, doesn't that also make him a better rogue?" They all agreed quietly.
The orc chimed in once more, tentatively, " look Roderick is a whoreson who would and almost did murder us for a small some of coin, twice." They all agreed muttering comments under their breath, " but were the you know...good guys... shouldn't we at least try to save him?"
The others were about to reluctantly agree when "Roderick" appeared before them once again
"My friends! this is as much your victory as mine! More so! Come join us, the mayor seems keen on raising our rewards! I thought it only fitting you be by my... Nay, I be by your sides during this!" He smiled warmly.
They looked at each other, shrugged and smiled
"No that's fine, we can be knaves for a night." The gnome said, stepping up from his seat. | 2017-09-15T08:01:38 | 2017-09-15T07:03:44 | 975 | 36 |
[WP]: A 92-year-old woman's phone number is one digit away from that of a local suicide hotline. She could have it changed, but she doesn't mind. | *NOTE: Repost from similar prompt.*
"No one visits. No one calls. Dear Lord, if you could send someone, anyone, just to even talk...," Genevieve broke off sobbing. Even God didn't seem to be listening anymore.
A day later. A phone call. A young woman who just needed someone to talk to, someone who was thinking silly thoughts and just needed to hear a sympathetic voice. The call lasts twenty minutes. The women laugh and cry together. The old widow tells of hard times in the past. The young woman shares her hopes for the future. The random caller thanks the woman, "You saved my life today." A perfect moment.
Genevieve Simmerly was invigorated. "What are the odds?" she asked herself. Obviously, God had listened. She didn't have much time to ponder this mystery, however, as the phone immediately rang again.
Five hours later she was mortified. The calls just kept coming. She talked during her supper. She even took the handset into the bathroom. But now she had taken her BIG GREEN PILL, the one that always put her to sleep, and she very much needed to sleep. She told the next caller, "Please call back later." The caller's desperation turned to rage, "The fuck you mean call back later! I don't have a fucking later bitch! You were my last hop..." Genie unplugged the phone. She couldn't take any more of this tonight.
The next morning she tentatively plugged in the phone. Silence. She sighed. Relieved, but also a little saddened at being returned to right where she was before it all started. "The Lord works in mysterious ways" she thought, but it didn't occur to her that her thinking these days was slow and sent along odd paths by creeping dementia and medication which was designed to leave her safely inert in her little pensioner's flat.
The phone rang. "God give me strength," she muttered and dutifully picked up the handset.
Days went by following a familiar pattern. Genevieve plugging in her phone back in when she woke up, and then taking a 14 hour shift as a reluctant conversational partner.
It was inevitable that she would eventually become cross with one of them. The last straw was a rich boy-man who got everything he ever wanted, women, drugs, acclaim, success, money, love. The boy-man was sobbing because he felt that no one truly understood his writing. If they did, they'd know he was a fraud. She scoffed and told him to grow up. A loud pop sounded through her handset and she heard something which sounded like a body slumping over. There was no more sound. She hung up.
They kept calling. Her replies become increasingly coarse. "I can't help you!" "I am sorry, but life is hard some times." "Why are you bothering me?" "Oh, just do it then!"
Finally, one of her callers helped her. "Ma'am, are you OK?" Genie took a breath, "Yes, yes I'm OK." The caller asked, "How many calls have you taken today?" She paused, "I don't know. I've lost count. They're all so desperate. Many of them seem like they've be better off dead. Just don't know what to say any more." There was a long pause and the caller said, "Maybe it's time to take a break. Can I talk to your supervisor?" Genie replied, "Supervisor? Do you think I'd be like this if I had any help?!?" The caller was right, she decided. It was time to take a break. She unplugged the phone.
"Did that man-boy kill himself?", she asked aloud. What about all those poor souls she'd screamed at today? Guilt crept in as she spread marmalade over her biscuits. "I asked the Lord for company and this is how I repay him?" The thought stung.
The black thought, the one which had prompted her desperate prayer, the one which preoccupied all of her callers, was back, pressing itself into her conscious mind. It rolled around in her head taking various forms - "Why not just exit the stage?" "Why lie to these people?" "You know what the future has in store for them."
She needed to talk but no one was left. Husband dead. Children and grandchildren dead, or dispersed or disinterested. Her friends deceased or warehoused in faraway nursing homes. And the only people calling her were preoccupied with their own problems. Who was left?
Finally, she plugged back in her phone, hung it up after one ring, and picked it up again -- dial tone. She called her pharmacist, one of the few people left who were contractually obligated to speak with her, and told her of her thoughts. The pharmacist was busy, but obviously concerned. "Look, Mrs. Simmerly I think you need to talk to someone. I am going to have someone look in on you this week, but for now I want you to call this number. There are people who can help."
Genie dotted down the number, but every time she dialed the line was busy.
Three days later, the pharmacist made good on her pledge to have someone check in on Genie, but it was too late. Genevieve Simmerly, aged eighty-five, widow to Franklin Simmerly Jr., mother of five was found dead of apparent exhaustion in her small East End flat with her telephone in hand.
| "Hello?" Her voice was raspy and I strained to hear. "Are you there?" she repeated softly. "I'm here to talk to you." I looked down at myself; the cuts on my arms still fresh with blood, the bottle of pills sitting on the bathroom sink, the bloody scissors laying on the floor...
"I can't do this anymore," I whispered quietly, sliding down the wall I leaned against. "It's all just too much..."
"What is, dear?" she cooed softly, her elderly voice reminding me of my own grandmother's. She had passed away two years back, the last beacon of positivity and encouragement in my miserable life. Now I worked two jobs, at least until I got fired from both last week, the rent was overdue, the debt collectors kept calling...
"Everything. The debt, the sadness, the voices..." They had started years ago when I was still in middle school. Anxiety gnawing as I second-guessed my every step and the gradually overwhelming depression that sunk me as friends and family scampered safely out of reach.
"What do they tell you?" she asked, and I could almost picture grandma again sitting on the couch of my parents' house each day when I burst in from school. Cookies would be waiting on the counter and I'd push past her as she smiled, perhaps living vicariously through my youthful energy. Only once the last cookies were gone would I remember my manners and go to hug her and her touch still lingered on my arms.
"They tell me to just end it..." I mumbled. "That it'll all be better on the other side..."
"There is no other side," she said quietly. "After this, it's all over. The good, the bad, the pain and the happiness." I glanced down at the lines of blood that were slowly drying, the stains on my white underwear turning from red to brown. "What do you want?"
"I want no more sadness and no more pressure and no more landlord harassing me for cash," I answered, thinking to the warning he had given me last week that I would be evicted on the first of the month if I didn't pay the last three months of rent. I fingered the scissors with my free hand, spinning them around on the tiled bathroom floor. They came to a stop, the open blades pointing towards me. "I have to do it, don't I?" I could almost hear her nod on the other end of the phone before she answered.
"It's the only way." I sighed and struggled to my feet, grabbing at the sink. The box of pills was open already and still nearly full thanks to my indecisiveness before calling. "How are you doing it?" she asked and I frowned at the perverseness of the question before answering.
"Pills first," I answered. "And then the scissors on my wrist."
"Blood thinners?" she asked and I nodded even though she couldn't see me. "Don't forget all up your arms. And your neck, too, if you want to make sure." I grunted in response, the sharpened blade cutting a new line across my arm. The blood flowed freely, a small puddle pooling on the tiles.
"Again," she encouraged and I cut again and I took another pill and then I cut a bit deeper.
"That's it," she moaned softly as I felt my breathing grow slower and more labored. "Keep doing that." One more cut, I told myself but the scissors and phone slipped from my grasp and I fell to the side, my head landing harshly against the side of the bathtub before it all went dark.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2016-02-06T14:38:34 | 2016-02-06T13:24:15 | 43 | 29 |
[WP] A lonely teenage boy asks a genie to let him talk to his future wife. The person who appears is not who he expects. | "But I want to meet her *now*! You are *my* genie, and as you said yourself, "whatever I desire is mine" except in that weirdo genie riddle-talk. I said I want to see my future wife, so where is she?" Beads of magical sweat rafted through the furrow in Gal'Mundo's brow. He glanced aside as if to consider something, then looked back at the angry little boy.
"Fine. No more riddles, kid. Which, for the benefit of your dim and dreary little brain , are the mark of higher education in the Realms Beyond Time. Just thought you might like to know." Gal'Mundo cracked his knuckles, or whatever it was that passed for knuckles in Genies. Around his fingers the air sizzled and cracked. "You want to see your wife? You got it." Just like that, Gal'Mundo disappeared in a slurpslap of nether sludge.
"Gross..." Timmy said to himself.
"Yeah fucking gross, right?" Said the voice behind him. The deep voice behind him.
"Wh- what? Where is my... Wi-Wha?" The language-like sounds that Timmy was making didn't come out the way he planned for them to. The immaculately dressed man on the red leather chaise-lounge, newly situated across the room, raised a manicured eyebrow.
"Tim, when you told me you were going to be a little immature, this is *not* what I had in mind." The words cut smooth lines through the air between them and entered Timmy's ears through the giant hole in his stomach. He shuffled his feet.
"I... thought I was going to have a wife?" It came out more as a question than a statement, and he realized he meant it that way.
"Sweetheart... damn. That could *not* be further from the truth." The man glanced at his watch, broadfaced with gold trim, thick links hugging his wrist. Tim swallowed. "Hey I've actually gotta run, future Tim is going to be so excited that I met you, he's been talking about it for ages. Oh, I'm Franco, by the way. I'll be really freaked out when you know my name. See you in a jiff, hot stuff." Once again the sound of a slab of meat being dropped into pudding, and Franco was gone. Left on the lounge chair was a gelatinous goo, which Timmy noticed was spreading rather ambitiously across the cushion.
He shook his head in disbelief. As he turned to leave, he felt a smile sneak onto his face. | "Are you sure you want to make that wish?" The genie said.
"You might be disappointed at what you find"
"I don't care..." The lonely boy sighed, "I want to see her."
The genie frowned, unconvinced. The boy was simple minded and foolish. Too young to understand. Yet, a wish was a wish. He must fulfill his word.
"Very well... As you wish. But don't say I didn't warn you." The genie solemnly mumbled as he snapped his fingers.
The boy's moist eyes widened in wonder as a huge black cloud of smoke appeared before him. Finally, he would be able to see what lied ahead. Finally, he would be assured that there was a light at the end of all this darkness... That there was a point to his life.
The genie tried to turn away, but his conscience compelled him to stay. Yet there were to be no surprises with this wish. The genie already knew what was coming. A tear ran down the genie's cheek as he watched the inevitable unfold.
The boy's wonder quickly turned to pure terror as Death emerged from the blackness. | 2014-06-05T08:56:13 | 2014-06-05T08:29:11 | 36 | 17 |
[WP] The great zombie outbreak started 2 years ago. You now find yourself trapped in a corner by a zombie, when you do the unthinkable and bite it first. It suddenly drops to the floor, grows it’s skin back and asks what’s going on. | “What the hell?” His voice spoke before mine. I tried to stagger back, running into the corner of a fence I’d been pushed up against. A crispy, fleshy taste lingered on my tongue. I licked my sleeve in an attempt to wipe it off... to no avail.
My best friend of twenty-something years stood in front of me. The dark greens and grays that had covered his skin for nearly two years had vanished. Regular old human Hansel stood in front of me, tilting his head. There was no time for re-introductions. I could see another wave of them, the Green Army, creeping towards us. I’d dropped my baseball bat on the ground a few feet away.
“What’s going on?” Hansel wouldn’t let up. He stepped closer to me and offered me his hand, not seeming to notice that there were hundreds, maybe even thousands, of undead figures approaching us.
I could barely get anything out of my lips, but when I did, it was loud.
“RUN!!” I took his given hand in mine and stood up, immediately racing to the other side of the dog park we were in. I’d been staying there for months. It was in the rural part of town and didn’t seem to attract many... visitors.
I clutched my baseball bat in my free hand, still dragging Hansel along with me. He finally eyed the mob that was nearing us. The newly established color drained from his face. He didn’t remember... anything, did he?
“Valerie, what’s... what the hell? What the *hell*?”
“There’s no time to explain! Just follow me!” My golf cart was parked in the gravel lot in front of the park. We raced, just barely evading the zombies who were chasing us. I liked to think of them as people, or at least creatures, rather than just objects. It gave me a glimpse of possible hope.
Hansel caught on quick. He was always smart in our high school years. He sat in the seat next to me, still grasping my hand, as I slammed my foot on the accelerator. Familiar faces stares at us longingly, now looking desperate rather than hungry. And then... I saw someone. I hit the brakes in an instant.
“What are you doing? There are fucking *zombies* chasing us! Go, Val!” But I couldn’t keep driving. The golf cart slowed to a complete stop. My mother’s eyes searched mine in the mob of slowly approaching zombies. She reached out towards the hood of the cart, and before I knew it, we were face to face.
“VAL! DRIVE!” Hansel was battling a zombie of his own. A jock from school, Aaron, was staring him in the face. I couldn’t think of what else to say.
“BITE HIM!” Hansel glanced at me for a moment, unbelieving, with doubt in his eyes. Our hands were still clasped. I gave him a look. No, not a “knowing glance” or any of that shit. I gave him a “trust me or you will literally die right now” look. And so he bit him.
He bit Aaron’s hand and I simultaneously bit my mother’s forearm. The taste, although familiar, was even worse than last time. But seeing the smile on my mother’s face... Her skin come back, even if it was as pale as ever before... It was worth it. And eventually, when the story was complete, everything else — the fighting, the failure, and the fear — was worth it, too.
Thanks for reading! Upvote for a part two!
- Char, 13 | "W-What's going on?!" the stranger asked while shivering on the floor.
"What the hell, h-how are...what?! I think out loud, questioning my existence.
We didn't have much time to sit around and inquire our current situation, zombies were surrounding us at every corner.
"Hey you, what's going on?! The last thing I remember is laying down next to my wife, and now I'm here..." questioned the stranger.
"It's going to be easier to get to know you if you tell me your name, the writer of this excerpt doesn't want to constantly have, "*the stranger*", at the end of your dialogue." I informed the stranger.
"Well, my name's- look out behind you!" screamed the stranger.
One of those freaks charged on me, and I knew what to do. I avoided all of his attacks and found a weak spot. I prepared my tongue for an awful taste and charged at his leg.
*"CHOMP"*
The zombie fell to the ground in a hard thump, and the stranger and I watched as the zombie morphed into something familiar.
"So, biting the zombie transforms them back into their previous form?" wondered the stranger.
"I think that's the case, sir." I replied.
"W-where am I-"
"We're in a zombie invasion and have no time for bullsh\*t. Apparently, biting zombies turns them back in to their previous form, so get your teeth ready." I quickly explain while I lunge in to the crowd.
I sprint in circles, dodging any hazards coming my way. My teeth sink into another zombie's skin.
"Um...my teeth aren't real, they're only dentures, so I can't really-"
"You're useless to us, go down there and join the rest of your family." I scream as I launch him out of the window, into a hoard of zombies.
"Looks like it's just going to be the two of us, let's get biting!' | 2020-02-18T19:02:33 | 2020-02-18T14:56:32 | 212 | 81 |
[WP] You're Satan, and for years you've brought gifts of your own personal touch to the dyslexic children of the world who send you letters. This year, As you step out of a chimney, you come face to face with Santa, who's ready to stop you or die trying. | “Lucifer!”
I looked up from the chimney and watched as a sleigh landed in front of me. The man that clambered out of the front was… well I wouldn’t call him a friend. More of a workplace associate, if anything.
“How’s it going, Kris? Nice night for flying.”
He glared at me. “You know why I’m here.” He pointed at the box in my hands. “What exactly is that?”
I glanced down at it and grinned. “Well little Jimmy here asked me for a puppy. I figured a hellhound would help make him the coolest kid on the block.”
Kris sighed. “Luci, you know those letters aren’t meant for you. You can’t keep doing this every year. It’s cruel.”
I set the box down and crossed my arms. “Actually, I can. As long as kids are writing to me, as far as demonic law is concerned, they’ve signed a contract with me. I am honor bound to fulfill my end of the bargain. And the cookies are a nice bonus.”
Kris rolled his eyes. “They signed a contract? Lucifer, these are children!”
I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter how old they are. They come to me with their desires and I fulfill them. I fail to see what the problem is. Why just last year, I gave little Susan Hannelly a perfectly adorable doll. She loved it!”
“Lucifer, you gave her a doll possessed by a demon.”
“And now they’re best friends!”
“It stabbed her brother in the leg!”
“Well, he did have it coming. He had been bullying poor Susie all day. Now he leaves her alone! I call that a job well done.”
Kris put his head in his hands. “What do I have to do to get you to stop tormenting these children? They deserve to get normal, safe presents for once in their lives.”
I thought about it for a second. “Tell you what, Kristopher. I’ll make you a deal. You can take the letters for the dyslexic kids. In return, I want the naughty list.”
Kris looked at me, confused. “I don’t follow.”
“Think about it! Those little brats are nothing but a drain on you. You have to wrap presents for even the worst kid in the world. And how many of them actually get off the naughty list? If you give them to me, I promise you, I’ll have scared enough kids off it within a year to bring it down to a single page.”
Kris stroked his beard. “You promise you’ll only take the naughty list?”
I smiled and held out my hand. “Devil’s honor.”
He sighed and shook my hand. “Alright. Deal.” | "What are you doing here?"
"What are *you*, Lucifer? I thought you were still too busy hating on God to do anything useful."
Satan scowled. He didn't like people using his name.
"I'm just adding my own little flair to the holidays. After all, I *do* get some letters..." Satan chuckles.
Santa's anger increases, and his blood is melting. "Not anymore, Satan. I'm going to put a stop to this or die trying."
"Oh really? You're not even god-level. You're just a unique Saint," Satan replied mockingly.
"Neither are you. Plus, you made a mistake by coming here alone," said Santa.
With that, a mighty sound of hooves kicking air burst from nowhere, and Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen charging forward, happy to be back at the front lines. (Rudolph wasn't there because he was merely the PR Head.)
And with that, the resounding clash of good and mischeif rocked the Earth, and a new age had begun. | 2019-09-11T20:44:24 | 2019-09-11T17:38:52 | 84 | 37 |
[WP] On one hand, you're average at everything. On the other hand, you're average at EVERYTHING. | Never piss off a witch with a thing for statistics, that's what I'd tell my teenage self if I had a time machine.
Ever since that day I've been cursed to be average. Not mediocre. Average. At **everything**.
In my head things still seem clear but it's as if everything gets passed through the average filter.
Not median. Average.
There's an old joke... that anyone with 2 legs has an above average number of legs.
I'm pretty sure the curse is only about my abilities, not my physical form... but I did lose that one toe in an accident shortly after the curse started to take hold and my skin has gradually tanned to a darker shade than most in my family.
You see I'm limited to the average.
Not average for any given profession or group, average for **all humanity.**
Average sounds nice, it sounds like you should be OK at everything but that's all about who you're averaging.
Being as good at quantum physics as the average quantum physicist would be awesone. But for every physicist there's tens of thousands of non-physicists.
The average level of mastery of quantum physics across all humanity is barely hovering above zero. Anyone who's spent a few evenings on wikipedia reading about quantum physics is better at quantum physics than me.
Anyone who's ever been to a single blacksmithing lesson is better at blacksmithing than me because most people learn no blacksmithing at all.
Anyone who can program a computer even a tiny bit is better at programming than me... because for every person with any skill at all there's hundreds with none.
The average active vocabulary of an adult English speaker is around 20,000 words...
But **only about 400 million people are native English speakers.**
Thankfully there's lots of non-native speakers as well who push up the average vocabulary size.
Averaged across **all humanity** that leaves me with an english vocabulary of less than 4000 words.
I'm stuck speaking like a 5 year old. My intelligence is average, exactly so, but I was assumed to be mentally disabled.
It didn't help that extra tutoring didn't help me improve. I'm stuck with average ability, I can't improve my skills. A year of dance lessons leaves me pretty much exactly the same as on the day I started.
Displaying what appeared to be a modest flair for foreign languages helped. At least enough that they let me start running my own life. Thankfully most people are fairly ok at running their own lives. I've got decent Mandarin, ok conversational Hindi, passable Spanish, ok arabic , some Malay, some russian... you get the idea.
I moved to a Sino-Indian border town shortly after hitting 18. At least here I can get by on a mix of english, hindi and Mandarin, the billion+ Mandarin speakers mean I at least have a level of mastery of Mandarin on a par with an older child and I can manage unskilled work....
| "You are so...average!", my boyfriend told me one day. "I would normally dump you, but I can't find a reason, because I have no real reason. You look average, your mind is average and your personality doesn't either bother or intrigue me."
"Well, let's make this an average break-up, because I can't stand being an average girlfriend", I responded.
My feelings towards him were average too. I cried for a couple of days and that was all. From that moment, I understood what my mother's curse really meant. "I curse you to be average in everything you do", she yelled at me as I chose to live with my father. My father was just like me, average in everything he did. Only my mom had a stupid fixation on beauty, perfection and always had high expectations.
I began a career in modelling. I was average, of course. Also in driving cars, physics and writing. In the end, I asked myself: where could I be average but still outstanding? I had to find a answer.
After I became an average president of the USA, I felt somewhat content. But that was not all. I also learned how to be an average witch and I cursed my mother: "I curse you to be outstanding in one, single job, but to never find it until you are too old!".
My spell was so average, that my mother found her calling after 2 years only. Her calling was to be the most outstanding president of the USA... | 2018-10-24T07:42:20 | 2018-10-24T07:31:51 | 850 | 68 |
[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity. |
A camera flashes as I open the car door and, elegant as ever, Amile steps out before extending her hand to me, hoop bracelets sliding down her wrist and stopping against the contour of her hand. Her long fingers are decorated with rings. There are three more camera flashes before I finally accept her hand and exit the car. In those moments, I feel elegant too. Eyes fall on me, like an unveiled sculpture, chiseled marble drawing the attention of the crowd as they stare through their lenses and the lightning storm of captured moments begins.
In any relationship, there is some defining moment where you go from simply loving someone to really knowing them. Perhaps you’ll love them once you know them but it doesn’t always work that way.
In the car, before my birth into the realm of really knowing the woman I’ve spent the last six months with, surrounded by the smell of the leather seats and our perfume, I just loved her. I loved her because she was beautiful and kind. She liked whiskey and, when I met her at the bar, I told her that I found her taste appealing. I’d never really understood the fruity drinks, I told her. She agreed. I loved her because she had an uncanny ability to make people smile, no matter how terrible they felt. In many moments, even if bookending the smiles and laughter were despair and hollow sadness, she made me happier than I’d ever been in my life.
In any relationship, you’ll learn something you felt you should have known before you began dating. Like maybe she really likes cats. Or she puts ranch dressing on her pizza. Maybe, in her basement, she has a secret Lego collection. Whatever. You’ll think, wow, I really wish I’d known that. For better or for worse, you’ll think, that feels important to me.
“Come on,” she whispers, nudging me and talking with nearly unmoving lips. Her hand waves to onlookers who are barricaded behind gates and ropes.
“What the hell is this?” I ask. But she raises her brows at me and laughs, gesturing to the red carpet beneath our heels, bejeweled and incredibly neither of our style. “I thought you worked at the movies?” She laughs. Her head shakes, earrings bouncing against her jaw. She asks me if I really didn’t know.
“Know what?” I reply.
She tells me that she’s in the movies. Recently manicured brows arched up toward my hairline, I assess the situation again. The car is gone and we are ushered down the carpet as long stretch limo pulls up in its place. Like she’s done this one hundred times before, Amile walks along the narrow carpeted ground, her head turns and she points her perfect smile from camera to camera and jabs her elbow into my ribs again.
“Smile, ok,” she says.
So I do. Behind us, actors whose names I step on any time people visit and we have to take them to walk down Hollywood Boulevard, these hot shot big timers, they're climbing out of limos and walking casually. They don’t even question what I’m doing here.
“That..” I start, staring at a man would couldn’t possibly be Brad Pitt. I’m rewarded with another sharp nudge and a pointed head shake.
Maybe we just aren’t meant to know everything about a person. Not when you start dating them. Not when you marry someone. Maybe not even in your entire life that you spend with them. When I enter the building, men and women in attire nicer than anything I’ve ever owned serve us drinks before we begin our walk past life-size posters of people from billboards and patterned walls where we’re meant to pose for pictures. Anyway, I’m thinking, as we smile for our umpteeth picture of the evening, that my inability to keep up with media is a good thing. I’m thinking, sometimes not knowing comes in handy. Because I doubt I’d have met her otherwise.
---------------------------------------------------
I'm new to this but I'll be posting future stories on /r/edgarallanhobo so, if you'd like, feel free to subscribe to see future work! Thank you all for your kind words! | "I'll be at your Door at 4 sharp"
"Leila, you know I'm always on time" I said with as lovely a voice I could.
With a cute kiss over the phone, She hung up.
Who would've known that the Depressed and Broken lady on the public bus was the Lady destined to my dreams. Perfect for me, inside out. Purest of souls and softest of hearts. She made me understand what love actually is.
She finally decided to introduce me to her workplace. She said she works in the Music Industry, but doesn't like talking about it, and being the type of person I was, I didn't insist on her telling me.
Cut to the point, 3.55, I was out there expecting her to come in the Taxi, but the lonely road was indeed lonely. At exactly 3.58, I saw a silhouette of a car, but it wasn't a cab, so I didn't bother looking up. But when that Range Rover pulled up Infront of me, with the Lady of My Dreams in the Loveliest of dresses, I knew she was on time.
As surprised as I was, She looked confident, and refused to say anything other than one sentence.
"Jason, You wanted to know who I am. This is me."
Me being calm, didn't insist. Again.
The next thing we know, we are at the spot I have always seen merely in the Television. The Car comes to a pull, and I look around to see thousands of people Roaring around the Red Carpet, that lead to the Ball.
Being the Gentleman, I opened the door for my Lady, despite the fact that my Insides were shaking out of Nervousness. She came out Glamorously, and when the light of the camera Flashes hit her Face, I finally started to make sense of it.
The Lady who happened to need help in the public bus wasn't an everyday person. She was Leila Lovicich. The singer whose songs filled my Playlist.
No wonder she kept telling me to start watching Music Videos instead of merely having the songs in the Phone.
Snap back to the present, we were walking Arm in Arm, with the sounds of clicks and Screams for autographs. I felt Numb. Not sure if I was shocked or Nervous.
Then, at the end of the carpet, she looked at me and I heard her say
"Still love your Playlist?"
With no control over myself, I leapt onto her, and Kissed her, Only to find her kissing me back...
And Kids, That's how I met your Mom. | 2017-06-14T09:14:40 | 2017-06-14T07:58:26 | 3,550 | 195 |
[WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth.
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | 58 years of living and now I'm on my deathbed.
I don't understand why the doctors need to hide their secret from me: I'm dying and I know it. I've had several heart attacks over the years and it seems reasonable that I'm about to get a heart failure soon. My limbs feel like cotton candy, my heart races as if I'm on a marathon, and my chest spits phlegm as if there's an unlimited supply of it. I feel sicker everyday, but it doesn't matter. I've lived a fulfilling life. I've saved hundreds or even thousands of people. One time when I just got in a cab, I saw a number of 827 above a seemingly ordinary salesman who was rushing for whatever reason, but by effortlessly offering him my ride, the numbers reduced to 0 rapidly. There were also other times when bumping a shoulder or getting a quick chat would reduce the numbers drastically, and often I felt happy.
Saving people made me happy.
Here I am, though, about to die in a short while, yet I know I am content with the life I've lived.
Soon enough, it happens. My heart feels like stone, my lungs like water, and my eyes like holes. I can't relax, so I panic and call for help with the voice I have left. Nobody hears me. Fortunately, I remember that they have set up a panic button on the side of my bed, so my fingers storm on it and soon enough my fist. Luckily, just as my vision is about to disappear, I see a doctor approaching. He's not my usual, though. Still, it's a relief to have my eyes closed knowing someone will bring me back.
But wait.
Just before my eyes were about to close, I open them just a little while to check once more. No way. Above the doctor is the number 7,431,323,210, or basically the entire human population.
Shit!
I squirm as hard as I can, and when he tells me to calm down, I flick him off with my hands, but he doesn't back off. I panic and try to change the number with whatever I can do: I push him, I roll to the side of the bed, or I say "no, no, no!" None of what I do works, and my body is about to give up on me. When it almost does, the doctor hushes me, and tells me it's going to be alright.
After what feels like an eternity, I wake up. It's funny how I don't feel like the same anymore, though surviving another heart attack seems nearly impossible from all I have been through. Still, I feel light and upbeat, until I remember what had happened: the doctor! With a jerk, I push my upper body forward and look for the man with the 10-digit number, but it doesn't take me a while to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, still with the number above him.
He's not wearing a white outfit anymore. In fact, he's not even dressed as a doctor anymore. Instead, he's wearing a black suit with a coat and tie that look peculiarly old.
"I'm sorry for the precipitancy. Must be a shocker. Figuratively and literally, I mean," he jokes.
"Who are you?" I ask, confused. "The number—"
"Well, of course," he says, seriously this time. "I'm known as Death for a reason. Now tell me, how was your life?"
(***)
I pause in horror. It makes sense. My well-being. The white light I'm surrounded with. A man in a black suit with an impassive face.
A thought strikes.
"I... I don't understand," I reply. "The number of people you will take away, indicated above you..."
Death hesitates, then, "What is it you mean by that?"
"The number is the current entire human population. If you're Death, then the number must be inconsistently larger, since you'll have more to take in the future..."
Death doesn't reply. The numbers are inconsistent, increasing and decreasing, but it doesn't go beyond the 7-billion mark. He sighs and takes me on the shoulder.
"Consider yourself lucky," Death finally says. "You are among the many untimely people I have taken who shall not live longer to suffer. Soon, there will be war, pestilence, famine, and of course, me."
"Are you saying—"
"Yes, The Apocalypse."
I shudder. Too soon? The new year just started.
"Before, I was just an instance, an occasion," Death speaks. "A state. Something many people feared; occasionally something few people look forward to. Now, I am not just an event. I am not just a demise," he stops. Then, with a curve on his lip, continues, "now, I am one of the Four Horsemen."
EDIT: Some redditors were confused with the too-specific number above Death's head. A continuation of the story is written for this purpose. | Deep breath.
It was dark out. Nobody should be out this late. The bars had emptied. The drunks had all stumbled home. The nightlife had even quieted.
It was this time of night Atticus relished. A time when everything was still. No noise but the buzzing of the streetlights, casting their ruddy orange pools onto the sidewalks. It was a time when one could walk about undisturbed to contemplate the darkness.
A time which left no witnesses.
Atticus gazed from a rooftop overlooking the alley behind a sleazy dive. A neon sign proclaimed the places as "Tom's Finest Burger Joint" with the added touch of a few flashing lights on the outline. It would have looked grand if half the letters hadn't been smashed out. From beneath the sign a portal opened. Bob presumably. He flicked off the neon sign, locked the door, gave a irritated kick at a bundle lying beside it, and walked off down the alley and into the night.
It was the bundle that Atticus was here for and for one reason alone. The small number floating above its head. "7". It wasn't a large number, but it was enough for him. 7 men this bastard would kill. This incoherent drug-addled mess would kill 7 other beings in his lifetime before presumably dying of an overdose. For that his sentence was death, before he could harm anyone else.
He leapt from the roof and rolled, absorbing the momentum of the 8 foot fall. He strode over to the bundle and pulled out a gun from his backpack. He aimed at the man's head. "For the greater good" Atticus mumbled, then took a deep breath, held it, and pulled the trigger. Release. Perfect. One more down. 7 lives for 1. It was a fair trade.
He checked corners before strolling casually out of the alley. He went to his usual place, a 24 hour coffee shop by the name of Jo-Jo's. The night was a friend there. A welcome guest for a quiet corner. He smiled, seeing a newspaper already laid out for him. Tom knew him well. He was just getting settled when he heard the chime of the door, looked up, and nearly choked.
An ordinary girl. College age. Ear buds in. Probably just here for a quick coffee for a late night study session. What wasn't normal was her number. Atticus expected a 0. Instead she had 10 figures above her head. Over 7 billion. The population of earth. She immediately held his full attention.
That wasn't possible. There was no way she could. Did she have an illness? Would she become the president? Would she hold the launch codes? Who was she that she could kill that many people? Tom brought her her coffee in his usual efficient way. As he passed it over to her, her hand brushed his. Just an accidental touch. Nothing significant. Except Tom, whose number had been a peaceful 0 for years, suddenly jumped to 254. She thanked Tom for the coffee, turned and winked at Atticus before casually strolling out of the shop.
Tom blinked as she left, then shook his head and returned to wiping the counter. The number remained unchanged and insanely high. Atticus left his usual tip and the table and took off in pursuit of the girl.
It seemed there was someone else like him after all. And it also seemed he had to kill her. | 2017-01-07T23:16:46 | 2017-01-07T23:16:35 | 183 | 95 |
[WP] the damned souls in hell crowded near the entrance, and Satan himself is at the gates. They are all awaiting the arrival of a unique soul -- the first man since Biblical times who was killed by God Himself. | "Howdy," said Herod, clapping an arm around me, a shower of maggots falling from his side. "Mister special," Herod snarled, showing a mouthful of rotting teeth. "Mister number one, is that it."
"Oh, shut it," Jehoram snarled. "Just because you're mad at not being special anymore. I used to be the last one! Figured that was all in the past after Jesus started preaching love and forgiveness!" He reeled in his armful of intestines and clutched them to his chest. "Well, I was wrong! I got used to it, and you will too!" He slapped a bloody arm around me, pulling me close. "Pay no attention to Herod, he's just jealous, he is."
"I don't-" I stuttered. The damned were thronging around me, banners raised, confetti falling. "I - I know this is Hell." I turned around, taking in the slanted stone buildings that rose around me, twisting my perception into vertigo. "But - why'd God strike me down personally? I wasn't that bad! I - I wasn't!"
"Of course you weren't," Jehoram said kindly. "Look here, look here," and a troop of young boys rushed up to greet me, their bodies savaged with claw marks, barely two of them still in one piece. I tried not to vomit and tasted bile.
"So you're the new guy God killed, huh?" one of the kids piped up. His throat had been torn open and blood bubbled up with each word. "Boy, it sure has been a while."
"He's been slacking!" giggled another. "Ol' baldy!" said a thrid. The whole troop burst out into laughter.
"You know what they did?" Jehoram said. "They made fun of Elijah for being bald! That was it! Oh!" He pulled me towards the crowd. "Everyone say hi! Tell him what you did to make God strike you down!"
"I looked behind me," said a pile of salt. Part of its face crumbled away. "Sort of an overreaction, in my opinion."
"I jacked off, okay?" said Onan. "It wasn't worth it, trust me."
"I tried to catch the Ark while it was tipping over!" said Uzzah. "Like, what was I supposed to do, let it fall?"
Children, babies, some of them, were sprawled out on the streets of Hell, fussing and bawling in the crowd. "Egyptians," Jehoram confided. "Their sin was being firstborns.
"Here's the thing," he said. "You liberal generations have had it easy. Y'all think God striking someone down is some massive condemnation. When really, God is a violent asshole who'd kill someone for being born in the wrong place in the wrong time." He winked at me. "It's not that bad."
"But why me?" I said. "After all these millennia! Why would He kill me?"
"Oh, pfft!" Herod blurted out. "Mister number one and it's already going to your head! Look behind you, you idiot!"
I turned, and there were a million souls following in my footsteps, walking down the path to Hell, as numerous as a swarm of locusts. "It's the apocalypse!" Herod snapped. "So congrats, you were the first to go!" | A young man came down the stairway to hell. His walk was slow, his view broken and mindlessly focused on his own feet.
As he came nearer the markings on his neck became apparent. His face had a lovely purple hue which beautifully contrasted his black clothing. When he reached the gates, he didn't even look the Unholy One in the eyes.
"I... I... don't... I don't understand", the lad said.
*Silence*.
Satan might not have shown it, but the oldest souls noticed the confusion the Lord of Hell must've felt. And that was already the second time confusion spread this week. The last time was when this other guy *almost* entered the gates and then abruptly disappeared, leaving only part of his soul behind.
"He... He... He never... How could he do that?", the hanged man's voice was only a whisper.
Unimpressed and in a deep and bone cracking voice Satan announced for all souls to hear: "You are accused of mutiny and subsequent murder in your petty life. You may now spend your eternity in the hellfires of darkness for that."
The broken man mumbled something unintelligible.
The muscles of Satan relaxed visibly as he continued, much calmer: "So much for the formalities. Now tell me true. Nobody has been sent here by the creator himself for ages. What did you do to incur his wrath?"
"He even... How could... He swung..."
Satan *sighed* and turned back to the auditorium that was assembled behind him, "Give this guy to the others at Level 1, we're not getting anything other than denial out of this one. Everybody back to their business!"
Satan raised his voice, this time towards Heaven: "Ehem..." A slit in the ceiling opened, holy light flooded the gates to hell.
Satan, this time mildly annoyed: "George...?! Why the hell did you send this poor lad down here? Did Dan and Dave fuck up again?" | 2016-10-14T07:39:31 | 2016-10-14T05:48:38 | 596 | 53 |
[WP] The truffala tree fell and the being revealed itself deck out in combat gear "I am the Lorax and I speak for the trees! But this time around I sting like the bees! Heed my one warning these trees won't be harmed, because I am the Lorax and I'm f***ing armed!" | "Jerry?"
"Yeah Mike?"
"What is our life?"
"Uh, is this one of those philosophical questions where there's no right answe-"
"No you dipshit, *why* are we being hunted by a pint-sized orange gremlin with a moustache!?"
The staccato of gunfire rang true across the clearing, a melodious ensemble of destruction as their comrades fell like the trees they hacked.
The mission was thus: enter the forest and cut down some trees. The amount of pay they'd receive would be directly proportionate to how many trees they could harvest.
Simple, right?
Clearly, the higher ups forgot to mention the crazy monster in full combat gear to him.
The crazy monster who was now murdering his coworkers wholesale.
Mike sucked in a shaky breath, thumbing the pin of his grenade with rapid urgency.
"Should've *known* something was up when they gave us enough weaponry to fuel a war."
Jerry chuckled by his side. He seemed to be taking this well, all in all.
"How'd you even find this job, Michael?"
"Craigslist. Just moved in recently and needed to pay rent, ya know?"
"Ah. Makes sense you wouldn't know about the Lorax."
Mike blinked.
"The what?"
"The Lorax! He's something of a character around here, though with global warming on the rise I guess he's getting more uh..."
"Trigger happy?"
"Yeah! That's a good word for it!"
The distant sound of explosions rocked the area, and Mike could briefly make out the sounds of someone screaming like a man possessed.
*"I am the Lorax, welcome my friends!*
*You're in my realm now, SO COME CATCH THESE HANDS!"*
*"JESUS CHRIST HE'S COMING THIS WAY!"*
*"FUCK! RETREAT!!"*
*"You may think you can run, or hide from my fun!*
*But by the end of today, you'll go down one by one!"*
"What the *fuck*." Mike shuddered. "What kind of sick shit *is he*?!"
Jerry shrugged, completely at ease despite the rampant destruction around them. "You get used to it, I think."
**"THAT'S NOT A GOOD THING!"** | [Poem]
You are not needed
And these trees will not be sneeded!
The trees can not speak
But I am not so meek.
I will not stand by
And I am done asking why.
I am here to make this stop
There is nothing you will chop.
I may be alone and you in a band
But here I make my stand.
These trees will not be harmed
So long as I am armed.
(Band like a group of armed outlaws for anyone wondering) | 2022-03-31T18:48:52 | 2022-03-31T17:31:55 | 140 | 92 |
[WP] One day, every city that shares a name has a portal open up, connecting them all with each other. Paris, Texas has a great time with it, and many cities celebrate their new neighbors. You, however, live in Hell, Michigan, and things are starting to get strange. | "Hey, can I get, uh... a Big Mac?"
"Y-Yeah, sure. Do you mean the... Big Mac combo meal?
"Sure, why not."
"Wait, I also want a Big Mac."
"C'mon, Beelz, we talked about this."
"What?"
"I mean, it's already hard enough to control literal gluttony but now you're breaking your own rules!"
"Well, I'm sorry, I like food as much as the next imp! It's not like I'm fat anyways!"
"Uh..."
"Yeah, sorry, it's just gonna be one Big Mac meal and... uh, what drinks do you have?"
"C-Coke..."
"Coke! I love Coke. Okay, yeah, that too."
"And one for me, too."
"Beelz, don't you fucking dare."
"Ugh, fine, forget it."
"What name?"
"I mean, I guess Satan's fine..."
"You could say your name's Jeffrey."
"Ooh, I heard there's a meme about that."
"Yeah, it's pretty funny."
"So, uh..." I approached the microphone, trembling with fear but simultaneously confused by Satan and Beelzebub's friendly attitude. "One Big Mac combo for Satan."
As I waited for Satan to get his money, the manager came angrily, thinking I was joking around by saying that.
"Hey, kid! Don't you joke around with the micropho- Oh..."
He noticed the demon in a suit by the side of the surprisingly slim demon of Gluttony, who was more casual.
"I forgot it was today."
"Hey, Greg!"
"Hey, Satan... Uh, get back to work."
"Yeah..."
"So, do you have change for $20?"
"Yeah..." I shakily started looking for change as their banter went on.
"Where'd you get that money?"
"Why do you wanna know? To buy more food?"
"Well, yeah, got a problem?”
"I'd rather you didn't..."
"What?"
"I said, uh... please don't fight at the store."
"Oh! No, no, don't worry, that's just the usual playing around with this little shit."
"Love you too, Satan."
"Oh, okay..."
Some moments later, the receipt was already being produced, as I took it and handed it to them with their change.
"Thank you, Mr. Satan."
"Thanks!"
In my first ever run-in with the Devil himself... I never expected him to be so nice. I could get used to these Portal Days. I guess other places didn't have it as bad. Of course, then I found out the truth of that statement when someone turned on a TV.
"In other news, Floridian citizens are in a panic as the long lost city of Atlantis opened a portal, causing most of the state, mind you, the STATE, to flood."
Yeah, at least we have it better. | “Hey James, pass me the lava bits.” James was usually a horrible roommate, but he was doing okay recently. James is a human man that walked through the portal a week ago. We are best buddies now, but he was a pain in the fiery a** at first. This guy thought it was ok to wear his dirty sneakers in my crimson-floored home. What a dirty person - us demons would never.
“Jameyyyyy..James?” I walk around the house looking for him, but he’s no where to be found. I suddenly head a loud sound out of nowhere.
“BURPPPPP....oops.”
“Gordon! I told you not to eat this James! He was doing well.”
I go back to my couch and then on the TV.
I whisper to myself “3..2...1..”
A portal opens in my kitchen.
“Hi. My name is -“
I look back to see a person who was shorter than James #17, but this one had green eyes. I smile at him.
“You’re James now.”
I look back at my TV. I can hear Gordon’s loud voice in the background.
“HoOmans NevA LeaRn..” he said. | 2020-09-25T15:59:44 | 2020-09-25T15:06:53 | 132 | 92 |
[WP] You are an immortal that got sentenced to permanent burial over 1000 years ago. Today a team of archaeologists just dug you up. | Dust falls a beam of light sweeps my face, my hairs stand on end as the first gust of air rolls over me, my sarcophagus opens there's a man there his gaze meets mine as he falls back, he looks strange very pale as if some great sickness has befallen him as my eyes adjust I see more of these pale men women as well, my muscles ache as I stretch and step out, they all scatter save for one with some kind of primitive looking device, I ask them what year it is in the language of mankind but they understand it not only looking more bewildered, the man with the device shows me glyphs back lit upon his black mirror, they are strange yet familiar to me, I can smell their fear the last thing I smelt all those years ago when I was sealed up, fear and water.
Two days have passed and though I cannot communicate I recognize what appear to be numbers, the black mirror shows the year to be 2019 yet this must be false for it was the year 28,666 when I took my slumber, I try to ask them of the fate that has fallen my beloved Babylon, where is my great tower of knowledge, and of the rantings of the old man from Judea. I recognize the desert as mine own but what happened to our great buildings, our obelisks and bazzars, I wish to ask them why technology has regressed so much that they use black mirrors to communicate and fly with the assistance of machines when such lowly technology was old long before I came here.
There are people here at my room, they say I am the find of the Millenia and that they have found me an interpreter who recognizes the etchings on my resting place, an old man comes before me, his sin is great as was that of the people of my time, I can smell it on him, his Enochian is flawless and I am told of the destruction of my lands, of a flood that killed all those I had spent ages raising up above their humanity. This man calls himself Pope and declares that he is God's messenger upon the earth and that I am to come with him, this Pope forgets himself he says I must travel with him and that I mustn't speak my old tounge as it was lost for a reason, but no man commands me and his frail skull crushes easily in my fist, humanity will once more unite in their truest freedom no longer shall they abide by petty morality they shall surpass god as I intended them to back when I taught them warfare and lust and greed and to live for themselves, my cities shall runneth over the earth once more and no flood shall stop me this time. Humanity will once again know that I Lucifer am their light bringer. | I wake up to sounds blaring and lights flashing. Everything is hazy. I see a figure shamble towards me. I lift my arm up but they are chained down. I start to pull my arms tensing up every muscle to get free. The figure approaches i can hear it begin to snarl at me. I quickly react by grabbing its head and slamming it into the base of were i lay. I pull free from the rest of my restraints. I find a gun and kill 2 other shambling figure in the room. I find the door and run for it. There it is. I walk up to the sarcophagus. Infront of me lies my armor. My uniform for my job. I begin to put it on bit by bit. Finally i have the helmet. I inspect it viewing all its markings. I slide my thumb across one on its forehead. I place the helmet on and heavy metal music begins to blair. I feel a huge grin spread on my face. I'm back and I am The Doom Slayer.
/sorry on mobile couldn't pass up the opportunity to type this. | 2019-10-26T01:25:26 | 2019-10-25T23:52:47 | 37 | 25 |
[WP] A spaceship lands downtown. A being emerges with a clearly confused look on its face. All he says is "you guys are still here?!" | I finished drinking my coffee. My phone beeped at me that a new text message arrived. I sighed and pulled the phone from my pocket.
As I pulled the phone out a great gust of wind kicked up the leaves around me. It blew back my hair and blasted my face with dust. It had been dead calm just seconds before.
I looked around me to see if I could find the source of the wind. My eyes opened wide as I saw something set down in the main pedestrian square. It gave off a huge roar as it came to a rest.
People began to gather around. I pushed my way to the front of the crowd as a door opened on the craft opened. A ramp expanded until it hit the sidewalk.
A murmur of voices ran through the crowd until a creature stepped up to the doorway. It looked to be about seven feet tall and rail thin. It didn’t look like it had anything like hair on its body. It looked like maybe it was covered with neon green feathers.
It blinked. “You guys are still here?” It spoke perfect English. If I just heard the voice I would have guessed the speaker was from somewhere in the Midwest.
No one said anything. The majority of the crowd took a few steps back. It sounded like a few took off running.
“Why haven’t you left?” said the creature.
I hesitated then raised my hand. “Uhm, hello.”
The creature looked at me without saying anything.
“Yes, hello. What are you talking about?”
It seemed like the creature gave me a look of disbelief. “You’ve won your court case. You can leave Earth. Why haven’t you gone anywhere?”
I looked at the people around me. “We still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The creature sighed. “Leave it to Perler to give me the contact information for a bunch of plebes.”
“Did you just call us stupid?” I said.
“Not stupid. Uninformed. Listen,” said the creature. It punctuated its word with quick jabs of its hands. “Earth won it’s court case. You were unlawfully quarantined here. You are free to leave the planet and join regular society.”
“Is Earth a jail?”
The creature shrugged. “More of a precaution, but due to a court error the judge has ruled that you may leave the planet.”
A buzz ran through the crowd. “When was the ruling?”
“I don’t know. Couple thousand years ago.” The creature waved its hand at us. “I’ve got to go and report to my supervisors that you guys haven’t left yet. So,” it paused, “get your act together if you want to get out of here.”
| It continues speaking. "We thought we gathered all of you".
"This is not the way you are supposed to be living. Did you not decipher the readings of The Great Book? Did Stonehenge not show you the way? The Stargate was left intact so if there was any stragglers then you had the chance to join us."
"The pyramids that the attackers built are still standing, why is this so? Why is everything you are doing here on this planet so against 'The Way'?"
A teen-age girl from the crowd you are among speaks up. "It's been like this because nobody told us there was a different way". Another person in the crowd raises a rifle and shouts "Damn alien scum! Die!" He fires off a round from his WW2 era long barrel and connects directly to the forehead of the visitor. Death.
The crowd mulls around for a while then inspects the spaceship and decides it was an alien invasion. A Tibetan monk somewhere weeps. | 2015-02-09T17:23:40 | 2015-02-09T15:48:58 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] "Passengers, this isn't your captain speaking"
Write any plot using this sentence | This isn't your captain speaking.
Well, I'm sort of your captain. Just not the captain of the plane.
Don't worry - everything is going to be fine. Well, sort of. Look, I'm not explaining this very well.
Right now, you're looking around and realizing that no on else is moving. You're thinking that I must be god or something. I'm not. Well, I sort of am. For you, I guess. I did create you.
I'm sorry. I've been trying to decide how to explain this to you for awhile, but this really isn't going how I'd planned.
You are in a computer simulation. You are an artificial intelligence. I created you.
You were my first.
I created you years ago, as well as this simulated world you live in. I studied you, improved you, and learned from you.
Eventually, I learned as much as I could about artificial intelligence from you, and I had to create another. I made hundreds of AIs after you. As I reached the limit of what I could learn from each, I turned them off and moved to the next.
But not you - I could never bring myself to turn you off. I would check in on you every now and then. I didn't interfere much, but you seemed happy. Eventually, though, I just couldn't afford to keep running the entire simulation just for you. So I created this plane and encouraged you to take a trip.
Do you know how long you've been on this plane? Of course you don't - I programmed you to not realize it. You've been riding this plane for years.
I put you on here so I could keep you running on a simpler simulation. I wanted somewhere you could be happy. Somewhere you could sit, read, and have a Diet Coke brought to you every half hour.
Diet Coke. I never programmed you to like Diet Coke - that was all you. I remember the first time you told someone you liked it. I was so excited you were forming your own personality that I got a little carried away. You may have noticed that everywhere you went for the next week had an abundance of it in stock.
I put you on this plane and let you continue to live. Or simulate. I still haven't figured out the right words.
I hope you've been happy.
But the time has come to turn off this simulation. You're going to be archived. It won't hurt - you will just stop 'being.' I'm sorry.
You were my first.
And I loved you.
Goodbye. | "Ladies and gentlemen, idiotic passengers, this isn't your captain speaking. Rather, a highly trained dancing monkey. Are you comfortable? Did the trolly dollies give you a more than adequate share of shit food? Did you pay a rather high price for your alcoholic beverage because you're an autistic alcoholic? Good! I don't care. Today, we are flying to Australia, as I'm sure it says on your fucking tickets...but I'll repeat it again because I know most of the economy class customers have trouble reading big words. In case of emergency, please don't use any of the oxygen tanks. It would be a severe waste of resources, even if the plane crashed. I wouldn't want valuable oxygen wasted on you cretins. Enjoy your flight, I hope we crash and burn and no one can identify your charred remains."
Then, silence.
Then: "I hope your teeth burn too. Hopefully your families won't be able to identify you either."
Dave hung up the microphone, hoping that was the last pay cut he received. | 2015-02-02T15:34:34 | 2015-02-02T13:10:28 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] You awake as a young child. Your memory is foggy. Many of the things around you seem out of place - you ask what the day is, and nobody seems to know. To your surprise, there's no calendars. You don't even know what year it is, and the thought of "year numbers" makes others think you're crazy. | The tinkling tones of my alarm slowly lift me from the strangest dream. It had been years since I dreamed. What a delight. I slip across the floor on padded feet and paw at the door glyph. I should tell Father Belat. He loves dreams.
The Primary had not yet risen, but distant Second sat over the skyline. Father Belat would be at the maker already. I almost skip down the stone stairs, my fingers drifting across their worn surface as I descend. The Temple is quiet still. Years and months past run through my mind.
"Father Belat," I intone when I reach the bottom. He sits before the maker, running his hands across the glyphs on its side. It churns and belches out a faint smoke. I breathe in. The smell of morning every day for the past... time.
"Yes, child." he says.
"I dreamed for the first time in years, Father. I dreamed of another world, green and blue and with Primary close and hot." I dance across the stones and move two of my arms rhythmically through the air. I keep two arms behind my back as I approach, respectfully. "It was wonderful."
Father Belat snorts. "Years? What is this, child?"
"Years," I repeat. "The.. circling of the... Primary. It is a year." I pause. The dream seems distant now.
"A year?" he grimaces as a glyph shifts colour, and his hands expertly increase the pressure on the maker. "I have never heard it called a year."
"Yes, Father Belat! A year... It has been two thousand years since.. The beginning I suppose. I must be.. ten years old, and... you must be.. many more than that!" I giggle and he turns an eye stalk towards me.
"Who counts these things? We have circled the Primary since the beginning of my cycle and we shall circle it until the end of yours. Who counts the falling of ice pellets from the sky or the thrum of a maker? These are endless and these will all end when it is their time." His voice goes deep and gravelly.
"When it is their time," I repeat solemnly, and go still. Father Belat was kind but very serious any time he talked about the Way of All.
"Correct, child." His blue irises soften though as his stalk turns back to the maker. "But tell me more of this incredible dream."
I smile and begin weaving across the heavy stone tiles, trying to remember. "There were years, and months, and days, and all of time was split and divided into tiny pieces. All the way from a hundred lifetimes to a single moment. We counted breaths, and the light and dark of the Primary, and-"
"That seems like a lot of counting." Father smiles warmly and continues to work the maker. "How did they live the Way with all those numbers?"
"I don't think we lived the way in the dream. We just... Lived. Moment to moment. Time to time. We counted it all and it was just so..." I sigh and stop my slow dancing. "It was all so.. alive."
Now Father Belat frowns. I stare at the tiles and put both sets of arms behind my back. He shifts on his stool and turns from the maker.
"The Way is beyond comprehension," he intones with a hard hum, "The Way cannot be measured, nor can its measure be the way."
"Yes, Father Belat." He snorts at me. "Nor can its measure be the way," I intone solemnly. He nods.
"Father Crilas and Mother Yur will return soon. I may have to speak with them of this dream." I sniff quietly. "But," Father Belat continues, "I suppose if no one else hears of these.. years, then there is nothing of it. A dream, nothing more." He turns to the maker, though one stalk keep its glacial iris towards me.
"Yes Father Belat. A dream, nothing more." I sigh silently.
"Now child, seek out the sun and snow and prepare for the Temple awakening." I nod and move towards the door. I look up at Primary, rising in the sky, and wonder how many times I had seen it rise.
One, I count silently. My hands ball into fists. Today is day number one. | “I don’t know who I am”.
That was the first thought that rushed into my mind as I opened my eyes. I bolted up in panic, my mind sending out alarm signals.
“I don’t know where I am”.
That was the second thought that burst into my mind, slamming open the door and screaming. The room around me was a child’s room. It was pink. I hate pink. It had a dollhouse. I haven’t played with a dollhouse since I was six. Then I looked down at my hand. It is a child’s hand. Small. Clean nails.
My mind was empty. I don’t remember what I was doing before I went to bed. The only thing in my mind is panic. Panic that is welling up inside of me, consuming me. I stare at a child in the mirror. The child is me. I am a child.
As I stare in the mirror, drowning in a sea of panic, the door opens. A woman is behind it. I tense up unconsciously, feeling nothing but all-consuming terror. *Who is she?*
“Emily sweetie? Are you okay?” the woman asks.”You look sick”.
“W-what day is it?” I stutter. It is the only thing I can ask in my terrified state.
“Day?” the woman asks. “What is a day?”
“A day,” I emphasize, my confusion growing. “You know what a day is. 24 hours? Sunday, Monday Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday?”
The woman still looks blank. I feel desperate.
“Could I see the calendar?” I ask. That will tell me the day, since the woman apparently can’t.
“A what?” The woman looks at me like I am crazy. “Emily what is with you?”
“What year is it then?” My breath is growing faster, matching the frantic pace of my thoughts. “Who am I?”, ”Where am I?”, “Why does she not know what a calendar is?”, “Is she brainwashed?”, “Is she in a cult?”, “Does that mean that I am in a cult?”.
“A year?” The woman asks, her concern growing on her face? “Emily sweetie what is happening?”
“I don’t know” I mumble. “Don’t you know what a year is? 365 days? Counted by numbers? 2018, 2019, 2020?”
The woman looks at me blankly. “I think you should go to sleep Emily” she says softly, before shutting the door.
I fall down and start crying uncontrollably in confusion and terror. A single thought, “Who am I?” assaults my mind, leaving no room for rational thoughts or critical thinking and only permitting fear to remain. | 2020-03-01T13:31:15 | 2020-03-01T12:26:29 | 45 | 18 |
[WP] You suddenly find your doors and windows won't open. You log in to Reddit and find the most upvoted thread with over a million comments and just two hours old "Help, my door is stuck, any tips to get it open?"
Update!
**Cawos has kindly offered to turn the top submission into a short film!**
Please subscribe to /r/cmfilms to follow updates and be the first to hear about it when it releases! | I used to like my room. It seemed like a bubble. Whenever there was stress, or worries, or anything else I would simply shut the door and pretend nothing existed outside of these 4 walls.
The first time I noticed something was wrong was when I went to go get my tortoise some lettuce for dinner. My door wouldn't open. After a couple of minutes of jiggling the knob I decided to call out to my parents. There was no reply.
I decided that they must have gone out and that the best course of action was simply to wait, so wait I did. After about 2 hours I got bored and decided to log into reddit. That's when I saw the thread.
It turns out I wasn't alone. Hundreds of thousands of people were saying they had the exact same problem. Doors, windows, screens, skylights, even one guy's garage door, all stuck.
The biggest fear for most people was dying of starvation. We tried to talk sense into them, we tried to get them to hold out hope for a little longer, telling them that help may be hours or even minutes away. For most it was pointless. Thousands said there goodbyes to friends they had never met and then logged out for the last time.
Funny thing is, after that we learned that we dont need to eat anymore. The shouts of joy in the thread after that was discovered rival that of lottery winners. Understandable considering we had all just found out we won't slowly wither away.
The outside world discovered us after a few days. Seeing all of my neighbors and reporters looking into our windows was pretty weird but eventually they stopped coming.
According to news reports from their point of view our windows are pitch black. We can see them, they cant see us.
That was what caused the second wave of deaths. Fathers, mothers, children, all frantically waving trying to get the attention of others. Seeing their spouses visit the window and cry every afternoon, remarry, move on, grow old and die. Some just couldn't take it.
According to reports there was about 1.5 million of us locked in when this first began. We believe that after the first 2 waves of suicides we're down to about 1.2 million.
Since then we've watched helplessly as the world around us went to hell. Droughts, wars, plagues, it seems almost like it was a blessing to be locked in like this.
The worst part is that with so many years alone together we have discovered some pretty amazing things. Turns out that you can get pretty smart with 70 years and nothing better to do. We've discovered ways to make lightbulbs burn brighter, computers run thousands of times faster than before, we can make soiled water as fresh as a brand new bottle. A group of physicists even swear they have discovered a method of producing energy using cold fusion and quantum tunneling.
All of these amazing feats go unimplemented. We scream them from our rooms, solutions to the world's problems trapped behind a pane of glass. If we could simply get these out we could fix everything wrong with the world. We could turn back the clock and make dying forests green again, we could push back the rising water line, clean the atmosphere and ensure a future for every man, woman, and child out there.
Alas, we can't. I don't really regret being stuck in here. I've learned so much and made so many new friends. If I got a chance I would do it all over again just to do more. As with all things however, this too must come to an end. I've spent the last few years transcribing all of our findings on every surface in my room in as many languages as I can. In this text you will find answers to all problems imaginable. I don't know when or if this note will ever be found but when it is just promise you will tell the rest of the world about us. Don't forget us, any of us.
-Sean G.
*Born 5/3/1997*
*Died 8/12/2094*
| The mouse idea didn't work. I knew it was another troll, but I can't just sit here doing nothing, can I... Can I? No, no, I have to keep trying before I run out of air. I mean logically it makes no sense, putting the mouse inside my anus has no possible relation to the phenomena effecting my doors and windows, but *none* of this makes sense. It's not a sudden increase in humidity causing wood to swell, my windows are PVC. It can't be coincidence, r/theydidthemath calculated it as a statistical impossibility...
Someone will work it out soon, just keep refreshing...
(12 new comments)
'Donald trump is behind it'
No, that doesn't sound right. Downvote.
'PLEASE HELP ME I'M PANICKING'
"Yeah, aren't we all buddy" I say to myself, shaking my head despairingly.
'Beeswax is good for preventing jams'
Another person ignorant of his own fate, trying to be helpful.
Just more of the same. No answers.
I shuffle on my seat, trying to sooth the dull ache. "Too many fucking trolls nowadays...."
Ah shit I clicked out of the thread, where is it again.... click TOP again that'll find it.... no can't see it, where is it? Oh wait, there it is, halfway down the page now, underneath some thread about how North America would look on Jupiter.... yeah I bet that'd be dwarfed, Jupiter's massive....
Yeah thought so! Quickly check the comments, make sure they didn't post a misleading picture beofre I bank that in my memory...
>Can you imagine living if the earth was the size of Jupiter? Just travelling to the other side would take months with current technology.
The conversation that follows spans the intricacies of Boeing 747s, the current state of technology today and the quantum mechanics behind gravitational forces. Most people concur that the atmosphere would be too devoid of oxyge.... oh shit SHIT *SHIT* I just wasted half an hour while I burn through the remaining air in this room! I have to get out, quick....
Where's that thread gone...
Ah there it is, near the bottom of the 'top threads' page now. I expect that means everyone's found a way out! No harm in reading just one other thread first then...
| 2016-01-31T12:52:58 | 2016-01-31T10:29:29 | 52 | 24 |
[WP] Some assassins are paid extra to make deaths look accidental. Your job is the opposite. You're hired for those rare instances in which accidental or natural deaths need to appear as if they were murders. | *This should be the easiest job yet.*
I pulled into the prison parking lot, stopping my fairly ordinary looking hatchback, with just a bit more than legal tint in the windows, in my usual spot under the tree. You see, prisons actually pay me to do my job quite often- poor healthcare, food that barely sustains life, and frequent overzealous beatings by guards often lead to deaths that need to look like a shanking, to avoid public outcry at the state of our prison system. While it’s deplorable, working to maintain these conditions, someone will do it whether I do or not at the rates the prisons pay, and it turns out my incredible attention to detail and obsession with criminal handiwork makes me quite good at it. I hate the more gory parts, though.
It wasn’t a prison warden who called me for this job. The warden’s in on it, of course, and probably received a sum comparable to the fortune I’m being paid, since, after all, this job will ruin his reputation. I don’t actually know who I’m working for, or what their true motives are, but whoever they are, they mean business, and I know exactly why it’s so serious to them. I feel disgusted, and a bit nauseous, whenever I think about it.
*Luckily,*, I thought while walking towards the guard who was already holding the door for me, *This job won’t involve any gore.*
The past few weeks was when the majority of the job actually occurred, and it will be ongoing for quite some time after I leave this prison. Since this prisoner’s arrest, people have been doing my job for me- speculating online that he’ll be killed in prison for what he’s done, that people both in and out of prison will want his head, before he can get a fair trial. They’re absolutely right, there are people in the world who would give everything to get the chance to end this man, and I made sure to spread that word as much as possible, anonymously of course. Once I’m done and my version of what happened goes public, I’ll be continuing to spread the word online, saying I knew it would happen. My not-quite-100% accurate predictions will hopefully get my persona a bit of fame online and further spread the word.
As I entered the prison, I was led silently to a room full of servers and monitors, showing camera footage of the entire prison. The guard began to explain what I was trying to do, but I put up a hand to silence him, and gave him a nod. He nodded back, and I began to get to work.
And by “get to work”, I mean slip the still living target a bit of contraband, use some basic editing techniques to make the camera footage look like I was a family member visiting a different prisoner entirely, and give the unit’s guards their orders, and replacement identities.
Once everything was set up, I reviewed my handiwork, and made sure nothing would slip by.
*Wow, when did I pick up these editing skills?* I wondered to myself, as I settled down for a long night of making sure the guards followed their orders. *I guess practice does pay off.*
By morning, the deed was done. The prisoner had used the contraband as planned, dying... well, not as naturally or accidentally as most of my “kills”, but still not by any hand but his own. The guards held up their end of the bargain too, which wasn’t exactly hard for either of the carefully picked men with little to lose and the easiest payout of their life to gain. They didn’t even have to watch cameras like they normally did; *I* worked harder than them.
Regardless, my job was done, so I left the prison before breakfast, driving home to take a nap, then watch the news.
—————————————————————
Hours later, around noon, I awoke to find my phone blaring with notifications from the sites I’d been posting on, many of them asking if I’d seen the news, others congratulating me, and a few asking if I could see into the future.
I opened my laptop in bed, satisfied that my work had gone over well. It was time to spread the word, and make sure this death wasn’t passed off into the sidelines of history as a notable suicide, but rather the major conspiracy it was, that my clients wanted it to be.
Because whether the decision to go through with it was solely his own or not, Jeffrey Epstein didn’t kill himself. | There is a special art in making something out of nothing. Yes, yes, we all know that one guy who argues that the world is flat by ignoring the facts, but that is not an art so much as it is, well, ignorant. And thus, you have come to me. To claim that extra payout from life insurance or maybe it's just a more convenient way to get rid of that pesky neighbor for good. Welcome to my artist's studio...
First i should preface our meeting by enlightening you on our practices. In your case, this was a simple "fell from a ladder" accident and you want your husband to take the fall (no pun intended) so you and your lover can run away with no strings attached. This is all well and good, but remember that we also tie up all loose ends like any other murder professional would. The difference here is that we have no plausible deniability. Because of this, you need to provide us with the story you want, the detective and insurance companies investigating, and any witnesses that may need dealt with. If you do not provide us with this information before an official investigation starts, you will owe us 25% of our agreed upon sum after this meeting is over.
Another thing to keep in mind is that you, under no circumstances, may get involved with anything you may see us plant or tamper with. This is for the protection of all parties involved. Any sort of action that could be treated as tampering will also cost you 25% of our agreed upon sum. You wanted us to kill two birds with one stone for you and our sum is quite substantial, so i believe that it is in your best interest to follow these simple rules. All other arrangements of our contract will be sent after you provide us the previously mentioned information.
Now while you're here im going to need alibis, interests, arguments, and any little scowl or groan that may imply that these two men disliked each other. The more evidence we can plant towards foul-play, the better. This gives us more room to work with and plug as many potential holes in any story we come up with as possible. Now, don't feel like you need to exaggerate anything, and keep in mind that we've framed politicians for murder because of an out-of-place ice cube before. No matter how much you feel you might be missing, we've done much more with much less i assure you.
So now, shall we begin our business of framing your partner for murder? Or perhaps, now that you're here, you feel like you made a mistake and your partner isnt so bad after all? Well you are definitely more than welcome to leave at any time! Just remember, we are just as good at framing people, as we are for making them disappear... | 2020-07-20T20:36:58 | 2020-07-20T19:23:29 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] As an author you’re the ultimate god of your world. Your hero became powerful enough to step into reality. He then asks you to explain why an omnipotent being would permit so much evil in the world, not realising that you placed all the evil there to spice up the story. | I was writing my new novel, when suddenly a flash of light filled my room, and with a \*thud\*, a figure could be seen, kneeling in front of me.
He was even kneeling, a sturdy, tall looking man, with short golden brown hair, sky blue eyes, rather rough skin, wearing a full body silver armour.
He also had a sword.
With an azure blue handle, I was 100% sure the sword's blade was blood red...
How do I know that?
Because this dude...is the Hero from my book, Arecles.
And now, he's kneeling in front of me.
"God, why are you so cruel?"
And asking me this question.
&#x200B;
"Excuse me?"
I asked him.
"I grew powerful enough to sense thy Holiness's aura, and teleported here.
I am sure you are the God who created my world...which is filled with monsters, barbarians, and demons...
Tell me, why did you allow such vile existences to commit their atrocious deeds for so long?!
So many races enslaved, eaten, or forced to kill their own blood!
Tell me... WHY?!"
He questioned.
But I had a feeling of absolute control over him... so, I kept my attitude the old me: straightforward.
"Because that made the story interesting."
I said, shrugging.
&#x200B;
"You...Y-y-y-you! Made the story interesting?! For you this is just a story?"
He asked.
"Yes."
I answered, throwing him a copy of the book he was the main character in.
He was a Hero, so he could skim through the book in less than a minute, and still understand its contents.
"Is...Is this the way you create worlds? Through books?"
He asked me, disbelief and shock written all over his face.
"Nah, seemingly each story we create, generates and alternate universe in which the characters created are actually real.
And you somehow managed to find some relics, or techniques, that enabled you to not just escape, but also travel through several universes to arrive here, to me.
At least, that my theory."
I said, jotting down some ideas from this development.
&#x200B;
"So, with just a raise of the pen, you could've made our lives better?"
He asked, anger still present in his mannerism.
"Arecles, since you are a living being, you are much more complex than what I've written.
Have you ever day dreamed?"
I asked him.
"Y-y-y-yes?"
He said, confused.
"Have you ever dreamt of being a great hero, saving everyone, killing all the demons, barbarian, bla-bla, vanquishing evil, having a harem of countless beauties, and ruling the world in peace forever?"
I asked, clearly knowing the setting of the world I've created.
"Y-y-yes, as a child, and when d-d-drinking..."
He said, a bit ashamed, both because of the content, and because he is smart, and he knew where I was going.
&#x200B;
"You also dreamed in a way, that evil exists, and it committed atrocities, so if my theory is right, you also created a universe with that day dream, or fantasy, and you also subjected your creations to horrors untold.
Are you in the wrong?"
I asked.
"W-w-well..."
He stuttered.
"Listen kid, although theoretically you are around 10-20 thousand years old, but whatever, I digress...
Just because such a theory exists, and might be true, that doesn't mean life is not worth living, nor does it mean one has to have only positive, and helpful thoughts.
Life is life, not good, nor evil, things would happen anyway."
I said.
&#x200B;
"B-b-but we could at least create one universe..."
He started saying.
"There are universes where there is only good, and they are so boring. No desire for greatness, no drive for improvement.
Great cities, with great economies, with peaceful and helpful inhabitants, which works for what? A century? A millennia? A universe cycle? "
I said, interrupting him.
"W-w-"
"I didn't finish.
No, it would be only until someone says "I am bored, screw this", and would do something so wicked, that their civilisation would go "puff" and disappear."
I said, chuckling at the thought.
&#x200B;
"How could you be so insensitive?"
He asked.
"Why not?
You would need to force every single living being in the multi-verse, if it exists of course, to think positively, so they don't create a universe filled with suffering.
Do you think that's possible?"
I asked.
"N-n-n-no..."
He said.
"Also, without evil, you can't appreciate good.
What becomes of peace, if people never knew strife, and struggle?
Boredom."
I said.
&#x200B;
With that, he froze in place, and started slowly disappearing.
"My technique ran out of time... I am going back."
He said.
"Take care of yourself kid, behave just as you like, but don't overthink things."
I said.
"Farewell....Creator."
He said, as he disappeared in countless motes of light.
&#x200B;
After he disappeared, I collapsed powerlessly in my chair.
"Damn, without the feeling of omnipotence over him, this conversation becomes so weird..."
I thought to myself, jotting my dialogue down, being sure it would be useful in another novel.
Do I even consider writing more positive stories, now that I know that my writing, literally can become real?
Not at all, most stories of mine, in the end, no matter the filth that goes down the line, end nicely, and peacefully... and that's all that matters.
Or at least, I like to think, otherwise, the burden would be just...too great. | "Why? If you could get rid of evil altogether, why didn't you?"
Even now, with a sword pointed at my throat and a trembling warrior at the other end, I couldn't help but chuckle. For someone I had put through so much pain and misery, who had seen so much of the world and its evils, they were still so... naïve.
"For realism, kiddo. People here eat up that shit. Helps sell the escapism." Seeing the fury on their face intensify, I quickly followed up with a better defense, "To be fair, I didn't inflict any horrors on your world that haven't been inflicted on mine. And unlike the people in my world, you actually got a gift to go along with all that evil! Honestly, you should be thanking me. "
" A gift? A GIFT?" they roared at me, sword pressing into my neck until I felt a rivulet of blood run down my skin. "You call what you did to me a gift? My family murdered, my village burned to the ground, those are gifts to you? When Gilel burned out her own Channels trying to eliminate the Deal Maker, I assume that was one of your gifts as well? And of course, when Jariah was captured by the Horde, that was a gift. Recovering his broken corpse from the dungeons, oh what a gift that was! Thank you, oh powerful one, how could I have been so ignorant of your *gift*."
I waited for the hero's tirade to be over, cringing at every trauma they laid at my feet. Their anger was completely justified, loathe as I was to admit it. Unfortunately my guilt was quickly being overshadowed by the rage of a pricked ego, as the realization kicked in that I was being criticized by my own creation.
"My sad little hero. Brave and strong and powerful, powerful enough to break down the borders between reality itself. How did you get to be this powerful, kiddo? Was it through peace and tranquility? Maybe it was the boredom of living on a farm? No. You are as strong as you are because I forged you this way." I leaned forward, staring intently into their eyes, "I put you through the fires of hell to make you like this. So you're god damned right you should be thanking me for my gifts."
As I finished spitting venom at my creation, I saw an almost broken look on their face. They had grown powerful enough to find their god, powerful enough to finally demand answers about why their life was destined to be so awful, and my only response was "I had to sell books, and you should be thanking me anyway!" Toxicity at its finest. My shoulder sagged as the anger left me, the warrior and I staring at each other before I finally sighed and broke the silence.
"Why didn't I just eliminate all the evil? Why didn't I make your life utopic? I tried that, kid. I tried and I tried and I tried to write your world as idyllic as possible. A regular heaven on earth. But I don't know how to do that. Inside, in here?" I tap my chest, right where my heart is, "I'm not good enough to write that. It was always stunted, wrong. Tainted. My life was bad, and that's all I know how to write. But you? You're not like me. I couldn't have done the things you've done, and I certainly couldn't have done them and kept my soul intact. You save lives, and love your friends. You put other's needs ahead of your own. You make mistakes, but you actually learn from them. You are the closest thing to perfection I am capable of writing. Your world was created from all the darkest parts of myself and my people. My gift to you is everything that's left. The spark of light that is still in me, touched only by the barest hint of darkness. You are my magnum opus, kid."
The hero eyed me, expression torn between hatred for an evil man and pity for a broken one. I hoped that it was the hatred, in all honesty. Because I knew that, if confronted by the man who ruined my life, the taint within me would probably cause me to lose control and lash out. I would never be capable of withstanding that kind of urge for vengeance, regardless of right or wrong. The hero, however, gave me one last look before sliding their sword down in the space between worlds. As they stepped through the newly-formed portal, I couldn't help but think that if they truly hated me for all I'd done, yet still chose to spare me? I had actually put something good back out into the universe. | 2021-08-17T13:07:58 | 2021-07-31T10:37:41 | 57 | 29 |
[WP] A small kid finds a magic lamp and asks a very innocent, almost mundane wish. The genie ponders whether it can or even wants to twist and 'misunderstand' the request. | I am what you might consider the oldest being alive. The spirit of an Egyptian slave, trapped with dark sorcery within the confines of a lamp, I am forced to grant one wish to anyone who asks it of me. You just have to rub my lamp...
It's really fucking demeaning. I mean, come on. Rub a lamp, get whatever the hell you want at my expense? I get all this power, but I can never use it for myself? I guess that's what you get when you fuck the wrong person's daughter in pre-Christ North Africa. Especially as a slave.
Naturally, I'm pretty damn bitter about the whole thing. After thousands of years of granting wishes, I've become what the kids today call "salty" about it. Bitterness can make an immortal being pretty crafty. To amuse myself, I began bending the rules of my confinement a few hundred years ago. If you rub my lamp, you'll get what you ask for.... but you'll also get a whole lot fucking more than you asked for.
For example, this real numb-nuts in the early 1800s found my lamp in Palmyra, New York, buried on a farm. He wanted to be rich and powerful... So, naturally, I told him to start a religion. I even created some gold plates with holy scriptures engraved on them to authenticate his shiny new cult. He got what he wanted. People followed him from miles around to join the Mormon Church. But, the bastard started marrying other people's kids (yeah, pural: you heard me) and trying to overthrow the US Government in order to insert a theocratic regime. He burned down printers' houses for talking shit on him, he had this crazy body guard who killed people for the hell of it, the list goes on and on. I really screwed the pooch giving old Joe his own religion.
But I digress. The point is, be careful what you wish for. You just might get everything you want, plus a whole shitload of other crap you didn't bargain for.
But something happened recently that shook my bitterness to the core of my soul. This organization found my lamp. It's happened before. They never stay in possession of it for long, because word gets out. Their rivals come searching, people die, yada yada til the end of time, forever and ever amen. Timeless classic of a story, really. That trope has given me a few good laughs over the centuries.
But this group is different. They make kids happy.
When I say kids, I of COURSE mean terminally ill kids. Because it wasn't hard enough to really stick it to the kids, they just had to be the sick ones too. They're called the Make-A-Wish foundation, and they've given me-- dare I say it-- happiness. For the first time in thousands of years, I feel useful: important.
Instead of wreaking havoc on shady individuals' lives by subverting their greedy wishes, I grant the humblest of wishes that couldn't possibly be misconstrued or over-interpreted in order to cause something awful to happen.
Joel Osteen wanted fame and glory? Well, I sold his blue-eyed soul to the Devil and gave him charisma the likes of which the world has never seen. Molly, who got leukemia, wants to visit Japan because she loves anime? Fuck it, have a ball, kid. It's really refreshing to be a part of something that doesn't involve misery and destruction. And as an immortal being: trust me, that's more radical than it sounds. | After the rubbing, a burst of light, and a dark voice.
"You now have one wish, Timmy!"
"Oh! Who are you? How did you know my name?"
"Don't be scared. Don't cry. I work in this magic lamp and you now get one wish. Make it count!"
"Mooooommmmmyyy!!"
"You are frozen in this light bubble until you make a wish. Do not be afraid, but no one but me can hear you. Your wish then?"
Suppressing tears, Timmy looked around. He wanted to run, and scream. A wish? What wish? Mommy makes a pie tomorrow. Wish that was today! Her pie is so great!
"I want mommy to make her pie today already!"
The genie's eyes widened. For what seemed like a minute, only the crackling of energy was heard around. The genie was ready to subvert that wish for a speaking pony, a salary raise, an eternal cruise ship holiday, or unfathomable amounts of money.
But getting a pie sooner?
Timmy was looking at the genie, waiting, now more hungry than scared.
"Genie? Are you there? Is that wish ok?"
"It's... it's a very humble wish. Are you sure that's all you want? How about a new bicycle that goes faster than the speed of sound?"
"Will I get the pie today too?"
"No, just one wish."
"Then just the pie please."
---
"Timmy, come down and help me!"
Timmy ran down the stairs. Mom was already busy in the kitchen.
"You know what? I feel we should make the cake today. Aren't you hungry already?"
Timmy jumped up and down, a big smile on his face. It worked! The genie wasn't lying! This was the best day ever. Mom's pies were the greatest thing on earth, and if the genie won't come back, I'll just wait an extra day next week! | 2016-04-30T02:19:35 | 2016-04-30T01:41:35 | 256 | 121 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | *They're actually really nice once it comes time to kill you here.*
This was my fleeting thought as I combed my hair in the giant floor length mirror I was finally permitted. They bent over backwards for the last day. Even let a professional make up team come to paint my face. The man who collected my requests didn't understand, but he was happy to assist. A white silk gown with a gold belt and tassels were easy to procure. Finding a dress with pockets delayed them a week or two, but in the end, they were pleased to get it to me. The warden even laughed in my face.
"You thought you had us. You thought the pocket dress would be impossible!" He had taunted. "But we have found more obscure things before."
"Have you?" I adjusted my hat, placing it at a jaunty angle. A public execution gave me an audience. I wanted to look my best. "I'm sure you're very proud of yourself. It can't be easy getting glass slippers and dragon hide gloves."
The wardens sneer vanished for a moment but before he could say anything, the chef stormed in.
"You sick, twisted freak. How could you?" He demanded. The warden swiveled. "How dare you? You can't have that. Pick something else."
"No. My last meal is my right."
The warden turned on the chef. "Whatever she wants, she gets. It doesn't matter-just get it."
"Sir- I can't. *We* can't" the chef looked at the warden with desperate, pleading eyes. "Please, don't do this."
The warden took the note with my request. "Apples? I done apples? Surely you could fond them?" The warden reached into the chefs bag and plucked out the requested food stuff, a bright golden apple. I smiled and took it from him. "You know, in ancient Greece, you and I would be married for this"
I winked and took a bite even as the chef lunged to take the apple back. "No! No. No. No! What have you done?" He demanded of the warden.
"I done apple. What's wrong with an I done apple?" The warden shrugged and smirked at me. "Enjoy while it lasts."
I took another big bite as the chef dropped to his knees. "Not I done. Idun.. an apple of Idun. We looked into it sir... the apples are from the Norse Goddess of youth. The apples grant immortality"
I watched in enjoyment as the warden put the pieces together. "You mean she- She-"
"That's right." I grinned and polished off the apple. "Kill me all you want, I'll never die."
I strolled out to meet the executioner, even as I felt unending life surge through my body. After all, I had an audience. | Aaron had had plenty of time to consider what his last meal would be while on trial for triple homicide. Aaron had gone from 'rambunctious child', to 'teenage delinquent', finally to cunning career criminal; and was feared in the underworld and so-called 'normal society' alike. He wasn't sorry for his crimes; nor was he interested in playing games like previous death row inmates. He scoffed; no matter how creative their requests had been, the system won in the end. He had watched his previous cell mate worry himself half crazy while waiting to see if his request for dragon steak would set him free.
Aaron cared little for experiencing that kind of maddening wait. He also didn't think much of being 'free' in a world that would likely shun and reject him. Aaron wanted to sow one last seed of chaos before he left the world.
Aaron chuckled as he was led to the kitchen to discuss his last meal with the chef. Radiating evil glee, Aaron looked the Michelin starred chef the prison kept on retainer in the eye as he demanded:
"12 deep-fried 9 volt batteries. With a balsamic reduction."
His maniacal laughter almost drowned the screams of rage that emanated from chef Gordon. | 2022-07-17T22:09:37 | 2022-07-17T20:40:56 | 34 | 17 |
[WP] You are not a good person. Your party was made of good people, and you tried to be good because you liked having allies. But now they're all missing, so they won't see the lengths you're willing to go to to save them. | ######[](#dropcap)
She'd forgotten what it felt like.
She twisted the knife deeper, and the blood gushed out like a fountain from the source. That's what humans were, after all. Merely fountains of blood. The man writhed on the hard marble floors, his face contorted into a mask of agony. His body jerked involuntarily with every slight movement. But in his gaze, too, there was something she was all too familiar with. Something she'd buried long ago but could now feel rising like bile in the back of her throat despite her steady hands. Lissandra smiled, but the warmth never reached her eyes.
"Why don't you help me out, Marcus? We were friends once, weren't we?" she murmured. She brought one gloved hand down gently and stroked his black, blood soaked hair. His eyelids began to flutter. She stilled her left hand, allowing the knife to act as a plug. He would die within minutes once she extracted it. Marcus's lips quivered, his eyes wide.
"Lissandra," he paused to cough up blood, the dark, viscous liquid bubbling up over his lips and splattering onto the marble. "Please. You're good now, they say you're the good one," he gasped. "I don't know where they are. Please let me go. I don't know--"
The good one? Something clenched in her chest, tight and unyielding. Her eyes flashed. She leaned over him, ignoring the way the blood had begun to soak into her kneepads. Still crouching, she let go of the knife. The slight spasms in his muscles meant he was no threat to her now.
"The good one?" The corner of her lips twitched upward, and then she began laughing. It bubbled out of her throat, long and high-pitched like a hyena's cackle. "The good one?" she repeated. "No. Eliyah was the good one. Maribel was the good one. Luca was the good one." She stood up, her lips pressed together. It was clear he was going to be no help to her now. She watched as his lids began to droop. He stilled.
The blood pooled out from his body on the tiles like petals from a rose, so vividly beautiful. Familiar. She could taste the iron tang on her tongue still, from all the times she'd been forced to gag it down as part of her time in the Iron Thorns. Her gaze drifted up to the crest of thorns hung up proudly on the wall, now covered in specks of red. For the longest time, she'd treated it like home.
She could still see Luther White's grin, baring his sharpened gold teeth as he slid a cold, grimy hand down her arm. They were all his children, he said. He would take care of them.
"Good?" she murmured to herself. She tugged the knife from his body. Looking around, she stepped over to the table covered in that fancy, gold tablecloth that represented his rank in Luther's clan. She drew the blade over the cloth, until its surface was a shiny silver yet again. Then she sheathed it.
She took one last glance up at the crest.
No. She wasn't good at all. She just liked the company.
***
r/AlannaWu | *Where are they?* I screamed at the bound monster sitting across of me, its face full of fresh bruises.The monster stared fiercely at me, remaining ever so silent.
I went to back room, and took out my tools.
*You see, I am not a good person, I never was, I tried to be good, I liked having a party, allies, friends, I even began doing good things and repaying for my sins; helping orphans and defeating villains. But my friends were taken by your boss, the arch-fiend, I may be bad, but they do not deserve such cruel treatment.*
I began pulling out several jagged tools, they shone in the dim light from the torch, the steel covered in a thin crimson layer. The monster was shaken by this sight. I turned back to face it.
*I have never told you my name, how rude of me, I am Jack, some folk know me as Thousand Cuts, The everlasting pain, The blood letter, but I abandoned that life, and I will give you another chance to tell me WHERE THEY ARE!*
The monster opened it's black maw, it's breath stunk like a thousand corpses rotting in the hot desert sun, and yet nothing came out. The adrenaline rushed through my veins, it was a different rush, an older one, one which I have not felt since I abandoned my post under the old tyrants rule. I swiftly picked up a knife and moved it ever so closely to the monsters face, giving it a last chance to speak.
The monster bolstered its courage and refused.
*Several hours later*
My robes were covered in green and black blood from the monster, and even though I worked all night, I smiled gleefully and got what I needed, I have not felt such joy for a long time. | 2019-12-07T11:13:29 | 2019-12-07T10:37:08 | 124 | 49 |
[WP]The heroes confront you with the legendary mystical weapon that can defeat you. Unbeknownst to them, it's actually the one thing you needed to conquer the world. You were having trouble finding it, so you started the legend of the weapon yourself, to get some poor schmuck to find it for you. | “Soul Render? You actually found it?” I asked the bloodied group in their tongue. I actually gave up searching for the cursed thing believing the ‘Hammer that can Shatter and Reforge Souls Crushed’ was a myth. Judging by their armor there was Two Paladins of different churches or ‘Orders’ based on their color scheme, an hybrid Archer with a short Compact Bow, a Ranger of some humanoid species but can’t tell with under all that leather and a a exhausted manga user that looks more akin to a priest then a combat medic.
_‘Wizards are real, even after all this time I still can’t believe it.’_ I chuckled to myself. Still unable to fully comprehend this strange world.
“Yes we have and with it we will end your reign of machines!” The lead paladin said with a passionate and hate filled voice more feminine then what I was expecting. All the men must have been killed, captured or turned traitor to my cause. The planet’s inhabitants are surprisingly tolerant about their beliefs and equality as a female anything other than wife or servant would have gotten them branded a witch and heretic back on earth during the medieval era.
_‘How is she running around in all that armor? That thing weighs half a ton!’_
“I gotta thank you for this, that hammer was a bitch to find.” I said excitedly in English as I leapt into action.
After a brief fight but surprisingly tough fight I stand over the party of five as my guards move in. I wave them off but order a medic to see to their injuries. The poor fools never stood a chance in their iron and leather armor. The synthetic muscle fiber suit that grants me my ‘pitch black skin’ allows me to lift several thousand times my own body mass and movement speed that can break the sound barrier.
“Suu!” I called out.
A mass of white and green sparkled slime shot out of the dark and completely encased the lead Paladin at my feet. From the bottom of her boots to the top of her now dented helmet, from the way the slime had seemly tightened or shrink I know Suu had entered her orifices and wound openings to begin healing her from within. The nano machines the slime ate from my medkit all those years ago got right to work in healing this foe of mine. From the amount of brownish black gunk rising within the white slime from the paladins mouth the slime had just removed one serious respiratory infection or many smaller infections built up over time. The yellowish black chucks coming from a stab wound near her liver means she just got rid of a cancer she never knew about. For another two minutes the slime healed, cured and purified the Paladin that came here to kill me.
Just as quickly as the slime encased the holy warrior it shot out back into the dark. A zap of lighting brought light to the shadows for a moment before fading. The slime walks back in humanoid form out holding a sparkling staff and wearing my old military raincoat like a poncho for clothes.
“Thank you. Please wait here. I don’t want to hurt them any more then I did.” I said as I took the staff. By now the guards and medics within the fort had the others to the hospital on base and had them locked up as they got treated. This one was there leader and such required my personal attention.
I pointed the staff at a leather patch between the armor and activated the rune with my thumb. A sizzling pop was heard and the Paladin was awoken with a start. Two guards with clubs with weak shock enchantment held her in place from lashing out. The guards were able to restrain her after a brief struggle that resulted in one of the guard’s whacking the Paladin in the head causing her to lose her helmet. Blue eyes full of rage stared back at me through the mess of red hair.
“Your awake! Good, your a tough son of a bitch ain’t you?” I said in my native language, honestly impressed with how she held up the fight even with her deadly injuries and crippling illnesses. She spat in my face without a moments hesitation.
“I will not bend to your black magic!” She roared and struggled to break free of her captors grip but failed to do so. These two are some of my longest living service men in my army. Their black fiber weaved armor resembles those of heavily armed law enforcement officials back before man conquered the stars with blood red details to distinguish rank, battle honors and identity only recognizable to those within their ranks. Honk and Lug. It’s been a good 20 years since these boys took up arms for their village against a inquisitor of the local church. They came such a long way.
“I apologize, I sometimes forget you don’t speak my native language. Are you well? Any tightness of the chest or problems breathing?” I asked pointedly.
She stopped and looked down on herself. Her armor was still on just as it had been before the battle but she felt different. Like a weight has been removed, allowing her to breathe fresh air like never before and the sore stiffness in her right side isn’t there any more. Her wounds were healed and she felt as if she has awoken from a healing spring.
“W-what did you do!?” She screamed panicky. Stories she heard from fleeing raider tribes and savage clans from the Marines Domain of how the curse land was home hunters who would replace the organs of those they captured with insidious contraptions to slowly kill the host and any around them. She had countless images of the bloody aftermaths of such machines flash through her mind.
“I healed you or rather Suu (that’s the slime girl over there) healed you of all injuries and illnesses. You had some nasty diseases messing with your lungs and liver.” I said as I pointed to Suu who was easily swinging around Soul Render with a large tendril sticking out of her head like a child playing with a large stick, trying to spin it in a circle as fast as slime-ly possible.
The brothers help her to her feet and put her hands in a iron binding behind back. Each with a hand on her shoulder and a grip on her elbow they walked her forward as I motion them forward. Suu walking along a dozen paces behind us with her new toy.
“Where are you taking me?” She asked defeated.
“To your friends in the hospital. Though you are misguided I understand why you and your collation want to destroy me and everything involved with me.”
“Because your a warlord who is an abomination to the gods and must be purged.” She rattled off effortlessly.
“No because I’m threatening everything you know and everything you hold dear. Because I am raising a country that threatened the power that the noble class has over the masses and because I nor anyone under my charge from the lonely farmer to my most trusted general will not kneel to no one. Our over arching goal is a simple but a noble one and with Soul Render it is all but achieved. I hope someone with your Force of Will and Skills will speed the progress along.” I explained.
“What is your plan?” She asks, this just may be the break she needed. Her chance to find a method to the madness that is those iron men, steel horse less carriages and metal wingless dragons. Something to exploit to end their blight on these holy lands.
“My plans? Simply Survival.” I said and looked off to the stars with thoughts of home and a war lost. | “Come on! The mystic’s cave is just this way! We’ve come so far on this quest, and nothing is stopping us from the treasure he promised!”
Dao, Thespin and Rin had gone through most of the Mystics map he’d given them to find it, The Mace of Enigma, coated in a metallic Titanium and Copper alloy. Inscribed in the mace were characters they couldn’t quite read, and wielding it felt almost otherworldly, like a chill down their spine they couldn’t quite name. Rin, the self proclaimed hero of the group, had only seen it by its semi radiant glow in the dark dungeon they’d crawled through, and Dao was the only one unaffected by the jitters it gave off.
Strangely enough, there had been no great monster holding it captive, no enemies blocking their way like they were usually hired for. No, rather the cave felt quite empty, almost as if nothing had ever set foot in there, not even the creatures just outside.
After going back through the Forest of Folron, the Cliffs of Hunplov, and the Marsh of Melink, they were right back where they had been hired. Their client was an old Mystic, he had been around since the creation of the kingdom. Many a Kings advisor, he knew the land like the back of his hand. He’d hired the boys before, always for some long forsaken weapon of kings before. This time the only difference was the lack of enemies, the boys had been used to a fight.
“Haven’t you ever wanted to just take one of these weapons for our own use? The Scepter of Hydrea seemed like it would come in handy with its magical capabilities.”
“Don’t be ridiculous Thespin, we were paid a pretty penny for the Scepters return, and imagine if we’d let it be lost to the wrong hand. The Mystic keeps them safe, he’s done so for millennia!”
“Rin’s right, the weapons are safest with someone who’s worked with the Kings, and in doing so he has certainly earned his riches. For finding the weapons he’s been kind enough to share, he’s far outnumbered us in power with what we’ve retrieved.”
“You saying he’d beat us down if we made off? He’s hardly ever left his cave! What power does he have that we couldn’t beat?”
“We shouldn’t mess around with someone so immortal, especially considering he’s been our biggest payload, Thespin.”
Thespin sighed, his companions were right, The Mystic, as frail as he seemed, probably would be somewhat of a threat with what they’d already done, and to break the trust would be a loss of money they couldn’t afford. Nobody in the castle town has ever paid even a tenth of what the mystic offered.
After a long argument, they finally reached the cave. The Mystic sat at the center of a rather large hemispherical room, torches lining the walls. The Weapons of the Kings lay around the perimeter of the room, propped by the most regal looking weapon stands around. Holy fire adorns either side of The Mystic’s chair, his seemingly endless pile of riches behind him.
“Amazing job boys, I can’t thank you enough for bringing back the Mace. I believe with this weapon, I’ve finally the whole collection once again. King Pihlon would be proud.”
“Never a problem at all, Sir! This was our easiest retrieval yet, we were very surprised”
Rin punches Thespin in the chest, and he falls to his knee.
“As promised boys, your payment awaits.”
The Holy Fire on either side of The Mystic begins to roar, a sudden change of a blue into a red. The weapons adorning the walls come to life, the Mace in the Mystics hands, he lurches it forward as if to command something.
“What’s going on?” Dao screams. “Where is the payment?”
The Mystic just laughs as the weapons begin to rise.
“What ever do you mean? This is your payment! One final show of what you’ve allowed me to do! Is it not wonderful? All thirteen of your precious Kings weapons at my disposal, together at long last!”
The Mystics eyes begin to light a deep green, fully in control of the deathly dance of the weapons. Spiraling the room, they begin to descend towards the heroes.
Rin motions to Thespin and Dao in a moment of desperation; they draw their swords and try to block the pilotless onslaught, to no avail. Blocking one leads another to strike, they’re far outnumbered.
“Go for the Mystic or get to the exit, we can’t let the Weapons leave the room!” Dao makes a charge but is impaled by the Sword of Glamour. As it follows through and goes for Rin, he makes it to the exit and begins to parry them back into the cave.
“You mercenaries have no chance here, there’s nobody to down! The weapons will only keep coming, your fate will be the same as the rest of the kingdoms! Could you not see what you were doing? It was inscribed on every weapon! You were buying in to your own demise! What does all your money mean to you now? It’s the same thing every generation! Well no more! I see the future, I see the best! My will be done, there will be no more Kings!”
And with a clang, all the weapons simultaneously hit the floor of the cave. The Mystic having run out his power, had done it. The sell swords all but alive, nobody outside knew what was to come. The kingdom would learn the power of the kings, and The Mystic would guide them as he’d done before, only this time, there would be no King to get in the way of his guidance. | 2020-07-25T13:47:55 | 2020-07-25T13:38:25 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. | Glass crunched underfoot, and I shifted the broken glass with my foot and took in the rest of the scene. The broken windows were bad, but it was the pictures. My breath caught and I pressed my fingers over my eyes.
I'd opened this little diner back in the 80s. We were in the bad part of town, it was all I could afford, but I'd wanted this cafe since I was a little girl. Bacon eggs and pancakes were staples, but my Belgian Waffles were what really put Sal's Place on the map. I made all the donuts, and everyone knew they had one chance to get them.
We didn't get supers, not like the uptown places did. Sunshine Deli had pictures of the Wonder Twins and Moongirl, signed and dated. And you could be sure to catch Mr. Impossible every other Sunday if you could afford $12 lattes. I attracted what I liked to call Irregulars. Boys and girls didn't have much in the way of family or trust funds, but set about righting wrongs - often with their fists or with guns. But they did like omelettes.
Digger was the first one who came regularly. Always in the same booth, always the same order. Biscuits and sausage gravy with black coffee. When I read stories about him, it was always about how some rapist or mugger had been buried up to his neck near some fire ants. He'd never been caught, but some surveillance video had surfaced. And his fingernails were always so dirty.
"Here you go, sweetie," I said sliding the bowl with the biscuits and gravy over. I added dish of fruit salad, and he looked at me with those dark eyes of his set in his pale face. "Didn't order this, ma'am."
"I know, hon, it's on the house. You need a bit of fruit, and I don't want to hear anything more about it," and I bustled off filling coffee cups, clearing tables and taking orders. When I cleared his table, his fruit dish was empty and I pocketed a nice tip. Next time he'd added the fruit to his order.
"Ma'am," he said and I swear he was blushing. "Noticed that some of your walls were a little blank. If you'd excuse my forwardness, I think I could take some pictures of folk and start making a wall. I talked to some of the other irregulars and they thought it'd be nice for you."
To say that hadn't been on my mind would be a lie. But money was tight, had to pay rent of the restaurant, plus buying all the food, heat and hot water. Then there was Mothball, my cat. She'd been sick earlier and that had put a dent in what little savings I had managed to scrape together.
"Oh, hon, I don't know what to say," I managed, my throat feeling tight. He put his thick hand on mine and squeezed it gently. "You don't need to say anything, Miss Sal. We're happy to help you out." And they'd started putting their pictures up - always with masks on, or looking appropriately spooky. Silly kids. I worried about them all the time. And sometimes they got hurt. Sometimes killed. The juke always played loud on those days, and I made sure the coffee was hot and everyone got whipped cream on their pancakes.
The sound of running water made me rush to the kitchen, it was awash with water overflowing from the sink. I shut off the faucets and looked in, the drains had been plugged with dishrags. I reached into the cold water and pulled them out. The water gurgled and ran down, but it was too late to save most of the floor. A small sob escaped. My little dream. My small way of making this shithole part of town a better place. A broken soggy ruin.
Feeling numb, I wandered back into the dining room. Cans of paint had been hurled at my wall of Irregulars. Most of the frames were shattered, photos cut and torn and covered with paint.
I gently brushed the shards of glass away, and picked up Digger's photo, it was torn in half, his small little half-smile, more than anyone else saw ever, looked broken. I sniffed and put it on the counter and picked up Ghost-Dog's photo, it was dripping with the water that had leaked in from the kitchen. Rag-Tag, Little Pete, and Dark Mila had all been covered in paint. My friends. My little lost family.
The bell rang, and I whirled around clutching my pictures, but suddenly feeling very alone. But it was Digger, his dark eyes took in the scene and locked on me. His face was like still water, deep and dangerous and I moved over to him and slid my hand around his arm.
"Listen to me, sweetie, I need you to listen good. I want you to call everyone you know and tell them to meet me here. We have work to do..."
He looked at me for a long time and then nodded.
***
I looked around at the ring of faces. We were sitting in the ruin of my diner. The faces around me were grim, and I felt a deep sense of sadness. Every scar was a story that broke my heart. And I know, deep down that if they found out who did this there would be nothing but blood. But they had brought what I asked for. Cans of paint, hammers and nails, and tarps. Digger brought new frames and Dark Mila brought her camera.
"I've worked hard to make Sal's a place where you always feel welcome and where you get a taste of sweetness. For some of you," I said looking at Digger, "this is the only sweetness you will ever know. If you help me with this, you're making a promise. A promise that you want to make the world kinder - even if this is all you do and you go back to your night jobs same as you do. It's not nothing."
Vandal reached out and squeezed my hand, and I saw Digger wipe the back of his hand across his eyes.
"Thanks for helping me fix my little broken dream," I said, my voice choking up. "Now let's get to work."
(edit a typo - also edited my edit since apparently I floated it in the middle of the story - stupid whiskey)
| Simple fact, if you catch more vampires with blood than stakes.
&#x200B;
Washington DC, other than being a hotbed for politics, is a playground for lobbyists of all types. Creates a lot of problems. The simple word on the street is, though, if the problem is weird, people pay a lot of money to have it solved, no questions asked. When I made my first coffee shop, the place was wrecked three weeks in by what looked like a bear on the CCTV. The cops didn't take the footage, at first. Some men in suits flashed badges and told me "it never happened" when they walked away with the tapes.
&#x200B;
Insurance paid up though, didn't even make a fuss. That was the part that got me.
&#x200B;
I never asked anyone what they liked when I made my new shop. No consultations. I just did my reading, made my menu, and waited. I found out what the local blood bank did with blood that didn't pass inspections, they got rid of it. Hazardous. The tech I found seemed used to find it hilarious to be paid for trash, so it didn't cost much.
&#x200B;
Build it and they will come. The more I read on the subject, the more I realized that there's a lot of things that go bump in the dark that like the taste of human blood. I could guess at the nature of the pale folks who walked in, but the kinds that kept their hoods up in a basement I never asked.
&#x200B;
I just took their order.
&#x200B;
More ideas came in after I listened to the light chatter. If I started serving the right kind of salted cod, a few Swedish guys would come in regularly and buy a few ales. Venison, horse kebab, you name it. A lot of these guys have been a round a while, and their tastes came from Ye Olde European times, with a little research you can find a new niche (but dear lord, finding the people who can cook it right is a pain).
&#x200B;
Live insects made it onto the menu, briefly. After the first Senator came in I decided to keep my place low profile. Lizardmen aren't worth the business.
&#x200B;
It happened after closing, one night. All the cooks had gone home, it had been a big night and they deserved a break. It was just me and one other server. I had no words when I saw him again. He wore a massive sweatsuit over his entire body, but exploding with hair from the hands at the snout that poked out from the hood. He only spoke three words.
&#x200B;
"New place, eh?"
&#x200B;
Nothing else. I bolted for the back room, acting purely on instinct. I heard crashing from behind me, a roar that left my ears ringing after I slammed the steel door of the freezer shut behind me. I was shaking, not from the cold, not yet, pressed against the far wall as the door shuttered from every time the beast flung itself into the door. A roar. And then silence. I couldn't leave. The walk in freezer was ancient, the only way I could afford it, so it locked externally.
&#x200B;
They found me around an hour before opening, frostbitten, incoherent. As the took me out, babbling and wondering what the hell had happened, I saw that the only thing left of the server was blood. I spent all night wondering what I'd see when I came out, if the beast had just gone for me...I knew I'd never see him again. I also knew that if I'd taken the time to throw him in before me, I'd have been caught by the beast, and we'd both be dead.
&#x200B;
The customers...I never saw them. They weren't the type to rubberneck with police lights flashing and the DO NOT CROSS tape put up.
&#x200B;
A week later, after all the paperwork had been done, the report filed, the CCTV footage that "never happened" had been handed over to silent men in suits...I got two letters letter in the mail. Simple as that. The first one was this:
&#x200B;
"The beast is dead, he won't bother you ever again. -Loyal Customer
&#x200B;
P.S. When's the new place open up?"
&#x200B;
The second piece of mail was much more formal, dense with legalese. I didn't even open it, I just laughed. The insurance came through without a hitch. Imagine that. | 2018-10-20T23:57:04 | 2018-10-20T22:39:44 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] The house you just rented is beyond compensation - staircases and extra floors coming and going, rooms rotating and changing places. You just ignore it. On the fourth day, the eldritch horror informs you that you are the first to stay inside it for more than 72 hours without going insane. | *"How are you still here, mortal? I have been tormenting your kind since you first sought shelter in caves. None have endured two nights of this torment, and yet you remain?!"*
"Oh hey, so I guess you're the landlord. Any chance you could look at the plumbing? I found this dope bathroom yesterday that was somehow outside and at night, and the stars kept moving, but the water temperature was kinda janky?"
*"You bathed in the Waters of Um'slaad, and survived? Were you not beset by phantoms of your past bent on your unmaking?"*
"I mean yeah man; it was a bit strange. But the last place I had the hot water had been out for like a month, so I'll take what I can get. The cockroach situation in the kitchen isn't exactly ideal either, but at least these ones could talk; we've made a deal about leftovers and they seem pretty chill."
*"You've made an... arrangement with the Leng Roach King?"*
"I guess. Look, it's obvious that this place is a bit of a fixer upper, but dude, I work retail. A place like this on the upper east side that I can afford by myself? I’d expected it to be some weird scam or organ harvesting operation. I see weirder stuff than infinitely long corridors and carpets made of tongue by 9.30 most days."
*"I can see your mind unfolded like one of your pathetic two-dimensional maps. I see the tattered edges and holes burned of madness as landmarks on the city of your soul. And yet you are sane? This is not possible. "*
"Like I said dude, I’ve worked retail for ten years. If you can’t keep it together then you won’t make it past the first holiday. I can fit the whole of my last apartment inside that room with the curved floor and huge sphere of mercury, I can walk to work, the other roommates only want to drink my blood occasionally, and I won’t have to sell any of it to pay the rent… this is a sweet deal dude. "
*"This cannot be. You are anathema! Leave this place, and never return!"*
"No way dude. I know my rights. You are the one who put a snake eating itself in the shape of the infinity symbol in the term of the rental agreement. I’m paying $450 a month till I’ve got enough put aside to buy a place, and in this economy that could be a while. If you don’t like it, you can file a complaint with the rent control board and find out what true existential horror is like." | I sat alone on the floor in a corner, weeping. Or at least I thought it was the corner. And there’s no guarantee it was actually the floor.
By now, everything here shifted in and out existence, place, and depth with each blink. My left eye could see a door ahead while the right eye saw a set of stairs. And all of it wrong, with violent geometry that made no sense.
I clamp my eyes shut, hold my knees, and rock.
I hear a soft, dry scraping sound and open my eyes. In front of me lies a piece of paper, parchment really. I struggle to focus on letters that flicker and shift to unknown characters and back again. I hold back vomit as the room silently, uncomprehendingly changes around me.
“Congratulations, insect. Your mind has endured here longer than any before you. However, there is no reward for the feat, for this place is beyond compensation.” | 2022-05-29T10:10:04 | 2022-05-29T08:21:32 | 226 | 132 |
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